Chapter Text
Alan was in surgery. The doctors hadn’t said much—only that it would take time. But none of them imagined it would take this long.
The first hour was a blur. The lights too bright. The walls too white. The chairs too hard.
Charlie refused to move. His eyes stayed fixed on the hallway where Alan had disappeared, his hands curled tightly in his lap.
Babe knew Charlie was injured—his arm was still trembling from the strain, bruised and untreated—and he hated seeing him like that. But Charlie wouldn’t leave. Not while Alan was in surgery. Not while Jeff sat frozen in silence.
“I’m fine,” Charlie muttered for the third time, even though he clearly wasn’t.
“You’re not,” Babe said softly. “At least let someone look at it.”
Charlie shook his head. “What if something happens? What if he—what if Jeff—”
“I don’t want to leave either,” Babe said, gently taking his hand, careful of the injured arm. “But if you wait longer, it’ll just get worse.”
Pete stepped in then, his voice quiet but steady. “If anything changes, I’ll call you right away.”
Charlie hesitated—torn in too many directions at once.
Finally, he gave a small nod.
Babe didn’t let go of his hand as they walked down the hall. Not for a second.
Minutes after they left, Alan’s grandparents arrived. His grandmother looked like she was one breath away from falling apart completely. Her husband stayed close beside her, arms tight around her shoulders, voice low and steady, like he was trying to anchor her to the ground.
About an hour later, Babe and Charlie returned. Charlie’s arm was in a cast now. Babe was glued to his side, still holding Charlie’s uninjured hand like he might drift away if he let go.
Sonic tried not to cry. So did Way. Neither of them succeeded.
Way, drained past his limits, slumped against Pete, head tucked into his shoulder, breath shallow. A moment later, he passed out cold. Pete caught him easily and let him stay there, cradled in his arms.
Sonic sat with North, head resting on his shoulder, eyes red and glassy. North didn’t say anything—he just kept a protective arm wrapped around him and held on.
Jeff hadn’t moved since they arrived. He sat in the same chair, hands resting in his lap, eyes fixed on some invisible point ahead of him.
At one point, Alan’s grandmother moved toward him, her hand reaching for his shoulder. But before she could touch him, Jeff flinched violently.
She didn’t try again.
He could reach out. He could touch her hand, just once. He could see. See if Alan would wake up.
But he didn’t. Because he was afraid.
What if Alan didn’t make it?
Time crawled. Five hours passed.
Kim and Kenta, who had been sitting nearby, quiet, respectful, rose to leave.
“We’re going to grab food,” Kim said softly. “Doubt anyone’s hungry, but you should eat.”
No one replied. They left anyway.
The waiting room stayed silent, save for the occasional beep of the nurse’s monitor or the squeak of a cart rolling by.
Another hour passed. Then another.
By the eighth hour, the exhaustion was visible on every face. Even the shadows seemed tired.
Then the OR doors opened.
Everyone stood at once.
A surgeon stepped into the hallway, pulling down his mask. His eyes scanned the group, then settled on Alan’s grandmother.
“He made it,” the surgeon said.
The entire room exhaled at once.
“But it was close. We had to stop heavy internal bleeding. He’s stable for now, but he’s unconscious. We’re moving him to the ICU. It’ll be some time before he wakes up.”
Jeff didn’t move—but his hands curled tightly around the fabric of his jeans.
Alan’s grandmother turned to him. “Would you like to stay with him?” she asked gently.
Jeff didn’t speak. He only nodded.
She went to speak to the staff, arranging everything. Charlie and Babe moved to Jeff’s side, flanking him silently, refusing to let him sit alone.
Alan’s grandfather’s phone buzzed. He stepped away from the group, answering softly.
“Lily,” he said, voice careful.
On the other end, Lily was crying. Not loudly—but the sound of it still cracked through the phone like a glass breaking slowly under pressure.
She’d found out. The news had reached her.
“How is he—” Lily’s voice broke, barely more than a breath. “Is Alan… is he—”
Her father answered before she could finish. His voice was calm, but his hands trembled slightly around the phone. “He made it through surgery. But he’s unconscious. They’re moving him to the ICU now.”
A muffled sound on the other end—Win’s voice, trying to calm her.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please tell me when something changes.”
“I will.”
She didn’t respond. Win came on the line instead. “We’ll come as soon as we can.”
Then the call ended.
Alan’s grandmother returned, gently touching Jeff’s shoulder. This time, he didn’t flinch.
“Come on,” she said.
She led him to the ICU.
Alan lay in a hospital bed, surrounded by machines. Tubes ran from both arms. A bandage stretched tightly across his chest, hiding what none of them wanted to see. The monitor pulsed steadily beside him. A steady beep. A cruel comfort.
He looked small. Too still. Too pale. The man who had once stood like a wall between them and danger now looked like he might break if anyone breathed too hard.
Jeff sat beside the bed. Didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. Just watched him.
Alan’s grandfather had convinced the boys to go home to rest, if only for a little while.
The food Kim and Kenta had brought earlier sat in bags on the kitchen counter. They ate a little. Not because they were hungry, but because they didn’t know what else to do.
They didn’t go to their rooms after that. Instead, they gathered in the living room. All of their phones were placed on the coffee table—each screen dark and silent. Waiting. Just like them.
Alan’s grandfather sat with them. He tried, gently, to convince them to sleep. But they didn’t move.
Charlie and Babe fell asleep curled up together on the couch. Babe's head rested on Charlie's shoulder, his hands wrapped tightly around Charlie's uninjured arm like he was afraid to let go.
Across from them, North and Sonic mirrored them. North pulled Sonic close, arms wrapped around him tightly as Sonic buried his face in North’s hoodie.
Pete sat on the floor, back against the couch, Way curled into his chest. Way had fallen asleep again, his fingers still wrapped loosely around Pete’s shirt.
Kim and Kenta sat a little further away. They weren’t family—but they couldn’t bring themselves to leave the boys alone, not in a moment like this.
Only Pete and Alan’s grandfather remained awake as the night wore on.
The clock ticked past midnight.
Still no calls. Still no updates.
Alan’s grandfather looked over at Pete. “You should try to rest.”
Pete didn’t respond.
“Alan would be angry if he knew you were exhausting yourself like this.”
“I’m fine.”
Pete’s head dipped an hour later. Shoulders slumping. Finally asleep.
The ICU was dim, lit only by the soft glow of monitors and the faint spill of fluorescent light from the hallway. The rhythm of the machines had become a lullaby—steady, mechanical, falsely comforting. Jeff hadn’t moved in hours.
He was sitting in the chair beside Alan’s bed, head resting on the edge of the mattress, his hand still wrapped loosely around Alan’s.
At some point in the early hours, exhaustion won. Jeff drifted into sleep. He didn’t stir, even when Alan’s fingers twitched beneath his own.
The beeping changed. It was subtle at first—a skip, a flutter, an offbeat echo in the heart monitor. The machines began to speak in sharper tones. A quickening pulse. Then alarms.
The room erupted into motion. Doors flung open. White coats rushed in. Nurses barked orders. Footsteps thudded like thunder.
Jeff jolted upright, heart slamming into his throat. He stared at the bed—at the man lying too still, at the flashing numbers, the blaring sounds. His body tensed, sleep still clinging to his limbs, confusion crashing into panic.
“What—?” he started, voice hoarse.
Alan’s grandmother was suddenly beside him, her arms already reaching. She didn’t waste time with explanations. Her hands gently took his shoulders, pulling him back.
“No,” Jeff said weakly. “Wait—what’s happening—?”
She didn’t answer as she guided him away, toward the door.
“Please—” he tried again. “I have to—” But his legs didn’t fight. His arms didn’t resist. He let her lead him out, dazed and breathless.
The doors closed behind them.
Only then did it hit.
Jeff collapsed into her arms with a choked sob, fists knotting into her shirt like the world was caving in. The sounds of the machines still echoed in his head—the jagged beeping, the sirens of failing vitals. His knees buckled. She caught him.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, voice trembling as she held him close. “It’s okay. He’s strong. You know he’s strong. He’s come this far. He’s not leaving us now.”
Her hand stroked the back of his head gently. Her eyes were glassy, shining with tears she refused to shed.
“I can’t lose him,” Jeff whispered.
“I know,” she said, voice breaking. “I know.”
Footsteps echoed down the hallway. The sound of multiple sets—quick, uneven, urgent.
Alan’s grandfather turned the corner first, followed closely by Pete, Babe, and Charlie. Way stumbled just behind them, one hand gripping Pete’s sleeve. North and Sonic hurried after them, flanked by Kim and Kenta.
They all stopped at once.
Jeff was on the floor, collapsed in Alan’s grandmother’s arms, sobbing like he’d run out of air. She was holding him tightly, arms wrapped around him like a shield against the storm still raging behind those ICU doors.
Fear hung in the air, thick and choking. None of them asked what had happened. They knew. The alarms had told the story. So had Jeff’s cries.
The sound of the ringing phone startled them all. A sharp contrast to the stillness of the moment. Alan’s grandfather pulled it out, answering quickly when he saw the caller ID.
“Lily.”
“Dad—” she breathed. “We’re still at the airport. They’ve delayed all flights due to the storm. We don’t know when we can leave. They won’t give us a time.”
Alan’s grandfather closed his eyes. “Lily, listen—”
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Is he okay? Is Alan—?” Her voice cracked. “Don’t lie to me—just tell me—”
Behind him, the ICU door opened. A doctor stepped out, mask down, face lined with fatigue and adrenaline. The others all turned to him at once.
Alan’s grandfather didn’t move.
The doctor met his eyes. “He went into shock. His vitals crashed. But we managed to stabilise him.”
Everyone exhaled. The kind of breath that left you shaking after it passed.
Jeff’s cries quieted just a little. His fists still clung to the fabric of Alan’s grandmother’s clothes, but his head leaned heavier against her. He heard the words. He didn’t trust them yet, but he heard them.
Alan’s grandfather focused on his daughter again.
“He’s stable again,” he said softly. “It was close. But he’s holding on.”
There was a sound on the other end—sharp, raw.
It wasn’t Lily. It was Win.
“Lily—” he could be heard saying, off the phone, in a panicked hush. “Lily, breathe—”
Alan’s grandfather waited, listening. But the line didn’t disconnect.
“I’m trying,” Lily finally whispered. Her voice was fragile. “I’m trying. I just—I’m not there. I should be there.”
“Alan is still fighting,” her father said gently. “Don’t give up on him, Lily. He hasn’t given up on us.”
“I won’t,” she whispered. “Please call me if something changes.”
“I will.”
The call ended. He lowered the phone, staring at the screen for a moment before sliding it into his pocket.
Behind him, the rest of the boys still hadn’t moved.
Charlie crouched down beside Jeff slowly, a hand on his back. Babe knelt beside him too, silent but steady. Pete sank to the floor next to Way, pulling him into a side hug, grounding both of them. North slid to the floor with Sonic in his arms, silent tears trailing down Sonic’s cheeks. Kim and Kenta stood nearby, watching the doorway, unwilling to intrude but unable to step away.
Inside the ICU, Alan remained motionless. But the machines still beeped. The rhythm was back. Uneven, slow—but present.
By the third day, Alan's vitals had improved just enough to move him out of the ICU, though he remained unconscious. Jeff hadn’t left his side since the moment the alarms had first gone off.
When the nurses finally settled Alan into the new room, Pete stepped in quietly. He didn’t say much—just nodded to the staff, pulled the door closed behind them, and sat in the corner.
He’d already convinced Alan’s grandmother to go home and rest. She had hesitated, eyes torn between love and worry, but eventually agreed—only because Pete had promised to stay until she or Alan’s grandfather returned.
Alan looked smaller in this new space—less surrounded by machines, but more fragile because of it. His bandages were still visible beneath the thin hospital blanket, the rhythm of the heart monitor the only thing tethering them to hope.
Jeff sat on the edge of his chair, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, gaze locked on Alan’s face like he could will him to wake up.
The doctors had said Alan’s condition was stable enough to begin easing him out of sedation. They were cautious, moving slowly, monitoring every shift on the screen.
For a while, nothing happened. Just the same soft beeping, the same pale silence.
Then the alarms began. It started with a blip—a spike in the heart rate. Then a cascade. Monitors shrieked. Blood pressure dropped sharply. A nurse cursed under her breath and hit the emergency call button. The door flew open as more staff rushed in.
“Something’s wrong—his vitals are crashing—”
Jeff was on his feet instantly. “What’s happening?!”
Pete moved fast, his arms locked around Jeff’s shoulders, pulling him back.
Jeff didn’t fight him. He just stood there, frozen in Pete’s arms, trembling. His eyes were wide, darting between the machines and the nurses, the panic rising so fast he couldn’t breathe.
“He was fine,” Jeff whispered. “He was getting better. He was supposed to be okay—”
Pete tightened his hold. “He will be. He’s strong, Jeff. He’s going to get through this.”
Jeff’s breathing hitched. “I can’t—if we lose him—”
“We’re not going to,” Pete said softly, his voice right beside Jeff’s ear now. “P’Alan’s not done fighting. You know that. You know him.”
Jeff closed his eyes, a strangled sound escaping his throat as he sagged into Pete’s arms. The panic didn’t leave, but it stopped growing—held back by Pete’s grip and the steady beat of his words.
Pete just held him, one hand braced on the back of Jeff’s head, the other locked around his back, grounding him while the chaos in the room continued.
They stayed that way until the alarms began to fade after what felt like hours.
The chaotic rhythm softened into something steady again.
One of the nurses stepped over. “We’ve stabilised him,” she said gently. “His body’s under a lot of stress. We’re going to keep him under a bit longer. It’s safer that way.”
Pete nodded, not trusting his voice.
Jeff didn’t lift his head.
When the medical team finally cleared out, Pete eased Jeff back into the chair. Jeff didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared at Alan with tear tracks still drying on his face.
Pete pulled out his phone and stepped into the hallway.
Alan’s grandparents arrived less than an hour later, with Charlie and Babe in tow, both carrying bags, the smell of warm food trailing behind them.
Jeff didn’t react when the door opened.
Babe set the food down carefully on the table beside Alan’s bed. Charlie sat beside Jeff, close but not crowding him.
“We brought your favourite,” Charlie said quietly.
Jeff didn’t look at him.
“P’Alan wouldn’t want you to stop eating,” Babe added gently, his voice a little rough from emotion. “He’d make you eat it even if he had to bribe you with dessert.”
Still, no response.
“Just a few bites,” Babe tried again, his voice soft but stubborn. “Come on, Jeff.”
Jeff finally blinked. He didn’t speak. But his hand moved toward the edge of the food container Babe had opened.
Charlie exhaled softly and gave a tiny nod to Babe.
Progress.
The room didn’t feel okay. But in that moment, they weren’t losing Alan. That had to be enough.
On the fourth day, the doctors made another attempt to reduce Alan’s sedation—this time, slower, more cautious than before. Every movement was careful, every adjustment measured. The entire room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for alarms, for chaos, for that familiar rush of panic.
But nothing came. No spikes. No crashing vitals. Alan remained steady. Still unconscious, but stable.
Once the medical staff had finished and the room quieted again, Jeff found himself alone with Alan.
And that’s when the fear crept back in.
He hadn’t let go of Alan’s arm since the first day in the ICU. His hand rested lightly around Alan’s wrist now, the same way it had for days. Like if he let go, Alan might drift somewhere too far to follow.
And what scared him more than anything else… was the silence.
No visions. No flickers of the future. Nothing since the moment Alan collapsed.
It was the evening of the fifth day when Alan’s grandmother finally convinced Jeff to leave the hospital.
She didn’t force him, but her eyes lined with exhaustion and care, her voice soft and unwavering, had been enough. “Just a few hours, sweetheart. I’ll stay here until you come back.”
Jeff hesitated, glancing back at Alan’s motionless form, then finally nodded.
It didn’t feel right, leaving him. Not after all these days. Not when he hadn’t moved, hadn’t opened his eyes.
The house was quiet when Jeff returned. But the moment he stepped inside, movement stirred. North peeked around the corner. Then Way. Then Pete.
Within minutes, the boys had a meal ready—simple, warm, homemade. Nothing fancy, but something that smelled like comfort. Something that said we’re here, and we’re not giving up.
Jeff stood at the table, unmoving, shoulders stiff. “I’m not hungry.”
“We know,” Pete said gently. “But you should eat.”
Sonic placed a plate in front of him, carefully, like it might break. Kim and Kenta lingered nearby. Charlie and Babe sat across from him, watching.
Jeff looked down at the plate. Then at their faces. The worry in their eyes was almost louder than words. So he sat, picked up the fork and took a few bites. It wasn’t much. But it was enough. Enough for them to breathe a little easier.
Later, when he went to their bedroom, he tried to rest. Laid on the bed, closed his eyes, turned onto his side.
It didn’t work.
Less than half an hour later, he was up again, padding barefoot down the hallway.
He stopped in front of Charlie and Babe’s room. Didn’t have the time to knock. The door opened before his hand even moved.
Charlie stood there, hair tousled, eyes tired but alert. His expression softened when he saw Jeff.
“I can’t sleep,” Jeff whispered.
“You want me to stay with you?”
Jeff shook his head. “I want to go back.”
Charlie didn’t argue. He turned to Babe without needing to say a word.
Babe was already halfway to the dresser, pulling on a hoodie, grabbing the car keys. “I’ll drive,” he said simply.
When they reached the ward, Alan’s grandmother was standing just outside the door to his room, her phone still in hand. She looked up as they approached, the tension in her shoulders softening when she saw Jeff.
“I just spoke with Lily,” she said, tucking the phone away. “She and Win will arrive tomorrow morning.”
Jeff gave a slow nod, absorbing that quietly. Then looked at her. “You should go home.”
She blinked, surprised. “What?”
“You need rest too,” Jeff said.
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Are you sure you want to stay here alone?”
“I’m sure.”
Charlie stepped forward. “You want us to stay?”
Jeff looked between him and Babe, eyes soft but certain. “You should rest too.”
For a moment, it seemed like Charlie might argue. But Babe touched his arm lightly. “We’ll be back in the morning,” he said to Jeff.
And just like that, the hallway was empty again.
Jeff stepped inside.
Alan lay exactly as he had before. Pale. Bandaged. Silent. The heart monitor beeped softly in the background, a slow and steady reminder that he was still here.
Jeff sat in the same chair he’d occupied for days. Reached for Alan’s hand again, threading their fingers together carefully, like it might help anchor him.
Jeff didn’t cry. His tears had already carved too many paths down his face. “Hey,” he said softly, thumb brushing over Alan’s wrist. “It’s been five days.” He swallowed. “I know you’re tired. I know it hurts. But I need you to wake up, Alan. You promised me you wouldn’t leave,” Jeff whispered. “You said it would be okay” His hand tightened slightly. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to plead. “I need you to come back.”
Alan woke up slowly. There was no rush to consciousness, no dramatic gasp, no sudden jolt. Just a gradual, aching return to pain.
At first, he thought he must’ve died. The room was too quiet, the light too dim, the air too sterile. But then the pain started, sharp and dull all at once, throbbing in his chest, pressing on his lungs. Every breath burned like fire through gauze.
So… not dead then. Somehow, against all odds, he’d survived.
He wasn't complaining. Even with the pain, the stiffness, the confusion—he wasn’t ready to leave.
The room was unfamiliar, but he wasn’t alone. Beside him, in a chair pulled as close to the bed as possible, Jeff was curled forward with his head resting on the edge of the mattress. Both of his hands were wrapped around Alan’s.
Alan stared at him, eyes softening. There were faint tear tracks on Jeff’s face, dried long ago. His brows were drawn together in sleep, his jaw clenched like he was still bracing for something.
Alan had no idea how long Jeff had been sitting there like that. Days, maybe. He didn’t want to wake him.
But as if sensing the shift in the room, Jeff stirred. He blinked slowly, lifting his head, and froze.
Alan met his eyes.
It took a second for it to register. Jeff blinked again, the disbelief hitting him in waves, until his mouth parted with a trembling breath.
“Alan?”
Alan gave a faint nod.
Jeff was already standing, hand flying to the call button.
Jeff stepped aside only when the nurses and a doctor pushed into the room. He hovered behind them, nearly vibrating with impatience, as they moved around Alan, checking vitals, adjusting IV lines, shining lights into his eyes, murmuring reassurances and notes to one another.
Alan didn’t speak much during the examination. He just kept glancing at Jeff. And Jeff kept glancing back.
Finally, the doctor stepped back with a nod. “Stable. Still weak, but alert. We’ll keep monitoring him closely. Just rest for now, Mr. Tulphaisan.”
Alan gave a small grunt of acknowledgement, and they all stepped out of the room.
Jeff was in the chair before the door even clicked shut.
“Hey,” he whispered, reaching for Alan’s hand again.
Alan looked tired.
“You should rest,” Jeff said softly, his thumb brushing lightly over Alan’s hand. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
But Alan didn’t close his eyes. He didn’t even blink. He shifted slightly, just enough for his hand to grip Jeff’s tighter. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For making your nightmare come true.”
Jeff didn’t let him finish sinking into the guilt. He leaned in a little closer, voice firmer now. “If you’re really sorry, then focus on getting better. That’s what matters now. Get well, so we can go home.”
Alan stared at him, searching his face like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to hear those words. But Jeff didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away.
“Is everyone okay?” he asked after a moment, voice laced with fatigue.
“They’re okay,” Jeff said. “Everyone’s been waiting for you to wake up. They will probably show up the second the sun rises. You should sleep before they get here,” Jeff added, softening his tone. “Rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Alan didn’t answer—but his body relaxed slightly, surrendering to the warmth of Jeff’s voice.
Jeff stayed awake a little longer, watching the soft rise and fall of Alan’s chest, his hand still wrapped safely in his own.
And for the first time since Alan collapsed, Jeff felt like he could finally breathe.
Alan wasn’t sure what pulled him from sleep.
It wasn’t pain this time, though that still lingered, dull and persistent beneath the surface. It wasn’t discomfort or light. It was noise. Sudden. Sharp. Rushed.
Someone was storming into the room.
He blinked awake, groggy and disoriented, just in time to feel Jeff jolt in the chair beside him. The younger boy shot up from where he’d been slumped against the mattress, startled, but his hand never left Alan’s.
Alan barely had time to register the light shift or the beep of the monitor quickening before chaos spilt in.
“Oh my god—he’s awake—he’s really—”
“You scared the hell out of us—!”
North and Sonic were the loudest. Their words overlapped, tumbling over each other with the force of barely-contained emotion. Alan blinked again, trying to keep up, his brain still fuzzy. He understood maybe one word in ten.
Then Pete’s voice cut through everything like a blade. “You’re going to overwhelm him.”
Alan coughed—a dry sound that still scraped like sandpaper down his throat. “I’m fine,” he rasped, which was technically true, if he didn’t think too hard about how much it hurt to breathe.
“You’re not fine,” Jeff muttered, gently adjusting the pillow behind his back as Alan tried to sit up. “But you’re alive.”
“That’s close enough,” Alan said with a tired smile.
Jeff supported him, careful and steady. It took effort. His muscles ached, his body resisted. But Alan managed to sit with Jeff’s help, propped up enough to meet the eyes of his “kids.”
His eyes landed on Way. He was too quiet.
Alan frowned. “Way?”
The boy looked up, and his expression shifted between guilt and something smaller. Something scared.
“What’s wrong?” Alan asked, his voice still hoarse.
Way’s mouth opened. Then closed. “I… I’m sorry,” he said finally, voice cracking. “I didn’t remember you.”
Alan’s heart clenched. But he didn’t show it.
“Come here.”
Way hesitated only a second before crossing the room. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, like he thought he might break it or Alan, just by being too close.
Then Alan pulled him in gently.
And that was all it took.
Way collapsed into the hug, burying his face into Alan’s shoulder. For a second, it felt like time folded in on itself. Alan could feel the echo of a smaller boy—bare knees scraped, tears in his eyes—running to him for comfort after a fall. That boy hadn’t disappeared. He’d just grown taller.
“I’m glad you didn’t remember,” Alan said quietly, holding him tight. “You don’t need to carry that. Not when you’ve finally started healing.”
Way started sobbing, clutching at Alan like the past five days had finally caught up to him.
Pete moved forward, standing beside the bed, one hand resting gently on Way’s back to calm him.
Alan’s eyes drifted toward the door, where Kim and Kenta stood awkwardly like guests who had shown up to the wrong house party. Neither of them moved. Their bodies tilted slightly away from the room, like they were waiting for an opportunity to slip out unnoticed.
Alan turned to North and Sonic. “Did you scare them already?”
North turned, looked at the pair by the door, then shrugged. “They’re just not used to us yet.” Then his expression lit up. “Speaking of that, we can keep them, right?”
Alan blinked. “Keep them?”
“Well, we already decided we’re keeping P’Kim,” North said, completely serious. “So it’s only fair we keep P’Kenta too. I mean, he’s P’Pete’s little brother. And P’Kim likes him.”
“North,” Sonic groaned, “you can’t talk about people like they’re stray animals we found.”
“But that’s kind of how P’Alan adopted all of us,” North shot back.
Alan laughed—painfully, because it pulled at his chest—but real. “I regret every decision I’ve ever made,” he said, though the fondness in his voice betrayed him.
“You love us,” Sonic said smugly.
Alan opened his mouth to respond—but then he froze. Something was missing.
“Where are Charlie and Babe?”
“Babe suspected Charlie was trying to hide a concussion,” Pete said. “ Dragged him to get checked out. They’ll be here once the check-up is done.”
As if summoned by his name, the door opened. Charlie stepped in first, his arm in a cast. Babe followed close behind.
“You,” Babe said, pointing at Alan with narrowed eyes, “have a competitor now.”
Alan raised a brow.
“He hid a concussion for days,” Babe continued. “You’ve got competition in the ‘who can keep secrets better’ department.”
Alan’s gaze dropped. “I’m sorry.”
Babe blinked. “What?”
“For not telling you about Tony. I wasn’t trying to hide it. I just—” He paused. “I didn’t want you to look at me and only see him.”
Babe stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “I was just joking, Phi,” he said, walking over. “I don’t care who your father is. You’re the one who raised us. Protected us. Got us this far. That’s what matters to me.”
Charlie stepped closer, meeting Alan’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
Alan tilted his head. “For what?”
“For trying to protect everyone the wrong way. For thinking that faking my death was the only choice I had. It didn’t help anyone. It just hurt all of you. I’m sorry.”
Alan stared at him for a moment. Then shook his head. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”
The door burst open with no warning.
Alan flinched at the sound, his breath hitching—just enough to make Jeff jolt up beside him, one hand instinctively moving to steady him, the other still gripping Alan’s.
Before anyone could process what was happening, Lily was at Alan’s bedside.
Her eyes locked on his face. A sob tore through her chest as she bent down and wrapped her arms around him as gently as she could manage. Her touch trembled, like she was afraid he might vanish.
“You’re awake,” she choked out. “You’re actually awake.”
Alan blinked slowly. “Hi, Mom.”
She started crying harder, hands framing his face. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here. I should’ve—”
“It’s okay,” Alan whispered. “I’m sorry I broke my promise,” he added after a moment, voice low.
Lily shook her head fiercely, brushing his hair back. “It doesn’t matter. You’re alive. That’s all I care about.” She leaned closer, pressing her forehead gently to his. “You did it. You saved them. You stopped him.”
Alan’s eyes flicked to the other side of the bed.
“There’s someone else who needs your attention too,” he said, voice quieter now, a little hoarse.
She turned and froze.
Pete stood still, one hand resting protectively on Way’s back. And beside him, Way looked even more like a child than usual. Still. Quiet. Watching her with wide, uncertain eyes.
No one moved.
Lily didn’t speak. Her lips trembled, her eyes blurred.
“Mom…” Way’s voice cracked on the single word.
She stepped around the bed in two strides and gathered them both into her arms. Her sobs returned, louder, rougher, as she clung to them like she might never let go again. “My boys. My babies. I’m so sorry.”
Neither Pete nor Way spoke at first. Their arms folded around her slowly, carefully, as if they still weren’t sure this was real.
“None of this was your fault,” Pete murmured.
For a long moment, there was nothing but quiet crying and whispered apologies.
Then Alan’s attention drifted past his mother toward the people who had entered the room with her. Her had followed right behind her, quieter but no less emotional. Her mother stepped immediately to Jeff’s side, pressing a warm container of breakfast into his hands. Her husband stood just behind her, his expression carefully composed, but his eyes rimmed red.
Two more men stood quietly by Alan’s bed. Win was closest, his hand resting gently on Alan’s shoulder with quiet familiarity, his presence steady and grounding. Beside him stood Shin, composed and unreadable, saying nothing but watching everything with sharp, assessing eyes.
Alan looked toward his “kids”, whose wide-eyed stares had shifted to the two men now standing near the bed.
“Right,” Alan said, trying to sit up a little straighter. “I should introduce you.”
He gestured to the man closest to him. “This is Win. My father.” He paused. “Stepfather, technically. But that doesn’t matter.”
“And this is Uncle Shin,” Alan said as he turned to the second man. “He’s the one who helped bring Tony down. The mole inside the mansion.”
“Shin’s also the one who’s been handling the aftermath of the auction.” Alan’s grandfather added.
Lily smiled, though there was something sad behind it. “He’s also my best friend since we were kids. My parents even wanted me to marry him.”
Alan blinked. “Really?”
She laughed wetly. “Yeah. But I was a fool in love with the wrong man.”
“Well,” Alan said slowly, “if you hadn’t married him, you wouldn’t have met Dad.”
Lily’s expression softened. “Fair point. And I wouldn’t have an amazing son like you. Or a son-in-law like Jeff.”
Jeff, caught mid-sip of the juice Alan’s grandmother had quietly passed him, nearly choked.
“You told her about me?” he asked Alan, voice just above a squeak.
“He talks about you a lot,” Lily said cheerfully. “And even if he didn’t, my parents kept me up to date.”
Pete frowned thoughtfully. “Wait…why did Shin work for Tony?”
“Because we didn’t trust Tony.” Alan’s grandfather answered. “We invested in Tony’s business early, before we knew what was happening. We were still suspicious, so we sent Shin in to watch.”
Shin nodded. “The only problem was that I couldn’t make him trust me enough to let me close.”
Alan’s grandfather continued, “We tried to make Tony pay for his crimes. But there was never enough proof. Not until now.”
Everyone’s eyes drifted toward Kenta, still standing silently near the door.
Alan’s grandfather looked at him. “He didn’t expect you to help us.”
Kenta didn’t speak. He didn’t move. There was guilt in his eyes—but there was relief, too.
Jeff was the first to notice Alan’s breath slowing.
He turned, reaching out. “Alan?”
Alan blinked slowly, heavy-lidded now.
Alan’s grandmother stepped in. “Okay, that’s enough excitement. Our boy needs rest.” She herded everyone toward the door. “I’ll bring lunch for you later,” she added, turning to Jeff. “Make sure you eat the breakfast I brought you.”
Alan turned to Jeff.
“We haven’t let him skip a single meal, don’t worry,” his grandmother said before Alan could speak.
Jeff smiled faintly. “She’s not lying.”
Once the door closed behind them, silence settled again.
“You should sleep,” Jeff said softly, brushing his fingers along Alan’s hand. “Rest while you can. They’ll all be back soon to tire you out again.”
Alan’s mouth quirked into a faint smile.
“I don’t mind,” he murmured. “I’m tired… but I’m happy.”
Jeff didn’t say anything. He just stayed there. Holding Alan’s hand and watching him drift back into sleep.
Just as Kenta had warned, Tony’s final move had been a cruel one, leaving everything to Alan, not out of kindness, but to bury him in the wreckage. A last, petty act of vengeance from beyond the grave.
But it didn’t work.
Alan’s family had stepped in before he was even discharged. Legal teams were assembled, papers signed, assets dissolved. Shin had taken the lead, alongside Win and Alan’s grandparents, making sure Alan never had to lift a finger. He was told, kindly but firmly, to focus on one thing only: recovery.
And now, two months later, everything felt… still. Not empty. Not silent. Just peaceful. The kind of peace no one in their strange, stitched-together family had known for years.
The house wasn’t entirely quiet today, but it wasn’t chaos either. Not yet.
Pete had taken Way out on a date, something low-key and long overdue. Charlie had asked Babe out on a date too, and the two had left hand in hand not long after breakfast. Even Kim and Kenta had gone off somewhere together—not officially a date, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time. The two had settled into the family quickly. Now it was just a matter of figuring things out between them.
That left Alan and Jeff almost alone in the house. Almost.
North and Sonic were still home. And they were bored. Which, for everyone involved, was a disaster waiting to happen.
“Remind me,” Alan murmured as he leaned against Jeff on the couch, “why we didn’t go out too?”
Jeff chuckled softly, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on Alan’s arm. “Because if we left, those two would’ve burned the house down.”
Alan sighed dramatically, tilting his head back against the cushions.
They were curled together beneath a blanket, surrounded by the quiet hum of the house, trying desperately to enjoy one uninterrupted conversation. But every few seconds, it was interrupted by having to scold North and Sonic. Sometimes it really did feel like raising toddlers.
One of those interruptions involved a vase. A nice vase. Specifically, Way’s favourite vase.
“P’North,” Jeff called, without even turning around. “Put the vase down.”
There was a guilty shuffle from the hallway. “What? It looks weird there.”
“Put it down.”
North’s voice came back, full of fake innocence. “Okay, Mom,” followed by the sound of the vase being gently set down.
Alan snorted, burying his face into Jeff’s shoulder. “You’ve officially been promoted.”
“Mom or not, I swear I’m duct taping them to the wall if they touch anything else.”
Then, as Alan and Jeff tried to resume their conversation, the two troublemakers could be heard whispering and shuffling, once again trying to move the vase.
Alan didn’t even turn his head. “Put. It. Back.”
“What?!” Sonic yelped.
“I heard you. If anything happens to the vase, Way will turn you both into garden decorations.”
There was a pause.
“Okay, Dad,” Sonic mumbled.
And then—of course—the sound of something slipping. Then crashing. Shards of the vase were scattered across the floor.
Alan didn’t even flinch. He just inhaled slowly and let the breath out through his nose.
Jeff tensed beside him. “That wasn’t—”
“It was,” Alan confirmed with a sigh. He pushed the blanket off and stood up carefully. “Nobody move. Especially not near the remains of the vase.”
“We’re sorry!” Sonic called.
“Stand back. Don’t touch anything,” Alan said firmly, already walking toward the mess. “Jeff, can you text Pete? Tell him to keep Way out for a bit longer.”
North peered into the living room, sheepish. “Do we run now, or…?”
“You,” Alan said, pointing between North and Sonic, “are going to ask Grandma where she bought that vase. Then go buy an exact replacement. Same colour. Same flowers. Same everything. Got it?”
“Yessir,” North muttered, grabbing Sonic’s arm.
“We’ll fix it!” Sonic promised, already being dragged toward the door.
Once they were gone and the last shard of porcelain swept up, Alan returned to the couch. He dropped into the cushions with a groan and slumped against Jeff’s side.
Jeff smiled down at him, brushing a hand through Alan’s hair. “Your kids are going to be the death of me.”
“Our kids,” Alan corrected, eyes closed.
Jeff chuckled. “Fine. Our kids.”