Disclaimer: I don't own anything here (except for Al and TJ) and am just doing this for fun and to pass the long months until Season 4.
Tim drove to the hospital the next morning, feeling nauseous from dread. His plan was to get Billy to stay with him and Al for a few days, assess the situation, and then try to figure out what sort of help he needed and how he could get it. The big catch there, of course, was Billy's willingness to accept help.
Tim parked his truck and took a deep breath. He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, which Al had used to write down Billy's room number. 516. Tim walked into the hospital with his head down, avoiding eye contact and hoping he didn't run into anyone he knew because he just wasn't in the mood to chat.
He made it to the elevator without difficulty and was relieved when one arrived shortly thereafter. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the back of the elevator. When it reached the fifth floor, he stepped out, looked at the sign and followed the arrow for rooms 501-520. Billy's room was past the nurse's station, nearly at the end of the long corridor.
He went into room 516 and looked around. An old guy dozed in the bed nearest the door. The other bed was empty and showed no signs of having an occupant. Tim backed out of the room, scratching his head as he tried to think of a logical explanation. Maybe Billy was moved to another room. Or maybe, in all the chaos of looking after the kids, Al had written the numbers down wrong.
Tim headed back to the nurse's station, where an older nurse was seated at the desk, writing in a chart.
"Excuse me, ma'am, I'm looking for Billy Riggins. My wife said he was in 516, but I didn't see him in there," said Tim.
The nurse looked up at him and frowned. "Just a minute, let me double-check something."
Her chair was on wheels and she pushed it back and scooted over to a filing cabinet. She opened the bottom drawer and flipped through it, mumbling to herself, before she came up with a chart. She pushed herself back to the desk, opened the chart and adjusted her reading glasses.
"Yeah, I thought I remembered correctly. Mr. Riggins checked himself out AMA after the 11pm shift change last night."
"I'm sorry, AMA? I don't know what that means," said Tim, even though he had a sinking suspicion that it didn't mean anything good.
"Against Medical Advice. It means the doctor told him not to and he went an' did it anyway," the nurse said as she looked up at him, her reading glasses sliding down her nose so she was peering over them.
Tim sighed and raked his hand through his hair. "Yeah, that sounds like Billy all right. I know you probably weren't here, but, well, it's not like he had a car or anything. Does it say anything in there about where he went or how he got there?"
"I'm sorry, son, it doesn't," said the nurse, her smile kind and her voice regretful "I wish I could help you more, but all I know is what's written down here."
"I understand. Thank you, ma'am," said Tim. He put his head down and retraced his steps back to the truck.
Tim started up his truck and drummed his hands on the steering wheel. He guessed he should go back to Billy's. It was the obvious place to look, after all.
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The door at Billy's house was locked, but Tim had a key. He unlocked the door and opened it slowly, calling out his brother's name. The house pretty much looked the same as he'd left it the day before – toys and wrapping paper littering the living room floor like a twister had recently blown through.
Tim headed back to Billy's room, but it was empty. The state of the room was such a mess that Tim found it impossible to tell if his brother had returned to pack a bag. Just to be thorough, he checked all of the other rooms and had a quick walk around the pool, but there was no sign of Billy.
He opened the back garage door and had a look around, dreading the possibilities of what he could find. Tim took a deep breath and turned on the light, then walked slowly through the garage, checking everything thoroughly.
He nearly missed it, the tarp against the wall in the corner of the garage. It was dusty, except for a set of handprints at the top. Tim walked over and pulled the it away, revealing an empty space with just an oil stain on the ground. He'd nearly forgotten that Billy had a motorcycle, since Mindy never let him ride it after they were married. Even though she was so adamant against it, Billy had kept it in the hopes that he might one day wear down her opposition.
Tim dropped the tarp, wiped his hands on his pants and returned to the house. He sat on the couch, pulled out his phone and tried to call Billy, but it went straight to voicemail. He left a short message in what he hoped was a calm, non-confrontational voice. Then he looked around the room and sighed.
He peeled himself off the couch, found a roll of garbage bags in a kitchen drawer and then cleaned up the worst of the place. He picked up all of the wrapping paper and cardboard boxes in the living room and the empty bottles in Billy's room. He left the bags outside in front of the garage, then headed home.
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When he got home, he found Al reading a book in the living room, her feet up on the coffee table and two baby monitors sitting next to her. Tim put the monitors on the table and sat down next to her.
"Where are the kids?" he asked.
"Amber and TJ are over at Noah's, everyone else is napping."
"Even Jack?" asked Tim, impressed.
"Even Jack. I don't think he slept very well last night because he actually fell asleep on the floor out here and I had to carry him back to his bed."
Al sat up straighter and shifted around so she was facing Tim. She put her hand on the back of his neck, rubbing it gently. He closed his eyes and smiled for a minute, enjoying the feeling and delaying the inevitable bad news.
"He wasn't there, Al. Billy was gone. Checked himself out late last night," Tim said eventually. He opened his eyes and looked at Al, her face a mixture of anger and sadness.
"Shit. I'm sorry, Timmy."
He shrugged. "Yeah. Me too. Jesus. What are we going to do?"
Al was quiet for a long minute, then she leaned over and rested her head on Tim's shoulder.
"Al, that wasn't a rhetorical question. I'm serious. What are we going to do?"
"I don't know, Timmy," she said sadly.
Tim looked down at her, surprise in his eyes. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, seriously." The corners of Al's mouth turned down as she looked a question at Tim. He brushed the hair off her face.
"It's just....I thought....well, you always seem to know what to do."
Al laughed, a loud sound at odds with the somber mood in the room.
"Why are you laughing?" he asked, ready to feel hurt if she was laughing at him.
"Timmy, I don't have a clue what I'm doing half the time. I'm just making it up as I go along, same as everyone else."
"For real?"
She nodded.
"But you always seem like you know what to do, what's right, how to do things."
"My grandma used to tell us if we always acted like we knew where we were going and what we were doing, then no one would mess with us. Guess it just became a habit after awhile," said Al with a shrug.
Tim put his arm up along the back of the couch so that Al could cuddle up next to him. He eased his arm down around her shoulders, pulled her close, and pressed a kiss into the top of her head. She put her arm across his torso, tucking her hand around the side of his waist, a couple of fingers slipping into the waistband of his pants, which had the potential to be completely distracting but he tried to ignore it.
"Look, Timmy, the way I see it, we just have to try to be a family. What does that mean to you?"
Tim closed his eyes and thought about growing up, about going over to Six's house and feeling like he was getting to see what a real family was. He knew that a lot of kids were jealous of him in middle school and high school. What kid wouldn't be jealous of a teenager with his own beer cooler and a brother who didn't care if his girlfriends spent the night?
But the truth was, most days, he would've been happy to have someone tell him what to do and mean it. He knew Billy loved him and had tried his best, but Tim had sometimes been jealous of what Six had. He tried to think of what it was that made Jay's family a family.
"I don't know. Rules, limits, regular bedtimes, family dinners, unconditional love," he mumbled quickly before he lost the words.
Al stretched up to kiss him. "It's not going to be easy, but that's what we'll work on – giving them all of that, as best we can. Okay?"
"Okay." He ran his hand up her arm, over her shoulder and around the back of her neck. He pressed his forehead into hers and smiled. "Oh yeah, I thought of one more thing."
"What's that?" she asked.
"A puppy," he said, not even trying to disguise the hope in his voice.
"Nice try, Timmy. Nice try," she said and then kissed him, derailing any further attempts to lobby for a new puppy.