This story was inspired by an interview with George Eads, who wished something along these lines to happen to his character. I expanded it greatly. Although it may seem similar to"Fannysmackin", I started writing this before that episode aired. This is my first ever fanfic and I hope you like it.Feedback is greatly appreciated!
Billy Hammond's case was at a stand still. After a string of gay bashings, one had finally ended in murder and all Nick knew was that the young man had been bludgeoned to death. There were no suspects. There were no weapons recovered. There was barely any trace evidence. The media kept playing his story over and over. A well liked college freshman's life had been extinguished simply because he was gay.
The case bothered Nick. He had never considered himself to be against gays rights and he didn't dislike gay people either. Nor did he think they should be treated any differently. But maybe, somewhere deep down, he thought homosexuality wasn't normal. That's what was eating away him. What Nick did know, though, was he couldn't shake the image of Billy's parents when he told them the horrible news. Billy's mother made a shriek that he would never forget. The media had accused the department, and specifically Nick, of a sloppy investigation because of the nature of the case. Nick started second guessing himself and his efforts, even though his co-workers knew it wasn't true. They had told him so a hundred times already.
Nick was still troubled by the events of the week. He wanted time alone, away from his well meaning friends. He managed to escape work without a single goodbye. After driving around town, he decided on an unfamiliar place, not too far from his own neighborhood and away from the Strip. Although he was leery about leaving his car parked alone in the alleyway, he figured she'd be fine, as he wasn't going to be long. A quick bite, a beer or two, and some background noise were all he needed.
He stepped inside the dark barroom; a total dive. It was perfect. Nick walked up to the bar and grabbed himself an open stool. He chomped away on some stale pretzels and sipped his beer as he halfheartedly listened to the evening news. Finally, his cheeseburger arrived. He was hungrier than he had thought. A few huge bites and it was gone. Nick felt content, just sitting, listening to the sounds around him and enjoying the taste of his second beer. The stress was leaving his body slowly and he was beginning to feel at ease again. Unfortunately, it didn't last long.
"Turn that queer shit off."
Nick turned his head to see who had made the demand. A group of good ol' boys sitting at a table behind him was finishing off their fourth pitcher.
"Easy," the bartender said. "It's just the news."
Nick turned back toward the television he had been neglecting. He caught the end of the Billy Hammond story.
"Damn Faggot."
"Hey man," Nick protested, interrupting the group's laughter.
"What's the matter, princess, you a fairy too?"
"Nah, man," Nick said smiling. Their total ignorance was borderline amusing.
"Then keep your liberal mouth shut. He sick ass is burning in hell now."
Nick wasn't about to let that last remark go without objection. "What's your problem, man," he asked. "That's someone's son. Have some respect."
The biggest one stood up from the table. Nick stood up too, facing off with the goon.
"That's it guys," the bartender said. "That's as far as it goes."
Without another word, the guy turned away and finished off his beer, still standing. He buddies sat grinning, hoping their leader would clobber Nick. Instead, he tossed some cash on their table and walked out, eyeballing Nick as he passed. His three cronies followed after him without a word. The tension in the air eased once the door to the bar had closed behind them.
Nick went back to his beer. His blood was boiling. "I'm not like that," he thought to himself. "I'm not a bigot". Part of him had hoped for a scuffle with the jerk. Maybe to release some anger, or maybe to prove to them he wasn't gay? He wasn't really sure. Either way, Nick knew he could have handled him. He stayed a bit longer and after awhile, he settled down again. He thought about ordering a third beer, but found himself wanting to be home in bed instead. His body felt tired and his mind was drained. Nick paid his tab and headed back towards the alley.
His eyes felt heavy, but he wasn't drunk. It was cold out and Nick had left work rather abruptly, forgetting his jacket. The ground was wet. It must have rained a little while he was inside. Nick now craved sleep and eagerly turned the corner to the back lot.
"No, no, no, not my car," Nick said as he approached it. The front windshield was smashed. The culprit, a piece of brick, was still lodged in the center. Huge spider cracks trailed away from it.
"Goddamn punks."
Nick continued to inspect his baby, running his hand along her shapely, metal frame. He didn't even hear them approach.
"Hey. Queer lover."
Nick froze for a moment and turned around. The look of disgust on his face soon turned to worry as he saw himself facing the four rednecks from the bar. He tried to hide it.
"What, no Klan meeting tonight?"
"Nope," one of them said, chillingly.
Another added, "we've got batting practice."
Nick thought about bolting. Maybe he could make it back around to the bar if he moved fast enough, but they were slowly circling around him. He knew he was in serious trouble. Suddenly, a wild swing came at Nick's head. He blocked it and connected his own punch on the thrower's jaw. Nick managed to avoid a second blow, but it was immediately followed by an elbow to his cheek. It knocked him back and before he could recover, he was hit in the face again, cutting his eye. Nick was off balance as two of them seized his arms and pinned him against a nearby wall.
The other two squared off in front of him. One of them took hold of Nick's shirt and lifted him up before punching him in the mouth. He could sense the flow of blood from his lip. The pair took turns punching his sides. A knee was shoved into his stomach. Nick was doubled over. His ribs throbbed and his head rang. The pain he felt from them gripping his arms was relentless. He gasped and choked as they laughed and taunted him.
"I think this boy needs some air."
"Then let's give him some."
Their leader picked up a broken board from the ground and slung it onto his shoulder.
He stood a few feet from the others, posed like a major league batter, facing Nick. The others smirked and lifted Nick up again eager for what they knew was coming next.
"Final inning boys," he declared.
Nick was struck in the face and hurled toward his awaiting attacker who swung the hunk of wood into Nick's stomach at just the right moment. The blow dropped him hard and fast, knocking all of the wind out of him. The others cheered and laughed.
"That was at least a triple," one said.
Nick tried to steady himself with one hand, but it was kicked out from under him, dropping him onto his side against the cold, wet ground. That was followed by a harsh kick to his back and another to his already aching ribs. He didn't think he was breathing at all, as he struggled for air.
"Who's next?"
"My turn."
The thug tossed the improvised bat to another, who caught it mid-air. Nick tried to brace himself for what was coming when he was brutally slammed across the back. He heard the wood crack. More hoots and hollers came from the bunch.
"Homerun," one of them shouted.
Nick now laid face down in the darkness.
A foot pushed into his shoulder, flipping him onto his back. Nick's attackers stood, looking down at him, content. They walked away and were surprisingly quiet, but began congratulating themselves as they walked further down the alley. Nick struggled to get his bearings and moaned softly in terrible pain. The blood streaming down his face felt warm against his cold skin. He could barely move when he lost consciousness.
When he awoke, Nick's vision was blurry and for a moment, he was unsure why he was lying on the ground. Then, he went to move. It took him three tries to sit up and roll onto his side. He paused and wondered if he'd be able to stand up. He had sharp, shooting pain in his sides when he breathed. He managed to roll onto his knees, bracing himself with both arms and resting on all fours. He didn't think he could get up. His cell phone was in the car. If he could just get to it, he could wait for help to arrive. It was the longest crawl of his life.
Nick had no idea how much time had passed when he came to in the hospital. He didn't remember the ambulance ride over, or even calling for one. His whole body hurt, even his hands, which he had hardly used against his attackers. He took in his surroundings and although Nick hated hospitals, he felt comforted to be in one now.
To be continued…