Lying back against the sterile comfort of the gurney, Craig didn't even bother opening his eyes as the movement of the bed stopped. He knew exactly where he was. The hospital. At this point, what else really mattered?

He thought he was lonely and miserable when he had first trudged his way into the hospital with Mr. Simpson. He had no idea how much worse things could get.

After stoically enduring an evening of poking, prodding and testing by various strangers, tubes and needles being shoved in him with no warning and absolutely no explanations provided about what, on God's green earth, could possibly be wrong with him, Craig had long since given up on trying to prepare himself for what was coming next. He was way beyond feeling lonely and miserable by this point.

Abandoned and broken.

Those were much better descriptors.

Even as the orderlies attempted to aid his transfer into his permanent bed, the teen barely acknowledged the transition. It was nearly a full minute after he heard his most recent tormentors depart that he finally began to allow his guard to lower slightly. At least he had a temporary reprieve.

Standing back silently, Joey watched the scene before him in a state of wonderment. It wasn't that Craig was a normally jumpy boy. It wasn't that at it. It just didn't seem normal for him to allow himself to be moved around by two burly strangers without so much as a peep. Especially when the teen was obviously wide-awake.

Oh, sure. His eyes were closed. And he wasn't making any audible protestations. But that was the point. The tense posture and carefully regulated breathing made it glaringly obvious that the boy was not out of for the count. Obvious to someone studying his every move, that is.

Nodding his thanks to the departing orderlies, Joey found himself alone with the rundown child. Waiting patently for the teen to open his eyes, the salesman began to realize that he could be waiting a very long time.

Not that he didn't have the time to wait. He had no intention of leaving any time soon. But as he found his gaze shifting from the teen's tense face, to the oxygen running to his nose and to the needles running through his hand, he knew that allowing the teen to believe he was alone in his misery any longer would be cruel. Callous. Criminal.

Silently closing the distance between himself and his stepson, Joey found himself desperately trying to decide where to begin. Taking in a deep breath, he waited for some brilliant greeting to come out of his mouth. Some words befitting of this awkward situation.

Unable to find any, and equally unable to hold in his breath any longer, the man gave up on the idea of finding something fitting to say. Instead, he silently reached out and brushed the teen's curls away from his still-closed eyes.

Wallowing in his solace, Craig found himself slowly beginning to suspect that he wasn't as alone as he had originally believed. It wasn't logical. There was no unexpected noise. No words. No movement. No cause for the feeling. But he could just feel himself being watch.

As his bangs were gently brushed off his face, the teen was startled. The gentle affection was not what he would expect from any hospital attendant. Curiosity getting the better of him, the teen slowly opened his eyes to take in his visitor.

The sight before him was not what he had been expecting. His heart quickly dropped into his chest, as he realized that the one inevitable confrontation he had been hoping to avoid was standing right in front of him.

Gulping, he addressed the intimidating man. "Hey, Joey."