Okay, so not only does this chapter most likely have a lot of grammatical errors-for instance, I used the word "troll" way more times than I was comfortable with-it's also kind of short. I'm sorry. I really just wanted this update out there, you know? It was really hard writing for this chapter, and, well, the next chapter should be really fun and awesome, so that's good!

Ugh. Guys, just. I really, really want to thank some of you for being with me up to this point-and even for those who fled, I still want to thank them too. Like, some of you have been so sweet and awesome and commenting and following-some of you even multiple stories/chapters! And I just. Yeah. I'm really freaking thankful. You guys really, honestly make my day, so thank you.

Something wasn't quite right.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew, instinctively, that he was not in his bedroom. Or at the very least, not in his bed.

His torso was burning, both front and back, though he noted with a distantness reserved for serious situations that his front hurt a little bit worse, and he seemed to be laid out on his stomach. John never slept on his stomach. Something was really, really wrong here.

Where was he?

As he woke up further, stings and aches throughout his body began to blur into one long, miserable feeling of pain. His wrist felt uncomfortable, the blanket covering him was too thin, he was cold enough to be shivering, and he thought he could hear a faint beeping noise. From all this he gathered that no, he was definitely not anywhere near the Egbert residence, but golly did he wish he wasn't in this uncomfortable place, wherever it might be.

Forcing his eye lids open, he blinked at the sudden onslaught of light attacking his poor pupils, the world around him an incomprehensible smudge of pale colors and fuzz. For a minute, he was really confused as to what he was looking at, but it didn't take him long to realize that of course he didn't have his glasses. Those would be very helpful around now, thank you very much. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure where his glasses would be, and feeling beside the bed he was in (because he could determine that yes, this was an extremely uncomfortable sort of bed), he discovered no end tables or nightstands that might hold his spectacles for him.

Hmm. That wasn't good. Maybe they fell off his face while he was sleeping?

John frowned and patted the bedding around him carefully, fingers seeking the familiar outline slowly but carefully. Er, let's see here . . . aha! Right on the pillow!

The world around him instantly became crystal-clear and sharp-edged once the glasses were aligned with his eyes, and blinking, he took advantage of his regained sight to look around himself—and promptly regretted it.

He was in a hospital.

As in where patients were treated . . . and given huge medical bills. Shit.

The sound of a door opening creaked directly behind him, and he jerked in surprise and winced as his nerves screamed in retaliation of the movement, setting his poor front on fire, the physical contact between his skin and the bed not helping in the least. Something tugged slightly on his wrist when he jumped, too, and when he braved a glance down at his hand, he had to look away again quickly at the sight of an IV stuck into the back of his hand. Shiiiiiit.

"John?" A familiar voice called, paired with the lovely sound of high heels clicking against tile.

"Rose?" He called back, carefully craning his head around to give his friend a bug-eyed, slack-jawed look. And then saw the two others hurrying behind her. "Jade? Dave? What's going on? What are you guys doing here?"

Jade's face instantly went from relieved and happy to red and angry. She strode up to his bed and whacked him hard on the back of the head, earning a surprised noise of protest from everyone else in the room. "Rose found you in her driveway bleeding out in your car, you stupid idiot! We thought you were dead—or—or dying! What the hell were you doing unconscious in her driveway at three in the morning?"

Woah. Did all of that really happen? Shouldn't John remember something like that?

"What?" He voiced smartly, staring up at Jade's towering, furious form, dazed. "But . . . that doesn't make any sense, Jade. I went home last night after work."

. . . And then was attacked by a—shit shit shit! He totally forgot about the troll, oh fuck, he was probably roaming his house right now, free from its cage and doing who-knows-what to John's poor, defenseless house. Not to mention he had to be starving out of his mind; after all, it had been at least a full twenty-four hours, probably more, since he last ate. Hungry trolls were probably even more dangerous than regular ones, knowing John's luck. Ugh. How was he supposed to deal with an aggravated, hungry predator roaming through his house? He barely escaped the guy alive last night!

"Do you really not remember what happened to you?" Rose asked, striding further into the room with a frown marring her beautiful features. "I didn't think you had a concussion."

"Yeah—no, uh, I don't think so," John replied, moving to touch the back of his head—ouch!—and then immediately giving up when the effort sent screaming pain along his shoulders and back. "It doesn't really hurt or anything . . ." He wondered if he should tell them about the troll.

On one hand, he was honestly not sure if he could contain the angry little guy by himself when he had to go back home. In fact, John might not make it out alive a second time should the two have another face-off.

Unfortunately, if John did tell his friends about the troll's freak-out, they would most likely have him sent away and maybe put down. After all, they were the trolls' last line of defense against the government, and if they couldn't do it . . . no one would. Though he hurt and his monthly bills had just skyrocketed, he wasn't sure he could stand aside and let his troll-pet be put down for its rough behavior. Sure, it had nearly killed him, but that was only because the troll didn't know any better. The little guy had been part of a fighting ring for Pete's sake!

He didn't want his friends looking down on him or taking the troll away. Not only was there John's unwillingness to let his pet die, but Jade would be absolutely crushed. So much so that John doubted he'd be able to ever look her in the eyes again.

Okay, so that pretty much spelled out his decision for him.

A hand patted the top of his head, and turning his head, he found himself looking at none other than Dave Strider, poker face in place and large hand resting atop of John's dark head. "You okay, Egderp? You look pretty beat up."

That was unexpected, coming from Dave. Usually Striders weren't the ones so much asking how someone felt as much as asking who did it so they could beat the crap out of the culprit. Still, it was nice to be asked, and John let himself grin up at his bro as reassuringly as he could. "I'm fine, Dave! I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Instead of looking relieved, Dave frowned, brows knitting together. "What or who did this to you? These are some serious injuries, John. We're talking serious like the hospital may keep you for a few days serious."

No! They couldn't do that! What if John's troll starved to death? He couldn't ask any of his friends to feed him without the risk of one of them getting hurt, and even if they didn't, they'd figure out really quickly that the troll was no longer confined to a cage . . . and possibly that the cage had been busted open by a certain someone.

"I—I told you, I don't remember!" He sputtered, panic making his thoughts slippery. "Ease up, will you?"

"Sorry, man. Didn't mean to get up in your metaphorical face," Dave took his hand off the top of John's head and shoved it into his pocket, looking like a model for cool kids everywhere to gawk and admire. Striders were way too good-looking to be fair, but then again, the same thing pretty much went for the Lalondes as well.

It was one of the reasons Jade and John had been able to bond so well, to be perfectly honest.

"Are they really going to make me stay here?" He inquired, slowly looking at each of his friends beseechingly.

"I'm afraid so," Rose answered, Jade nodding solemnly next to her. "None of us are positive yet, obviously, but your wounds—"

"But I have things I need to do at home! Can't they just, like, patch me up, give me some pain killers, and send me on my way?"

"That probably wouldn't be a very good idea," Dave commented.

"If you're worried about your troll, you should stop. It's not like we're going to sit back and let the poor guy or girl fall into neglect while you're gone!" Jade chided, wagging a finger at you with a strangely serious look in her eyes. John wasn't used to seeing Harley look so . . . well, serious. It kind of freaked him out, and what she was suggesting only made him panic more. How was he supposed to keep them all away from his house?

"None of you have my house keys!" He blurted.

Dave snorted. "We know where you keep your spare, Egderp. We've only known you for, what? Seven years?"

"Something like that," Rose agreed, nodding. "In any case, I assure you it will be no problem. One of us can stop by in the morning to feed him breakfast and after school to feed him dinner, and perhaps we could convince Dirk or Jake to go over at lunch time as well. I'm sure they wouldn't be opposed to it, should they have nothing else going on."

Gah! Curse them for being awesome friends! "But—but—he's sick! My troll, the one that was delivered yesterday, he's super sick. Like the sickest ever, and. I don't want you guys catching any diseases or anything."

John had just started to mentally pat himself on the back for thinking of such a good excuse in only a few seconds, but from the looks on everyone else's faces, he realized that it might not have been quite as genius as he thought. All of his three friends were regarding him with varying states of suspicion, even Dave, whose expression was always impossible to read had his arms crossed and a pale eyebrow raised questioningly.

Crap. He really wasn't going to get out of telling them, was he?

"John," Rose started, her voice calm. Soothing, like what she used on the people she suspected harbored very personal bad news. "Is there something you would like to tell us?"

Oh yeah, he definitely wasn't going to get out of this one.