Author's Note: I love John Wink and Timothy Fibb. They are my favorite villains of all time. I mainly started this as a project to try to win more to not only avidly shipping them together, but liking them.
John let out a small whimper as his side screamed in pain, protesting his movements. He ignored the pain. He had such limited mobility, but it was important he finish this immediately. He double checked the blue prints, making sure he was doing everything in accordance to it.
Everything was in place, save the engine. He frowned. Engines were not his specialty. That's why Timothy had always made them for him. But this was a surprise for Timothy. He couldn't exactly ask his friend for help. He groaned, slamming his uninjured hand down on the table into the center of the blue prints. His hand stung for a moment, but he felt better.
He'd been home from the hospital for two weeks now. He still wasn't going back to school, though. He couldn't. He'd have to face all those kids who had done this to him, and the stares of pity from those who felt bad for him, who'd actually have the nerve to pretend to understand they knew exactly what he was going through. His mother wasn't pushing him, but she didn't seem happy about it.
At least Timothy swung by to see him every day. John checked his watch, smiling when he saw it was three already. Timothy would be over here any moment to check up on him. Lately, it was the only thing John really had to look forward to.
On cue, he heard the doorbell ring. He got up from the chair and hobbled his way back into his wheel chair.
"John!" Timothy had come inside without permission and was now standing at the entrance of John Wink's basement, glaring at his friend. "You're not supposed to get out of your wheel chair! You know that!"
John nodded. "Yes, I do know that, Timothy. But I had to work on something…" he wheeled himself over to the stairs and pressed a button on the railing. Something from the bottom step poked out and latched onto John's chair, propelling him up to where Timothy was.
"It couldn't be that important…" Timothy said, pulling off his glasses and polishing them. John smirked.
"Yes, it is," He changed gears quickly. "Have you given any thought to it, though?"
"Leaving?"
John nodded. "Yes…Timothy, please come with me. I don't want to do it without you."
"I don't know, John," Timothy looked down at the floor, feeling kind of ashamed. He knew if the situation were reversed, John would have readily agreed to do as Timothy asked, without a second thought.
"You need to make up your mind soon, Timothy."
"Why? When are you leaving?"
John sighed. "Tonight." There's no way I'd finish the engine properly anyways. He can make it himself. "I have something for you."
"But --" Timothy tried to bring the topic back around to John's departure, but his friend wasn't listening. He motioned for him to follow him back into the basement. Timothy's jaw dropped. "You…you finished the super chair!"
John chuckled. "Not exactly. There's no engine in it."
"B-but…still…how did you finish this?"
"Stole your blue prints, Timothy," John smiled, wheeling himself over to the table and picking them up. He held the blue prints back to the rightful owner. Timothy unfurled it, glancing back and forth between the plans and the actual super chair.
"It's…it's exactly right," Timothy said in wonder. "But…but how? When?"
"I've had a lot of spare time these past two weeks. And I got the materials…" There was silence. He got them prom night…how did he manage to keep them with him? "Well, I…they beat me with the pieces…after they ran away, it was that British kid that found me…Mathew…Montague…whatever. Uno? You know him..he found me, and I convinced him to get all the supplies and take them home with him before calling the police."
"Oh…" Timothy said softly, sitting down on the edge of the table. "I…" He couldn't take it. He started sobbing. He hid his face behind his hands, unable to stop it.
"What's wrong, Timothy?"
"It wouldn't have happened if not for me…" He sniffed. "It's all my fault. You got beaten up so you could build this…it's my design. I should have been there…"
"It's all right, Timothy."
"No it's not! It's not…" He broke down into sobs. John shook his head, but smiled fondly at the boy. He wheeled himself over to him, cupping Timothy's head in his hand.
Timothy stopped crying, though there were still tears in his eye. "Oh..sorry..I…I'm so sorry, John."
"Don't be. I wanted to make this for you. I got to, so I'm happy," John's hand didn't move. His flesh was warm against Timothy's face, helping him to calm down. Still…he felt sort of awkward.
There was no warning. John didn't even hear his mind telling him to stop…he just moved forward, planting his hands on either side of his friend and pressing his lips to Timothy's. The other boy slightly whimpered, but did not fight him off.
Neither knew how long it lasted, but both knew something was going to change from that day on. "I'm sorry, Timothy," John said when he finally pulled away. "..but at least now you know. I hope you'll come with me…"
The only answer Timothy could manage was to kiss John back.
Author's note: …Why do I keep writing these sappy scenes?!
