Great Scott.. [open]

“You’re screwed, you fucking airhead.”

Anthony looked up from his whiskey to see two familiar young men approaching his table. “Nice to see that you’re in good spirits, like always,” he murmured sarcastically, pressing the opening of the bottle to his lips again and tipping his head back.

The two halted at the table, but didn’t sit down.

“This isn’t funny, Tony,” the taller one growled, setting his fist on the oak tabletop. “Of all the stupid shit you’ve done over the past few years, this is the worst.”

“I thought we agreed that lighting that shed on fire last summer was the stupidest thing I’d ever done.” He drank again.

The third man piped up this time. “Dude, this isn’t a joke!”

Anthony frowned, and removed his feet from the edge of the table. “Oh, come on, John, you too? I always knew Bobby was a hard-ass, but you always backed me up. Now you’re on his side?”

John sighed.

“Goddammit, Tony, Dean’s looking for you! Right now!” Bobby yanked the chair closest to him back, causing the sharp squeal of wood on tile to sound around the whole restaurant. A couple of the other customers glanced over, wondering what all the squeaking and yelling was about. The kitchen staff didn’t even look their way, though. They were quite used to the noisome trio.

Bobby sat down and snatched Anthony’s alcohol away from him. “Are you even listening to me? At this point, I don’t care how much of an asshole he is, you didn’t need to go and ding his fucking car up!” He threw his one of his hands out to the side. “What good could possibly come out of that?”

“Seeing that little pissbaby blow his top, that’s what. Show of a lifetime. Now give me my bottle back.” He swiped at his friend’s hand in attempt to grab for the whiskey, but Bobby held it away from him. Anthony furrowed his brow. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re scared of him.”

“Are you blind, Tony? Have you seen how many friends Dean has? I’m shitting bricks, and you should be too,” Bobby spat. He leaned over the table, his gaze burning into Anthony’s. “Look. I get that he’s a piece of shit, and I get that he was mackin’ on that girl you like, but you--”

“That girl I like, huh?” Anthony interjected sharply. His eyes narrowed, suddenly matching the intensity in Bobby’s. “Jessica. You know, just that girl I’ve been chasing since the fifth grade. Don’t play dumb with me. He was kissing her, Bobby. He knew I'd hate it. She didn’t even want it herself.” His voice shook with anger.

The scene replayed again and again in his head, mocking him incessantly like a fly that he couldn’t kill. Jessica was a sweet girl, with pretty green eyes, a round face, and loose, shoulder-length ginger curls. She’d moved from Louisiana up to North Dakota in the summer following fourth grade to live with her mother, as her parents had divorced around the time she’d finished school that year. The moment she had arrived at Anthony’s school, the atmosphere seemed to lighten up a little. It was still baffling to him that Jessica, being the innocent, jovial girl she was, had even considered befriending a troublemaking nitwit like him in the first place, but it had worked out somehow. It wasn’t long before he fell for her, but to his dismay, she hadn’t seemed to reciprocate his romantic hints. Not until this year, anyways. And of course, the year that Anthony had finally been getting the feeling that the attraction was mutual had to be the year that Dean had decided that he wanted Jessica, as well.
 
Anthony grabbed the collar of Bobby’s coat. “She told me she hated his ass, but he found out, and he got greedy. I made him let her go, but he pulled me close and told me right to my face that he and his buddies were gonna fuck her, whether she liked it or not,” he growled, tightening his hold on his friend’s shirt. “I promised that son of a bitch that he would get what was coming to him, and he did. Now give me my damn bottle back.” He tore his whiskey out of Bobby’s hand and leaned back into his seat. “Go piss yourselves somewhere else.”

Bobby opened his mouth, the beginnings of a rebuttal forming on his lips, but the sound of the front door crashing open interrupted him. All heads whipped around to face the clamor.

Sure enough, there in the doorway stood Dean. His dark locks, usually combed so neatly, were hanging down over his face. Even from the other side of the restaurant, one could see the flare of his nostrils. He was angry. Very angry. “I knew you’re here, Anthony fucking Barnett! Come over here so I can smash your teeth in for what you did!”

A couple of people who had been sitting near the entrance of the restaurant scrambled away.

John rushed to Anthony’s side and gripped the fabric of his sleeve. In a low, sharp voice, he hissed, “We have to go right now! Come on before he sees you!” He gave Anthony a tug, but Anthony jerked his arm away from John and got up out of his seat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bobby spat, grappling at his friend’s coat. “Let’s go!”

Too late.

“I’m right here where I always am, asshole,” Anthony called, stuffing one hand into his pocket and using the other to hold his drink. He wasn’t even upset. In truth, he was kind of happy to see Dean. To see him so angry about what had happened. Revenge was sweet.

Dean’s eyes snapped up to Anthony, seething with malice. He tilted his head. “You’re awfully calm for someone who’s about to get his head smashed in.” More customers scuttled out of the vicinity through the back door. The kitchen staff watched in silence, with tight jaws. They knew Dean, too, and they knew not to interfere with his business.

“By who, you? You’re gonna smash my head in?” Anthony pointed at him and laughed dryly. He could hear muffled warnings from his friends, but he disregarded them. “Well, square up, then. I’m looking forward to seeing you try.”

And that’s when five of Dean’s friends entered the diner. Oh, fuck me.

“Don’t you worry, we’ll smash it in real good. I promise.” Dean offered Anthony a toothy smile and drew an x-mark over his chest with his index finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die, sweetums.”

Anthony set his drink down.      

Bobby touched his shoulder. “Your car?”

He nodded. “My car.”

All at once, Anthony, Bobby, and John whirled around and began beelining towards the back door. Dean screamed after them, shouting at his friends to stop them from escaping. Pushing through tables, chairs and whoever was in the way of the exit, Anthony pushed through the back door and leapt up the stairs leading onto the sidewalk, Bobby and John hot on his heels. He tore the door of his car open and hopped inside. One of Dean’s buddies had caught up to them just as Bobby closed his door. He reached through the window, grabbing Bobby by the left arm, but he turned and rammed his fist into the young man’s face, making him falter back onto the ground below.

“Come on, step on it!”

“Yeah, I got that,” Anthony spat. He backed out of his parking spot and slammed the gas pedal down without a moment of hesitation. With a cloud of smoke and the ear-wrenching screech of burning rubber on asphalt, the car took off into the streets. Anthony had to be careful to avoid crashing into anyone, and extra careful to avoid the streets that the police perused most often, but he opted not to slow down for anything. “I didn’t expect him to bring that many guys.”

“How drunk are you, Tony?” John’s voice sounded from the back seat.

“You ruined his car!” Bobby chipped in angrily. “Of course he’d bring all those guys! God, you’re stupid..”

Anthony’s grip tightened a little on the leather-clad wheel. “You two shouldn’t have gotten involved with this.” The car swerved around a couple of turtle-pace elderly drivers. ”I’m not sorry for what I did, either. A piece of shit guy like him doesn’t make threats to hurt the people I care about and get away with it.”

Bobby opened his mouth to speak again, but instead sighed, and hung his head in frustration. “Geez.. You went on two dates with Jessica and you make it sound like you’re married to ‘er. You in love already?”

Anthony didn’t respond. He just continued to watch the road ahead of him, keeping his eyes peeled for the battered black hood of Dean’s car. He didn’t know how to answer the question. Yes, he’d been pining after her for many years, and yes, she’d finally began to reciprocate his romantic advances.. But that couldn’t possibly count as love, now could it? Like Bobby had said, it had only been two dates.

That second date was probably the last one. After all this nonsense with Dean was over, Anthony was sure that Jessica’s mother wouldn’t want her seeing him anymore. She’d already had reservations about Anthony to begin with, and this chaos would only succeed in straining his relationship with her even more. Maybe a seventeen-year-old, borderline alcoholic punk just didn’t deserve to be with a southern darling like Jess, and this was the world’s way of telling him that.

Good thing he didn’t give a shit about what the world was telling him.

While Anthony had been so caught up in thinking about Jessica, he hadn’t been paying very close attention to the road.. At least, not the road behind him. He hadn’t spotted the familiar, smashed ebony hood of the car he knew all-too well until it was too late. The black car rammed forcefully into the back of Anthony’s car and smashed his back lights, sending glass flying in every direction. Other cars came to screeching halts to avoid the collision, but Anthony collided with a red Volkswagen as he swerved to the left, pinning it between his car and the trunk of a fat old oak tree.

Anthony jerked forward and slammed his forehead into the steering wheel. His vision went blurry, and all he could hear was high-pitched white noise. For a heartbeat, he thought that perhaps he was dead, but a second later, the shouting and car horns began to fill his ears again. He could see blood dripping off of the steering wheel, too, and he could feel a hand grappling desperately at his shoulder.

“Tony.. Tony! Hey, are you okay, man?” It was, of course, Bobby, being a worrywart.

Tony groaned in response and clasped a hand to his throbbing forehead. There was a gash along his hairline, leaking scarlet liquid down over the length of his face.

And then he remembered what was going on. Dean. Dean was after him, and he needed to get away. He didn’t stand a chance against him and all of his goons at once. Anthony jerked upwards and threw his car door open, but as soon as he stepped out, the shout he’d intended to direct at his friends died on his lips. Dean stood before him once more, but this time, he had six buddies. One of which he was holding the arm of.

Jess’ deep green eyes glittered with terror, and tears trailed down her cheeks. She shook frightfully as Dean’s grip around her forearm tightened. There was a sizeable purple bruise on her left cheekbone - A stark contrast to the milky, freckled skin around it.

The pistol at Jessica’s head was also in stark contrast of the rest of her features.

“No sudden movements, buddy boy. Wouldn’t want my finger to slip.” Dean hooked one arm around Jessica’s shoulders and pulled her body closer to his, still holding the pistol firmly against her temple. “Now, I don’t really wanna hurt Jessie-girl here, but I do kiiiinda wanna hurt you. I hope that’s not hard to understand.” He offered Anthony a wide smile again.

Anthony’s blood was running cold as he stood against his crashed car, frozen in shock. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from Jessica. No. This wasn’t fair. Everything was happening so fast. He had gotten revenge on Dean for treating her badly, but it had all been for nothing. Now, less than an hour later, he was holding a gun to her head. Things had gotten worse than anyone could have ever anticipated. Anthony felt trapped. He couldn’t attack, he couldn’t run.. He could only watch, helpless, as Dean threw threw threats around and tears spilled over Jessica’s battered face.

“You vile piece of fucking shit.”

Dean tilted his head and blinked, smile dropping a degree or two. “.. S’cuse me?” He shoved Jessical carelessly aside, as if she were a doll he’d grown bored of. She hit the pavement hard. Anthony tensed, but kept his eyes peeled on Dean.

“Want me to say it slower for you to understand? You vile. Piece of. Fucking. Shit.”

Dean pointed the gun at Anthony.

Jessica screamed, and latched onto Dean’s nearest leg. “Stop it! Please.. leave him alone, and I’ll never talk to him again!”

“Shut the hell up, you little whore,” Dean spat, kicking her aside almost nonchalantly. Anthony’s nails dug into his palms.

“She has nothing to do with this,” Anthony growled. “Leave her alone, Dean. It’s between you and me.”

Dean uttered a dry, mirthless laugh. “Oh, is it? Ms. Ginger Bomb here is the whole reason we’re even in this pickle, Tony. You couldn’t take a joke, and then you trashed my car because you’re an oversensitive little shit.” He stepped closer, gun still cocked stiffly in front of him. “Although, I could take your girl here any time I wanted, I figure, and there isn’t a goddamn thing you could do about it, huh?”

The gun touched Anthony’s forehead. Everyone fell completely silent, except for Jessica, who was screaming and trying desperately to get at Dean, but his friends held her back.

Dean’s finger moved to the trigger, grin ever-present.

“I hope you said your prayers in advance, Barnett.”

The trigger clicked, but the bullet never collided with Anthony’s skull. Instead, everything around him flashed white--Blindingly white. His body suddenly felt lighter than a feather, and the scene around him collapsed into bright nothingness, as if it had disintegrated. He could feel his consciousness slipping, and before he knew it, his world faded from white to black.




Anthony Barnett collapsed onto the asphalt, unconscious and completely unaware that he was now, respectively, seventy-two years old.

It had been a week since Chris was released from the infirmary, and he was still getting used to only having one arm. Well, one and a half arms. He had been wandering Rosebury, deep in thought, when he saw a brilliant flash of light and suddenly a boy was lying on the pavement. The flash of light brought Iceman out of his thoughts and he looked over to the boy. He jogged over to him. "Are you alright?" he asked. "What happened?"

History class was starting to get to Ria. They had spent so long on the World Wars that had happened a hundred years ago, even more if they were discussing the first, but now they were moving into somewhat more recent times. Her grandparents had lived in the 1980's, and while she'd heard many stories from them, she didn't know much about historical events, it was all culture from her grandparents. She wasn't one to dislike history, but it was starting to get boring.

The girl was thinking about this as she left the gates to the school, heading to the nearby town for a small treat from the cafe. She figured it would be worth it to get herself something nice after trying so hard in classes all week. However, she had barely made it to Rosebury when a flash caught her attention, her head snapping to the side so fast she cracked her neck. Ria rubbed it for a moment before looking again to see a boy running to the site of the flash. With a funny feeling in her stomach, the girl followed suit, moving slower as she closed the gap between herself and the boy. Once close enough, she realized there was another boy, only he was lying on the ground, unresponsive, wearing something she had only seen in the pictures in her textbook.

Anthony could faintly hear voices and footsteps, but he couldn't move. Every facet of his body was numb and totally devoid of energy. Drained. Unresponsive. He couldn't even bring himself to sit, or to reach up and touch the still-bleeding wound on his forehead. His immediate thought was that he was dead, and he just hadn't felt the bullet pierce his skull. The pain had been too great to even register, and a second later, he'd died. How fucking pathetic.. Dying on his knees at the feet of a prick he'd had the displeasure of knowing for nearly six years. He imagined the police would be at the scene by now, trying to contain Dean. He'd find a way out of it, though. He always did. A rich boy like him would never stay in jail as long as everyone else. His father would bail him out at some point, and then he'd be free to continue making the rest of the world miserable, coins spilling from his pockets.

Bobby and Dean would probably become respectable people. They were too piss-scared to do anything stupid without Anthony around. Anthony's parents.. God, he wished he'd at least left the house on a good note. He'd walked out the front door that morning with his mother shouting, red-faced, at the back of his head. A stupid, pointless argument about car tires. That would be his family's last memory of him. What a note to leave the world on.

And Jess.. Poor, sweet Jess. Anthony should have never even spoken to her. He should have never befriended her. Now she was all tangled up in this mess. What a mistake, getting her involved with his chaotic lifestyle.

Well, at least she won't have to deal with me anymore. The thought stung a little, but it was true.

Eventually, feeling slowly began to seep back into Anthony's hands and face, and the incessant ringing in his ears started to fade away. He was lying on a hard, grainy surface. It was cold. Heaven was a lot less comfortable than he was expecting. Maybe I'm in hell. That would make a lot more sense for an asshole like me.

With a grunt of effort, Anthony rolled over onto his back and was immediately met with two unfamiliar faces. He squinted and frowned. They were dressed funny. "If this is heaven, I'm not complainin', but if this is hell, I understand completely."

Chris raised an eyebrow. I don't know about heaven or hell, but you're in North Dakota. Rosebury, North Dakota, to be exact. I'm guessing you're a new arrival for Beata?" he asked, smiling. He noticed the blood coming from the boy's forehead and frowned. "Did you hit your head when you fell? Looks pretty bloody." he said. "And what are you wearing? You look like you're straight from a cheesy 80s action movie."

Ria couldn't help but laugh at the other student's comment. It was true; the outfit the kid was wearing was reminiscent of the outfits picture in the pop culture section of her text book. Things from shows like Back to the Future came to mind. Even the kid's hairstyle was different. She was still grinning when she noticed his head was bleeding, effectively wiping the smile from her face and filling her with a sense of panic. Something felt strange here.

"Here, let me help you with that," she said, kneeling with the other student and digging through her backpack, searching for something that might stop the bleeding for just a little bit. She finally found an old t-shirt she had stuffed in there ages ago, digging it out and shaking any crumbs off it. It was in bad shape already, and she had forgotten about it for so long, it wasn't important enough to spare over someone else's injury. Gently, hoping she wasn't hurting the boy, she pressed it to his bleeding wound, leaving the blood that had already been smeared on his forehead. They had to get him to the infirmary. But was it safe to move him?

Anthony glanced briefly up at Ria as she offered to help him, allowing her to dab the gash on his forehead, and then returned his focus back on Chris, face contorting into a disoriented frown. Rosebury.. North Dakota? What in the world was he talking about? Hell had a North Dakota..? By now, Anthony was beginning to wonder if he was actually dead. The chill of the road, the sting of fabric pressing against his wound, the pounding headache, the.. Regularity of these two people (despite their clothing choices, of course). The afterlife wasn't supposed to feel and appear this.. Normal, was it?

No, how could he possibly still be living? He'd even heard the click of the the trigger on Dean's gun, and then after that, a bright flash. He had to be dead. Anthony had just succumbed to the bullet wound too quickly to fully register that he had been dying. Were these two people-whoever and whatever they were-just feigning naivete for his sake, to mess with his head? Or maybe somebody spirited me away from Dean, and.. No, that couldn't be.. Could it? What the fuck was happening? Anthony was starting to feel dizzy, and not because of the injury on his head.

Overwrought with confusion and frustration, Anthony suddenly reached up and grabbed Ria's wrist, stopping her gentle ministrations to his wound. His hold wasn't strong or necessarily mean-spirited, but all the questions floating around his mind were beginning to overwhelm him. He needed a straight answer. "I appreciate your help, but frankly, I'd like to know something." His tone was sharp.  "Am I dead, or not?"

Chris let out a small laugh at the boy's question. What had happened to him to make him think he was dead? "You're not dead bro, just chill." he told him. "What would make you think you had been iced?" He smirked at his own puns, knowing full well nobody would get them.

A jolt of fear pierced Ria's chest as the boy grabbed her wrist, her hands immediately stopping their movements. The other boy's words went in one ear and out the other as she looked down at the kid in front of her, someone she knew must be older than her, but how much older than her? Her eyes studied his, trying to read into what his motives were, hoping he wasn't trying to pull some elaborate prank on random passersby. Yet as she looked, something about his apparent growing panic pushed her to do the right thing in the hopes that he wasn't pulling something.

Slowly, she shook her head, glancing at the other student that was with her. He had a strange smile on his face and she vaguely wondered what he'd said when she was distracted.
"Unless something happened that I wasn't aware of, you're not dead," she answered the injured boy's question, turning her head back to look at him. Worry coursed through her. Perhaps he'd hit his head harder than she had originally thought.

Okay, what the fuck.

Anthony's facial expression slowly softened and melted from anger to plain dismay. His hand loosened and dropped away from Ria's wrist. Asking people questions really wasn't going to help him any more than wandering around aimlessly would. Everything Ria and Chris said just ended up shoving him further into a continually deepening pit of confusion. He knew he'd been shot. He had to have been. It wasn't like a god damn angel had swooped in and carried him off a millisecond before Dean could put a bullet in his skull. He wasn't worth an angel's time, and besides, he didn't believe in miracles.. As far as he was concerned, they were blindly hopeless fables for kids.

But then again, now that he thought about it, his family did have a rather.. Strange past. Anthony's father had spent hours rattling on to his children about the mysticism of their grandsires. He'd spoken of unnatural occurrences in ageing newspapers written about members of the Barnett family before him; inexplicable coincidences. Over the course of a century, there had been five accounts of Barnett family members disappearing and never being found - To this day, in fact. Anthony had been infatuated with the stories as a child, but ultimately had stopped believing in them upon his father's death. If some sort of supernatural potential existed in Anthony's bloodlines, it sure hadn't done shit to save his old man. It was all nonsense.

Still, even 'nonsense' was something to weigh lightly in this situation, which was certainly.. Out of the ordinary.

Heaving a pained sigh, Anthony pushed himself up into a sitting position, wiping a bead of blood away from his upper lip. Wherever he was, dead or alive, his head sure hurt like a bitch, and he felt a bit like he'd been run over by a truck. "Sorry if I scared you," he muttered to Ria. He managed to pull himself up to his feet, and was plagued by a massive head rush as he did so. Pinching the bridge of his nose as if to relieve his dizziness, Anthony then asked, "Could you guys just show me to the nearest police station, or something?" If by some seemingly impossible stroke of fate he was actually alive or wasn't dreaming, he'd need to get home as soon as possible and figure out what had happened to him.

Chris didn't even know where the police station was. He didn't really come to Rosebury that often. Was there even a police station? "Uhh.. I'm not even sure if Rosebury has a police station, to be honest." he said. The Summer looked at his hand for a moment, and then looked to the new arrival's head. It would leave a nasty mark. But Chris thought he could alleviate some of the pain. Letting some cold mist poor off his remaining hand, he stepped closer to the boy. "Here, before you get so dizzy you fall, this should help." Hopefully it wasn't too cool, but he gently placed his hand near the boy's head and the cool mist found it's way onto Anthony's forehead. "That should reduce any swelling and relieve some pain." he added, taking his hand off a moment later, shutting off the mist.

As the boy suddenly stood up, Ria followed him, her hands at the ready to catch him should he need it. There was something strange about him, she could feel it, and he was asking bizarre questions. Normal people wouldn't just stand up with a head injury. Her eyebrows furrowed in worry, her dark eyes studying his face closely.

A police station? With the school being what it was, she would've been surprised to learn there was a police station. They had Guardians instead, adults with gifts like theirs, adults that could guard them from whatever forces of evil were outside the borders of the area. Speaking carefully, as though afraid the boy were a time bomb, she added to the other student's thought with, "I'm not sure normal police would do a lot of good here. Maybe we should take him to the infirmary." This last part was said to the boy with the ice powers. While she was sure the cooling qualities had helped with the pain, they wouldn't heal the stranger. A nurse could.

Anthony squinted at Chris as he blew cold mist at him. It certainly relieved some of the pain of the injury, but his head continued to throb with the stress of the impact with his steering wheel.. Where the hell was that coming from, though? Did he have some sort of fan in his sleeve..? The harder he thought about it, though, the more his head hurt. Things were already strange enough, so what was the point in questioning it, anyhow?

The young man pinched the bridge of his nose, dizzy from his head-rush. No police station? How small was this town, exactly? Regardless, he was going to accept any help he could get. Nothing made sense, and as much as he hated to admit it, a competent adult was really what he needed right now. A visit to an infirmary sounded nice, as well. Anything to make this god damn headache go away.. I'm definitely not thinking straight.

Exhaling heftily, Anthony nodded. "Yeah, fine. Wherever I can get some answers.. And maybe a painkiller would be fine," he muttered in response to Ria's proposition.

Chris nodded. "At least I know where that is." he said. Right before he was about to head off and lead the boy to the infirmary, he realized that none of them knew any of their names. "Hold up a second. I have a rule about leading strangers places. Let's introduce each other. I'm Chris." He smiled, walking backward towards the school. "Walk with me, talk with me. Might help decide if you have a concussion or not."

Still anxious about the injuries the boy had sustained, Ria followed behind the two boys. She was surprised she was fretting so much over someone she barely knew, but she wanted him to be okay. A concussion? She sure hoped it wasn't that bad, but in order to help, she piped in, "I'm Ria. I'm still fairly new here." This was an exciting experience.