-1Author's Note: To those of you who have no idea why I disappeared - I'm not going to bother to explain. So I just rendered this author's note utterly useless, but I don't give a damn.

At the home of Timothy Fibb

Mrs. Fibb's eyes fluttered open. The short woman quickly ran to her window when she heard the groans, the crying….the screaming. She was still groggy - her sleeping medication tended to do that, but this was loud enough to wake her from even the deepest of slumbers. Or perhaps it was more her motherly instinct? Perhaps that was why she had slept so soundly as her dearly loved son had come so close to committing murder.

She quickly grabbed her robe and wrapped it around herself before running outside, shuddering as the cold air breached her lungs, forcing her to clutch the robe all the tighter to her medium frame.

Outside in her yard was an awful site. Blood everywhere…at least ten teenagers crying, screaming, bloody. She walked out to the nearest boy, about to help him…when she caught something bright red on the side of her house out of the corner of her eye. Her first thought that it was blood, and she had to face it immediately to alleviate that fear. "Fag" stared down at her. A sudden comprehension dawned on her, and she faced the teenage boy once more.

"Did you write that?" Her voice was as cold as the night air, and just as stinging.

The boy paused. A tear fell down his cheek as he found his voice. "Y-y…yes. We all did."

"I thought so…" With that, Mrs. Fibb walked back into her house and slammed the door. Knowing what she would find, she went to her son's room. Empty. Just as she had expected. She sighed and sat down on the couch, resting her head in her hands. "Keep running, Timmy," she said softly, as though her son could hear her, "Don't come back to this place until you're able to handle it."

Father's Home, a few days later

"So…you just left after that?" Mr. Boss asked, suddenly giving the boys a sympathetic look. It looked odd on his face, but the boys decided not to comment.

"Well..yes," Timothy said, noticing that John had fallen asleep beside him. He had become very good at telling when John was using his long hair to cover up that he was asleep, or bored, or looking elsewhere while you talked to him.

"Can't say I blame you. I'm from the same home town, actually --"

"It would seem many people here are," Timothy noted. Mr. Boss nodded.

"That place doesn't understand people like us…-er..I mean in the sense that we're uh, 'villains'. I'm not like you guys."

"But you don't have a problem with us?"

"Do whatever you're going to do…at least your union will never get any kids. That's a plus right there."

Timothy nodded again, before staring out the window into the distance. He missed home already, and he wondered whether or not he should give his mother a call.

No, he decided. Calling her now would be giving into a weakness. If he heard her voice, if he heard her say she wanted him to come home, it would all be over. He would be there in an instant, for the only person other than John who supported him no matter what.

No. It was best to stay here.

Author's Note: It would be longer if writer's block didn't just suddenly show up.