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*The Day the Earth Stood Still*
April 12, 2002

JC grabbed his watch from the small night stand next to his bed and instinctively clasped it on. He shook out his wrist and checked the time. He'd have to hurry. Sometimes he hated his horrible habit of sleeping in, especially when he had an eight o'clock interview on Z100. This little jaunt to the east coast was hopefully the last to come for a long time. The fans didn't know it, of course, but they were breaking up. JC liked the finality of that. He loved his band like brothers, maybe even more, but they needed their own space after nearly 8 years together. Maybe one day they'd consider a reunion album, but right now, it wasn't even on the radar.

Today, he was still very much a part of 'N Sync. The hotel's telephone was blinking rapidly with more than one message. JC didn't even check his cell phone before shoving it into his pocket. He surely had missed calls; it was just a matter of who was looking for him today. Well, they would have to wait a few hours.

The security guard posted in front of his door just tipped his hat to him. "Good morning, Mr. Chasez," he said and started following him down the hall. They rode in silence to the lobby. Strangely, it was quiet today. There was one girl, hunched over sleeping in a hard plastic chair. Near her, there was an overflowing backpack and a large sign had fallen on the floor, which read "JC is the best!!" The two dots on the exclamation points had been made into eyes of a small caricature of JC. What the man saw of it was actually pretty cute.

Yesterday, there had been over 100 fans in the lobby to greet him as he walked in to the elevator.

Outside, JC smoothly climbed into the limo that had been opened by his chauffeur. Another security guard was already inside. The door slammed close and they were off. "Did you hear the news today?" The guard, probably trying to fill the silence.

"No." JC stayed far away from that stuff. All the news kept talking about was revenge. Let the heroes of 9/11 rest in peace, he thought.

"Oh, well, the Yankees lost their opener." But JC was not from New York and the security guard knew it. JC was not even particularly into sports, except maybe the Redskins on a winning streak, as if that ever happened.

"Oh well." The star repeated awkwardly. Luckily, the hotel was close to the radio station and they were soon heading underground into the parking lot. As usual, JC was let off right in front of the doors. There were two security guards already waiting for him, but there was no need for them. There were only a handful of fans and they all stood behind the barricade placidly, staring up at JC. A second quick look and the man noticed that a few of the girls looked numb, almost paralyzed with shock. JC had seen it before in fans, especially when they came face to face with him, but the whole crowd just looked dazed.

He pushed the phenomenon out of his head as he pushed through the door and up the stairs into the lobby. Here, fans were not allowed, so he was not so shocked at the quiet. A few business people did a double take at the sight of him, but that was also normal. One woman stared openly at him when she noticed who he was, but did not even approach him. The security guards led him to the elevator and pressed floor 32, the penthouse.

Both of the security guards shifted uneasily on the ride up. They stood close to each other and whispered to each other in voices so quiet that JC could not make them out even in the din of the elevator. Mercifully, the ride was a quick one. He hated when people so obviously left him out of conversations. The secretary gave him a brief look as he walked passed, but in that instant, her smile fell and she turned ash white. JC almost asked her if she was feeling alright, but he shown to the green room immediately. Inside were the few regulars, laughing and fooling around. The radio provided soft background noise of a live interview going on in the next room. As soon as they heard the door open, they looked up instinctively and immediately, there was a strange silence. The security guards closed themselves out of the room, to keep guard. This room was the only entrance to the recording studio, so from here own out, he was safe.

One look at the faces of the interns and execs gave him quite an uneasy feeling. They all looked crestfallen. One of the high level executives approached him after a few long moments. He ushered to the couch and an intern stood up instantly. "Sit down, Josh. You must be tired. How are you?"

Josh? "I am tired." He shot the Suit a half smile and rubbed his jeans nervously. Since when did anyone outside his immediate family call him Josh?

"What are you doing here?" A young woman called from a far corner instinctively. "We were sure you -- well," Now she hesitated, as if realizing her mistake. Now she half-turned to the corner, hiding her embarrassment by smoothing her thin jacket and A-line skirt.

JC was completely bewildered.

"What Lauren meant to say," the exec nearest him started, sensing JC's discomfort.

Whatever he was about to say was cut off as the red recording light shut off and the door to the studio opened abruptly. A hip-hop star sauntered out of the booth like he owned the world but, as he cut a path straight through the green room with his impossibly large posse, time paused as their eyes met and the star gave him the strangest look.

The DJ, McGovern, stuck his head through the door of the studio, like a doctor looking for patients. "Is he..." he started, casting his eyes on JC. His expectant look suddenly mixed with some strange expression that twisted JC's stomach into knots. The star had never been nervous for a radio interview until now. "Great." McGovern smiled sickly. "Let's get this show on the road."

Thanks! Is it better to add the ~ symbol as separation?

A/N: Thanks for the feedback! Since I can't sleep, you guys get a new chapter! I know this is a bit unrealistic. Bare with me... Mild language ahead.

*Did You Get My Message?*
JC stumbled out of the studio at the first opportunity. Cruelly, McGovern had kept him caged on the air for what seemed like an eternity as he spat continuous questions at the overwhelmed pop star. 'How are Justin and Joey doing? What affect did the fans' reaction have on you? What are you going to do now?' Somehow, he made it through. It was somehow easier than before he'd known the truth. He thought of new ways to say 'I don't know' and it might as well have been Spanish for all he cared about this interview now. When it was over at last, JC blinked as he stepped back into the green room, into another world. An eternity had passed, but those same interns and execs were still sitting there, gabbing away about the most insignificant things.

JC cut straight through them, not meeting any eyes. He barged through the outer door and continued directly to the elevators. The secretary caught him off guard again and their eyes met for a brief moment. She was a fan, he could tell in that instant. Her whole essence reeked of sympathy, now that he recognized it. It was the last thing he wanted. He hopped into the elevator as soon as it landed on his floor.

Once safely in the confines of the elevator with his two guards on either side (so frivolous, he thought suddenly), he finally dared breathe. Suddenly, he felt the soft vibrating that could have prevented all of this. He took out his cell phone, not even glancing at it, "Hello?"

"JC." A strong, familiar voice stated.

"Johnny, say it ain't so..." He said softly, his voice quivering.

"I'm so sorry. I tried to let you know." His voice trailed off and lamely, he added, "I left you a message."

"Well, I didn't get it. What about the guards? What about the fans? What about the damn press? How come no one told me?" His voice nearly cracked or two on that last word. He had to take the phone away from his ear. Breathe, he told himself. His hand was shaking as he pulled the phone closer.

"You know what it's like. No one wants to be the barer of bad news. Anyway, the guards all signed a non-discloser clause."

"Couldn't they make an exception? I mean, we should send a bulletin out telling the staff they can scream the news from the damn mountain tops the next time 2 fifths of 'N Sync dies!"

"Josh--" But Johnny stopped himself.

"What?" JC would not be stopped. Nothing could stop him now. A fire had exploded inside of him. What had caused this disaster?

"I'm sorry." The manager said lamely.

"We'll talk later," JC said harshly and slammed his phone.

In an instant, he snapped it open again. He had 29 missed calls and 5 new messages. He scrolled through the missed calls first, from the earliest and on. The first call had been from Chris, at about midnight. JC about smiled at the thought of this traditional good night call, but suddenly, his body tensed. 'Chris Kirkpatrick and Lance Bass were pronounced Dead On Arrival...' The voice pounded his head. It couldn't be, but the pressure intensified. His heart skipped a beat and he made his finger press the up button. Some calls from his girlfriend, probably checking to make sure he'd gotten in all alright. Then all of the sudden, one at 3:10 AM. Justin's cell. Oh dear god. Was that before or after? Next there were a bunch from Tommy, their drummer, who would have been on a different bus. A few calls from Steve, Joey's brother, who would have been on the same bus as Tommy. A few from a security guard. Another from Steve. Another from Tommy. One call from his girlfriend. Finally, as if in last a last ditch effort, a bunch from Johnny Wright, their manager. The last call was from Chris' phone at 4:44 AM. It was enough the make JC lean over and heave as in a fit.

The security guards were over him in an instant and the elevator chose that moment to open into the lobby. JC straightened majestically and felt all eyes on him. He breathed heavily and turned to the guards. "I'm fine." He stated and as if to prove it, he walked, head held high through the lobby. He skirted the stairs and made for the waiting limo. His gaze fell on the waiting fans for a long moment. They were not just placid, he thought now, they were mourning. Their faces were grave and a few held thick prayer candles high. JC felt dizzy as he slid into the waiting limo.

He focused on his cell phone while they drove slowly through the parking lot and outside. He made himself listen to his messages. "You have 5 new messages and 17 saved messages," the voice confirmed, so he pressed 1.

"Hey, Jace. Guess you're still traveling..." Chris' voice came out of the small speakers as vibrant as ever. JC saved it before his friend could continue talking. Somehow, if the message were saved not listened to, Chris would still be there. How could he not be there?

"Hey Josh," his girlfriend said smoothly now. "Just wanted to wish you a good night and I hope you got in alright. Call me if you want."

"JC, it's Justin." The messages continued abruptly. "There's been a crash. Oh god, it's not good. I'm just walking through the bus now." A pause. "Shit! The bus is on fire!" The message cut short. JC's breathing was considerably quicker and tighter and he felt the heaving coming back to him. He tried to calm himself and breathed deeply.

"JC. There's been a crash. You'd better call someone back as soon as you get this." Steve said sharply.

"JC, Johnny here. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Chris and Lance are dead. There was a bad crash on the throughway. Joey and Justin are in a bad shape. They just took them in now. Call me." Johnny smooth voice carried concern even over hours and hundreds of miles.

"This is a courtesy call from the Omaha County Coroner." A flat, recorded voice said, matter-of-factly. "We regret to inform you that the owner of this cell phone has been pronounced dead. If you are a next of kin, please call 413-555-0505 as soon as possible to claim the remains. We may call to request your presence within the next 48 hours to identify the body."

JC dropped the cell phone on the floor of the limo blindly and this time could not control his convulsions. He heaved heavily as his body folded in on itself. The remains of his breakfast were soon on the floor and all over his boots, but he was blind to that now. The damn coroner wanted him to identify the remains of his best friend.

A/N: Thanks for the feedback! I promise I'm getting to Justin soon if anyone cares.

Somewhere in a thin outcrop of woods in the middle of Nebraska, Chris Kirkpatrick turned over on his bed of pine needles and pebbles and woke up. The sun shone softly through the rustling oaks and birds chirped happily, but all Chris was aware of pain and lose. His back killed him as he turned to lay on it and sitting up didn't help. That just made his head, neck and thighs hurt. Muscles that he had never used for dancing ached for attention. Chris could not just stay there, so he stood and stretched. The only object near him was a thin, grey sweatshirt. It was Justin's. Chris bent to pick it up, but immediately noticed it was splotched with blood and last night came screaming back. Chris was appalled and took a large step away. That's when he noticed where the blood had come from. There was a rip in his left jean leg and dried blood covered his leg. It killed to put weight on his left leg, but Chris kept walking because there was nothing for him in that thicket.

And just as suddenly as he had started, he found himself on the edge of a sea of tender green seedlings, like a velvet carpet under the rolling blue sky. A two lane country road cut across the field a few hundred yards away and Chris' repulsion drew him towards the road. He slowly, painfully, made his way across the vast farm field. His left leg throbbed down to the bone, but Chris just kept walking, outlasting the pain. He had to get away from those memories. Justin had been in pretty bad shape, but he was going to make it, Chris was sure. They could patch him up just fine, because Justin had always been a fighter. What about Lance? Joey had almost no chance either... Mourning struck him like a knife, but the wound was too fresh. Chris bore on through the field. Thank god that JC hadn't been there; he would have been an awful mess, even if he was fine physically. How was he dealing with the weight of it all?

Chris fought on and eventually approached a light blue farm house a bit off the highway. The house was in ill repair, the gutters coming off and the paint chipping, but the wood frame Victorian somehow looked very comfortable despite its flaws. He knocked on the door, gasping for breath. A few moments later, a young woman with flowing brown hair, wearing a patterned dress, sweater and tights opened the door. She took one look at Chris and her lips tightened and held the screen door close to her. "Your kind is not wanted around here."

"I'm hurt," Chris said simply, the words burning his dry throat. "Please give me some food..." he dug through his pockets and felt a small wad of cash, but nothing else. "And maybe a phone."

"We don't give handouts. Go on down the road now, you hear? The town is only 2 miles away."

She nearly closed the door on his face, but Chris held the screen steadily. "I can barely walk." He ushered to his leg, fresh blood oozing over the scab.

The woman looked around and nodded at the rocking chair on the porch. "Sit there. I'll get you some food." And without a word, she pulled the screen door closed and pushed the hook through the eye to lock the door. She left the wooden front door open just a crack.

Chris hobbled over to the rocking chair, the pain finally catching up with him and taking his breath away. He turned his leg a bit, but could not see much below the seeping blood. Finally he turned back to the door. He could have sworn he saw little eyes peering at him through the door crack, about three feet off the ground. Those eyes disappeared a moment later, but several long minutes passed before the girl returned. This time, she was holding a large tray of food and drink. "Go to the barn," she said, handing him the tray. She turned a bit, but kept her eyes on Chris. She pointed roughly northeast, "It's behind the house, over there. You can't be seen here. Go quick and I'll try to get the doctor. I'll tell them Jimmy's got the croup again." She pursed her lips, like she had said too much, but did not flinch.

Chris dared stare at her a moment longer. "But why-"

"Boy, don't ask questions. Just get off my porch or I'll take it all back."

Chris took what he was offered and slowly made his way off the porch and across the beaten yard. He could barely hold the tray straight through the pain, but somehow he made it. Something told him to hide in the small sheltor of loose hay behind the large stack of bales. Once sitting, he looked at the large tray he'd set before him for the first time. Chris downed the large glass of water immediately and refilled the glass with some of the lemonade. He took a sip, than made for a fresh roll slathered with butter. He ate a whole roll and part of a second before he came up for air. There was a whole pile of rolls left - how long were they supposed to last him? For the first time, Chris turned towards the victuals. He took a bite of the salty bacon and switched to the home fries. They were good and Chris easily finished the small pile of potatoes. Next, Chris dug through a small heap of green beans. Everything was soaked in gravy and suddenly, Chris had eatten enough.

There were two rags on the tray: one wet and one dry. Chris wrapped all the leftover food in the dry rag and smelled the wet one. It was a good thing too because there was alcohol on that rag, not water. Chris understood that this was for his leg, so he bent over to inspect his wound, but there was almost no light in that dim barn, behind the hay bales. Chris looked up and much to his surprise, he sat eye to eye with a calico cat. He'd always hated cats, especially when they sat barely three feet away and Chris shooed it away. A moment later, a fly landed on his bloody leg. He swung his arms wildly, thinking of how low he had sunk. Was this some sort of avoidance tactic? His friends were as good as died and all he could think of was animals bothering him. Perhaps he should try to get in touch with Johnny or something? The woman in the blue house was not going to let him in to use the phone and who else was there? His cell phone and wallet were MIA and he wondered if anyone knew where he was. Did he know where he was? A search of his mind came up nearly empty. A field in Nebraska.

A large knock shocked him, "Hello?" A voice bellowed. What if he was discovered by the head of the household, the very person who was so set against visitors? What if he was some violent drunk and that girl had just tried to save Chris from some awful fate? Chris pulled himself a few inches further behind the haybales. Suddenly, a large shadow came into view. "You've been drinking boy? I can smell the alcohol from here. Not to mention the blood. No use hiding."

Chris stayed huddled behind the haybale for a few frightening moments, until two large brown eyes peered down at him. "You shouldn't be here."

"Who are you?" Chris said weakly, eyeing the red plaid shirt before him.

"Doctor Paladin. Somebody call for a doctor here?"

"Yes sir," Chris nodded, scooting out into the light. He didn't think he could stand anymore. He presented the alcohol soaked rag. "I haven't been drinking though."

"Let me see that." The doctor took the rag and bent down over Chris' left leg. Dr. Paladin was a huge man, he had to be almost 7 feet tall, with a heavy cast of ruddy stubble from a few long nights. He swiped the cloth softly over the wound and Chris flinched from the sting. A deep, jagged cut emerged from beneath the flowing blood. "You'll need stitches. Your leg is broken and you walking on it sure didn't help. Think you can make it out to my truck on your own?" The doctor stuck out an arm for Chris' support.

Chris pulled himself up and, leaning on the doctor's arm, he limped out of the barn. "How'd you know I was walking on it?"

"Ain't no crashes around here lately. You didn't just fall out of the sky, you know."

"There was a big crash on Route 77 last night," Chris felt out carefully.

"That's a good two miles from here. Hope you weren't walking that far."

"I think I did." Chris could just remember hobbling along last night, just to get away from the flames, until he'd just about collapsed.

"You crazy? You should be laying in bed with that leg. Think I can patch it up, none the less." They'd reached a rusted out black Chevy pickup and the doctor opened Chris' door and helped him in.

Chris waited until the truck was half way out of the driveway to ask, "Why don't we just go to the hospital, if it's so bad?"

Dr. Paladin turned pale and faced Chris for a long moment. "Don't say that word around here. People around here don't believe in such things. Can't say I blame them. Places like that suck out your soul if you ain't careful."

"What kind of a doctor are you?" Chris stared ahead at the road for some sign of life. So far, the cows were about the only thing he could see.

"Don't worry about me. I went to Cornell with the best of 'em. That's what turned me off to big hospitals and the like. I won't scare you for when you go back. I'm from down the road a bit, but people around here just can't afford modern health care."

Suddenly, a thought aligned in Chris' head and he took a wild guess. "Is that lady's son sick or something?"

"Jimmy is Beth's brother. Trust me, the rest of them never would have given you food or called me in. They don't trust most outsiders far as they can throw them. Jimmy's got cancer, but there's not much they can do for him."

"But you could save his life," Chris breathed, his head spinning from this new concept.

The doctor shook his head lightly. "Little Jimmy is dying."

"Why are they so against health care?"

Dr. Paladin did not hesitate. "Those so called doctors always think of some new way to take your money. They can always find something wrong with someone and if there's nothing wrong, they'll just rob you to your grave." He looked Chris up and down, "Don't think I don't charge fair for my services. If you can't pay, we'll set you to work once you get better."

"Don't worry, I have cash." As if to prove himself, Chris dug into his pocket for a 50 dollar bill. "I'm not staying that long anyway. You can look at me and maybe I'll get some new pants, but than I'm getting on a bus back to New York." Chris didn't mention he'd be going straight to Joint Disease when he got back to get better treatment.

"You really are crazy." The doctor looked at him again just as they passed a sign welcoming them to Sayerville. They now passed a street lined with wood frame homes and several colorful store fronts. "You can't travel like that."

"I know, that's why you're gonna look me over." Chris shook his head. Dr. Paladin parked his truck in front of a white wash victorian house with a hand lettered sign announcing Dr. Paladin's practice.

Dr. Paladin walked around the truck and helped Chris out of the large vehicle. Chris limped next to the doctor into his office. They passed straight through the empty waiting room and into a small patient room with a small check up table and several chairs against the walls. The doctor led Chris to the check up table and helped him up. The doctor turned on a bright spot light and examined Chris' leg for a few moments. "I'll have to give you a shot first, you might get a little drowsy." Chris sat there, watching anxiously while the doctor filled a syringe with some clear medicine. He let the doctor inject it into his arm and within, moments, he indeed felt drowsy. He laid down on the table, trying to get comfortable. He closed his eyes as his breathing softened and he was soon sleeping.

When he woke up, he was in a stranger's bed, his left leg encased in plaster from his toes to his hip. He could not go anywhere.