Author's note: Was unsure of what to do to get it to this point…then took a drink of orange juice and had an epiphany. Funny how these things work….
"Prom's next week," Timothy said, indicating the poster that proclaimed tickets were twenty bucks a couple, but did not elaborate on how much they were for those without dates. "You going?"
John gave his friend an odd look. Timothy immediately realized his mistake. "Oh…right. Well, you could still go by yourself, or something."
"Are you going with Annie?" John knew his best friend was planning to ask her. He felt guilty for hoping Annie would say no, but he couldn't help it. Timothy's hand went to his bald scalp, massaging it there.
"She's already got somebody to go with."
"Oh. I'm sorry, Timothy."
"Eh, don't worry about it," Timothy tried to look cheerful, but John saw right through the illusion. Still, he did not press things further. "I'd rather stay home and watch tv anyways." It was a blatant lie, but still, John did not call Timothy on it. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to go out to the junkyard," Timothy smirked. If John was headed there, it meant he was going to salvage old car parts.
"What are you building this time?"
"That's a surprise, Timothy," John's smirk matched Timothy's for a moment, but it quickly faded when Timothy asked if he could come along. The junkyard was a particularly dangerous area of town. "No, Timothy…I'll go alone. Besides, it would ruin the surprise."
"So it's for me, then?"
"Perhaps." John gave a slight wave as he headed off on his own, feeling kind of dizzy. He spent most of his nights working on new blue prints, new inventions…anything that would keep his mind off the teenage boy across the street. It worked most of the time, but the moment his head hit the pillow, dreams of Timothy haunted him.
A week passed smoothly, with nothing of particular interest happening. Saturday night found Timothy Fibb in front of the television set, laughing at a John Wayne movie. The phone rang, but he thought nothing of it, since he heard his mother pick it up.
A few minutes later, his mother walked into the room and sat down on the couch, her expression grave. Timothy bolted up.
"What's wrong?"
"Timmy," she used the nickname carefully, meaning it to soothe him. It only further alarmed him - the last time she'd called him "Timmy", his grandparents had passed away. "Something happened tonight."
"Is dad all right?" Timothy asked immediately. His mother nodded.
"It's not him. Sweetheart….do you know anything about your friend John being…gay?"
Timothy nodded. "So what? I'm not going to stop seeing him just because --"
"Shhhhh," His mother began stroking what little hair he had left, forcing his head down onto her shoulder. "Baby, tonight at the junk yard….there were some teenage boys. They were drunk. They'd all gone down there with their girlfriends, and they apparently all knew how John…is."
"What happened?" Timothy's voice was hoarse.
"John's in the hospital. They beat him up pretty badly, baby…"
"Can we go see him?" Timothy pleaded, wrapping his arms around his mother like he was a young child again.
She hesitated. "…He's not in the best of shape. Are you really sure you want to see him like this?" He nodded, and she looked like she was deliberating on it. "Well….all right. Go get your coat."
Timothy shifted about in his chair as he waited for his mother to finish talking to the receptionist. This place was so…horrible. He'd always hated hospitals, and the fact that he was now there to see his beaten friend only made it worse.
There was that awful chemical smell, and the complete lack of color. There were a few plants in the corner, in a vain attempt to give the feeling of life to the place. But it just drew more attention to the feel that the Grim Reaper himself was walking these halls, looking for the next one on his list.
"Timothy?" His mother's voice snapped him away from his thoughts, and she motioned for him to follow her. She, in turn, was following a rather large nurse. They made their way down several halls, Timothy trying to concentrate on the floor. Every time he looked up, he saw some person in a horrible state - there was a girl in a wheel chair, an extremely old man who looked like he was about a moment away from leaving this world, and a burn victim. Concentrating on the floor kept him from seeing any patients that may have been in a worse state.
"Here we are," the nurse said, flinging the door open. "you have visitors." she called to John. Timothy sighed and walked in, afraid of what he was about to see. His mother stayed behind in the hallway, deciding to give her son some alone time with his best friend. The door shut, blocking out all the world except John and Timothy.
"John?" The light in this room was blinding. John was propped up in the bed. One of his legs was in a cast, one of his arms in a splint. His head was bandaged so that his hair was actually pulled away from his eyes. There were bandages around his ribcage as well. "Damn…" Timothy said softly.
"I know, Timothy," John agreed, "But I managed to get the pieces I need."
"I doubt it was worth all of that, though…"
"It was, Timothy," John gave a weak smile.
"What all's broken?"
"Rib--" John stopped, taking a deep breath. He leaned forward, wincing in pain. Then continued as though nothing had happened. "Ribcage, arm, leg…and I've a few gashes on my stomach."
"Oh."
"Timothy," There was a tear in his eye, but he did not allow it to fall. "Timothy, I want to get out of this place."
"What?" Timothy was not surprised by this, but he still spoke with alarm. He did not want to be here if John wasn't as well. "You just mean the hospital, right?"
"No!" There was more emotion in that one word than in all the words John had said to Timothy previously combined. "No, I want to get out of this town. I have to. ..They'll kill me."
Timothy thought for a moment. I…I want him to stay here. But…he's right. If they keep attacking him, he'll…he'll die. "All right, John. I'll find some way to help you."
"That's not what I want," John said firmly, grabbing onto Timothy's hand. "I want you to come with me."
Author's Note: By the end of this fanfic, you better all love John Wink as much as I do.
