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A Favourite Situation : Closure

By Kendo Kawabata

I never thought I would do another chapter in this series after everything that had happened, but recently I found a few new comments on some chapters and I reread the last few chapters in the series, and I found myself talking about a last chapter to myself.

It's not the first time I've thought of doing a new chapter with these characters, but it's the first time it actually felt like I could write it. So, here it is. I have no idea what people will think, but I hope you can enjoy it, in some way.

Some things you can get used to. And some things you can't. Well, rather some things you never want to get used to. And yet you still have to put up with them because you have no other choice but to accept the fact that they are there.

The stench of neglect, you could call it. Some trailers seemed to have that stench, a rotten, neglected underlying smell that permeated your nostrils slowly until you were fully aware that it existed, and then you couldn't stop smelling it no matter how hard you tried it.

This trailer had that smell. It smelt old, and rotten. The carpet on the floor had never been replaced, and it was stained with only heaven knew what. Stains that could be described as piss, scat, vomit, sweat and blood had soaked through the carpet and onto the wooden flooring underneath. Whatever colour it used to be, it was no long visible.

The wooden structures within were peeling off their once tacky wallpaper, showing the holes that had been left behind from the termites that devoured from within. Stains of what looked like beer or projectile vomit had splattered on the walls and cupboards, adding to the stains and the lingering scent of decay and abuse.

The kitchen was broken, practically nothing worked. The doors on the cupboards had all fallen off, revealing the stained and broken crockery that was gathering within. The sink was cracked, and constantly leaking down the side of the cabinet on the floor, a constant damp mouldy patch in the carpet.

Beer bottles, many either empty or half empty with stale decaying beer, and filled with cigarette butts and cigar stubs littered the counter top, and sprawled across the floor. There were no scraps of food anywhere, just bottles of discarded beers.

The bedroom was just as decayed and rotten. There were no sheets on the bed, and no frame to support it. It was just a mattress on the rotting carpet, stained with only heaven knew. The same stains that had smothered the carpet had seeped into the mattress, although it was worse. Many of the stains had been deliberate, and very intentional.

Laying sprawled on top of the mattress, naked and baring all to the world, was a male wolf. His body was big, muscled and thick in all the right places, and covered with the tattoos of the local bikers gang. A dirty tangled beard framed his face, his chest covered in the thrown up dinner from the previous night, his thick muscled thighs soaked in his urine from when he didn't bother to use the bathroom.

Next to him lay an equally nude and trashed looking female cougar. She was a skinny thing, nothing but skin and bones, her face hallowed and gaunt from the years of drug abuse as evidenced by her arms and the skin between her toes. She lay on her side, her mouth half open and half filled with a mixture of saliva and her own vomit, that had pooled against her shoulder on the mattress.

This was not an unusual sight, this was constant. Almost every morning, it was a scene like this. The trailer was a testament of debauchery, neglect and pig behaviour. Needles and crack pipes lay on the bedside cabinet beside the bed, having been used by both parties the previous night and even early in the morning, the inhabitants waking up just so they could get another high in and another drink.

All of this, he could handle every morning when he woke up. He could handle seeing this every morning, waking up to the disgusting view of the male wolf and whatever slut he happened to drag to bed every night.

It was the smell though. The disgusting, putrid smell that permeated his nostrils so badly he was unable to smell anything else. It was the stench that made him want to throw up every morning and made his head spin. It was the smell that he could never get used to.

Timothy wanted to throw up every morning when he woke up.

The actual table in the trailer had been removed, broken after the wolfs rather aggressive, almost rape rough fucking of some girl looking to lose her virginity, had broken the support under it. The couch had remained, but it was in the same stained and soiled that the mattress was in. The foam had never been replaced, and Timothy could feel the wooden surface underneath every time he laid his body down to sleep.

He slowly pulled his near naked body up, sitting himself up as he tried to clear his head as his stomach swam with the contents of his meal from the previous night. Every morning he woke up feeling sick and nauseated, it was the smell that did it. He couldn't stand it. Even after all this time.

Timothy slowly stood up, his feet brushing aside several discarded bottles on the floor as he stumbled his way to the door of the trailer. The damn thing wasn't even locked, it just swung open and hung off one hinge, the fly-screen was non-existent.

Timothy had changed a lot in the over twenty years since he had last been seen in the normal world. He was bigger, much bigger then he was before. Several dozen pounds of muscle had been added to his body, hulking the once muscled flamedramon into something that most body-builders would be jealous of.

He had a beard, a short shaved but unkempt beard that framed his jawline, his own white hair now grey, almost black with dirt and filled with tangles and knots and congealed clumps of seed that wouldn't come out. It felt past his shoulders, having never been cut in so long.

His thick bulk was covered in the typical gangster tattoos that many thugs in-da-hood would typically adorn on their bodies. Except those tattoos usually proclaimed 'Thug', "Hood 4 Life", and various decorations involving roses, skulls, angels and guns. Timothy's tattoos were similar in design, except they all said "Slut", "Whore" "Property" "bitch" and "cum dumpster" within their designs.

He was only clad in a dirtied grey jockstrap, his ass thick and round that jiggled slightly with each step he took on the dirty dusty ground. Although the skin around his rear was covered in whip marks and bruises, evidence of recent abuse that he had been put through. His back looked the same, the V shape of his upper torso riddled with whip marks from actual whips, canes and rods that had been used to beat him into submission.

The only other thing on his body was a thick metal collar that fit around his neck. It wasn't exactly a collar, it was more a thick heavy chain that had been wrapped around his neck and secured in place with a heavy padlock.

He slowly made it across the dirty and almost barren backyard, only a rusted metal chain-link fence surrounded by pockets of weeds surrounded the property. The trailer was actually in the backyard of a low but large square building against the side of the highway. The sun was already high up at that time of the morning, and it was already heating up quickly as he made his way to a back door of the building.

The building was actually a bar on the outskirts of a small but spacious town. The bar was a typical one from the outside, just with the word 'BAR' in neon lights on the front window, along with an 'Open' sign that lit up when in business. But from the large frontal area and multiple single tire tracks, it was a bar for bikers.

With the trailer out the back a literal pigsty of depravity and drugs, the inside of the bar was a surprising contrast. An island bar in the middle of the large front, the middle a circular shelf filled with hundreds of bottles of alcohol and lights, the counter-top polished to a mirror shine.

There was a kitchen to the rear of the building, several booth style seating areas laid out to one side of the bar. On the other side lay four pool tables in a row, rows of pool cues and chalkboard signs up against the wall. There were, of course, various framed pictures of various furs in biker gear sitting on or standing by their beasts of all shapes and makes.

Timothy made his way into the spotless kitchen. The chef that worked the night shift always left it as clean as a surgeons theatre, and there was always food in the fridge for them to use when he was not there to cook for the bar.

He didn't bother with an apron as he pulled a frying pan out and started to cook some bacon and eggs. It didn't take him long to fry them up, filling a plate full as he prepared a large mug of boiling hot black coffee to go with it.

He left the kitchen with the breakfast in tow and walked over to a nearby table and placed the hot meal there. Then he placed the cutlery down as well before heading to the front door of the bar. There was a mail slot next to it, and already it was full of envelopes and the mornings paper.

He picked them up, walking back over the smooth polished floor of the bar to the table and placed the paper beside the hot meal before he took the stack of bills and envelopes to the office, which was located next to the toilets.

The office actually looked like a dump-site, an out of date Macbook sitting on a desk surrounded by papers, more beer bottles and dozens of issues of almost borderline illegal European magazines. He placed the envelopes on whatever available surface was there before he returned to the bar.

Timothy walked over to the booth and slowly got to his knees on the floor. He then leant forward, putting his body into a kneeling bow as he placed his head on the floor and stayed that way,, keeping as still as he was able.

How long he lay there like that, he never really knew. It varied from day to day, but it usually lasted as long as it took for the meal to start going cold. And if it did, he was dragged out back and whipped till he started bleeding.

The sound of a door banging open and a lewd farting noise signal that the wolf had woken up and had walked in. Timothy winced and almost whimpered a little as he heard the footsteps walk over to him, the wolf taking his time as he scratched his body in various places while walking over to have his breakfast.

"This better not be cold" the wolf grunted as he placed his foot on the side of Timothy's head and gave a rough shove, digging the heel into the side of his temple. Timothy allowed himself to fall on his side as he felt the heel digging into his head before he resumed the kneeling position.

"Sorry my Master" Timothy said softly. Years of being forced to speak in a hushed voice and never being allowed to utter anything loud had forced Timothy's voice into almost a whisper. No matter how he spoke, his voice was forever soft.

Garreth looked down at his slut and smirked as he sat his naked ass on the seat and spread his legs, placing one foot on the back of Timothy's head as he scratched at his balls. He picked up his fork and stabbed it into a side of bacon. Timothy held his breath as he heard the wolf chew for several moments before he continued to eat. He slowly resumed his breathing as he felt that heel grind on the back of his head.

"Head up here bitch. I need my dick cleaned" Garreth said as he removed his foot and spread his damp urine soaked thighs apart. Timothy winced, his stomach churning a little again, but he didn't hesitate to slide under the table and push his face into that stinking crotch.

He could taste the stale rank piss with each lick as he dragged his tongue through the wolfs crotch fur as he groomed him clean. There were other smells down there, other rank, disgusting smells that emanated from the crevice behind the wolfs balls that made Timothy want to throw up.

Everything else, he had been been able to get used to. But one thing he never did, was the smells.

Above him, the wolf ate his breakfast while he read the paper while getting his crotch cleaned off. The wolf hated showers, preferring instead to have Timothy lick him clean every chance he could get him too. He always had that underlying smell of dirt and disgust about his body, a ripeness that turned many noses.

Around the sound of his licking, Timothy could hear the wolf spit several times and there were small splats onto the floor beside him a the wolf spat out whatever was in his mouth from time to time as he ate it. The paper ruffled and ripped as he pulled out sections he didn't like and scrunched them up, adding them to the mess on the floor as well.

"Breakfast was alright slut" Garreth said, although he didn't sound appreciative as he dropped the fork on the floor then downed the rest of his coffee. He felt Timothy's tongue leave his rank balls as he heard a slightly muffled "thank you my Master" from under the table.

"I think you deserve a thank you" Garreth said with a grin as he leant back a little, lifting up his leg a little as he let one rip. Timothy did not have time to hold his breath or even block against the foul blast of hot air that assault his noise as Garreth started to laugh loudly.

"Ha. There's your thanks slut" Garreth said as he banged his fist on the table several times during his laughing, finding the whole situation funny as Timothy simply sat there under the table, unable to voice his objections to it without suffering for it.

"Thank you, my Master" Timothy said after the wolf had finally stopped laughing. With another chuckle in his chest the wolf stood up and stepped out of the booth, making sure to step directly into the spat food on the floor as he turned around to look at his kneeling slut.

"Enjoy your breakfast bitch" he said with a smirk as he scratched at his cleaned balls. "Oh, and don't forget to clean up the urinals in the bathroom. The ice melted last night and they need to be cleaned out before they're filled up" he ordered as he turned and made his way to the office, not bothering to look back as he left small but wet footprints in the floor out of spit food and saliva.

"Yes, my Master" Timothy said softly as he waited till the wolf was out of the room before he crawled forward. His stomach churned yet again at the thought of what he was supposed to do, but he was used to it as he slowly and deliberately began to lick up his breakfast.

It was either this, or Garreth would pour dog food into a bowl, then piss in it and force Timothy to eat it while he watched.

Of course, he didn't want to hurry. But he would only be putting off the inevitable in the bathroom. If there was a mess to clean up in there, he wasn't given clothes or paper towels to clean up. He'd use his tongue, the only thing he was allowed to use to clean.

It was once he had licked the floor clean and had his breakfast at the same time, did he start picking up the pieces of the newspaper. There were pieces scattered all over the floor as he collected them one by one. Of course, Garreth kept the personals, usually the dating advertisements. He'd probably be in his office, contacting the young daters who wanted a first time, or browsing Craigslist for a supplier to get his fix. The cougar in the trailer was probably still knocked out, but she was forgotten in Garreth's eyes.

Once he had all the pieces of newspaper collected he looked over his shoulder to make sure the door to the office was closed as he started looking through it. The newspapers nowadays were mostly paid advertisements and article think pieces and things that didn't really qualify as news anymore. He stood over one of the pool tables, the balls already set up and in place for the next game.

The newspaper was really his only contact to the outside world anymore. There were the flat screen televisions above the pool tables, but they were always tuned to the sports channels. Timothy was forbidden to touch them. The first, and only time he did, he was slapped so hard his lip was split. And Garreth hated Timothy reading. But then again, the papers idea of a front page story was the presidents tweet of the day.

However, there was one article that did catch his eyes. Perhaps the only real bit of news, was the births, marriages and deaths section in the classifieds. Timothy normally glanced at them, never really reading them. But there was one in the deaths section that caught his eyes, mostly because of the picture that was used for it.

It had been years, many years since he had last seen that face. But he recognised it, even with the extra lines on his face, the greying of his hair, the fact he was sitting in a wheelchair in the image. He knew that face, recognised who it was.

He knew Spencer anywhere.

His eyes ran down the advertisement, looking over it. It seemed that the man had suffered a heart attack and wasn't able to survive it. There were the usual details, giving a brief description of who he was and the kind of man he was, and then a few details about where the service was to be held.

"He died last week. It's being held tomorrow" Timothy said softly to himself as he looked it over again. It was being held back home, way back home. It was at least a day and mornings drive, if he left now.

If he could leave now.

Did he want to leave now?

He had never actually thought of leaving before, although it was possible for him to leave without getting noticed right away. But the thought had just never actually occurred to him before now. Well, he'd be lying if he said he had never thought of it. It had just.... never seemed like a good idea. Looking down at the death notice of someone he once knew, thoughts of leaving and going there were starting to surface in his mind.

A look of extreme sadness began to creep over his face as he felt tears brim in his eyes for the first time in years. He could actually see his thick calloused fingers start to shake and tremble as he held the ripped page of the paper. His heart beat a little faster as he felt an empty pit appear in his stomach.

Just seeing that picture of an aged Spencer was bringing back all the emotions that he had bottled up over the last two decades. All the pain, all the sadness, everything he had pushed down deep into his being were slowly coming back to the surface. And it was a god dam picture that was breaking through him.

"Dad....Matty...." he whispered as he felt his voice croak. He hadn't said those words in so long, it felt almost like a foreign language he had once forgotten to speak. He actually had to choke back a sob and scrunch his eyes shut to keep the tears from flowing through.

He felt something grab the back of his chain collar and he was suddenly shoved forward, his head getting slammed onto the velvet surface of the table. A hand planted itself on the back of his head and ground his face into the surface as a second hand grabbed the chain collar and pulled backwards.

Timothy panicked as he felt his airway get caught off as he tried to claw at the chain that had pulled back tight against his neck as he started to choke on the effort to breath. He couldn't inhale and the air was trapped in his lungs as he scrabbled his hands on the velvet surface to try and pull the chain from his neck.

His eyes bulged in their sockets as he felt his tongue hang from his mouth as his heart raced from the panic he was feeling. He was choking, spittle dripping from his mouth on the green velvet as he saw his vision swim, blood red and black stars erupting in his vision as he felt his body start to give out from the lack of oxygen.

Whoever had the chain suddenly hoisted him backwards, the chain pushing painfully into his neck as he was hauled to the floor, his large body crashing heavily. The chain gave way and he gasped long and deep as he started to cough and choke as he tried to gulp in as much air as he was able to.

"What do you think you're doing bitch?" Garreth said as he stood beside the pool table, his arms now crossed over his dirty chest. He had dressed himself in a pair of soiled boxers and a pair of heavy leather boots adorned with yellow laces. Timothy coughed several more times as he rubbed at the affected area around his neck. It was already starting to turn red.

"You reading the paper?" Garreth said as he picked up the paper pieces and gave them a look over. The fact that he had just choked Timothy so hard and harshly didn't even register to him as anything out of the ordinary. He took a look at the various scraps that he himself had ripped up, before the tossed them in disgust at Timothy.

"Animals don't fucking read. I've told you this before, you bitch" Garreth said as he brought his boot back and landed a heavy kick across Timothy's naked backside. It was a hard enough kick that Timothy's body jolted forward several inches on the floor. He cried out from the heavy booting as he, still panting out of breath, got back into the kneeling position as fast as he was able.

"I...I'm sorry, my master" he said in a soft and rather pathetic voice as he felt his neck and his backside burn as he tried not to show he was in pain.

"You never, fucking learn do you bitch? You're a fucking dumb animal. How many fucking times do I have to tell you the rules?" Garreth said as he placed the hell of his boot on the back of Timothy's hand. "What the fuck are you bitch?" he demanded.

"I...I'm a dumb animal" Timothy said as he felt the pressure on the back of his hand. His throat was burning and it was hurting to breath, but he kept as still as he could.

"Do dumb fucking animals read?" Garreth asked as he ground his heel back and forth with just enough pressure to make Timothy feel, and fear, what he was doing.

"No.....dumb animals do not read" Timothy said through gritted teeth as he tried not to clench his fingers.

"So why were you reading? You think you're better then a dumb animal?" Garreth said as he ground his heel a little more firmly onto the back of the bitch's hand. Timothy tried not to show it was really starting to hurt as he kept his hand as flat as he could.

"No my master. I'm not better then a dumb animal" he said as loudly as he dared without making it seem he was trying to argue.

"I think you do think you're better then a dumb fucking animal" Garreth said as he lifted his foot up and, without hesitation, stamped it back down hard on Timothy's hand. Timothy was unable to hold back the cry of pain as it just simply erupted in his hand as he pulled back, bringing his injured hand to his chest, hoping against hope that nothing had broken.

"I guess I have to remind you, again" Garreth said with a snarl as he lifted his booted foot and struck Timothy over his crossed arms with enough force that he knocked the bulky male over onto the floor yet again. "Dumb fucking animals like you never learn" he snarled as he gave another boot plant to Timothy on the side as the male tried to scramble out of the way.

"Please....please my master, I'm sorry" Timothy managed to get out before another boot was planted on his chest and sent him stumbling over.

"I don't think you are sorry" Garreth said as he moved up quickly to stand over the slave that was underneath him as he started to try and stomp a mud-hole into the male with his heavy boot. Over and over again he planted his boot on Timothy, making him cry out in pain as he tried to cover himself up against the attack.

"You're not sorry, because I have to keep reminding you, that you are NOTHING!" Garreth snarled as he took a moment to stop his assault long enough to hock back in his throat and spit a large disgusting wad of saliva and snot onto Timothy's face. "You are NOTHING. You're just a fucking dumb animal, and you are Nothing. Now what the fuck are you?" he demanded as he brought his boot up and began to stomp down on the male underneath him.

"I'm nothing...nothing but a dumb....a dumb animal...I'm nothing" Timothy managed to get out between cries of pain as his master didn't hold back his anger or his strength. Over and over that heavy boot slammed down on Timothy's sides, his arms, his legs and his back, bruises beginning to appear over his body in the shape of bootprints.

Garreth however, only stopped when he was tired of planting his boot down on the bitch underneath him. His leg was starting to get sore as he stopped his assault and stood back, looking down at the whimpering bulky male underneath him before he hocked another load in the back of his throat and spat it back out on Timothy's face again.

"You got my boots dirty bitch" he snarled as he brought the sole of his boot up and held it in front of Timothy's face. "look at that, you got your fucking stink on my boots" he snarled.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry...please....please I'm sorry my master" Timothy whimpered as he braced himself. His didn't want his nose broken again, although there was nothing he could do to prevent it from happening.

However, Garreth decided not to further dirty his boot by smashing in Timothy's face with it as he instead stood over him with a glaring expression on his face.

"You're fucking pathetic. Ever since I got you off my father, you were nothing. Nothing but a pathetic, dumb animal that needs to be beaten into place" he snarled as he took a few steps back and turned around, making his way to the wall of pool cues that were hanging up.

Timothy managed to get to his knees, clutching his injured hand against his chest. Flexing his fingers hurt, but it didn't feel like anything was broken. His hand was probably just severely bruised. His entire body was aching, bruises appearing everywhere in the shape of his masters boot prints. He could feel that disgusting splatter of saliva and snot running down the side of his face from where it had been spat on him, but he made no effort to wipe it away.

However, he did feel like he was about to piss himself when he saw Garreth pick up the biggest, thickest pool cue that was hanging amongst the others. There were many times that the pool cues had been used over his back to put him back in his place. But that big one he was holding, there was one reason for him to grab it.

"I guess I have to remind you how meaningless you are, bitch "Garreth said as he held it and tapped the thick heavy handle against his palm. "I have to remind you, you are nothing. I am a better man then a piece of shit dumb fucking animal like you will ever be" he snarled as he walked back over to the pool table.

"Please.....not that" Timothy whimpered. But his little meagre plea did nothing to raise any kind of mercy that was within Garreth. Because the wolf had proven time and time again, he wasn't capable of feeling any kind of human emotion. All Timothy's plea did, was make Garreth angry that his bitch would even dare consider asking for leniency.

"You know the drill, bitch" he said in an angry voice. "stand up, bend over the table and spread those bitch cheeks" he said as he tapped the handle against his palm.

Timothy felt his whole body tremble as he slowly pulled himself up, trying hard not to show that he was scared of what was going to happen.

It wasn't the first time, that Garreth had anally raped him with the pool cue. No lube, or preparation, just shoved it in like he was trying to rip him.

And the longer Timothy took, the harder Garreth would hurt him. Last time it had happened, Garreth had done it in front of his biker buddies, while they all laughed and egged him on while they drank and snorted coke. Timothy had bled for a week, and had been unable to use a toilet properly without pain.

"Bend over, now" Garreth said as he whacked the end of the pool cue on the edge of the table loud enough to make it crack. "Or do I need to beat you with this first?" he demanded, although the look on his face suggested that he was eager to beat him regardless.

Timothy submitted, having no other choice as he walked to the end of the table and slowly lowered his torso down on to it. His legs quivering, he spread them apart as he lifted his tail as best he could. He shut his eyes, knowing exactly what was going to happen as he lowered his head to the table.

Garreth was laughing out loud as he hocked another load and spat it on Timothy's backside, laughing at his torment of the male before him. Across the top of Timothy's backside, hidden under the fabric of the dirty jock, were the words "cum here" in gorgeous cursive, with curved arrows pointing down to Timothy's hole.

Timothy lowered his head without trying to stall as he braced himself for the inevitable, when he felt something touch the side of his forehead. He dared to open his eyes as he saw the article from just a short while ago was now under his forehead. The picture of Spencer in his wheelchair, sitting in front of a pair of windows with the curtains drawn, was now looking at him up close.

Timothy felt something, something deep inside him that he had believed was buried a long time ago. Something inside him, it finally snapped. He could not explain why, but for the first time in years, he was suddenly no longer going to take it

"You're just a fucking useless mangy animal" Garreth said as he stood behind Timothy, tapping the thick handle of the cue on his palm. "You're nothing compared to me. I'm better then you, in every fucking way. I'm a free man, you're just nothing but a worthless animal that needs to be put in his place" he said.

In the years since Garreth had ended up being handed Timothy from the ownership of his father, he had broken Timothy repeatedly. Physical, emotional, mental, all kinds of torture and abuse he had put the man through till he became the broken spirited plaything that Garreth loved to enjoy abusing.

So Garreth, as he stood there about to rape Timothy once more with the handle of the pool cue, never expected the man to get up and turn around, a look of unbridled fury written across his face and a hand filled with several pool balls held in his fingers. A hand full of pool balls that connected with the front of Garreth's face.

"FUCK YOU!"

Garreth let out a pained cry as he felt the bones in his nose break from the impact of the balls to his face. There was a gush of hot red that flooded his nostrils and ran down his face, streaks flying through the air from the collision as Garreth was knocked back.

The wolf stumbled once before he fell backwards, falling to the floor as he clutched at his broken nose, blood pouring between his fingers as he howled into his hands as he heard the bloodied balls fall to the ground.

"You...you fucking thit thtain" he gurgled into his fingers as blood bubbled around his nose and his mouth as he tried to comprehend the fact that his slut slave had just attacked him. "Yuo....you fucking whore....fuck.....fuck you bwoke my damn node you bathtard..."

He lowered his fingers down enough to be able to look up as he glared in fury, but that fury very quickly disappeared when he saw Timothy now standing above him, the pool cue was in his hand, and there was a look on his face, that terrified the wolf.

"B...boy....don't... don't do anything you'll wegwet" Garreth said as he suddenly found himself very, very vulnerable as he lay there on the floor. "Jutht...jutht calm down.....don't...don't to anything thtupid...." he said he held his bloodied hands up in self defence.

Timothy's knuckles turned white from the grip on the pool cue as he very slowly, and very deliberately brought the pool cue up, gripping it like a weapon as the look on his face, was one of absolute disgust and rage.

"YOU ARE NOT FUCKING BETTER THEN ME!"

"WAIT" Garreth shouted as he brought his arms up to defend himself, but there was no real defence from the blows of the pool cue, as Timothy wielded the heavy end, using it to strike the screaming wolf.

The blows didn't stop when Garreth screamed.

The blows didn't stop when the blows began to break his skin.

The blows didn't stop when blood began to fly across the floor in streaks.

The blows didn't stop when his bones started to fracture.

The blows didn't stop when Garreth's skull cracked.

The blows did stop, when Garreth was no longer moving.

Timothy, strangely felt nothing as he dropped the bloodied pool cue on the floor. He had just done the unthinkable, to another living person. Someone who had held his life in his hands. Someone who had been his owner, his master, his superior for the better part of his life. And he was now gone. Just ....meat. Just bloodied meat.

Timothy sank to his knees and allowed his bruised arms to fall to his sides as he just stared at the now corpse that was lying in front of him. He didn't really know how to feel, the anger was gone now, replaced by....by nothing. It was hard for him to wrap his head around what had just happened.

But something did creep into his mind, slowly at first, but it threatened to take over him. It was fear. He had just killed his master, but that didn't scare him. This was a biker bar, and Garreth, as big as a cunt he was, was connected. He had friends. Friends who were just as twisted and just as merciless as Garreth was. The kind of people, who realised what had happened, would hunt him down and kill him without a second thought, to avenge their fallen brother, regardless of what kind of fucker he was.

But it was still early morning. No-one ever came to the bar this early. The bar didn't open till the evening, and the chef didn't come in till lunch time to start his prep. There was a good six or so hours before anyone was meant to come in and it would be at least six hours before anyone would find Garreth.

He slowly turned around and picked up the small piece of newspaper and clutched it in his hand as he headed towards the office, his feet leaving bloodied prints across the floor. His mind was strangely calm, he felt a little like he was walking on autopilot. He just...he just needed to get out and get away. As far away as possible.

There was a large wardrobe in the office that held all of Garreth's clothing, clothing that would just fit. Timothy didn't bother even cleaning himself off as he dressed himself, pulling on a pair of dirtied jeans that hadn't seen a proper wash in years. An old greyed out white wife-beater followed, and a heavy leather jacket. There was a pair of heavy leather boots in the wardrobe as well, which he took. The socks were old, worn and stank like hell, but it was better then nothing.

He pulled open the drawers one at a time, till he found what he needed. A set of keys on a keyring in the bottom drawer. He flicked through them one at a time before he found the one he wanted, a small key that fit the padlock at his neck.

The metal chain fell to the floor with a heavy thunk and he breathed clearly for the first time in years. It was....alien to him, to not have it around his neck after so long wearing it, that it felt uncomfortable. He reached up and touched around his neck, feeling the bruised skin without metal to be in the way.

He didn't dwell on it too long as the autopilot came back on and he found the key to the battered metal safe under the desk. The inside of the safe was cluttered with old blue ray DVDs of illegal porn, several bags of syringes and a large jar of weed. Several packets of photgraphs and baggies filled with powders and crystal rocks. They weren't what he was looking for. There was a leather satchel bag inside, stuffed with the money from the bar sitting on top of it all.

He picked it up and looked through it. Garreth didn't really trust banks, so he kept it all in the safe. There were several thousands of dollar sitting in that satchel bag. And Timothy took it as he unhooked one big heavy key from the ring and just dropped the ring on the floor next to his fallen collar.

The bar was his next stop. Two large bottles, both of them big bottles of vodka, were added to his satchel before he slung it over his shoulders. Once he had everything, he didn't look back as he walked out of the back door, letting it shut securely behind him.

The female in the trailer was probably still there, not that he cared. He didn't even know her name, and she didn't matter to him. Just another in a long line of drug addicted bitches that Garreth liked to fuck. He did however, look at the trailer for several long moments, just letting it sink in to him just how far that gift had really fallen.

Without a backwards glance, Timothy made his way to the side of the building, where there was a large storage shed attached. It was a rusting small shack that was falling apart, and it didn't take much effort for Timothy to break open the tin doors that were falling off at the hinges.

Sitting inside the small shack shed, was a large classic Harley. She was black, sleek and slender. The kind of roaring child of the road that any biker would have been proud to grab the handle bars of and ride for hours on end.

But the sight of her made Timothy feel an ache in his stomach and his chest as he gently stroked his fingers over the handles, seeing how much dust had collected on her over the years. She had been left in that shack for so long, she was starting to rust. Covered in dust and spider-webs, neglected and forgotten.

Another gift that had been desecrated.

His helmet was still there, sitting on a broken aged shelf, along with a pair of cracked old leather gloves, and dust covered riding goggles. Right where they had been left.

Timothy carefully sat himself on the seat of the Harley, feeling it sink down with his added weight. He brushed some dust off the ignition and carefully inserted the key. It took several tries, and several moments in which Timothy thought she was too far gone.

But one twist and she roared to life, bringing a small smile to his face as he let her run for several minutes to get the engine going. Her tank was still full, and she ran like she used to before he had been forced to give her up.

Timothy grabbed his helmet and secured it around his head, glad to feel that it still fit. The gloves were placed on his hands, the leather cracking from so long living in neglect. But they still fit well enough for one last journey. The goggles were last after wiping them clean.

Before he wheeled his girl out of the shack shed, he touched the pocket on his chest that held that piece of newspaper, carefully folded up and tucked away. It was still there.

He didn't hold back the moment she touched the road, and he let her stretch her legs as he headed towards the nearby highway. He had to put as much distance between himself and the bar as quickly as he could. He had hours, but those hours would count.

After so long in captivity, Timothy had finally ran away. He just .... he didn't know how to feel about it. And with a long road ahead of him, he wasn't sure if he would feel anything.

Night had already started to settle as Timothy pulled her into the parking lot of the motel. The large neon sign said there were vacancies available, and there were maybe three cars in the parking lot of the two story building. The sun was setting in the distance, so it wasn't too late, he could probably still check in for the night. Although if it wasn't possible, he'd have to keep riding.

The motel was the last one before he hit his old hometown, and he had been driving for nearly twelve hours straight, save for the few times he had to stop for gas. He pulled her into a parking space and cut the engine, feeling her settle down underneath him as he pulled his helmet off.

His goggles came next as he placed them in his helmet and slowly stood up. His body protested. Every part of him ached. The bruises from earlier had taken his body in full force, and his back ached from being in a riding position for so long. He was actually hunched over for several minutes as he had to stretch his body back into place.

The receptionist looked up as she heard the front door ding, an eyebrow raising as she saw the large bulky leather clad biker carefully step through the door. She was a fat, mature cow sitting behind a desk with large ugly glasses and a paperback novel of 'Fifty Shades' in her grip. She said nothing as she carefully and obviously eyed him over as he slowly walked up to the desk.

"I...I saw on the sign...that there were vacancies" Timothy said. She was surprised to hear how soft his voice was, but she still eyed him warily. "I ...was wondering if there was anything for tonight? I just ...need one night." He seemed uncomfortable, as if he wasn't used to speaking to people.

"We have rooms. Do you have ID?" she asked as she gave him a look. "And how do you expect to pay?" she asked flatly. Almost like she didn't really care she had a customer in front of her, as if it was a bother he had interrupted her reading.

"I can pay in cash" Timothy said as he opened up the satchel bag at his side after shifting his helmet. "I ...I just need one night" he said.

"Do you have ID?" she asked flatly. "No ID, no room."

"I...I don't have id" Timothy said to her. "but...I can pay double for the room. I just...I just need the night" he said, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

"No ID, no room" she repeated in the same flat voice.

"I can pay triple the rate" he suggested softly.

"No ID, no room" she said flatly again.

His body was tired, and his mind was tired. He didn't have the energy to really get back on the bike and resume riding to find somewhere else. And he was not going to sleep out on the streets, not if the gang members were on the lookout for him. He dug into the satchel bag and pulled out a wad of notes.

"One grand. In cash" he said softly as he placed it on the desks polished surface. "I just need one room, I don't care which one. I'll be gone in the morning" he said.

The cow looked at the money in front of her. He was a dirty, filthy looking biker, literally. But that was a grand in cash, for one room. The money won out as she sighed, putting the book down and typing on her keyboard.

Timothy let out a soft sigh of relief as he watched her print out a room card and hand it to him.

"Room 113. Down the end next to the laundry" she said. "We have an ice machine and vending machines located outside the laundry, pool is closed. Breakfast opens at six" she said flatly as she went back to her book. "Check outs at ten, though hopefully you'll be out earlier" she said as she resumed her reading.

"Thank you" Timothy said quietly, although she didn't care that he had manners. She actually looked relieved when he left the reception and left her sight.

Room 113 was not that bad. A large double bed, bedside tables, a mini fridge. Large television, bathrobe and slippers. Large fluffy towels, whole tray of complimentary toiletries. It was modernised, everything looking clean and well set up for a roadside motel.

Timothy however did not relax as he managed to get his bike through the door and closed it behind him. He couldn't leave her out in the parking lot. It was usually the first place bikers looked. If they found the hog, the bitch wasn't too far behind. He could buy himself some time if his bike was hidden from view.

Timothy closed the blinds and made sure the door was locked before he put the helmet and bag on the chair beside the bed. He wanted to sink his body onto the bed and close his eyes, every part of his aching sore body screaming at him to get on the bed, an actual bed, and sleep.

But he couldn't. Not yet. He slowly peeled the dirty old clothing from his body, and wrapped himself up in the bathrobe once he was naked. It was too small on his body by far, not even closing properly. He gathered his dirty worn belongings and slowly made his way to the laundry.

It took a few tries for him to get the machine working, they were a new model that he hadn't seen before, some kind of all in one design that washed the clothes then spun them dry. He figured he could have something to eat and possibly have a shower before they were done.

Thankfully, the vending machines still accepted cash. Although how could a meal be considered a meal when it was just some packets of snack foods and chips, and bottled soda? His arms were full as he made his way back to his room, thankfully not running into anyone on the way. Once inside, he dumped the food on the bed and picked up one of the bottles of vodka he had brought with him.

He pulled the top off and took a swig, letting the sharp strong liquor run down his throat. Such a large undiluted amount should have hit his head quickly and made him sway a little on the spot. But the liquid did nothing. He didn't feel the hit as he stripped the bathrobe off, then walked into the bathroom with the bottle in his hand, setting it on the counter.

He had the shower running for several minutes as he got it to a temperature that he could bear. The last time he had 'washed', it had been at least a month ago. Just standing naked in the yard behind the bar and getting blasted at with a cold hose. No towel to dry off, he had been forced to stand there and drip dry, not permitted to leave that muddy spot till he was fully dry. It had taken almost an hour.

The hot water, it felt so foreign as he stood there, naked and watched it run down his arm as he checked the temperature. He could actually see the layers upon layers of grim and dirt start to slowly shift away. In a few spots, that started at tiny pin pricks but slowly began to spread and grow in size, he saw the true colour of his skin underneath.

That colour, he had forgotten what colour he used to be as he slowly stepped into the shower, jolting slightly as he felt the hot water cascade down his naked back and over his sore aching muscles. He did however grab the bottle of vodka and pull it into the shower with him, putting it on the shelf that held several bars of free soap.

He leant forward, resting his forehead on the cold tiles as he spread his legs and placed his arms above his head, feeling the water run down between his muscles and slowly wash off the layers of grime and dirt, seeing the water pool black against his feet.

The pain that his body was in, from the beating he had endured earlier and the stiffness from the ride, it was all hitting him now that he had slowed down and stopped moving. The hot water running down his body helped wash away the grime and dirt, and the angry abusive bruising on his skin became more apparent.

He watched the water pool black around his feet as he reached over and grabbed the bottle of vodka again, taking another firm gulp. Again the liquid did nothing to make him feel any of the effects, as he stood there in the shower letting the hot water run down his body.

The water was still pooling black as he was unable to really stand up after a while as he slowly lowered his body to the base of the shower and settled down, the bottle coming with him for another drink. The water cascaded through his dirty unkempt hair, matting it against his skin.

The tears came soon after as his body just somehow gave in. It was just a few tears at first, barely noticeable against the water cascading down his face. The tears just mixed into the water, slowly at first until he found the sobs building up in his chest and he was unable to hold them back.

He dropped the bottle between his legs as he buried his face in his rough, calloused hands and let the flood of tears and sobs come through. His whole body rocked back and forth, his large bulky muscled bouncing against each of his heaves and his sobs.

It was just yet another reminder of how low he had sunk. Here he was, on the run from a group of violent abusive bikers, covered in bruises and bodily fluids and dirt, naked with nothing to his name except for an ancient bike. He had killed the only person willing to put up with him, and now that he was dead, he had no-one left in his life to even give a shit about him.

And he didn't even know why he was crying. It had been years since he had, and it had all just been bottled up waiting to come out. And now it was coming out like a dam bursting with no way to stop it.

Why was he crying? For himself? For his actions? For what happened to him? He honestly didn't know. It was all just coming out, and he had no way to stop it as he lay there in the shower, crying into his hands as the water washed the abuse from his body. And at the same time, made it more obvious.

It was only when he felt that he had had nothing left to cry out, and that he was unable to handle it anymore, he slowly pulled himself up. His body seemed to ache more now that all the bruises were exposed and the crying had left him more weakened then the abuse. He didn't bother picking up the bottle as he managed to stumble his way out of the shower and grabbed one of the towels from the rack.

Even with all the water that had washed down his body, the towel was starting to turn grey as he tried to wipe himself down, every muscle in his body hurting as he patted himself down.

He paused a little when he got to his crotch. His length was still there, thick and impressive as ever. But it had been years since he had last gotten hard, willingly. He couldn't anymore, not since they cut off what was needed. Just his length remained, a useless piece of flesh that served as a reminder of how useless he really was.

He did catch a glance of himself in the mirror. He really didn't recognise the rough looking bearded male that looked back at him. He hadn't recognised himself in years anyway. With all the dirt washed from his body and his hair now congealed cum free, his relfection just reflected back someone old. And sad. A sad old man who looked like he was ready to give up. He felt possibly worse as he emerged from the bathroom and grabbed the bathrobe, slipping it over himself.

He had to force himself to the laundry to get his clothing back, thankfully there was no-one there for him to bump into. The washing machines must have been top notch, or in the area of as his clothing was now cleaned and dried out, almost revealing their natural colours as he stumbled his way back to his room.

When he closed the door, he heard his stomach grumble, reminding him that he was hungry. But he was simply too exhausted and overcome by the days horrible events for himself to do anything except fall onto the bed.

To be on an actual bed, with actual sheets, both of which were clean, felt like heaven against his worn abused body as he slowly closed his eyes. Sleep hit him like a tidal wave as darkness swam over his vision and his mind faded away. He swore that he just blinked.....

And then he opened his eyes to find that it was morning.

He sat up on the bed, suddenly startled as he had a mental blank about where he was. He felt actual panic as he looked around the strange room, wondering for a moment where exactly he was before reality began to set in again and all the events of the previous day suddenly hit him like a freight train.

It took him several minutes though, for him to calm down enough that he was no longer panicking. The first thing he did was he got off the bed and looked through the closed blinds. The parking lot still held the few cars from the night before, and perhaps a few more. But there were no bikes there or anywhere he could see. It looked like he was safe, at least for now.

He didn't say anything as he sat back on the bed and grabbed the junk food he had bought from the vending machine the night before and started to eat. Years of licking up stains and only he knew what, from the floor and toilets and other bikers bodies, had dulled his taste-buds enough that while he could still taste every dirty disgusting mess he was forced to lick up, the food tasted like cardboard and the soda tasted flatter then it actually was.

However, it was still actual food, and it disagreed with his stomach, causing it to cramp up and threaten to make him throw it back up over the bedsheets. Though he forced himself to keep it down as he ate up everything that he had bought. He didn't want to pass out from eating nothing. He still had a few hours to ride.

The clean clothes felt good against his skin, although the clean material felt rough against his skin and even itchy from the soap powder that was used. But a set of clean clothes did make a difference to him as he got himself fully clothed.

He did wonder briefly if it was worth continuing on. He still had no idea of their reaction once he got there. Perhaps it really was just pointless for him to even try it. For a moment, he did consider turning in the other direction and riding away from it all. Riding into the unknown and starting again, a fresh start once again.

Timothy hung his head as he knew that he couldn't. His family was all that he had left now, even if by some miracle, the universe didn't hate him enough to let them at least hear him out.

He grabbed his satchel bag, making sure that the money and the other bottle was still in there before he carefully wheeled his bike out of the room. A quick glance either way in each direction told him he was clear as he shut the door and sat on his bike, kicking her into gear.

"What am I even to say to them?" he said quietly to himself as he waited for the bike to settle into gear. He didn't know what he would possibly say to his father and his brother, assuming both of them were there at the funeral. And, he didn't even know why he was doing this. He just...felt like he had too.

And the reason why he should be doing this, were too many to count as valid.

"Guess...I'll find out when I get there" he said to himself as he let the bike roar forward as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed to the highway.

It had been years since he had last set foot in his home town, and yet in many ways it seemed familiar. Many places were still the same, only a few indications here and there that things had aged. A few buildings had disappeared, some condemned. Others had expanded, or had changed colour entirely.

Some new business' had appeared, selling strange things he had never seen before. New furniture superstores that had crazy names for something simple like a chair or a table. New restaurants seeing overpriced hipster food portions that made no sense. Some stores were gone for good, replaced with 'Out of Business' signs plastered over their windows and doorways boarded up, parking lots infested with weeds.

There were models of cars that he had never seen before, makes and models that had to have come out of some science fiction convention. There were motorbikes and cycles lining the parking spaces, although they were more designed to ensure the vehicle did most of the driving while the passenger just sat there.

And the fashions had changed as well. Clothing seemed brighter or duller, fully clothed or barely covered. People had freedom now to wear what they wanted without fear of ridicule. The old worn clothing that he wore, coupled with a bike that should have now been considered a classic, made him feel like some old forgotten antique from a bygone era.

No-one gave him a second glance as he carefully made his way through the main street of the city. There was no-one around that he recognised, or even remembered. How could people know who he was, when he didn't even recognise himself in the mirror anymore?

However, there was one thing he did notice that was different with every turn of the corner and each street that he rode down. The city, felt cleaner. Sure, a few buildings here and there were old and outdated and in need of repair, but there was... there was a dirtiness that had disappeared during his exile that he was trying to see for himself.

He realised, first, that there were no cops on the streets. Back then, there had been cops patrolling all over the place. Couldn't turn a street without seeing a panda car parked nearby or a few officers patrolling the streets in pairs. Since he had driven in, he had only seen one police car, and, of course, it was outside a doughnut shop. The officers hadn't even looked at him as he rode past, and they had been the only two that he had seen so far.

And the people in the streets weren't walking in groups anymore, they were more spread out. People walking by themselves, looking completely at ease with one another. There was no huddled groups walking quickly, everyone was taking their time getting from one place to another.

Timothy also noticed, that there was not a single homeless person on the street. One girl he used to know way back in high school, used to moonlight as a homeless girl on the streets. She'd set up an inflatable bed against some store, lay down and draw a blanket over her and leave a large box with a handwritten note telling how she was on the streets because her family didn't support her lesbian decisions. She used to make a fortune in just a day.

Yet, neither him, or her, or anyone in his class had thought it was wrong of her to beg on the streets when there was a real homeless problem. But there was always at least one or two around the main streets, usually holding signs or cleaning windshields. You could always find them in the parks trying to sleep in peace. It had been more then once when he and his football buddies had gone through the park at midnight and had doused them with rotten garbage or buckets of ice water for kicks.

But there was none that he could see anywhere on the streets at all. All the homeless were gone. He passed one building that had been used as a soup kitchen to feed such people, but now it was an Apple store. Somehow, the streets seemed all the more cleaner without the homeless around.

And the dealers were gone too. And the hookers. Timothy used to head out after dark with his friends to score weed all the time, always behind his fathers back. He knew how to look for the guy who dealt in drugs, or see the woman on the street who was selling her body. Hell, even the counterfeit bag sellers who sold their cheap trash out of shopping carts were gone as well.

He couldn't help but wonder what the hell had happened to make the streets look so....clean and safe.

He pulled up at the intersection that ended for the main street and headed into the residential areas, and he saw his answer. On a large billboard on the top of a building. Proudly displaying a large gleeful cartoonist looking wolf in a tunic and collar, tagged and coded, under a large message.

"The Bureau of Slave Services. We make the difference."

"They're still around" he thought to himself as he took a moment to look up at the large sign. It kind of made sense, if the BOSS had been taken apart and dismantled, then it would have been a huge deal and he would have heard about it, even in that shitty biker bar in the middle of nowhere. But it looked like they were still here, and still in business.

Was that why the streets look so clean? Did the bureau just round up everyone and put them to good use?

He pulled the piece of paper from his pocket and looked at the address again. He hadn't been to that church before, never saw the point. But it wasn't too far off now.

His heart actually skipped a beat and he felt a cold sweat chill down his spine at the thought of seeing his brother at the service. It was possible his father was there as well. The thought of actually seeing them again, now that he was within distance, it was starting to terrify him.

What if they didn't want to see him? What if they hadn't forgiven him? What if they threw him out on the street after he stepped into the church, screaming that he wasn't worth their time?

What if, they called the police on him? His father had sold him off under the guise that he had stolen a large amount of cash from his bank and then ran off with said cash. His father had probably filed charges against him. What if those charges had never gone away? What if there was still a warrant out for his arrest?

He could get thrown in jail for that. And then, they'd find out about the bar. And his now dead master. And he'd be forced to spill the beans on everything he had done. There was a lot of shit that he had done that he could end up facing jail time for. Things he himself did not want to admit to himself about.

Or worse, what if they handed him to the bureau?

Maybe the bureau would be the better choice. They at least looked after their slaves, even if he did have his rights taken from him. And he had already been a slave for most of his life. But as he knew already, it was very easy to abuse to a slave and get away with it, especially if no-one believed a slave since they were automatically declared liars before they opened their mouths.

If he had felt bad before, he felt positively sick now.

He took a deep breath and revved her up, moving himself through the intersection and heading to the church.

If things did turn south, at least he'd know.

The church itself was a large, imposing building, the brickwork almost black and covered in bright leafy vines. The sides were decorated in large stained glass windows, centuries old, and covered in large thick bars to prevent damage. The gardens were a riot of colours, mostly roses, all of them in full bloom.

The parking lot was full of cars, almost overflowing out on the street where they were lined up on either side. The service must not have started yet, as there were plenty of people milling about the church's large ornate doors. Most of them all in black, the males in suits and the females with veils. But for once, it was a funeral where it wasn't raining.

Unfortunately, he had to pass his bike down through the crowded street right in front of the church, her engine loud enough to make everyone there take notice as he tried very hard not to draw anymore attention to himself as he passed. He could actually feel their disapproving glares on the back of his head as he slowly turned into the parking lot.

It was a kick to his nonexistent balls to see that a couple of them stopped talking and hurried their way inside, more then likely to inform those inside that some horrible tough looking biker had dared pull up to join the service.

"Why did I expect anything else?" he asked himself as he pulled her up into the only spare gap that was available and cut her engine. The silence that hit was surprising as he removed his helmet and ran his gloved fingers through his hair. At least there were no more congealed cum clumps that could be seen.

He pulled his gloves off and stuck them in his satchel bag as he hung his helmet from the handlebar. He pulled the key out and got off her, stretching his body out again a little. He hadn't ridden for so long, his body wasn't in any condition to last sitting in that position for so long.

A nervous lump in his throat was swallowed as he turned away from his bike and began to walk slowly up the parking lot. Already he could see at the churches doors were people trying not to be obvious as they stared at him, a few though were openly pointing and not bothering to hide it. He must have looked a sight being there in the first place.

He tried to ignore them as he continued walking up, but he was surprised when he finally recognised the car that was parked in the parking lot, halfway through the line. He hadn't noticed it before, but now that he was close enough to see it, he wasn't surprised that he didn't recognise it when he first pulled in.

"That's....that's my car" he said softly in surprise as he slowly reached out and touched the gleaming hood. "That's the car dad got me" he said as he looked her over. She looked older, with a few dings here and there in places. And the interior had changed colour as well. And so did the outside. She was no longer yellow, but she was now a bright cherry red.

"Dad, you know I wanted the red one."

"Timothy, this was the only colour they had in the lot. I don't understand why it's so important she needs to be red. What's wrong with yellow anyway?"

"Cause everyone knows that red makes it go faster" Timothy whispered as he finished the small memory, actually smiling as he drew his fingers over the bonnet of the car. It had warmed up under the sun.

Then he realised, that if the car was here, then his father definitely had to be, right? After he had disappeared, the car would have gone into his fathers possession. So if it was here, that meant that his father had to be here too. Who else would have brought it here?

Unless he gave it to Matt....

"See? I told you."

He looked up in surprise at the shout, actually jumping back from the car as he saw the couple that had walked into the church were now back outside. It took him a moment to realise that it was a mature couple older then he was, and they were both dressed up so smartly that they seemed to scream wealth. Which would probably explain the enormous diamond necklace that was wrapped around her neck like a snake.

"See? A dirty disgusting biker is here, and he's already inspecting your car to try and steal it" the female cougar was saying as she pointed at Timothy with a sharply manicured finger. "He's not even here a minute and he's trying to steal from us."

"I told you putting an advertisement in the paper was a bad idea" a mature looking male cougar, most likely her husband, was complaining in a rather pompous voice. "God knows what kind of unwanted attention would have been prevented if you didn't advertise like some commoner" he was saying.

"YOU" The female said as she trotted up in her rather ridiculously high high heeled shoes that looked like one fall would break her ankles, keeping her sharp vicious looking finger pointed straight at Timothy.

"You get out of this parking lot and get out of here. This is no place for some thug like you" she demanded as she poked Timothy's chest with her sharp finger so hard he thought he'd been stabbed. "We do not need low life's like you on a day like this making the day worse" she said as she jabbed her finger against Timothy's chest several more times.

"Go on, get out of here" she practically shouted at him, in such a tone of voice that it was obvious that she was used to getting her own way just by speaking like that. "Get out of here, you don't deserve to be in a place like this."

Timothy had no way to actually defend himself against such a threat, as he was pretty sure that hitting a woman was still forbidden in society, and he found himself completely at a loss for words as he couldn't even form a sentence to defend himself. Of course, his inability to communicate only seemed to spur on her on by shouting at him even more and poking him so hard he thought she was trying to break his skin.

He was trying to come up with a way to defuse the situation, or at least make sure that things didn't escalate, when he registered what she had actually said. Your car. She could not have possibly known that car used to belong to him, so she could only have been addressing the one that the car belonged to now.

Which meant it belonged too....

Timothy looked up and looked past the two cougars as he saw, for the first time in years, his brother Matt. Who looked just as shocked to see Timothy as Timothy was shocked to see Matt. The look of chocked recognition was equal on both of their faces as they found themselves meeting each other for the first time in years.

Matt had definitely grown up since Timothy had last seen him. He was a little taller then he used to be, and he had filled out. Not anywhere near as big and bulky as Timothy had become, but he had the kind of slender body build that many would be envious of, all tucked away behind what looked like a designer suit.

His hair was shoulder length, and red with black tips, which should have looked stupid on someone his age, but he somehow managed to pull it off. There was a slender silver chain around his neck with a set of dog-tags that were clearly visible against his tie, and Timothy recognised the heavy silver watch against his wrist as the one that their father had always worn.

Matt had definitely grown up, he had ended up looking like a younger version of their father. Timothy suddenly felt even more out of place, and even more older and useless then he had before. Matt had grown into the family, while Timothy had grown well out of it.

It took several moments for the look of shock to remove itself from Matt's face before he managed to pull himself together, just as the male cougar turned to him.

"Well, aren't you going to do anything? He's clearly sizing up your car and wondering how much he'll make by selling it" he said, with finality in his voice as if it was no-other truth but that one. Matt just shook his head as he turned to the cougar.

"I can handle this myself. Why don't you two leave?" he asked in a rather polite voice.

"We're not leaving you here with this thug" the cougar said. "In fact, I think I'm going to call the police and have him hauled away. There must be something in the rule books that says a biker can be arrested for causing a menace" he said.

"Brendan, allow me to rephrase that" Matt said as he dropped all pretences. "Fuck off" he said.

"Excuse me?" the female cougar said in shock as she momentarily forgot about the large biker she was poking and turned back to matt. "What did you just say??" she said.

"You two were not even invited anyway" Matt said as he looked at them both. "You know very well Spencer hated the guts of the both of you, since you tried to suspend his classes at the bureau multiple times since you thought he was too soft while you were both still on the board of directors" he said. "So I'd like you both to fuck off, and I honestly don't give a shit if you two don't show your faces near me again" he said.

Both the cougars looked absolutely appalled at the fact that someone like Matt would dare to speak to them in such a way that they were unable to talk for several long minutes before the female huffed at him in a rather loud and disgusted way.

"Well, I never" she said with a lift of her nose into the air as she flounced her way past him, her heels digging into the ground rather loudly.

"We'll remember this, Matthew, when we come after you for that slander job you pulled" the cougar said, looking down his nose at Matt as if he was a piece of dirt he wanted to remove. "Then we'll see how you talk to us" he said before he followed his wife. Matt however, looked like he was trying hard not to laugh at them as he turned his attention to his brother.

"Ignore them" he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "They got fired from the bureaus board of directors a good while ago, and they never got over it. Still think they're important. They're just a pain in the ass" he said.

"Who...were they?" Timothy asked.

"Those two? Like I said, used to be on the board of directors for the bureau. They got fired for corruption" Matt said, although he did have to step up closer so he could hear his brother speak. Outside in the open, his soft voice sounded even softer. Although he didn't ask questions, at least not yet. "Spencer eventually left the warehouse after I got released, and he got a job at the bureau teaching handler classes. They kept wanting to throw him out because he wanted the future handlers and masters to treat slaves like people instead of things. Although they couldn't since he was really popular" Matt said with a chuckle.

"You got released? Dad actually released you?" Timothy asked as he looked at his brother. Matt nodded at him.

"My first evaluation day. I was released with no problems. Dad made sure of it" Matt said. "I walked out of that compound and never looked back. Once enough time passed dad brought me into the business and I started learning off him."

Timothy nodded slowly, his heart and stomach filled with butterflies. For some reason, even though Matt was talking so casually with him, like nothing had happened, it wasn't doing much to calm him down and make him feel at ease. He was kind of expecting Matt to shout at him at any minute.

"So, how did you get here?" Matt asked. Timothy reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of newspaper and showed him, his hand shaking slightly.

"I ...saw this. And I guess I ...decided to come down" he said, his cheeks suddenly going red with how uncomfortable he felt. "I rode my bike" he said.

"Oh you have a bike? May I see?" matt asked. Timothy nodded, the butterflies dancing worse in his stomach as he walked the length of the way back to where he had parked her. Matt whistled, impressed, when he saw her.

"I know absolutely nothing about bikes, but she looks gorgeous. Harley, right?" he asked as he looked her over.

"Yeah, she is" Timothy said with a nod. His throat suddenly went dry out of nerves as he reached into the satchel bag and pulled out the bottle of vodka. He managed to down several gulps before Matt turned his attention back to him. If he was surprised that Timothy was drinking, he didn't show it.

"You know, you can't drink in public anymore" he said. Timothy looked at him for a moment before he flushed red in embarrassment and he stowed the bottle back in his bag.

"Oh, right" he said, suddenly feeling like an idiot. "I...guess I shouldn't drink when the service should be starting" he said as he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. Matt gave him a confused look for a moment.

"The service is over" Matt said. "It ended not long ago" he said.

"It...it's over? But I thought it was gonna start soon. It said so right here" Timothy said as he suddenly felt even more of an idiot as he checked the piece of newspaper. He was sure that he had taken enough time to actually get there before the service started.

"It was planned at that time, but they scheduled something else and we had to push the service forward" Matt said. "It's not your fault, we didn't know we got bumped ahead when I put the ad in the paper" he said. Timothy slumped his shoulders as he turned and walked over to a bench that was set up at the edge of the parking lot. He slumped his body against it as he sighed.

"I feel like an idiot for missing it" he admitted as matt walked over and sat beside him.

"It's not your fault, so don't blame yourself" Matt said to him. "and since its over, I don't need to go back inside. I don't really want to anyway. There's only so many times you can hear people apologise before you want to run and hide from it all" he admitted. There was a few moments of silence before Timothy broke it.

"So....how did he go? What happened?" he asked. Matt sat back as he relaxed himself on the bench as he looked up at the sky.

"Actually, we were really happy together. Spencer was loving his teaching job, and I was enjoying actually having mine. Everything was going great at home, then about eight months ago Spencer had a heart attack" Matt said as he kept his gaze up at the sky.

"It was a bad one, but not bad enough to need surgery or anything. But it was bad enough to be pretty serious. Spencer took it seriously too. He started working out again, running in the mornings, every morning. He dragged me out of bed to do it with him. Started eating healthy, going organic as best he could" he explained, as a smile crept on his face. "ugh, those fucking disgusting veggie juices he made me drink with him. What the hell was he thinking" he chuckled, more to himself then anyone else.

"Started drinking red wine every night for his heart. Honestly, I thought everything was working out and we'd get a good long life together" matt said as he stopped laughing,expression becoming rather solemn. "He had another heart attack last week. He ended up in the wheelchair. There wasn't any way of coming back from that one" he said as he leant forward, clasping his hands together.

"We were getting ready to take him home by the end of the week when he had a second one. We didn't even see it coming" he said as a look of sadness came across his face. "He didn't wake up from it. They got him out of the ICU and I was beside his bed with him, when he had a third one. It took three heart attacks in the span of a week to take him from me" matt said as he looked up at Timothy.

"I was there for him though, at the end" he said as he sat back up. "and today I said goodbye to him for the last time." Timothy said nothing as he listened, allowing a few moments of silence to pass between them.

"You...seem to be handling it well" he admitted.

"I've had time to make my peace on it" Matt admitted. "I guess after the first heart attack he had I had to really remind myself he's older then me, even if he didn't act his age, if ever" he said. "I guess maybe I prepared myself for it, because when it happened, yeah I was sad but I didn't let it swallow me whole."

"Although, I did kinda have plans to sneak away and pick up the biggest case of Bluebell ice cream I could find and go home and wallow in self pity while gorging for the night" he admitted. "Although I think running into my brother and seeing him again for the first time in nearly twenty odd years is better" he said.

"I thought you'd yell at me" Timothy admitted, his stomach twisting in knots. "I thought you'd call the cops on me or something when I turned up, because I kinda thought you'd not want me back" he said.

"To be honest, dad and I stopped hating you not long after you were gone" Matt said as he looked at his brother. "we both forgave you a long time ago. We've been worried about you, but we didn't have a way to find you. We just both thought that if you ever wanted to come home, you would" he admitted.

Timothy said nothing to that as he looked down at the ground, feeling the butterflies in his stomach fade away as he felt his eyes water slightly. The fact that his brother and his father had stopped hating him a long time ago, it felt like a weight had come off his shoulders. Not a huge weight, but it felt like a weight had been lifted at any rate. He still felt uncomfortable and uneasy sitting so close to his brother, but it was more manageable then it had been not long ago.

It took a few more moments of silence to pass between them before it was broken, and this time it was by matt. Who asked the question that Timothy knew he would ask, and he knew would be the hardest to answer.

"So, what happened to you after you were taken away?"

"Where the fuck do I even start?" Timothy asked as he reached into the satchel bag and pulled out the bottle of vodka and took another large swig. Matt this time didn't bother reminding him of the law against it, as he watched his brother down the bottle to the halfway mark. Although he was surprised that it didn't seem to be affecting Timothy in the slightest.

"Maybe at the beginning?" Matt suggested. It had to be vodka in that bottle, he could smell it from where he was sitting. So why didn't it affect his brother like it would probably have hit him if he did something like that? Well, he did do something like that once, after he had admitted to Spencer one night he hadn't ever actually been plastered drunk before.

Well, come next morning, matt had woken up with the mother of all headaches in a trashed room, a very sore and well used backside and a laughing Spencer who promised that he had picked up a few boys from the local bar and they had used matt like a party favour after matt had begged to be the centre of attention.

He still hadn't found the 'supposed' footage of the event, but he didn't have a way to prove it didn't happen anyway.

Timothy finished his drink as he stuffed the bottle back into the bag and sat back, his turn to look up at the sky as he tried to work out what to say.

"From the beginning huh? Guess that's the best way to start off" he admitted as he tried to explain it the best way that he was able to, even though just thinking about it was hard enough.

"I don't know where she took me, it was ....kinda felt like a hospital or something. I think I was drugged because I don't really remember it. But I do remember getting sold to this guy who ran the local chapter for a bike gang" he explained. "His name was Frank, but I had to call him master at all times. He wasn't afraid to slap me around if I forgot."

"He was a big fucker, bigger then me. He was handsome and strong and had this dominating presence about him" he said. "Even for a wolf, he was intimidating. He made me sleep on a mattress in an outside shed, chained up to a post every night like a dog so I couldn't run away."

"Frank just wanted someone to run the bar and do all the dirty work and not have to pay them for it. And someone to fuck when he wanted to. He made me work practically naked all the time, scrubbing the floors and serving food and drinks" he continued. "he put me on display and never called me by my name in public. It was just a way for him to remind me I wasn't a person anymore."

"And he did beat me a lot" Timothy said as he took another gulp of the vodka. "I tried fighting him in the beginning, but he was older and bigger then I was. And he didn't tolerate me fighting back against his authority. There were a lot of times I went to bed covered in bruises because I didn't learn properly."

"But he never let anyone else touch me. He'd parade me in the bar and make me take the gropes and the butt slaps from the other bikers who visited, and yeah, he'd make me crawl on the floor to serve them for their amusement. But if they did anything more, he wouldn't tolerate it" Timothy explained. "no-one could touch me but him. And he made sure of it."

"So, he wasn't all bad?" Matt asked him as he allowed Timothy to explain.

"I didn't see that at first, I just saw someone who enjoyed beating me and treating me like crap" Timothy explained. "and he was hung too. He was forceful, and he liked it rough. He liked me crying when he took me, and he liked it when I choked on him" he admitted. "he used to say he liked me, because he could do what he couldn't normally do to others in the bedroom, since I had no say in it."

"Honestly matt, I felt like a thing. It's not anywhere near as bad as you went through, but I felt like I really was nothing but something for him to make work and fuck. Some days I just felt like, if you and dad knew what was going on, you'd either laugh or say it's not enough. That I need to be punished more."

"But then, one day after about a year with him, he pulled me aside and sat me down after hours and told me he had a surprise for me. He took me outside and showed me this old trailer he had bought off someone. It was a little old but it still worked and had everything in it. And he told me it was for me" he said.

"I had my own little place, even if it was a trailer in his backyard" he said. "he even started letting me wear clothes in the bar and stopped humiliating me in front of everyone. When I asked him about it, he said he wanted me to start over. He felt like I had been punished enough and he wanted me to become a better person."

"He bought me my bike" he said, a small smile appearing on his face. "started teaching me how to fix her and look after her. Even taught me to ride her. He started letting me come on rides with him and the gang. They started treating me like another person. Like I actually belonged."

"Even he changed. He stopped being so rough with me in bed and I started to learn to enjoy it more. Even had me call him Daddy a few times, just for fun. But if I had to be honest, he really did start feeling like a father to me. It made me so happy to make him proud of me when I could work a shift and nothing wrong happened, or that time I took apart my girls engine and put her back together without making a mistake. I was just so happy to make him proud of me, you know?" he asked.

"I guess it was the right thing to do to you, if you turned out for the better" Matt said. He didn't sound like he was making an accusation or gloating about it. It sounded like he was just stating the facts. And Timothy agreed with him with a nod and a small smile.

"You know, he actually started convincing me to go home and actually see you and dad" he said. "Thought it would be good for me, you know? To let them know how I was doing and see that I was better off. And.....and I wanted to apologise too. It took a while, but when I talked with him, he helped me to see how bad I really was and all the horrible things I did to you. There was more then one time I was crying in his arms about how sorry I was."

It actually pleased Matt to hear that Timothy was sorry for the things that he did, and it did sound like Timothy had learned his lesson, even if it wasn't in the harsh way that many people had told him that Timothy deserved to be punished by.

But then, he realised that it must have been years ago that this had happened, which meant that if Timothy had returned home, he would have been back in their lives for a lot longer. So why did he wait until now?

"So why didn't you come home?" Matt asked. Timothy said nothing as he took another drink, and he actually looked like he was about to break down at that point. He looked like he was about to start crying.

"Because the universe wanted to tell me fuck you and remind me how much everyone and everything hates me" Timothy said. "The world didn't want to give me another chance, and when it saw that I was happy and starting over, it took it away from me. Frank died Matt, he got hit by a truck coming home from getting dinner for us both. He died on the side of the road and he didn't get found until the next morning because nobody bothered to phone in the accident, not even the truck driver."

"I got....I got passed onto his son, Garreth. And Matt...he was.....he was worse then me..." Timothy said as he started to shudder. Matt reached over and put his hand on Timothy's shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze, and although Timothy jumped slightly from the foreign gentle touch, he did start to calm down enough that he didn't break down.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to" Matt said to him, as he saw how upset his brother was starting to get. "Timothy, its' ok. Whatever happened, happened. But you're back home now. I don't care why you came home in the end, I'm just glad your back" he said as he squeezed his brothers shoulder.

"You...you are?" Timothy asked him as he looked up at his brother.

"Of course I am. I honestly don't care why you came back, I just wanted you back so we could start over" he said to him with a smile. Timothy actually managed to make a smile back at his brother, feeling whatever bad feelings inside of him start to float away, as the weight on his shoulders started to lift from him.

Then they all came crashing back down on him with the weight of a fat elephant.

"Well, I care about why you came back."

How long their father had been standing there, listening to their conversation, neither of them knew as they both stood up when they heard him talk. Perhaps he had come out to see where his son had gone after the service. Or perhaps those two cougars had gone inside and complained about how Matt had offended them. But whatever the reason, their father was now outside with them.

Timothy had to admit, as he stood there starting to shake in a new-found fear, his father had changed. He had gotten older. Still wearing one of his trademark tailored suits and his hair swept back without a strand out of place, he still looked like the father that Timothy had grown up with.

But there were lines in his face, more then Timothy had expected. A pair of wire framed glasses were perched on his nose bridge, his eyes focused solely on Timothy. His hair was no longer white, it was grey. And it was starting to thin out. He was leaning against a black metal cane with an intricately cared wooden handle. His father had aged, but the look on his face, it hadn't changed in the slightest.

"Dad, how long were..." Matt managed to get out before Thomas put his hand up to silence his son. Once Matt stopped talking, Thomas turned his attention back to his runaway son.

"I see, so you think you've learned your lesson after all that you did to our family?" Thomas said as he slowly walked up till he was standing in front of Timothy. Timothy actually shrank back and fell backwards onto the bench, even with his father older and frailer, he was still intimidating to him, especially now.

"What's the matter Timothy? Couldn't you handle a master that was worse than you?" he asked. "Did you get a little uncomfortable and decided you still had rights?" he demanded.

"Dad...I don't think" Matt began, but Thomas held his hand up again to silence him.

"I don't give a damn how badly this must hurt you to talk, but I deserve to know everything that happened" Thomas said. "you put me through a lot of trouble and a lot of pain and hurt, all for your own selfish amusement. You have a lot of nerve to come back here just because it was a little hard on you" he said.

Timothy actually felt his body start to shake as he looked up at his father, who was now looking down on him with the same expression he had on the day that he had sold him off. And Timothy could not help but feel just the way he had when he was sixteen and helpless to stop what was going on.

"I ....I..." he tried to say, but he was unable to get the words out as Thomas continued to glare down at him.

"Tell me the truth, why did you come back? What made you think you can just come back into our lives and we'd just open our arms to someone who proved they didn't give one rats ass about us?" Thomas demanded.

"I...I..."

"Out with it. Tell me why you came back. Tell me why I should give a damn about someone like you, someone who is...replaceable" Thomas said in an accusing sounding voice.

"BECAUSE I'M SICK!!!"

It had been years since Timothy had yelled so loudly, and it actually hurt his throat just to shout out those three words at his father and his brother. He didn't know where he even had the nerve to shout out in public, or why he had the sudden urge to let it all out, but he found he wasn't able to stop.

"I am sick, dad. I am sick and I am broken and there are so many things wrong with me I don't even know where to start" he said as he showed his father the half empty bottle of vodka. "This doesn't even affect me. I don't feel a damn thing when I drink. I've done drugs, the hardcore shit, and even they don't make me feel anything. I am so many kinds of messed up I don't know what I'm supposed to feel.

"Do you know what Garreth did, the day his father died? The day my master died? He castrated me" Timothy spat out. Both Matt and Thomas both had a similar look of shock on their faces to hear that. "The guys in the gang, that I thought actually liked having me around, they were the ones who held me down. And they were the first to rape me. The whole fucking gang took turns. And I honestly believed they were my friends."

He dropped the bottle on the ground and almost tore the leather jacket from his body before throwing it on the bench. He didn't bother pulling his shirt off, but he did rip it open on the front enough to expose the tattoos on his chest.

"They did this to me too. They tattooed me, all over. They marked me as their bitch and they never made me forget it either. They got me hooked on drugs and raped me for two weeks solid. And do you know what they did when I screamed and begged for mercy? They beat me until I couldn't even stand up."

"I was just property to them. Every good thing I ever had a thought about, every good thought I had about myself, they beat it out of me until I stopped caring, until I stopped believing there was anything good about myself at all. Why the hell would there be anything good about me, if all I'm good for is just a sex toy to be used and abused?" he demanded.

"I broke down in the shower last night, and I don't even know why I did it. I have no idea why I cried or what I was crying about. Do you know I killed him yesterday? He was going to rape me again, and I just snapped, and I have no idea why I did it, but I did it. I killed him. I bashed his fucking skull in, and I have no idea why I did it, or why I didn't care that I did it.

"I am so fucking messed up, I don't even care that I'm sick. They infected me. One of the bikers came back into the bar one night and punched me in the face. He almost broke my jaw. He shouted that he had caught it from me, cause I was the only faggot he fucked and his wife was clean. One of them had infected me and I didn't even know it.

"And do you know what Garreth did? He almost killed me. He and his friends beat me so badly I could barely move and I actually believed I was going to die that night. The only reason he didn't kill me was because he couldn't be bothered finishing me. But he told me that if he did, he'd just bury me in the backyard like some common dog, and no-one would ever know what happened to me, because I'm not worth missing."

"And he was right. He could have killed me, and you wouldn't have known. You would have both lived your lives without ever knowing what happened to me because I'd be buried in the ground like some dead animal and no-one would have cared.

"I don't even care anymore. I honest to god don't care if I died that night or if I die tomorrow. I know they can cure what I have, but I don't care about getting it cured. There's no point to it. I'm not afraid if they catch me because I know they'll kill me. What I am afraid of, is how long it'll take them to kill me. I'm afraid of what they'll do to me before they kill me, or even if they don't kill me. I don't care about myself anymore, because I have no reason to care. No-one has a reason to care about me.

"I am sick. I am broken. I am messed up, and I'm hurt and I'm sorry and ....and.....I just don't fucking know anymore" Timothy said as the tears finally spilled from his eyes and started to run down his cheeks as he looked at both his brother and his father, who were staring at him in shock.

"I don't...I don't even know why I came home....I just...I just saw that add and ....and I guess maybe....just maybe there was a chance...just one fucking chance....that it could all end...and ...and it would all just...just stop and .... and someone...someone would care......"

He didn't have the words to continue as he dropped his arms to the side and his whole body shuddered and shook against his sobs. It had all just come out, everything he was able to tell his father and his brother right there and then.

But there was so much more that he couldn't tell them, things that even he didn't want to admit had happened. Like the time that one of the bikers had deliberately missed the toilet after heavily drinking, and Timothy had to lick the whole thing clean without throwing up himself.

Or the time that Garreth had gone a week without cleaning up after himself from a bout of diarrhoea, and had used Timothy's tongue for toilet paper. And had then used his mouth as a toilet seat to ensure he had it out of his system.

Or the time that they had doped him up on drugs till he almost overdosed, and they had watched him convulse and spasm while they drank their beer and chatted over his dying chokes as if it was nothing.

And there were so many more things he could tell them, things that still haunted him and sometimes stopped him from sleeping for days. But he hadn't been lying when he said that he didn't care about himself anymore. He didn't go along with those horrible things because he was forced into it or did it out of fear of what would happen if he didn't.

He went along with it and did those things because there was no point in fighting it. Whatever dignity he had about himself, died the night his previous master did and he had it taken from him with a butchers knife. The few times he was afraid enough to fight back, only ever made it worse for him.

And he hadn't been lying when he said that the world hated him and wanted him to suffer and never be anything good. His life had finally started turning around and it was taken from him and he was ground into the lowest part of the world with the worlds heavy leather boot.

His father took another step closer until they were both within touching distance of one another, his father looking at him with an expression that was hard to read.

"So you thought that you'd come home, and somehow you thought I'd make everything better?" Thomas asked him in a quiet tone of voice.

"I....I just.....just need my dad...." Timothy somehow managed to get out in a quiet tone of voice that Thomas almost couldn't hear. Timothy blinked away the tears as he looked at his father through blurred eyes. His fathers expression was so hard to read that he couldn't tell what he was thinking. That mask he seemed to wear, had only gotten better at hiding his true feelings.

However, even Timothy was taken aback when Thomas suddenly wrapped his arms around the larger version of his son and hugged him so tightly that for a moment, Timothy had no way to actually breath.

"You should have come home sooner" Thomas said softly against his sons ear as he hugged him tightly.

Timothy had a shocked look on his face from what his father had just said to him as he stood there, feeling his father hug him tightly as if he didn't want to let his son go. The shock and confusion did not wear off for several minutes, and it even persisted when his father finally let go of him.

"Wh....what?" he said softly.

"I'm sure Matthew has already told you, we stopped hating you a long time ago" Thomas said to him as he held his hands on his sons shoulders. "If you had come home sooner, it doesn't matter when it was, we would have welcomed you back if that's what you wanted" he said.

"But....but you just....what you just said..."Timothy said as he tried to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand, still trying to wrap his head around what was going on.

"I just needed to hear your side of the story" Thomas said to him with a small smile on his face. "I needed to hear it, so I could understand what was going on."

"Dad, what are you talking about? You were just snapping at him, so you could make him tell you?" Matt asked as he too felt slightly surprised. And more then a little confused with what was going on.

"I received a phone call last night, from a detective" Thomas said as he looked at both of his sons. "He told me that there had been a murder in a town not that far from here. A bar owner, who had been beaten to death. He thought it was a break and enter that went wrong."

"Until he took a look in the office. He found the safe, and buried under the illegal pornography and illicit drugs, he found a stack of photographs, displaying in great detail, the somewhat routine abuse of a teenage flamedramon, over the course of his adult life" Thomas said.

"Wait...did you know he was coming? And you didn't tell me?" Matt asked as he looked at his father, an annoyed expression on his face that his father would dare keep something like that from him. Thomas however shook his head.

"The detective said there was a possibility that it wasn't Timothy, but he wanted to let me know. He was sure it was, but he had yet to prove it" Thomas said. "I was actually hoping that you would end up coming here" Thomas said as he looked to Timothy. "I wanted to know what happened to you, so I could figure out what to do before I had to call the police."

"You....you want to call the police on me?" Timothy asked as he felt that pit of despair start to creep inside him and fill his stomach up through his chest with a deep, dark sense of dread.

"Timothy, he was sure you killed him, and ran off. I didn't know what to think. But I had to know' Thomas said. "Those bitches came back into the church and said you had told them off after alerting you to a biker. A flamedramon biker" Thomas said as he looked at Matt.

"I came out here, and I was praying it was you. I wanted so badly for it to be you, and you cannot understand how grateful I am that it is" Thomas said as he looked back up at Timothy. "But I had to know your side of the story, and I had to get it out of you the only way that I could."

"You....wanted to ...believe me?" Timothy asked slowly, feeling more tears in his eyes.

"Of course I believe you" Thomas said. "I believed every word that came out of your mouth. And I am so, so sorry that I forced you to live every minute of that horrible life that you ended up in" he said as he gently took his sons hand into his own and squeezed it.

"That day, we were both at fault" Thomas said as he looked up at his son. "And I now know, that you have suffered for it, more then you ever should have. And I don't want you to suffer any more" he said to him. "I forgive you, for everything you did. And I want you to come home with me."

Timothy actually started to feel himself break down as he was unable to hold himself back again as he grabbed his father in his arms and held on as tightly as he was able to. The tears poured through again, and he made no attempt to stop them.

The weight of the worlds hatred and disgust towards him, and the hatred and disgust he held for himself, it finally left him. He suddenly felt so much lighter, so much free-er then he had ever felt in his life. He was starting to feel things that he had believed were dead and buried in the graveyard that was his heart.

His family actually wanted him back. He had just spilled his guts to them, they knew some of the worst about him. He had killed someone, he was infected, he was broken possibly beyond repair, and yet they still wanted him back.

His father and his brother, had both forgiven him and they had wanted him home. They would have accepted him coming home years ago, if he had only gotten up the courage to run home in the first place.

Thomas held his son as he allowed him to cry, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he now finally had his son back. Words could not have described the wave of feelings that were washing over him. Both of them held onto each other as they allowed the ghosts of their past to begin unchaining themselves.

How long they stood here holding onto each other, long after Timothy had stopped crying, neither were sure. Thomas was the first to let go of his son and take a step back, wiping his eyes with he back of his hand.

"We....we have a lot we need to do" Thomas said as he took a few breaths to calm himself down as he tried to make himself look presentable again. "and ...and we need to start now."

"You still...have to call the police on me, don't you?" Timothy asked as he sniffed a couple of times, not looking happy at the prospect.

"I had a discussion with the detective last night. It...lasted quite a while" Thomas said. "You know that the BOSS is still around, don't you?" he asked. Timothy slowly nodded.

"I...saw the sign on the way in."

"But they have changed, a lot" Matt said quietly. "they did a whole reform of their laws a few years ago, to work more in favour of the slaves without actually favouring them. It's still an alternative to prison sentences."

"Yes, but they added in new laws dealing with illegal slaves. Mostly the kidnapped kind" Thomas said. "As far as anyone is concerned, you were kidnapped. And that is how it is going to stay. And it's not that far from the truth. Your first master bought you, and on his death, you would have been released. So it's not that far of a stretch to say that your second master kidnapped you back."

Timothy didn't say anything as he slowly wiped his eyes and sniffed a couple of times. But he did give a slow nod to show he understood.

"So, you were kidnapped. And held in that bar for years. Those pictures are proof of abuse, but they're only pictures. And pictures can be questioned, especially since they were digital prints" Thomas continued.

"The detective informed me that, a delivery boy had arrived and found the back door unlocked, and found the body. He called the police and they arrived. Apparently a number of bikers arrived not long after and were taken into custody because they were also in the pictures. He had a feeling that if they had found the body first, they would have disposed of the evidence quickly. Apparently there was enough to warrant an immediate arrest of the whole gang.

"And I'm pretty sure they will all turn on you" Thomas said as he looked at Timothy. "you're the slave, and you killed their friend. So, they have no loyalty to you. Which is why I'm glad that you got here first, instead of them. They haven't yet arrested all of them."

"But..what if they do come for me?" Timothy asked quietly.

"We won't lose you again, not after we just got you back" Matt said to him as he saw the look of fear on his brothers face. Thomas nodded in agreement.

"The first thing we need to do, is take you to the hospital" Thomas said to Timothy. "We're going to have you fully checked out. Blood tests, blood screening, photographic evidence and medical reports of every kind. We are going to get full documentation of every bit of abuse that they did to you.

"And we will have to call the police, since you are a person of interest. But with the evidence rising against them, they won't be able to charge much on you. Especially if it comes down to you not being in the right state of mind when you committed the act" Thomas pointed out.

"What....does that have to do with anything?" Timothy asked, not understanding.

"A few years ago, they found some kidnapped slaves who had beaten their masters to death in a pretty gruesome way" Matt said. "They had been beaten and hurt and abused so much they all snapped and killed their masters in cold blood with their bare hands. Half of them weren't in the right state of mind to even comprehend that they had done it."

"A couple of them were psychopaths though" Thomas said.

"Yeah, a couple of them actually enjoyed what they did, so they got convicted. But the others, their state of mind was taken into great consideration and they ended up not getting charged for the murders" Matt said. "It was ruled justifiable in self defence" he explained.

"Wait....so....so does that mean..." Timothy asked quietly.

"If we can get these medical reports in with proof of abuse, and your testimony, I doubt you'll even see a courtroom" Thomas said to him with a smile. "The detective said if you had killed him out of fear of what he'd do to you, then it was self defence."

Timothy actually smiled to that, as he realised that there was a real, strong chance that he could actually walk away from all that had happened. Then he was hit with a thought.

"But...what about the BOSS?" he asked.

"Based on the slaves mental conditions, if they can be returned home, then they can be. If not, they get assigned into proper care, or put into circulation for rehabilitation into society" Matt explained o him. "so, you'll most likely be released back to us anyway, since it's in your best interest."

"And...the bikers?" Timothy asked quietly.

"With your testimony and proof of everything that happened, they'll all pay the price" Thomas said to him. "so the sooner you give your testimony, the quicker they get put away."

"But enough of that. We have a lot of work to do" Thomas said as he pulled out a very slender, thing and small device from his pocket, one that had a holographic keypad that lit up when he turned it on. "First thing, I'm going to call our mechanic. He can take your bike in for a long overdue service. And get it out of sight as well. We'll get her fixed up and looking like new in no time.

"And then, we're going to take you to the hospital and get you looked at. And then you're going to go home. And I am not going to let you get away from me again" Thomas said with a smile to his son as the keypad vanished and he brought the device up against his ear and started to walk away as he began talking.

Both boys were a little speechless after what their father had just said. But trust Thomas to actually think ahead on everything and have it all planned out, even if it was under a possible chance.

"I...I get to go home...with dad?" Timothy asked as a hopeful look appeared on his face.

"Dad doesn't live at home anymore. He's retired. He lives in a retirement community not far from here" Matt explained. "He sold the house years ago."

"Oh...."Timothy said as he looked crestfallen.

"So you'll be coming home with me. To my home. Well, I guess it's our home now" Matt said with a bit of a shrug of his shoulders.

"So....you have Spencer's apartment, right?" Timothy asked him. "won't that be small for us?" he asked. Matt just smiled at him.

"Who do you think dad sold the house to?" he asked.

"You...you own our home?" Timothy asked in surprise.

"Well...dad sold the house to us a couple of years after you left" Matt explained. "Spencer...kinda wanted a basement. For....reasons" he added with a chuckle. "So, dad and he worked out a deal. Dad sold the house to me, and we continued to let him live with us till he retired and got a place of his own."

"I'm...I'm really going home with you?" Timothy asked as he felt the tears in his eyes again.

"You are. It's about time you did" Matt said with as mile to him. "Come on, I'll drive you to the hospital. Dad can meet us there, he likes taking the towncars" he said with a smile as he gestured to the car.

"So, dad did give you my car" Timothy said quietly as he gathered himself and followed his brother. Each step after him, made him feel lighter as more feelings slowly began to emerge from within. It was slowly starting to sink in, that his nightmare might finally be over.

"Yeah. And just in case you wondered, we couldn't have sex in the car. We tried but no position worked" Matt chuckled. Timothy actually felt himself chuckling as well to the thought.

"I really don't think that is something that matters, considering everything else" he admitted.

"I know. I just thought you might have had that thought already" Matt said with a smile to him as he flicked his finger over the door handle and the door automatically unlocked.

Just as Timothy got into the passenger seat and eased his body in, a sudden thought hit him as he turned to Matt, who was putting on his seatbelt.

"What...did that cougar back there....what did he mean about that slander job?" he asked him.

"Oh that? I wrote a book" Matt said as he suddenly turned and reached behind the driver's seat. "oh come on, I put a whole bunch of them back here....hang on.....almost....dammnit it slipped.....wait, almost got that one....ahah" he said as he sat back up in his seat and handed a rather large hardcover book to Timothy.

"A Favourite Situation : A story of true events under the collar of the BOSS" Timothy said as he looked over the front cover. There was a family portrait of the three of them, himself and matt standing on either side of his father, but the portrait was torn, split down between Thomas and Matt.

"You..actually wrote a book about what happened?" Timothy asked in surprise.

"Everything that happened, I wrote about" Matt said to him. "except what happened with you at the end, I went with what Dad said happened, that you ran away. Everything else, legit" he explained as he pressed a button on the dash and the car began come to life.

"It hit the best sellers list pretty quickly and I started a book tour. I went everywhere with Spencer, even ended up on Oprah. God that bitch got the wrong message about the book" he said as he let the car warm up slowly. "and she does not like being questioned or corrected either" he added.

"So...this is the slander job they mentioned?" Timothy asked as he continued looking at the cover.

"Yeah. There was a whole review of their practices and whatnot, and then they had a major reform to make it more humane. Turned out a lot of people got fired from there and were replaced with more experienced people. So, it's still around, but they ended up being better because of it" Matt said. "Course, a lot of former board members and employees who got fired, blamed me and have tried to sue me."

"Tried?" Timothy asked.

"If they could have sued me, they would have done it by now" Matt said with a grin. "Timothy, this is gonna be difficult for us both" he said.

"what?" he asked.

"having you back, trust me, I am so happy to have you back. But I know it's going to be difficult for the both of us, and dad" Matt continued to say. "But I want you to take your time. Take as long as you need to get yourself straight, and I'll be right alongside you to help you in anyway that I can. You're my brother, and you're back. That's all that matters to me."

Timothy nodded as he looked back at the book, holding onto it as he felt the car move underneath him as they pulled out of the parking lot. It was still sinking in, and he was actually able to believe in it this time. He was finally allowed to move on, and not have his past come back to haunt him, and the world and the universe would have to finally shut up and leave him alone.

"Matt?" he said softly once they were on the road proper.

"Yeah?"

"I...I know you already....already forgave me, but....but I'm sorry. I really am. Maybe it doesn't mean anything anymore, or maybe it doesn't change anything. But...but I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I did to you. And to dad. And to Spencer. And I'm sorry I never got to tell him."

"He forgave you as well."

Timothy was unable to say anything as he felt himself break down crying once more, as he felt Matt's hand reach out and grab his own. And neither of them let go.