Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Mpreg, Incest, Rape, Mob Influence, Murder, Mental Disorders, Bloodshed, Suicide, etc.

Randy looked at me and I could clearly read the terror on his face. "Johnny? You wanna tell me what the hell the matter is? One minute you're fine and the next there is blood all over you!" He didn't mean to, but he screamed.

"No… No… This can't be… This can't… Baby? C'mon, baby… No blood… Blood…" I rambled on and, to be honest, I wasn't exactly sure what had come out of my mouth at that moment.

"Johnny? Johnny, look at me." I could now hear an odd tremor in his voice that I don't think I had ever heard before that moment. It only served to freak me out more. "I can't make any sense of what you're saying. You'll have to -,"

But I cut him off. Somewhere, he had reached out for me and his hands had settled on my shoulders. Now, I yanked myself out of his hold and stumbled back a few steps, only to hit the wall a second time. "Don't touch me!"

Randy blinked dumbly, unsure of what to make of this entire uncomfortable situation. "Please, John. Please?"

But I couldn't hear him anymore. I trembled uncontrollably and dashed for the bathroom. "Leave me alone!"

Just before he could follow me inside, I slammed the door in his face and slid the bolt home. I couldn't deal with him, not now. It killed me inside to think that I had let matters roll so far out of my favor that I had let myself become that hysterical. I couldn't blame anyone but myself for the loss of my unborn child. That was what hurt most of all. I was so close. So close to a happiness that I had only ever dreamed of. And in the end, I had cheated myself out of it.

Not knowing what else to do and not quite ready to head to the hospital, because I knew what that entailed, I started to run myself a bath. When the water came as hot as it could, I shed all of my clothes and let them fall to the floor haphazardly. Blood continued to soak my alabaster thighs and I couldn't help but think that this was justice. Justice for all that had happened to me. Justice for the hell that my life had been. I had paid the highest price for my crimes.

Quickly, much too fast to allow my body to become accustomed to the extremely uncomfortable temperature, I dropped my body into the scalding hot water and had to bite holes in my bottom lip to keep my scream at bay. It hurt like hell, but it only would for a moment. And that momentary distraction that would take me out of myself, allow me to focus on something else, was what I needed at that moment. If I focused on the baby, I think I'd go insane.

And it worked, if only for a few seconds. It only took a few seconds for the blood to start to mix with the water. Long, pink strings made colorful swirls in the water. My mind went into overdrive. Frantically, I reached for the pocket of my jeans. Inside, there was a bottle of prescription pills. Pain killers, just like the morphine my father used to shove up my wrist. Why I had them, even I couldn't answer that question. But they were always there when I needed them.

I took four out and dry swallowed them, not remembering that I hadn't been high in almost twenty years and that four morphine pills could very well kill me. That, or I didn't care. The death of my unborn daughter or son had blinded me from the truth. What was that truth? There would always be more children. I still had my Compassion child, I was about to drag Randy to England to try and find Camille, and if need be, we could always adopt. But I couldn't think.

Randy started to knock on the door so hard that I worried he may break it down. But he took a breath, calmed himself, and started over with a sort of eerie calm about him. "John? Are you in there?"

I took a deep breath and tried to hold back the tears, but I failed miserably. The tears wanted to come and they decided that they would come now. "I thought that I told you to leave me alone!"

Randy sucked in a harsh breath and it was hard to imagine him not crying on the other side of the door. "Johnny, I'm just worried about you. This isn't normal behavior. Or, at least, I hope it isn't. Talk to me, John. Please?"

I looked down at the pink swirls, which had started to become darker as more blood tainted the water. Soon, this would be a literal blood bath and I worried that I could bleed out. "There's nothing to talk about."

"John, please. I can hear it in your voice. Something is definitely wrong." Randy hissed, now exasperated.

The morphine had started to work and I could feel myself detach from the pain in my abdomen. "Don't care."

"John?" He must've heard the slur in my voice, because now his knocks came with renewed vigor. "What the hell did you do, John? Don't make me knock this door down! C'mon, John! Answer me."

Both of us were well aware of the fact that I could be extremely stubborn when I wanted to be. If I didn't want to tell him what the problem was, come hell or high water, he wouldn't get the answer out of me. And I knew that Randy respected me enough (and loved his house, too – why would he spend money to fix a door that didn't need to be broken in the first place) to not knock that door down. After awhile, he would give up and wait for me to come to him.

Lazily, mostly because of the immense amount of morphine in my system – had I bothered to look at the strength of the pills, no, but that would have been incredibly smart – I reached into my other pocket and took out my cell phone. The white case was streaked red, but now I couldn't remember why. No matter, I'm sure that it would come to me eventually. Till then, I would have to call someone to take me to the hospital. Scott, yes, I would call Scott.

It took me five tries to remember Scott's number and two more to successfully dial it. Once I had, I waited for my older brother to pick up. This would be his chance to redeem himself. "Hello. You've reached Scott."

"Hey, Scotty. It's John. Listen, I need you to do me a huge favor. I need to go to the hospital… like, now. Think that I'm bleeding real bad. Can't really tell. Head is all foggy. Feel kinda sick."

"What the fuck did you do, Johnny-boy? Never mind. Don't answer that. You don't sound like you're in any condition to answer that anyhow." And then, a pause. "Why can't Randy take you to the hospital?"

"Randy doesn't know about the baby." I said a little too loudly. Momentarily, I had forgotten that Randy was right outside the door. Now, the knocks stopped entirely. "Oh, shit. Maybe I shouldn't have said that."

"John?" Randy's voice was softer now and I didn't doubt that he had heard every word of what I said.

"Just… can you come take me to the hospital or not, Scotty?" I slurred. My eyes suddenly felt incredibly heavy.

Finally, reluctantly, he agreed. "I'm getting too old for this shit, John. If your little lover boy tries anything, I swear I'm gonna tear that bastard a bloody new one." Scott hissed threateningly.

I nodded, though he couldn't see it, not at all intimidated. "Cool. Thanks."

I think the phone fell into the bathwater. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. I stretched out and allowed my heavy eyes to fall closed. Randy's knocking on the door was a lullaby of sorts. A sick, twisted lullaby, sure… but it was a lullaby all the same. And if I slid forward and my head fell under the water, I don't remember. All I remember was a conflict in the hall, the door being knocked in, and worried hands traveling all over my naked skin.

As I had requested, Scott took me to the hospital. Or, at least, I think it was Scott. I could hear two sets of male voices, one on either side of my body, and could recognize one as Scott and the other as Randy. Was it sad to compare them to the angel and devil on my shoulders? I'm not sure which was which, but I do know that it was strangely comforting and uncomfortable to have them both here with me at the same time.

I could feel a certain emptiness within me which could only mean one thing. So, it was true. I had miscarried the baby. Harsh words were exchanged between Scott and Randy and I wondered if they would kill each other right here in the hospital, over my semi-unconscious body. But they didn't. Scott bit out harsh words about how if Randy really loved me, he would've realized that I was pregnant. That shut Randy up real fast.

Consciousness came over me like a flood and I can honestly say that I wasn't thankful for it. Not in the least. At least, unconscious, I could hide from the fact that I had lost the baby and could possibly lose my marriage to Randy as well. God, it had only been a few days since we had walked down the aisle. Our whole lives had been planned out for us. I wanted to finally be happy. I wanted to finally be free. But fate had another plan in store for us.

Instead of being free, I was now bound even more closely to the father that I had thought I had lost. He had left the 'family business' to me. Me. Of all of his children, all of his faithful boys, he had to chose the one that ran away. But somehow, in my sick and twisted mind, it made sense. Scott had said that my father had had a sick fascination with me from the start. So why wouldn't he play mind games with me from beyond the grave? It only made sense.

Terrified, I tried to take a breath in. It didn't work. My lungs were filled with blood and water and I couldn't breathe, no matter how hard I tried. My heart started to race within my chest, beating uncontrollably. Distantly, I could hear the beat of the heart monitor turn from steady to frantic. Both men fell eerily silent, before one, I'm not sure which, mentioned something about life support. Life support? I didn't think I had been under the water that long…

I felt like I was drowning within my own body. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't force enough air into my lungs to do so. And so I just lay there, staring into blackness, knowing that Randy and Scott were watching me die. Honestly, I was thankful for the release. It meant that I didn't have to be strong anymore. It meant that I didn't have to smile when all I wanted to do was break down. No more abuse. No more miscarriages. No more life.

Since I didn't leave a successor for the business, it would die with me. And while I did feel bad that I had never found Camille, I couldn't help but think that… she was better off. Randy would move on. The world would continue to turn. And I would be dead. I knew that I wouldn't be missed, but that was okay. Finally, after almost ten years without them, I could hold Dean, Michael, and Liam again. I could be with them again. And with that thought, I surrendered to the blackness…