What if Tom and Nicki had both been by Josh's side as he'd suffered, and afterwards they'd gone outside and stood under the stars, and kissed? Inspired by a conversation with Never-Clip-My-Wings-x. This is what should have happened at the prom.

His voice was a whisper, "Dad."

Tom knelt by his son's side; he pressed his hands against the tear in his flesh, tried to stem the blood dribbling down, soaking into his shirt, hitting the hall floor.

Josh was breathing hoarsely. The sound reminded Tom of a balloon, not popping and dying instantly, but gradually losing air, hissing, getting weaker and more helpless with every second that passed by.

A red balloon. Blood everywhere. His son's blood on his hands; somehow, he felt as though it really was his fault. Why had he brought him back here? He could've rung Michael and told him about the prom being secretly rearranged. For once, he could've put his family before his work, and they could've sat at home, watched the X Factor, eaten curry and chocolate.

Or maybe salad; Josh was always teasing him about his weight. Maybe it wasn't really a joke – maybe he actually meant it. Did he embarrass his son, not just with his (being kind to himself) chubbiness, but with his behaviour in general?

"It's okay. It's okay, Josh."

He could hear Sian behind them, her professionalism holding out over the fear in her voice as she requested an ambulance. Teenage boy, she said. He's been stabbed in the side. She was right – he was just a little boy, Tom's little boy. What had he done?

He couldn't stop the blood seeping through Josh's side. He tore off his jacket, bundled it up over the wound. He could feel Josh's heartbeat in his hands, even faster than his own, if that was possible.

"Dad, I'm sc-scared."

He reached out and stroked his son's cheek with a trembling hand. Smeared blood everywhere. "I'm here."

Gasps echoed all around him, and a few squeals at the sight of so much blood; cries of Josh and oh my God. Had they given him a second glance before in their lives? They suddenly cared?

Why was he being such a bastard? He didn't possess his son; he didn't even deserve to know him any more, to have any influence over his life. Of course they cared. When a human being saw another in pain, they wanted them to be okay: that was normal, natural, instinct. Why did it feel so foreign to Tom now, so threatening?

Thank you, Sian was saying. Like she was in a different world, not right beside him: her words zigzagged through his mind, entering and yet not being absorbed. Thank you? Thank you for what, exactly? He was struggling to find something to be grateful for in this scenario.

"Nicki," Josh mumbled.

"Hey, kidda," her arms reaching out, cradling his head on her lap, wiping away the blood from his face and rocking him gently.

Tom felt an urge to push her away from his son, but he looked calmer now she was there, holding him. Not so frightened. The colour in his eyes fading away, his lips trembling.

He seemed to have lost all of his vocabulary, repeating the same things through gasps for air, "I'm scared."

"There's nothing to be scared of, Josh. The ambulance is on its way now, okay? They'll take you to hospital, and sort you out – you're going to be fine. Back playing football in a few weeks."

"We... we l-lost... the last... m-match."

"Well, imagine what they'll be like without you. They need you to be okay so you can go back and help them win, don't they? Come on; next week, you'll be sitting on the sidelines clapping. We'll get Lauren to teach you some cheerleading, perhaps."

The smallest smile flickered across his face. Stumbling over his words, shaking, speaking so weakly, "I'm... I'm n-not... danc... dancing."

Tom wondered how Nicki was doing this, how she was managing to stay so calm. Maybe she was just a stranger to emotion; maybe she just didn't know what it was like to care for someone?

"Come on," Tom begged, "You need to stay awake, mate. Come on – after everything we've been through? I need you. Please."

Nicki looked up, met his gaze, "It's okay, Tom. He's going to be okay."

She must have done this before, he realised. She must have held someone dying in her arms and comforted them, must have become perfect at pushing away the pain. Not because it got any easier, but because you knew what the person needed. Optimism, and humour, and reassurance. Not hysteria.

Tears were running down her cheeks, but she had the discretion to cry quietly. Later on, when they knew either way, there would be time to reflect on what had happened, time to cling to one another and feel remorse trickle through their veins like the blood Josh was losing. For now, they had to be strong: be united.

"Hey, a crossbow as well? You couldn't have just been stabbed, like any normal person, could you?" she twirled a curl of his chocolaty hair around her thumb, "It's like something from Robin Hood, isn't it? I bet you'll be in the newspapers tomorrow."

"Are y-you... you..." he was trying desperately, the smallest gleam of amusement in his eyes, in his words, "M-maid Mar... Marian?"

Tom reached out and took his son's hand, "Yeah, she is. She's going to be the heroine, and she's going to save you, okay? Everything's going to be alright now, son."

"Will... will you... come..."

"Yeah," Nicki interrupted softly, not wanting to hear Josh stumble his way through the whole sentence, see the torture of the pain in his eyes, "Of course. We'll both come with you – me and your dad. In the ambulance, and then we'll stay at the hospital too, yeah? We're not going to leave you, except when we need the toilet."

Tom gave a hollow laugh, "And we won't be going together."

"I... I l-love..."

"I love you too, son. I love you so much. Don't try and talk – it's going to be okay. I promise you," he glanced back across the hall, saw a couple of police officers grabbing Kyle roughly by the arms and handcuffing him. Something like revenge fluttered in his heart. The officers' fluorescent jackets glittered in the disco lights. "It's going to be okay."

Everything still frozen around them, the children frightened, the teachers herding them away from Josh. Michael up on the stage with Trudi and Finn, their first real challenge as the head boy and girl, the most difficult thing to explain.

And somehow everything became clear for Tom, in that little bubble of him and Josh and Nicki, huddled together, tears coating all of their faces, blood all over. It took something like this, something hard, to realise how much you had, and how much you appreciated what you had. You had to see the dark before you could see the light. You had to know there was something wonderful there to fight for.

He released Josh's hand and pressed back down on the makeshift bandage for his son's injury. Nicki reached across to help him, her fingers brushing his. Their eyes met, her beautiful blue gaze liquid, filled with tears, her hair ruffled, her dress – for she was wearing a dress, he realised, accentuating her figure, highlighting the curves of her body – splattered with blood.

"About five minutes," Sian told them gently.

Nicki nodded, "Not long now, Josh."

And Tom wondered, if Nicki was Maid Marian, could they continue the charade? Kyle was the Sheriff, criminal through and through, with no room for love. Tariq was Guy of Gisbourne, perhaps just a good man caught up in bad things.

He touched Nicki's hand again. The question was, if Josh allowed it to happen, if Nicki wanted the same as he did, if everything was okay... could he be Robin Hood?

XxXxX