I finally finished this! I really hope I got the rabbit holes all covered but if not, then go ahead and point those bad bunnies out. I'd mull over this longer but I know that if I don't declare this finished then it'll probably never get finished and I won't be able to work on any of my other long story ideas...Now, onto the circus.

There is a lot of trauma-related material being discussed throughout the story. I'd give more warning but I'm not quite sure how to word it at the moment.

Apologies for any misconceptions about the Scotland setting. I couldn't find enough reliable research material to give me clear understandings about the procedures but I couldn't bear to relocate them to America.

This story is not truly connected with Badge of Valor other than them being in the Mcgallrigh clan. That being said, the Mcgallrigh boys should really stay away from parties.

Disclaimer for the entire story: Sadly, I do not own Strange Magic, although I do have the DVD that I play once a week. All events, names, and places are coincidental. Enjoy the story!

Chapter 1

The sound of tires squealing fills the air as a grey truck speeds around the street bend sharply and other vehicles veer out of its way. The sound of police sirens and honking horns deafens the night air. A peaceful evening is disturbed at the ruckus as rain falls steadily from the sky.

"I'm invincible!"

"Slow down and pull over! Ye're gonna get us killed!"

Another street bend lays within the speeding truck's path and this time the driver loses control. Tire's squeal, glass breaks, and crunching grey-painted metal cause a moment of silence as onlookers watch in horror. One, two, three, fou...Pedestrians and police alike run to the crushed vehicle. Blood trickles onto the street and the rescuers rush to push the metal entrapment off its side. Prayers are heard over the sound of ripping metal and sirens.

Swiftly walking into the infirmary, thirty-six-year-old Bogart Mcgallrigh heads straight for the ICU ward and barely manages not to run. His short black hair is in disarray as he traverses the corridors in a quick pace aided by long lean legs but he pauses at the ICU ward's doors. He hated being in the infirmary and the last time he went through these particular doors was before his nineteenth birthday. He chokes down the tears that want to rise at the memory. His last memory of his father being alive.

"No," he mumbles. "It ain't like then. They will be fine."

He shakes himself and forces his feet through the dreaded doors. Heading to the nurses' station gives some relief at a familiar face but it's a relief that doesn't last at the worry upon the redhead's face.

"I really hope ye weren't speeding, Bog," the nurse chides gently.

"I wasn't," Bog defends. "How bad is it, Elinor?"

"Bhaltair has a concussion and we're going to keep him overnight for observation," Elinor answers.

"And Beathan," Bog asks, noticing her hesitation?

"I had to give the doctor permission to operate," she answers lowly. "We weren't able to contact ye or Aunt Griselda and he needed immediate surgery."

"I trust yer judgment," he reassures. "That's why I put ye down as our emergency contact. I know ye wouldn't allow something that didn't have to be. How is Beathan now?"

"Ye better sit down," Elinor motions, grabbing a patient chart.

Bog heeds his cousin's request and accepts the chart she hands him. Shock courses through him at the innocent words upon the sheet of paper. Numbly, he hands the chart back to her.

"There was too much risk if they didn't operate," Elinor mentions.

"How is Beathan," Bog questions again?

"Recovering," she reassures. "His stats are stabilizing and the doctors expect him to awaken in a few."

"I should have been here," Bog groans, scrubbing his hands across his face.

"This happened near nightfall and ye're at a job site fifty kilometers away," Elinor snorts, lightly hitting his shoulder. "Yeah, that would have looked really good for ye to speed the whole way here with the traffic officers here."

"They're already here? I would have thought they would have waited until morning to question the lads," Bog mutters.

"They created more than a few road violations with this accident and it's classified as a near-fatality," Elinor remarks. "The doctor gave permission for Bhaltair to be questioned a little while ago, so they're in with him now."

Bog nods before moving to stand up but Elinor's hand pushes him back down.

"Ye don't want it there, Bog," Elinor warns. "Angelina came in soon after the lads were brought in and she's in a fouler mood than usual."

"Does she know about Beathan's condition," Bog asks?

"The doctor tried to tell her since she does have the right to know but she wouldn't hear anything after finding out about Bhaltair's concussion," Elinor answers. "As bad as it is to admit it, ye know as well as everybody else that she doesn't care about Beathan and never has."

"Be that as it may, I do care about Bhaltair and I'm going to see how my lad is," Bog comments, pushing himself to stand again.

Elinor sighs before nodding and leading him to Bhaltair's room. The sight of one of the officers hovering near the door make the pair exchange looks. It's never a good sign when a member of Police Scotland looks like they'd rather be anywhere else. It's also not good to be able to hear a heated conversation when you're still a few doors down. Elinor quickens her pace and with all the professionalism she can muster, informs the room's occupants to settle down or face expulsion.

"This is all your fault," Angelina growls as Bog enters the room! "You and that undisciplined son of yours. Just look at my poor baby."

Bog barely keeps from laughing at Bhaltair's disgruntled expression and rolling crystal-blue eyes. Even with a bandage around his head, it's clear that the red-haired teenager is unhappy with his mother's doting and cooing. A quick look at the traffic officer inside the room gives a notion that she completely agrees with the boy.

"You are Bogart Mcgallrigh, the boys' father," the officer asks?

"Yes," Bog starts.

"Some father," Angelina interrupts. "Letting his son hurt my son and getting him in trouble with the law."

"Our sons," Bog growls lowly! "Bhaltair and Beathan is both of our sons!"

Angelina opens her mouth but shuts it when Elinor warns her about calling security if she keeps disturbing the other patients. Bog ignores his once-love and moves to the other side of the bed.

"How are ye, Bhaltair," Bog questions gently?

"Just a few bumps and bruises," Bhaltair mutters. "Doctor says I'll be out tomorrow, providing nothing happens tonight. I'm gonna go home with Mum. Can you bring my stuff here tomorrow, Bogart?"

"Yeah, I'll bring yer stuff here," Bog mumbles. "Get some rest and I'll see ye in the morning."

Bog squeezes Bhaltair's hand before leaving the room and walking back to the nurses' station. He ignores the familiar sting at his son's refusal to call him anything but his given name and instead focuses on the relief at the boy's healthy state. The sound of steady footsteps alerts him to the officer's presence.

"How much trouble are the lads in," Bog asks, turning around to face the pair?

"A lot. I'm Constable Marianne Zephyr and this is Constable Brutus McGee," Marianne introduces before sighing. "They're looking at a high possibility of getting their license suspended and a large fine."

"Both lads," Bog questions?

"Yes," Brutus answers. "We retrieved both of their cell phones at the crash-site and there is clear evidence that they both used them while the vehicle was in operation."

"The lads know better than that," Bog growls, passing a hand through his hair.

"The text was sent to and from you, Mr Mcgallrigh," Marianne mentions.

"What? Ye mean to tell me that they were already driving when Bhaltair texted me," Bog asks?

"Correct," Marianne answers. "I take it that you did not know that?"

"Of course not," Bog defends. "I would not have sent the answering text to Beathan had I known that they were already in the truck. The lads argue almost constantly whenever they're together and I thought that this was just one of their normal scuffles."

The conversation comes to a halt as a doctor approaches the trio to inform them of Beathan's consciousness and with strict instructions to not wear her patient out, she leads them to his room. The closed-door seems to loom before the anxious father like a portal to a bottomless abyss. Those seemingly innocent words written on that chart resurface in his mind like a warning.

Bog shakes himself and opens the door. The black-haired teenager's pale skin shows a multitude of bruises and the sight of his prone form makes tears fill Bog's crystal-blue eyes. Groggy crystal-blue eyes open as the visitors enter his room but they fixate on his father before narrowing.

"Get out," Beathan murmurs.

"Bea...," Bog starts.

"Get out," Beathan yells! "I hate ye! This is all yer fault!"

Elinor rushes into the room at the commotion and forces the struggling boy back against the bed, clicking her pager for more assistance. Beathan's continued thrashing and yelling cause Marianne to offer her help in holding his chest down while Elinor hurriedly pulls back the blankets to check the bandages. The sight of his son's missing legs forces Bog to leave the room and he collapses against the hallway wall in tears and heart-crushing guilt at the screams echoing down the halls.