Three years passed. Trowa and Quatre were finally seniors. Iria and Catherine graduated a year before. Iria was now happily married with a child on the way. She and her husband Tom settled down in New York. Their wedding was beautiful, although Mr. Winner could only stay for the ceremony and a single dance. They had planned a trip to Paris for their honeymoon, making sure to return in time for the semester. Catherine was now engaged to a man named Mark who was a co-partner with her in their law firm.
Duo and Heero were still deeply in love and had even decided to make love to one another a year before. They were in bliss. Wufei eventually admitted his feelings towards Sally and stopped avoiding her. They always seemed to argue, but for some reason, all the arguing made them want each other even more. Trowa never settled down with one person. Actually it was more like one person every few months. He had long lost his virginity and gained experience with each girl he hooked up with. As for Quatre, he still never found any guy he went out with to be very interesting and therefore was the only virgin out of the five friends. Not that it bothered him. He never found time to tell his father about his situation due to the fact that Mr. Winner spent three quarters of his time at work and the other quarter asleep.
The New Year had approached. Quatre, Iria, and Tom had spent another fun filled Christmas with the Bartons and Catherine's fiancé and had a wonderful New Year's party there as well.
A few days into the New Year, Mr. Winner was at home taking two hours out of his busy schedule to take a short break. He was sitting on the couch watching television as Quatre washed dishes while humming to himself.
"Can you believe this?" Mr. Winner hollered to Quatre from the living room. "It's despicable."
"What is?"
"People making a huge deal over a guy that got shot."
"It must be more than that if people are making a deal about it."
"That's the despicable part. It's a huge deal because the guy who got shot was gay."
Quatre dropped the glass in his hands. Luckily, it was only into the sink so it didn't shatter. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat.
"They're calling it a 'hate crime'. I think that that's what it is. I mean, who wouldn't hate those damn homos?"
"Dad, hate crimes are serious." Quatre said, standing in the doorway to the living room.
"Sure they are. When dealing with racism. But with these faggots, they get what they deserve."
Quatre couldn't believe what he was hearing. Let it alone be coming from his own father. "How can you say that, dad?"
"They're all sinners! They all should go to hell where they belong."
"They don't belong in hell for loving someone!"
"They're loving people of the same sex!"
"But it's still love!"
"Why on Earth are you getting so worked up, Quatre? As far as I'm concerned, these people should be wiped off the face of the planet."
"I'm getting so worked up, dad, because I happen to be one of those people!!" Quatre fumed. He was glaring at his father for being so stupid.
"What did you say?" Mr. Winner stood and slowly walked over to Quatre.
"Dad, I'm gay."
"You better be joking, boy."
"No, father. I'm gay." Quatre straightened up and looked his father in the eye. Mr. Winner glared at his son with an ugly sneer on his face, his breathing getting shallower and quicker.
"I will not tolerate such disgusting behavior in this household."
"Dad-"
"No! You are not my son! My son could never be a fuckin' queer!"
"Dad, just listen-"
"No! Get out of my house!"
"But-"
"Did you hear me, dammit?! Get out! GET OUT!" Mr. Winner approached the boy, and grabbed his shirt. "You will never step foot in this house again!!" With that, Mr. Winner raised his free hand and punched the small blonde just below the eye and again on the bridge of his nose. Still under his father's grasp, Quatre couldn't do much to protect himself as the older man dragged him to the front door and threw him harshly upon the porch. The wooden floor scratched at Quatre's skin as he cried out from the pain. Mr. Winner merely sneered before slamming the door on the abused boy.
Quatre felt the tears flood to his eyes. He lay on the porch as blood seeped from his nose and scratches tinge with pain all across his right side. He shakily rose up and stumbled towards the Barton residence. He tried to catch his breath as he raised an unstable hand to the doorbell.
Trowa opened the door, his eyes going wide and jaw dropping to the floor. He hurried to Quatre and led him in.
"My God, Quatre. What happened to you?"
"My-my d-dad."
Trowa sat Quatre on the couch. "Just sit here, okay?"
Quatre could only nod.
The brunette hurried to the kitchen, pulling out the first-aid kit and a sandwich bag filled with ice. He returned to Quatre and kneeled in front of the smaller boy. Trowa pulled out a small towel from the kit and balled it up at one of the corners.
"Keep that to your nose."
Quatre obeyed and held the towel with his right hand.
Trowa picked up the bag of ice and held it up to Quatre's left cheek. The blonde winced from the sudden coldness that made contact with the rapidly swelling bruise.
"Sorry..." Trowa placed it slowly and gently on the cheek once more and told Quatre to hold it as well.
Trowa then pulled out the antiseptic. He poured some onto another towel and began to tend to the scratches on the blonde's cheek and arm. Quatre winced again from the stinging pain the antiseptic caused.
Just then, Mr. Barton walked in just coming from work. He gasped at the sight of Quatre's condition.
"What happened?" The older man asked.
"Something about his dad..." Trowa answered.
Mr. Barton knelt down next to his son and examined Quatre.
"Did his dad do this?" Mr. Barton asked, turning to Trowa.
"I don't know. Why would he?"
"I-I t-told him..." Quatre managed to mumble.
"Told him what?" Mr. Barton asked.
Quatre shook his head and started crying again. His body was trembling and he couldn't control it.
"Keep an eye on him." Mr. Barton said nodding to Trowa. "I need to get something for his bruises and for his shaking. I'll be back soon." Mr. Barton hurried out the door and hopped into his car.
Trowa held the ice pack to Quatre's cheek for the boy as concern and worry washed upon his face.
"I-I'm so-sorry, Tro-wa." Quatre felt himself loosening up just a tiny bit.
"You didn't do anything. There's nothing to be sorry for." Trowa said as soothing as he could. He got up and sat next to Quatre, placing an arm around the boy's waist while holding up the ice pack with his other arm.
Quatre leaned into Trowa's body, thankful for having his friend with him. Trowa began to rock Quatre back and forth, ever so gently. They sat like this for some time for soon, Mr. Barton had returned with a brown paper bag in his hands.
"Son, can you get a glass of water?"
"Sure dad." Trowa stood and left for the kitchen.
Quatre missed Trowa's warmth and gentle rocking. Mr. Barton took his place, kneeling in front of Quatre. He opened the paper bag and pulled out a little carton for sleeping pills. Trowa returned with the water and handed it to his father.
"Here," he said, handing Quatre the pills. "They'll make you drowsy but the rest will help you calm yourself."
Quatre nodded and tried to take the pills with a shaky hand. He failed.
"Open." The doctor commanded. Quatre opened his mouth and the pills were popped in. Mr. Barton held the glass up to Quatre's lips as he drank the cool liquid.
Mr. Barton handed the glass back to Trowa and pulled out a small jar.
"This is to help the pain decrease in your bruises, okay?"
Quatre nodded.
Mr. Barton scooped up some of the balm with his hand and applied it over Quatre's wounds. Quatre flinched slightly but held as still as he could for the doctor.
The pills were starting to take affect on Quatre's body. He soon found it hard to keep his eyes open. Quatre felt hands gently lay him on the couch.
Trowa couldn't help but feel a stab at his heart to see his friend hurt.
"Trowa, go ask Catherine for Iria's number. She's going to have to be here for Quatre. All right?"
"Yes, sir."
Trowa placed the glass on a near by table before bounding up the stairs to his sister's room. He knocked on the door.
"What?" Catherine called from the opposite side of the door.
"Cathy, I need Iria's number."
"What for?"
"Dammit, Cathy. Just give me the number."
The door swung open and Catherine glared at her brother who towered above her. She was on the phone with someone.
"Jesus, Trowa. What's your problem? I'm on the phone with Iria right now."
"Then hand it over."
"No. Why are you being so rude?"
"Just gimme-" Trowa snatched the phone out of Catherine's hands.
"Hey!"
"Iria?"
"Yes?"
"This is Trowa. You need to get over here."
"Why? What happened?"
"Quatre's hurt."
"What? Who? How?"
"Quatre said something to your father and I don't know what happened after that."
"Oh, Jesus. How is he?"
"He's resting now. My dad wanted me to call you. He feels that Quatre needs you right now. I agree."
"Okay. I'll fly out there as soon as possible. Thanks Trowa."
"No problem. I'll see you soon."
Trowa hung up the phone and tossed it back to a stunned Catherine.
"What happened?"
"Weren't you listening?"
"Yeah...but-"
"Quatre's asleep on the couch. He was too shaken up to talk."
"Poor, kid..." Catherine walked past Trowa and down the stairs. There she saw a beaten Quatre asleep on the couch while her father cleaned up. She walked over to Quatre and kneeled down by his head.
"Oh Quatre..." she whispered under her breath. She brushed away a lock of his hair from his face. Quatre whimpered from the touch. His face showed his fear and pain. Catherine held one of Quatre's hands and silently prayed for the boy.
Author's Notes/Disclaimer: And so ends chapter 13. I had to change it up a bit since how it was written before wasn't as likely to happen (said unnamed sources). So here it is. This is a serious chapter. Hate crimes are serious, no matter what the subject is. The need for acceptance between family members is important as well. I'm sorry Quatre! Things'll get better...I hope. I don't own, I have no money, so don't sue.