The Kidnap II

Chapter 1: After the Incident

A/N: Hi guys. Well, here it is. The sequel to the Kidnap I considered. I hope you all enjoy this. While the original may prove to be better, here is the sequence of events I imagined taking place after the winter incident.

"I don't KNOW!" Mark yelled bitterly.

I don't know… I don't know… I don't know…

Habbleman whipped him again. Mark yelled in pain. Habbleman whipped him again, and yelled, "LIAR!"

~LIAR… LIAR… LIAR…~

"It's my best friend. Mr. Leather Strap. What do you think of him?"

Mark eyed it. "I don't know anything about it, I swe- AH!"

He slapped it on Mark mercilessly, "That's for keeping it to yourself!"

Randy lie there, blood oozing out of his body, staining the snow. His eyes were closed. Mark wanted very much to feel him. To feel the heart, or hear Randy laughing at Mark's worry, and perhaps get up, a little shaken, a little hurt, but certainly not dead.

~Staining the snow--- staining the snow… staining the snow…~

Mark tossed and turned in his sleep, unable to shake the feelings he had in his short death. He woke up in a cold sweat to blackness, due to the bandanna placed over his eyes every night. He lifted it to gaze up at the dark ceiling with his one eye, and then look over on his bedside to see the clock. He had to turn his head a little to get a full view, since that incident. He only had one working eye now. The other was blinded.

It was only five. Five in the morning. He wasn't supposed to be up at this time. He turned his head, and covered it with his pillow, trying to get back to sleep, but he knew it was in vain.

He was having these dreams since the new year of 1996. They kept coming back to him. Now, it was the summer, they came more frequently. Jill believed it was because of the incident that happened during the holidays. Now, Mark was unconsciously frightened of holidays. Once a week, she took him aside to talk to him, to try to get to the bottom of it.

Randy was no different…

*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~*

Randy was a couple floors below his brother in the basement. But he wasn't too happy either. He groaned as he woke up for the fifth time that night. Since when did a sleeping disorder develop? He thought.

Randy got out of bed tiredly, and into his wheelchair. He rolled himself over to the stairs, making a mental note to ask his parents for a clock to install downstairs. And then he remembered his dad would probably blow it up. He got to the stairs in a minute, and climbed out. He wobbled around a little, and then regained balance. He took the crutches by the stairs leading up to the ground floor, and slowly made his way upstairs.

Since the incident that happened half a year ago, Randy was able to regain a little use of his legs. He no longer needed the wheelchair. At least, not as much. Ironically, he was able to move up the stairs with his legs as long as he had a walker with him. On all floors, basement included, there was a wheelchair ready.

If he used his legs too much, they'd collapse. He already had balancing problems, even when standing in place. He could make it up in two minutes, just to take another wheelchair, and roll himself to the kitchen. Judging by the light outside, it had to be seven. In the other room was their living room, where the television was- turned on!

It was Desperate Housewives. Randy rolled over to the TV to find who else but his little brother, Mark, laying on the couch, holding the remote like a tired old man. Mark looked up at the sight of him. His bandanna was slanted on his face, to hide the one eye and the scar on his forehead. Since when did Mark watch Desperate Housewives? He hated soap operas.

Randy moved himself over to the sofa couch where Mark was laying. Mark stared at him through the one eye he had.

"When did you wake up?" Randy asked. He still had a soft voice. It was near broken, but not just yet, and he still spoke as a regular thirteen year-old.

"I've been up for two hours," Mark said tiredly, stifling a huge yawn. Mark still had long blond hair, the bang kept out of his eyes by the bandanna.

"More dreams?" Randy asked sympathetically.

Mark nodded silently. "So I came up here to watch TV, and then I heard you come up."

"I guess I can't surprise you anymore, huh?" Randy laughed, climbing out of the chair, and gently placing himself on the sofa couch opposite. "I hate this. We still have to get through the grade issue with mom and dad."

"Don't remind me," Mark groaned. "A sixty average. I'm lucky to pass."

"Yeah, I got a sixty too, ya know," Randy replied miserably. "I got a sixty. My God, since when did that happen?"

"I dunno what you're complaining about," Mark said, staring at what looked like space. "At least you've never been beaten up. And, you got both your eyes, and half recovered legs."

"Oh yeah, I've only been shot twice, and have to use a wheelchair… that rules the beach out this summer. At least you can swim."

"Yeah, unless my eye misses a shark or something," Mark muttered, but loud enough so Randy could just hear him. "With your grades, mom and dad are more likely to forgive you."

"You get good grades too you know," Randy reminded him.

"Yeah, but mom's not giving you therapy, is she?"

"Therapy would help you," Randy said tiredly, to Mark's stammers of protests. "Don't give me that protest. It's not like you're retarded or something. Besides, it's only mom"-

"Exactly!" Mark cried aloud, making Randy push his index finger angrily to his mouth, to silence him. Honestly, he was in danger of waking the house. "It's mom," he continued, a little quieter but otherwise making no indication he noticed Randy's message. "Can't I deal with it myself."

"We've given you five months to deal with it yourself," Randy said back. "It never worked, and got worse since summer started a week ago. Besides, is not long-term. Just till we know what's bothering you, and how to fix it."

Mark sighed greatly, switching the television off. "Fine," he muttered. This time, Randy didn't hear him. He moved his head away to try and get some well-deserved sleep. He yawned, and closed his eyes. A single tear fell from his bad eye, and dripped on the couch.

"Hey, Mark?"

Mark couldn't let Randy see him now. Not when he was half crying. He didn't want to see sympathy. It's only make things worse, so he put a sleeping act, to get away. A really simple sleeping act.

A/N: Summer after Season 5. I hope you all enjoy this. I was working on two stories of Home Improvement during the school year, which explains my absence, promising myself to revive the Home Improvement category this summer. This is the second of the two I worked on. Again, hope you enjoy it.