Well, we have reached the end. I always hate and love writing the last chapter because while I'm ending it, I'm also accomplishing a good story. It lets me have more time to write others and start another Simpson story one day soon…but I'll miss everyone's reviews XD

Thanks to everyone who helped me reach over 200 reviews ^_^ I hope you enjoy this!


Snores filled the bedroom. After many painkillers and little food and water, Bob finally managed to fall into a much needed deep sleep. Last night he had spent all his time making the nurses jobs a living hell, being more nocturnal than he ever has been. Staying up constantly, however, took its toll on the sickly man and the drunken sailor like snores proved it.

Satisfied and perhaps a bit prideful, Bart smiled at the man as he sat in a nearby chair. It had been a tiring night to get the man to stay in bed…he wanted Bart to join him. He voiced his need, his want, to him twice but Bart managed (barely) to resist. Rest, he insisted to the ex clown, and then play.

And oh, he knew he would be sore about an hour after Bob awoke.

But for now, Bart decided to walk around the house. Not only did he want to see exactly where he was held captive, but he wanted to be sure it was a safe place. The last thing he needed was to see Homer or Cecil or someone pop up and kill him…or Bob. No, he wanted to protect his lover…who ironically used to want him dead.

There was a sense of dread filling Bart. It was like when one watched a horror movie; they knew something was going to pop up and go 'ooga booga' but they weren't sure when or where until the last second. But by then it was too late.

That was a feeling he absolutely despised.

When he turned to go into the kitchen, he froze briefly. Could he step into the very room connected to the basement, which held him prisoner for so long? Would his mind, his body, allow him to do so a thing?

Eh.

He walked in and grabbed a glass, pouring water into it.

Resting a hand on the sink edge, he stared out into the darkness that swept through the land not far ago. Was someone out there, watching him watching them unintentionally? What a creepy thought! Of course, he reasoned with himself, there were worse thoughts. Like; was there someone behind him smiling this very instance? Was that person grinning because they knew he didn't sense them and therefore would not turn to see? That person would be standing there smiling like a fool at how stupid Bart was for not turning around. Quite possibly the person could posses a knife or a gun in their hand, ready to injure Bart…or the injured man upstairs.

But that was just a thought.

Chuckling softly, the boy finished his glass of water and placed it on the rack upside down so that it may dry. Such a funny thought, more idiotic than scary. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the microwave nearby. It read only one in the morning…wow, he felt old. Back then he would consider this early and ready to party…now he was just tired and wanting a bed to sleep in.

Giving into his body's demand, he turned to head up the stairs. Maybe he would lay with Bob…just for safety. It'd be best to be next to him in case something was to happen instead of in the guest room a few feet away. Yeah…and Bob might think he was still in the hospital if he woke up alone. It made sense to sleep with him…and only sleep…for now.

Yet as soon as he turned, his earlier stupid thought came alive.

Cecil stood there with the same gun in hand, smiling at him like a fat cat looking at a trapped mouse. Bart immediately jumped and did something he hadn't done in ages. "AHH! SIDESHOW BO-…wait." He paused in his screech. Making himself break the normal routine, he shouted, "AHH! CECIL!" It lacked the drama but it would have to do.

"Hello there Bart." Cecil smiled as though they were meeting for afternoon tea. "You look tired…you weren't planning on going to bed with my ill fated brother, were you now?"

"What do you want?" He evaded the question and took a step back, his eyes narrowing instantly after calming down. The likelihood of him being shot was small but still existent. Cecil had proved that he liked Bart, meaning he wouldn't kill him…but he might go all psychotic and do just that so 'no one else could have him'. "What have you done to Bob?!" He snapped, just realizing that he could easily have done something and was hinting by saying 'ill fated'.

"Nothing…yet." He answered both questions in two words and grinned. "I want you to come with me." Almost as an afterthought, he looked at the gun and then back up, obviously nervous.

Bart stared at him with bewilderment. "…What?" He whispered, clearly taken back. "Go with you? Never!"

Instantly the man was upon him, shoving him against the counter with the gun pointed at his throat. Though he tried his best not to, a soft whimper left his lips as he leaned back, trying in vain to get away from the gun. "He always takes what I want!" Cecil growled in a rant. "He took my job as Krusty's sidekick! Now he's taking you! I'll be damned if he does!" His muffled growl soon became a shout, probably awakening Bob.

The gun was cocked. "Tell me who you want…me…or Bob? Keep in mind…that I control your life." He hissed in the boy's ears, glaring coldly with jealousy.

Bart felt his blood turn to ice. If he said Cecil, he would never see Bob again. Would Cecil kill him to ensure he couldn't rescue Bart back? Or would he just take Bart far, far away? Either way, it did not seem right. And yet if he said Bob, he risked not only his own life, but the man he loved!

He was trapped…

Bart had to just rely on what his heart would tell his brain to do instead of the other way around. Like in the days at school, he would have to just blurt out an answer and come what may.

"…Bob."

The gun did not go off like he thought it would. Its owner did not knock him out with the butt of it and carry him off. Instead, the owner, Cecil, just stared. Amazed by the word that left his mouth, he stepped back and blinked. "…Even…even knowing I could have ended your life…you chose him?"

"…Yes." He whispered softly.

Cecil frowned slightly and let the gun fall to his side. For a moment Bart felt pity for him. He looked like a wounded dog, one that was just kicked and insulted. But there was a noise at the staircase, catching his attention instantly.

"Bob!" He exclaimed before running over to help him, noting how shaky his body was just from taking the stairs. "You shouldn't be out of bed!" He gently pointed out, feeling like the older adult here.

"I heard something. Shouting. What happened?" He demanded, looking over Bart's head to search the room.

"Cecil was here. He…" The young Simpson started to explain but as he turned to see the pitiful man again, he paused. Cecil wasn't there. In fact, it was like he floated out; the door was ajar but clearly he had taken out through it. "He…"

"Explain it to me in bed." Bob whispered, looking a bit surprised that something had happened right under his nose. "I can't feel my feet."

After a second of hesitation, his young lover nodded. "Right." Gently he helped him back up the stairs and into the room, looking over his shoulder every now and then. There were so many questions to ask and explanations to receive…but when would he get them? Would he even receive such things? Dare he ask those questions?

For now, he decided as he helped Bob lie down, he would just relax and listen to the older man's breathing. Tomorrow, he promised quietly, he would explain to him what occurred and maybe call his family.