"No way. No way. NO FREAKIN' WAY!"

"Senor John can't be dead! He can't be!"

"Oh, Master Jonathan..."

"He's fine! I know it! He's fine!"

"I don't think so, kid," Dylan called from the top of the platform. "I'd say he's either knocked out or three inches from death!"

Mac valiantly rushed forward only to be held back by Bloo and Madame Foster, screaming, "YOU ASSHOLE! YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!"

"Hey, watch your language, kid!" He had cut Frankie loose from the pole, but kept her hands tied behind her and her mouth taped. He pulled her next to him, held a knife to her throat, and continued: "There's a lady present!"

Everyone gasped in fright as Dylan continued to gloat, not noticing John slowly rising behind him. "Now, I've tried to be reasonable. I tried to get her to come back to me of her own volition. But that goody-two-shoes ass-kisser back there tried to muscle in on my territory, and you all saw what I did to him!"

John slowly rose to his feet, eyes trained on Dylan's bare back as he wielded the 4x4 like a baseball bat. He crept up behind him as he wound down his tirade: "I win! I've got Frankie Foster back and there's nothing that Johnny can do about it! It just goes to show you: YOU DON'T MESS WITH DYLAN LEE'S PROPERTY!"

Before he had a chance to cut her throat, he heard a deep, gravelly voice behind him:

"SHE'S MINE!"

John brought the 4x4 up over his head and drove it with all his might into the small of Dylan's back. Upon impact, Dylan's arms instantly flung out in a gesture of surprise and pain. The knife fell from his hand to the floor below as he screamed. John twisted the plank, accentuating the pain and further tearing Dylan's flesh. However, this caused Dylan to swing around and knock Frankie off balance. She precariously teetered on the edge of the platform as John turned him around, and when he came face to face with her, she had already lost her balance and was hurtling towards the floor.

"Oh FUCK!" John screamed. "WILT!"

"I'm on it!" Wilt answered as he ran towards the falling girl. He quickly concluded running wouldn't get him there in time, so he made a diving leap with his good arm outstretched, and caught Frankie about a foot from the ground. As he hit the concrete and rolled over, everyone raced towards him to help him and Frankie.

"We're okay!" Wilt shouted. "We're both okay!"

That was all the ammunition John needed. He twisted the 4x4 even further and tore it out, taking a chunk of Dylan's flesh with it. Now bleeding profusely, Dylan was helpless against John's assault. He landed punch after punch, breaking Dylan's ribs and jarring more teeth loose. John put his hand inside the wound and accentuated the pain even further as he rammed his head into the pole he had tied Frankie to over and over again. A sickening series of crunches echoed through the building as Dylan's nose shattered and blood began to pour from his mouth. John forcibly threw Dylan onto the ground and kicked him all over his body as hard as he could, reserving the strongest blows for his crotch. When he was done, he hoisted Dylan up and guided him to the edge of the platform, standing back for a moment to take it all in.

John Stiles, breathing heavily, stared at Dylan's staggering form. Battered, bruised and broken, he swayed from side to side, ready to fall at any second. Blood dripped from his newly broken nose onto the floor, creating a steady dripping noise that would have brought a satisfied smile to John's face, but not under these circumstances. He had to end it here. He calmly walked toward Dylan, all the while replaying the meeting at the Sandbox in his head.

She belongs to me.
You're a freakin' nobody.
Do you think a piece of paper is gonna stop me from getting her back?
That's my property.
You can't stop me, John-boy.

John angrily glared at him for a few seconds before muttering to himself, "Consider yourself stopped." He clenched his right hand into a fist, drew back, and unleashed the most powerful uppercut he could throw. When fist met flesh, he could feel Dylan's jaw shatter as the force of the blow rocketed him off of the platform and into the air. For what seemed like hours but was only about ten seconds, Dylan's body seemed to flutter in the breeze as he hurtled towards the concrete floor below. Fifteen feet later, a loud, sharp crack! echoed through the warehouse as Dylan's head struck the concrete at a near 90 degree angle. His body twisted around, froze for a split second, and crumpled to the ground in a heap.

John stared down at the twisted visage of his enemy, cracked his neck, and mumbled his victory: "I told you you'd die."

Eduardo cautiously approached the body and poked it once. No response. He poked it again. No response. He turned to his friends and said with utmost confidence, "Dylan es muerta."

John descended the stairs clutching his side and walked into the cluster of imaginary friends and humans that he now considered his surrogate family. He turned to Madame Foster and said, "I kicked his ass for you...for me...for Frankie."

Upon hearing his voice, Frankie rushed from Wilt and Coco's care and wrapped John in a huge, king-size hug that neither wanted to end. They squeezed each other tight as tears of joy and relief spilled from their eyes. Almost instantly, everyone started to applaud John for what he'd done. He looked around to see proud, beaming smiles on everyone's face as they gave him their show of support.

Then, suddenly, Frankie let go of him, stood before him, and bowed at his feet, saying, "You...are a GOD!" Upon seeing this, all the memories of the good times they'd had despite all that happened came flooding back to John, and he began to cry. Frankie stopped her routine, put her hand under his chin, and guided his eyes to hers. They stared at each other for what seemed like hours before Frankie said, "I think I know how much you love me."

John smiled through his tears and said, his voice breaking, "More than you'll ever know." Frankie wiped the tears from his eyes, drew him into her arms, and they kissed for nearly half a minute.

Bloo shielded his eyes and mumbled, "Gross..."

As their lips parted, John turned to look at Dylan's body, Frankie, and the group before him. He broke the silence with a simple declaration everyone agreed with: "Let's get the fuck outta here."

"That's the best idea I've heard all night," Mac said. As everyone started for the bus, John asked, "You don't mind if I drop you guys off at Foster's, do you?"

"Not at all," Madame Foster said. "Besides, you two deserve a break."

"Indeed, Master Jonathan. That was an incredible display of fisticuffs."

"What're you gonna do after you drop us off?" Bloo asked. "Go to the Rialto for a little 'victory dance?'"

"No," he answered, "I'm going to the hospital--I need a tetanus shot."