Disclaimer: I don't own anything here (except for Al) and am just doing this for fun and to pass the long months until Season 4.

When the paramedics arrived, one of them asked Tim a bunch of questions while the other went back to Billy's room. Tim felt useless because he didn't have many answers. He didn't know how much Billy had drunk, how many pills he'd taken, how long he'd been like that. With the benefit of hindsight, Tim realized he should have asked Amber and TJ some of these questions. But at the time, his only instinct was to get them as far away from the situation, as fast as possible.

After the paramedics had Billy out of the house and into the ambulance, Tim followed them in his truck, nearly matching their speed along the empty streets. He squeezed the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles went white and began to ache.

Tim parked his truck and hurried into the hospital, letting the nurse at the front desk know that his brother had just been brought in. She directed him to the waiting room, which was nearly empty. He settled into an uncomfortable chair, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light. The TV in the corner was playing a black and white Christmas film, but Tim couldn't focus on anything.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Al and Jay. Within minutes, he had texts back from both of them. The kids were okay; Noah came over and all the big kids were playing happily in the yard.

Tim's anger at Billy was starting to evaporate, which left room for worry and fear to seep into his mind. He was scared and wished someone would hurry up and tell him something soon. Time was back to its funny tricks, slowing down to an unbearable rate where every minute felt more like an hour.

Tim leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to force himself to slow down and clear his mind. Jay had once told him that he'd learned to meditate. This was after the accident and Jay figured he was sitting around, doing a bunch of nothing anyway. Tim thought meditation sounded stupid, but now he was beginning to think that Six was onto a good thing.

"Mr. Riggins?" Tim looked up to find a doctor standing in front of him. The man was tall, gaunt and looked like he only got about four hours of sleep a week.

Tim nodded and scrambled to his feet, following the doctor back into a small, empty consultation room.

"We pumped your brother's stomach and gave him activated charcoal tablets to absorb any residual toxins. You told the paramedic that you didn't know how many pills he took?"

"No sir." Tim fought the urge to fidget under the man's intense gaze.

"We were only able to find two pills in his system and the indication was that they were taken recently. We'll know more when the tox screen comes back, but I would cautiously sat at this point that it seems like this was just an unfortunate accident – the mixing of prescription pain-relievers with alcohol."

Tim's brain tried to keep up with the doctor's words, but he fell behind. "So, he's okay then?"

"Well, he's awake and alert now. We'd like to hold him for observation for the next 24 hours. If you think he's a danger to himself or others, we could start the procedure for holding him involuntarily for 72 hours, but I'll warn you that there's a legal component to it and it really is used only as a last resort."

"A last resort," repeated Tim, wishing that Al was there to translate some of this for him.

"Well, yes. It would be far better, if you're concerned about his mental well-being, to convince him to voluntarily request in-patient treatment," the doctor said.

Tim ran a hand through his hair and fought the urge to pace. "Can I see him?"

"Of course," said the doctor as he opened the door. Tim followed him down the corridor and around the corner to a small room with just one bed in it. Billy was sitting up in bed and when he saw Tim walk through the door, he turned his head away.

"Billy, what the hell were you thinking? What did you do?" asked Tim, trying but failing to keep his voice calm.

"It's not what you think. I know what it looks like but it's not what you think." Billy turned his head and looked at Tim, his eyes bloodshot and sad.

Tim sat down in the chair next to the bed, hunched forward with his forearms resting on his knees and his hands folded. "Fine, then tell me what it was."

"I hurt my back last week, putting up the Christmas tree. Then this morning, I was on the floor putting together one of TJ's toys when Jack jumped on my back. He didn't mean any harm, just Jack being Jack, but dear god, it hurt.

"I had a couple of those pain-relievers left over from the surgery, so I took those. That's all it was."

"So all those empty vodka and whiskey bottles in your room had nothing to do with it?"

"That's just drinkin'. That's different. You can't bitch at me about that."

"How much did you drink before you took those pills?"

Billy shrugged and looked down.

"Don't tell me....you've been drinking pretty much continually for the last few days?" Tim asked, ready to blame himself for not checking in on Billy recently.

"Not a lot, Tim. Just enough."

"Enough for what? To pass out and scare your kids?"

Billy shook his head. "Enough to not feel so much, enough to forget a lot, but not so much that I couldn't look after the kids. Everything would've been fine if I hadn't hurt my back."

Tim rubbed his face and tried to think of what to say next.

"Where are they?" asked Billy.

"Al took them to our house. They'll stay there, at least for the night. The doctor said they're going to keep you for 24 hours, we'll see how you feel then."

"I'm fine, Tim."

Tim sighed. "Look, Billy, you're alive, I believe you weren't trying to hurt yourself, but you are so not fine. You're not even close to fine. Not even on the same freaking planet."

"Tim," said Billy, a warning in his voice. But when Billy looked up at Tim, whatever he was about to say got caught in his throat. Tim was mad.

"Billy, things have gotta change. The kids can't keep going through this with you. They can't keep worrying that you're not going to wake up or that you're just going to fall apart. They need you."

Billy closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Would you bring Amber and TJ here? Please?"

"No way, Billy. No way. They don't need to come into a hospital and see you like this, especially not at Christmas. You can call and tell them you're okay. And apologize. But I'm not bringing them here."

Billy opened his mouth to argue but Tim's steely glare shut him down.

"You gottta get your shit together, Billy. Seriously. Maybe you need to find someone you could talk to or something."

"I don't think so," said Billy with a rueful chuckle. "Dad always said that shit was for pansies."

"Yeah, well, Dad don't have nothing to do with his kids anymore either. Is that really the sort of guy you wanna be taking advice from?"

Anger passed over Billy's face, flashed in his eyes. When he spoke, it was through clenched teeth. "You can leave now."

"What?" Tim looked up, confused.

"Leave. Now."

"But-"

"Get the hell out, Tim," said Billy.

Tim stood up slowly, his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, all right. But I'll be back tomorrow around noon to give you a ride home. You can call me if the plan changes."

Billy turned his head and refused to look at his brother. Tim sighed and walked out of the room, relieved that Billy was alive and had only been stupid, but he still found himself wanting to kick his brother's ass.