Hi everyone! So this is a story I wrote in reply to BlackBandit111's story called 'You Never Know Who You'll Help From a Ditch at Eleven PM'. The original story was written from Walter's POV and I thought it would be interesting to experience the story from Toby's POV. It's basically the same story, but with emphasis of the thoughts and actions from our beloved Toby! :D I hope you enjoy reading this and if you do, please feel free to let me know. Also if you haven't read the original story, I highly recommend it, the stories can be read separately, but reading both is obviously more entertaining!

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Scorpion, I don't own the storyline (credits go the BlackBandit111), but I do own al the crazy thoughts of Toby that are written down below ;)

You Never Know Who Will Help You From a Ditch at Eleven PM

A few more steps. Just a little further. He never expected walking to be this hard. One foot in front of the other, focusing all his attention to the otherwise so natural movement. He let out a soft groan when his feet stumbled upon a bump in the road and the sudden motion sent a surge of pain through his body. Stupid pavement, Toby cursed inarticulately. Was it that hard to construct a flat road?

The drunken shouts of men who had just a little too much alcohol running through their veins reached his ears, but Toby ignored it whole-heartedly. The last thing he needed was more interaction with those kind of people. His actions earlier that evening had left enough damage already, though Toby still clung to the belief that it was not all his fault. Really- someone who graduated med-school at his age, being dubbed as a genius behavioral psychiatrist, could hardly be called stupid. Technically speaking he hadn't even cheated during the games, his gifted perception of people's behavior just made the gamble more… profitable. Ugh, he was just too smart for his own good.

So Toby disregarded the tempting flickering neon lights of the gamble bars and kept on walking along the pavement, hoping to find a place to rest sooner rather than later. Another wrong turn of his body made him wince and he looked down at the hand that previously had been pressed against his chest. The red liquid on his fingers was visible despite the late hour, but it quickly got blurred over his hand by the first falling raindrops of the night. Obviously, on top of being sliced by some drunk sore gambling loser, it just had to rain to make his life even more enjoyable.

Toby grimaced. This was going to be one tough night. The pain he could handle to a certain degree. He just needed to divert his mind, block the pain out; it really was nothing more than a psychological game with his brain. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried to suppress the pain mentally, at some point his body would succumb physically. His body wouldn't do well with too much loss of blood and he already could feel the pounding in his head, indicating a developing fever. That, along with the now pouring rain, would give him only a small amount of time to find shelter and medical help before he would pass out heaven knows where.

Again, one foot in front of the other. Toby desperately tried to focus his mind on just that simple task, but despite all his knowledge of mind manipulation and the functional aspects of the body, he knew he wasn't going to make it. His vision started to blur more and more, coming in and out of focus as he walked on. It became harder to lift his feet off the ground, his energy draining away from him while the countless raindrops dangled from his hair and soaked his entire body. The pressure in his chest grew stronger, making it harder for him to breathe and he was no longer able to shut the pain out. This was wrong; so, so wrong. Shelter. He needed some form of shelter. And sleep. O god, he was tired…

Right about then it went downhill, literally. Unable to coordinate his feet right, Toby slipped and toppled over, landing painfully on the side of the road; he felt himself sliding down a little hill about three feet off the pavement. A crushing wave of pain surged through his entire body, while little specks dotted in front of his eyes. Don't close your eyes, Toby, he whispered silently to himself, stay awake or else… But it was no use; his eyelids fell and he didn't have enough energy left to prevent them from closing altogether.

...

Toby wasn't sure which one brought him back to consciousness: the sounds of thunder somewhere in the distance or the sudden kick in his side by some strange lump. He shifted slightly and groaned. Yeah, definitely the second one. He didn't dare to open his eyes, afraid that he might not be able to see well, or that his vision was perfectly fine, but he would see something – someone – that he rather not want to meet. Everything hurt. The pounding in his head, the soreness in his feet, a tightened chest and on top of the list, his entire front and side which were decorated by a gash that probably looked horrific by now.

"-ello? Do you need help?"

So he really was kicked in the side by a someone rather than a something. Toby's first reaction was confusion. Why in the world would someone kick him without reason? Then his brain started to function and one single thought floated to the surface of his mind: help. He opened his mouth to utter even the smallest hint for aid, but he quickly realized he missed one essential component for speaking, namely air. The tightening in his chest kept him from breathing properly, let alone uttering a coherent sentence.

"Hello?" The voice above him repeated insecure.

This was his only chance of rescue, now or never, so Toby lifted his hand quickly, grabbing the fabric of the other's shirt which was surprisingly closer than he expected. The stranger tried to liberate himself, but Toby wouldn't budge, knowing the other would run for it the second he was set free.

"I-I need help," Toby had to force the words out of this mouth, desperately trying to suppress the signs of pain his body was sending him, while bringing his hand to the one place that hurt the most. "Can't breathe, can't breathe-"

The man shifted a bit, though he didn't run away. "I need to get you to a hospital."

Toby's eyes shot wide open at the suggestion of the hospital and gave a horrified look. "No!" Damn, he should have known the first retort of any stranger that came upon a injured man would be to searched for professional medical help. "No hospitals!"

Surprisingly the man didn't object the way Toby expected him to. If any, he almost seemed agitated when he uttered a repeated fine and continued: "You can just come with me, and I'll… I'll fix you."

Well, that's something new. Time to think it over was cut off immediately when the stranger crouched down next to him and relocated his position so Toby could face the guy. The 'man' was actually more of a teen, Toby noticed, probably a bit younger than him, but near the same age. The dark couldn't prevent Toby from identifying the dark hair color and matching brown eyes, though the rain caused the locks of hair to cover his eyes partly.

Any more thoughts on the stranger's appearance were set in wait when the other grabbed his arm and tried to pull him up against young man's shoulder. Toby winced at the movement, but held his lips tight, not wanting to reveal his state of discomfort. Instead he forced his feet to steadiness and took a little bit of weight off the stranger's body, partly out of self-esteem and partly because the other seemed to struggle with the weight of two.

His self-esteem quickly crumbled when the two of them battled their way up the tiny hill, away from the mud and onto the road. Every inch of his body screamed when they finally had solid pavement beneath their feet and Toby was more than happy when the stranger shifted his weight onto his back instead of his shoulder, giving Toby the opportunity to silently rely more on the support of the young man. He scarcely registered the other saying something that sounded like a sarcastic 'wonderful' and sighing 'walking'. Toby shivered, not sure where the cold ended and the heat of his fever started.

"What's your name? And you need to tell me where-" the voice of the other was momentarily interrupted when he stumbled and tried to recover under the weight of his passenger. Toby didn't aid him this time. He was too focused on monitoring his breathing. "Tell me where you're hurt and where you need to go, because if you don't, there's a good chance you'll bleed out and die before I can get you help. What'll it be?"

In any normal situation Toby would have frowned upon that sentence. This guy either had no sympathy left or he lacked in emotional intelligence, for his words were far from subtle. At this moment however his usual clever remarks were left behind and he coughed (or whatever may pass for it). "T-T-Toby," he stuttered, cursing his own voice for sounding so weak. Another cough and wheeze followed, making him shrink back from the ache in his chest and drop his head on the stranger's shoulder. "…and I think I've been sta-stabbed." His body tensed. No wait, it wasn't his… For some reason the other teen's body froze at the last word. Well, that was certainly… interesting?

"Great," agreed the stranger, not realizing Toby's attention to the subject. "Now I need you to-"

"Why do you feel so guilty?" The interruption passed his lips before Toby could fully comprehend why. Force of habit probably.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the stranger answers evenly, clearly not wanting to admit his discomfort. "Now, I need you to-"

If he had the energy left, Toby would have chuckled. "Well don't play ignorant," he replied, or more accurately, muttered wearily under another wave of distress. "Words lie but bodies don't. You tensed up when I told you I'd been stabbed. Now, that could mean a number of things: you're concerned for me, you're considering your decision to walk instead of asking someone for a ride, but let me tell you, I'd rather die walking than live riding wherever the hell that person decided to whisk us off to."

The troubled breathing and shivers should have convinced him to stop talking, conserving his energy, but Toby simply couldn't bring himself to comply. This was his area of expertise and focusing on the other's behavior made him momentarily forget his own well-being. "You could be remembering a past family member but there's a hitch of breath that comes with loss and you had none, but your shoulders did tense and your hands got subconsciously tighter as your head bowed, signs of guilt. Maybe you've killed someone? Different reaction, so maybe you saw some people killed; maybe you're guilty about not stepping in but no, that's a different cue too, so maybe you've just made a mista- ah hah!"

The exclamation was both out of pain and out of satisfaction. He really should just shut up (all this talking made his head spin), but he was this close to solving the puzzle, the slight movement of the stranger's head indicated a confirmation. Now his conscience demanded an solution.

"That's it; your head slipped to the side like I was right. Okay, so you made a mistake and maybe people died – there we go, another nail on the head – and maybe it was your fault and you didn't realize? BAM! Perfect! Oh, I love being right."

Exhausted, Toby rested his head for a second time on the young man's back. Initially he grinned at his victory, but now that the little monologue was complete, he realized he had done it again. Only a few hours later (wait – how many hours had passed since he was sliced up?) he once more jabbered nonstop, nicely putting himself into hindrance-causing situations. He ought to have a stop button on his mouth.

"Well, you're not the only one who can read body language," responded the stranger and Toby tensed at the unexpected reply. "You slumped after your rush of being correct went away, and maybe that was because of pain but come on, you don't seem to be addled by pain really aside from the normal reactions, so it was probably disappointment. I'd thought it was until you'd curled, and that's when I realized that your smart-ass little mouth gets you into all sorts of trouble."

Great, so that was a little bit too accurate to be comfortable… Toby sighed and gave a reluctant nod. "It's how I got here in the first place," he admits, preparing himself for the inevitable drop once the young man in front would unceremonially dump his smart-ass little self on the pavement.

But… nothing happened. Instead of dropping his passenger, the man raised his chin a tad and hummed an agreeing 'me too', before the two of them fell back to silence.

Toby's mind wandered off to the strange conversation, while he tried to keep his hazy eyes open. Judging from his responses and actions, this young man was clearly no stereotypical person, but then again, neither was Toby. It did however made him wonder why the other was so willing to help him. If he had had the energy, maybe he could ask the person himself, though all Toby really wanted to do was slip away into a welcome slumber. God, those never-ending raindrops were cold.

A sudden falter in the young man's breathing made Toby peek away from the soaked shirt of his companion. "You're hurt," he noted, somewhat worried that his weight was partly the cause of it. "Your breath hi-hitched."

The stranger managed a sourish smile. "So did yours," he stated the undeniable truth, but Toby couldn't exactly pay attention anymore. His head felt heavy, so he propped it without much thought against by the now familiar shoulder, seeking the warmth of the other's body and wondering how much longer he had to carry on.

...

He dreamed of big fat flickering neon signs, popping up before him like advertisements on billboards. The inviting names of heaven knows what kind of shady bars floated mockingly across his line of vision. They tempted him to come and play a few games of poker, just a few, you know, for old times' sake. Then he felt something cold press against his chest and he hissed, cursing the neon signs to bugger off and annoy the hell out of someone else. And where did that cold thingy go? Oh, he felt so hot, as if his entire body was on fire… Wait – was it possible to feel warmth if he was only dreaming? He had heard before of a guy that dreamt in sounds, the whole unconscious phenomenon displayed as one big orchestra. But temperatures? If this was a dream, he was one heck of a lunatic.

...

When he came to, the first thing Toby noticed was his stomach grumbling for food, which actually was a good sign since it meant he hadn't died overnight. The second observation was that the tightness in his chest had reduced considerably, leaving him to only cope with a mediocre throbbing near the gash (which as he soon discovered was nicely wrapped up in bandages) and an evenly matched pounding in the head. At least this was manageable. The third and less interesting notion was that he somehow had changed into warm, dry clothes. Definitely an improvement over the cold, soaked pieces that were left to dry on cement floor.

While sitting up, he inspected the room around him. It turned out to be more of a garage with an air-vent, a few pieces of furniture, a small kitchen area… Nothing fancy, but functional nonetheless. The other couch in the room was occupied by the sleeping form of his life-saver (seriously, he should have asked the teen's name) and Toby immediately recognized the swollen ankle attached to the youth's left leg. Feeling like he should at least try to atone for the nuisance he had brought upon the stranger the night before, Toby lifted himself from the couch and bent over to the first aid kit that was placed on the nearby sidetable. After inspecting the swollen ankle with an expert eye and assuring that it was luckily nothing more than a sprain, he quickly wrapped the body part in a tight bandage, all the while careful to not wake the owner.

Content with the result, Toby's eyes flickered to the side and his attention was quickly caught by the grey rounded hat that lay close to the couch he himself had been sleeping on. His face lit up at the first sight of it. Toby generally wasn't the type of guy to hang on to sentimental objects, but this one worn (once black) hat was the exception that denied the rule. With a rapid motion that revealed years of experience, he swung the hat around his finger and then placed the grey bundle on his head. Time to eat.

His movements were a bit stiff (thanks to the gash on his chest and side), but a slower pace would work just as fine, so Toby calmly made his way to the little kitchen and began to explore it's many cabinets. A quick Sherlock-Holmes-like examination told him his companion preferred eggs and toast for breakfast (major clues were: eggs on eye-level shelf in the fridge, small frying pan situated on the kitchen counter instead of in one of the cabinets and a well-used toaster). A protesting rumble from his stomach encouraged Toby to waste no more time and he started the simply task of preparing an egg-based meal for two.

A few minutes later the smell of scrambled eggs filled the garage, but it was only after Toby accidentally dropped the spatula that he heard his roommate stir in his sleep. Curious he peeped his head around the kitchen corner and grinned genuinely when he met the younger man's eyes, relieved of the absence of hostility, after all he had taken on the liberty to rampage the kitchen without permission.

"Hope you like eggs?" Toby asked when he noticed the other limping towards the kitchen. He chuckled lightly. "Ha, of course you do."

The other shook his head blankly in response.

Once the eggs and toast were done, the two of them sat down on the couch and filled their empty stomachs in silence. Toby was more than happy to finally munch down some nutritious food, but the silence made him edgy. Now that he could not completely hide behind his injuries anymore, he felt a bit open. This should be the moment any normal person would start asking questions as to how and why he ended up on the side of the road in the middle of the night. The teen in front of him however remained silent, letting Toby question his own interpretations. Had the other found out about something? Was he in touch with those drunkards? Toby highly doubted it, there were no indication for either explanation.

Eventually he declined and decided to break the silence himself. First step, clearing his throat and catching the other's attention. When the stranger's eyes suddenly fixated on him, Toby's determination faltered and he coughed awkwardly. "So…" wonderful start. "Why'd you save me?"

Though the teen in front of him hid his own unease fairly well, Toby gladly noticed he wasn't the only own who felt uncomfortable with the situation.

"I- well," the other started and leaned forward a bit. "I saw myself in you, I guess. Seemed like the kind of situation I'd found myself in because apparently I run my mouth too, and… I guess it was just…" He paused for a second, indicating Toby that the next sentence was in essences what the teen wanted to state from the beginning. "Geniuses have to watch out for each other, right?"

Toby raised his eyebrow. Even after the short time he had spent with the young man he had noticed they were actually quite similar (genius-mind and all), but the other could not have known about his above-average IQ when he found him lying in the mud at the side of the road. It did however partly explain why the stranger hadn't dropped him ungracefully after he had blabbered on about body-language. There was something else though that struck his attention more. Seemed like the kind of situation I'd found myself in…

"Not sure you'd have found yourself in that situation with the same circumstances," Toby muttered bitterly. If only the guy knew exactly how miserable the situation he had been in truly was.

"Actually man, why in the world do you think I was walking alongside the road at like twelve A.M.?" His roommate replied with a smirk that Toby could not resist to copy a bit.

He then licked his lips. Now what?

Before he could sum up any new thoughts however, the stranger spoke again, saying: "Okay, so you're nervous…" Toby shot his head in the direction of the teen, doubting whether he truly looked nervous or that the other was just awfully perceptive.

The youth explicated. "That could be because you're with a stranger in his house, but that's unlikely seeing as statistic says that if I'd wanted to do something to you I'd have done it already. It could be discomfort of your surroundings, but you went and found my spatula, eggs and kitchen just fine. It could be me and my social awkwardness, but you've seemed fine thus far, so that's probably not it seeing as you probably get yourself into socially strange situations all the time. You could be afraid that the men who dumped you are coming back, but I think it's pretty clear that they weren't punking you, Toby, they meant business. That most likely leads to them being… harsh in their punishment of their so called 'employees' because normal friends don't do that to each other."

As the elaborate analysis continued, Toby's perplexity grew.

"I found you close to a bar and that bar had poker tables, so maybe you're crack at poker and addicted to gambling and got a little too cocky or had a little too much to drink and let your mouth run and your poker buddies got mad at you and left you in a ditch to die."

A short moment of silence filled the room. Toby gazed at the stranger, astonished by his accurate deduction. Then his face broke into a sincere smile. "You're really something," he complimented, grinning. "How old are you, kid?"

The 'kid' immediately shook his head in disagreement. "Not kid," he warned. "Walter. Walter O'Brien. And I'm seventeen."

Seventeen? Really? Without helping Toby's eyes darted again through the small garage, inspecting his surroundings. No hints of any housemates, let alone parents. The wheels in his brain rattled on instinct, coming up with different kinds of explanations for the absences of supervision. None of the explanations were preferable.

He shot the teen – Walter – another glance and made up his mind. "I'm nearly twenty, man," he nodded, smiled and lifted himself from the couch. "I should hit the road and get ho-"

"You can crash here," Walter interrupted him abruptly and Toby met the hazel brown eyes once again. "It's ah, alright. And cold. And… you're still injured."

None of the above would normally be convincing enough for Toby to stay, but then again, this young man before him was anything but normal. Just like him, concluded Toby with a sparkle reaching his eyes.

"You're okay, Walter O'Brien," he grinned and saluted comically. His fingers touched the grey rounded hat he still wore and as a natural afterthought he added: "And thanks for saving the hat."

A little awkward and forced, but nonetheless, a smile appeared on Walter's face. "Any time."

A.