Nothing was how it should have been. Bruce was laying on his small bed, hardly breathing, and Quincy, unbeknownst to Bruce, was in jail, awaiting trial. Bruce would lie in bed every day, motionless, waiting for Quincy to visit. He never visited anymore. He promised he would visit in a few days, though, for their fourth anniversary. He was looking forward to it a decent amount more than he let on.

*~*~*

Quincy wouldn't be able to make it. He cursed himself for it, and he would spit on his own grave if that were even remotely possible. Unfortunately, it was not. Even more unfortunately, people probably would be spitting on his grave on the day he was meant to visit Bruce. The court had decided that he would be given the electric chair at 8:00 AM. He knew he didn't do it. The jury, frankly, didn't care what he did or didn't know. He was guilty the moment he walked into the courtroom. Quincy always thought that in the day of his death, he would be scared, but he was just upset. Upset at the fact that Bruce was dying. Upset at the fact that they wouldn't be together in their final moments. Upset that everyone thought he had killed his father. Upset at the fact that the man who did kill his father was laughing in his face, about to flip the switch that would end his life. Tuning out the policeman that his father no longer owed money, he trained is eyes on the glass in front of him. On the other side, there was a grand total of four people. His sisters, Quinn and Quest, as well as the only Smiths well enough to attend. His mother just spewed a stream of profanities at him before turning on her heel and leaving. His mother was never a very emotional person. He hung his head as he was bound to the chair with strips of worn leather. A few tears slid down his cheeks. In his last seconds of life, he spoke in a voice nobody could hear.

"Tell Bruce I love him."

He hardly heard the small gallery crying out as electricity crackled through him, stopping his heart and brain all at once.

*~*~*

Quincy was late. Why was he late? Quincy was never late. Bruce's heart was racing. He knew better than to get his heartbeat up, though, so he flipped on the television. They were doing a news report on a boy that looked just like-

Oh, dear lord.

Since when was Quincy in jail?

Since when was Quincy dead?

According to the news report, since 8 that morning. Bruce knew he wasn't supposed to get this "exited". The droning beeping was drilling into his brain, denying him release. Everything was rushing around in his brain, swimming in an ocean of confusion and bewilderment and the need for the droning to stop. It needed to stop right now. After another minute of listening to the beeping, he reached over to the plug connected to the many machines keeping him alive and yanked it out angrily. It took a grand total of ten seconds for him to stop breathing in favor of collapsing on himself.