Where'd You Go? (Track Twelve, III), chapter 12

Wren leaned on the door and stuffed her wrist into her mouth to keep from laughing as she listened to the comments. They ranged from absolutely nonsense to crudely inappropriate, even for Tré. Once, Mike slipped out, went down the hall, returned carrying a piece of paper and a package of M&M's, and slipped back inside with a shy smile in Wren's direction. Eventually, the door reopened, and Mike wheeled out Tré, who was happily munching on the chocolate.

"Bow down all you bastards," Tré proclaimed to the busy halls, "The king of Cool and sexy has arrived."

Billie Joe appeared to squint around. "What're you talking about, I don't see--Oh wait, there he is." With a grin, he leaned back into the hospital room and stared at the mirror for quite some time, long enough for Mike and Tré to start down the hall. His eyes danced over to Wren, "Well, start kneeling."

If I'm being gently honest, Billie Joe does not look his finest. Then again, which one of us does?

"If I knelt," Wren slung an arm around his shoulders, "I'd probably never get up."

Like the walking wounded, he did the same to her with his arm. Stumbling exaggeratedly, they left the hospital room. They were just in time to see Mike start sprinting down the hallway, having several near misses with the other people in the hall.

Tré screamed, "Yeeehaw!" and threw his hands up, scattering M&M's all over. Mike and Tré whipped around a corner, out of sight.

"I'm kinda surprised that they're getting along," Wren confessed.

Billie Joe looked at her oddly. "Why? They're buds, always will be."

"Yeah, but Tré trashed Mike's truck. We're going to have to use the money that he was going to buy a new truck with to pay for the hospital. There's no way Mike's getting a new truck any time soon. You guys can't even play until those two are better."

"We'll get through. I can get a job." Billie Joe assured her.

Wren nodded in agreement. "Fast food orders, here I come."

Billie Joe smirked, "People will come just to see us. Or we could start our own restaurant. Mike knows how to cook. We could be waiters, and Tré could be the customer."

"I think we'd make money at a real restaurant."

As they turned the corner, Wren slipped out of Billie Joe's hold, just in case Mike was waiting and took things the wrong way. He wasn't. They did not catch up with the other two until the parking lot. Wren tossed Billie Joe his keys. Tré was in the front already, and Mike was in the back. Wren flipped the driver's seat forward and climbed in beside him, sharing a quiet smile. She squawked as he gave her a screw driver in the ribs with his finger.

"Owwww! Quit that! You know that I'm awake. I'm going to have a bruise there."

As he started the car, Billie Joe chided, "Now, now children, play nice."

Completely disregarding that, Wren punched Mike in the shoulder. He howled and massaged the reddening skin.

Tré lifted up his arm, encased in a tye-dye cast. "I can't play too. This sucks. Hey, Mike do the horse-bite for me."

Wren squirmed as Mike's fingers clamped just above her kneecap and squeezed. In more than one way, it made her nerves buzz and jangle. She tried to return the attack, but he deftly caught her wrists. She saw the tiny wince he made, and she eased off. Consequently he released her knee. Billie Joe's eyes sparkled in the rear-view mirror. Mischievously, he gently tugged a strand of his own hair. Taking the cue, Wren very deliberately put her hand on Mike's head.

"No, not the hair! Not again!"

They spent the rest of the ride, Wren trying to get a hold on Mike, he in turn, trying everything to evade her, and the two in the front egging them on.

Wren did not even notice they'd returned home until Tré mumbled,
"Shit. Daaaaaaamn."

Mike's truck had been towed into the driveway. All the paint was missing from the passenger side, as well as the mirrors. The body was dented and scraped. Three of the four side windows were gone. The truck looked like it was going to disintegrate into a pile of scrap metal at any second.

Soberly, they got out to inspect the wreck more closely. Mike leaned over and looked into the box. Someone had put the equipment back in there. Tré hobbled over and began to string together all the curses Wren had ever heard. The drums were more than dented. One's leg was stabbing through another's skin. It was hard to say whether that happened in the accident or because of the person who was loading up the truck. The cymbals in the back seat were missing a few chips. As for the amps, they looked alright, but there was no telling what they would sound like.

"I guess we got nothing to do but take them in." Wren sighed.

Billie Joe ran his hand through his blonde hair. "Fuck, it's gonna take a while to pay this off."

"Better start selling pot," Tré mused.

"Knowing you, you'd probably smoke it all," Billie Joe accused, "and not share any." He kicked at the tires. "If the engine's not fucked, all you need is a new body."

Mike nodded, "Better hit the papers. I'll go down to the 7-11 and pick one up. Tomorrow."

"I need a nap," Tré announced before shuffling into the house.

Mike put his hands in his pockets and leaned on what was left of his car. He pulled out a piece of paper and perused it leisurely, his mouth moving silently as he read.

Billie Joe snatched it away and asked, "What's this? Wrist exercises? Some sort of physio?"

Mike snatched it back, "Yeah. What's it to you? All I want to do is get back in shape as soon as I can."

I know it's self centered, but... Hee hee hee. I know why he wants to get back in shape so badly. Wren made a show of looking over her shoulder at the street so the guys could not see her grin.

"Just wait a few days and then play. That'll be good enough." Billie Joe scrutinized the drums one last time before he too leaned his back on the truck.

"No can do. Seems we've got an old mother hen. I'm surprised she didn't go tuck Tré in and make him some cookies." Mike offered a tiny, friendly smile in Wren's direction.

Billie Joe's eyebrows rose, "Cookies? I'm all for it. Do the chicken thing if I get cookies."

"Seriously," Mike complained theatrically, "you don't want this. I'm not even allowed to touch my bass 'til I get the green."

"Oh well sucks to be you." Billie Joe replied absently. "Now, chocolate chip or peanut butter?"