Timmy stood alone in his room. He was lost in a misery that he had never felt before. He was going to loose his fairies soon. He was seventeen, turning eighteen in the next few weeks. He was going to loose them. He was even going to loose baby Poof. His life was ending, and he couldn't stop it. His friends, Chester and A.J left him when he turned fifteen, leaving him with just his fairies and his near retarded parents. He was going to be alone. At this point, he would even take Vicky as company. But she left too. They all left, except his fairies, Cosmo and Wanda, and baby Poof. Now they were being taken away from him. He'd go crazy without anyone in his life. He would kill himself before being alone.
Truth be told, he really missed Vicky in his life. Sure she had been an evil dictator. Sure she had tortured him in his early life. And sure she had gotten him into the most trouble of his life. Oh, and SURE she had tried on many occasions to kill him. But it got better as the years progressed. He had even developed a crush on her before she had babysat him for the last time. He missed her. As hard as it was to explain, he missed her. He missed his life when he was younger. But there was something to look forward to in his life. When he died, he could be happy. He could have a bunch of friends and no one would be his enemy. His mood only darkened more as he continued to think such negative thoughts.
Cosmo looked worriedly at Wanda. Even he was smart enough to realize the change in the once happy, albeit goofy boy. He had stopped wishing when it wasn't necessary. He couldn't look them in the eyes. He stopped playing with Poof when he was done with homework. He stopped eating. He stopped drinking. Soon he would end up stopping breathing. Cosmo looked to Wanda after a quick look over to the obviously depressed teenager. Apparently life sucked for him. Wanda giggled in her deep voice as she went to pull on Cosmo's ear. Pulling the yelping man around the corner, she allowed the scheme to form from thoughts to words, and from words to actions.
Wanda had produced a time motorcycle, the thing that Timmy had grown to like more than the scooter. Wanda floated over to Timmy, sadness lacing her voice. Timmy looked at her then, the bright vibrant eyes that their Timmy had once possessed were replaced with the dull eyes of the walking dead. His eyes no longer produced tears, he no longer showed any signs of happiness in his life. He was an empty shell. A shell of what he once was. And Wanda was going to rectify the situation if she could. She was going to put her position as a fairy on the line so Darn it he was going to be happy! Wanda nodded toward the Bike, motioning for him to place himself on it.
Timmy gave her a bored expression, belied his happiness that she was going to give him one more good solid adventure before he had to witness them forcibly leaving. The thought broke his heart. So he didn't think. He just walked up to the chrome bike and hopped on, turning the key into start. He was surprised, though, when he felt himself going back far into the past. When Vicky was only 17 years old. He could tell because he could hear his screams from the house. 17 was a bad year for her, and to be truthful, for him too. It was back when she was the person making his life a living hell. Little did he know that life could get much worse than a evil babysitter. Much worse things. Like loneliness. Like abandonment. Like hatred worse than you were used (and saying that about someone who had Vicky as a babysitter)
He picked up the now almost forgotten motorcycle that he stood back up straight, and continued to try to reverse time back. For every failed attempt he had, the more nervous he became.
"Well shit." Timmy muttered to himself.
The times were hotter than what he had remembered. Last time he checked, it was cool, which was why he had only a pair of jeans and a sweater. Which was where his predicament lied. He had many scars from when he was younger, and while he was toned, everyone stared at his scars, always pointing, saying he cut himself, which he DIDN'T.
"Oh well," He sighed as he slipped the fabric over his head, throwing it to the ground, already forgotten. Pulling himself out of his reserve. He needed a few things. First off, he needed to find a place to say, so that he wouldn't freeze, or, in this case, spontaneously combustive. And that didn't sound too good. He wanted to be home in his own time when he ended his life. Not in some unfamiliar place with everyone staring at him as he boiled out of his skin. He looked around at where his position was, and was surprised to find that he was right in front of Vicky's house.
His breath caught as he realized where he stood. He had wanted to stay in his house, even though now it didn't sound like a good idea. What if his past self realized that he was looking at an older him? They would likely be forcibly taken out of existance, and he didn't want that for his younger self. His life hadn't started to fall apart yet. He wanted to keep it that way. He forced on his best smile as he knocked on Vicky's front door, waiting for his babysitter.