Chapter Text
“You got him, Ray? Want me to take his other arm?”
Ray paused where he was trying to help Pete out of the car, enough to reassure her they were fine. Pete looked amused, shaking his head and accepting Ray’s hand, supporting him as he stood up. Ray watched attentively for any winces of pain, any tightening of Pete’s brow, but none came. He was still on pain meds and the doctors said he’d been healing well, but Ray couldn’t help but worry. They’d been through too much for hospitals to be anything but stressful, no matter how many appointments they’d had to attend between the both of them.
“I’m okay, Ray.”
Pete’s voice was gentle, low, a private reassurance, and he squeezed Ray’s hand before allowing the other boy to sling his arm over his shoulders.
After six months of dialysis, Pete had gotten a donor match, and with his surgery scheduled, they’d begun planning their move. While it wouldn’t have been impossible to enact their plan to disappear while Pete was still undergoing treatment, it would’ve complicated matters too much for comfort and ruined the other boy’s chances of getting a donor organ, at least without years more of waiting. As fucked up as it was, Pete’s status after winning the Walk could do nothing but help him in his recovery, with the hospital’s unofficial instructions to make him a priority as a patient no matter what. Ray refused to acknowledge the ethical implications of it all too much; he knew that, in the end, it would just drive him crazy, and that wouldn’t be helpful for anyone.
They’d spent months planning their next steps. After deliberating over how far they’d need to go to get the peace they so desperately needed, they eventually settled on New York. While they could’ve gone further, his Ma reasoned that while they were trying to escape the public eye, the only people they were really running from were the government, and no amount of distance would stop them from being found. While he wanted nothing more than to live a long, full life with Pete, knowing they were safe, there was no freedom in living in hiding. They’d been scared for long enough without the promise of a lifetime running from the inevitable; if the Major decided to take action against them, there’d be nothing they could do, no matter how far they got.
His mom had explained, over a warm dinner a few weeks before Pete’s surgery, that if he and Pete obliged, she’d found a house in New York that was ready for them to move into the moment they were able. It was on the outskirts of the city, where the nightlife met suburban calm, and while it would take some fixing up, it wouldn’t cut too much into Pete’s winnings, especially after the sale of their own house. Pete had protested a hundred times over that he didn’t give a shit about the money, that if he was to be accepted into the Garraty family then the money belonged to all of them, but Ginnie Garraty insisted on trying to save at least some of it ‘for his future’. That always quietened Pete, as if he hadn’t considered such a thing.
She’d then gone on to explain that, while she’d be researching properties for sale and doing her best to contact people via computer from two states over, she’d found that New York had a reputation for being ‘accepting’. She said it carefully, like she was unsure of how they’d react, but upon seeing the confusion in her boys’ faces, she’d tried to explain;
“I don’t know how you boys define yourselves, or your relationship, but I figure you’ve spent enough time being scared.”
Pete choked on his mouthful of food, still unused to their queerness being an open secret, and Ray thumped him on the back, his eyes still fixed on his Ma. She offered Pete a napkin, a mildly amused smile on her face, and made sure he could breathe properly before she continued.
“Apparently, there’s a pretty big homose- gay community there, and they’ve been around for a long time. I won’t lie and say there aren’t bad people, you boys aren’t stupid, but I reckon you’ll have a better time of it than you did growing up. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to not be able to be yourselves, and I’d hate for you to have to live like that forever.”
In the wake of her words, Ray’s eyes were stinging, but Pete stood abruptly, his chair screeching as it was forced away from the table. Ray’s Ma looked worried for a moment that she’d once again pushed him too far, but then Pete stumbled towards her and wrapped his arms around her. It was awkward, with the table in the way, but to Ray, it was like a beacon in the dark. It was the first time he’d witnessed Pete initiate affection with her, after months of encouragement, and soon the two of them were both a sobbing mess, Pete in her lap like a kid while she reiterated how much she loved him, and that such a fact wouldn’t change.
So, with that New York became the agreed destination. They packed everything that would fit in the car into boxes, and left the rest of it behind; the less obvious the move was, the better. The only people they told were the doctors and nurses in charge of Pete’s care post-surgery, since they needed to ensure that he was stable enough to make the journey. It wasn’t ideal to be travelling across states so soon, especially since they’d have to transfer Pete’s care to a hospital close to their new home, but the hospital staff understood, in their case, that the move would ultimately be for the best. It was impossible to effectively heal when your surroundings reminded you constantly of the things that ruined you in the first place.
The surgery came about too quickly for Ray’s liking. It seemed one moment they were packing a hospital bag together, sitting in the living room playing a board game with the TV down low, a comforting murmur, and then he was holding Pete’s hand as they prepped him for surgery. His boy had an iron grip on him, betraying his nerves while his face remained carefully neutral, and Ray pressed a long kiss to his forehead before they wheeled him away, hoping to imprint his reassurance there so Pete wouldn’t be scared.
Ray himself couldn’t shake the dread of the two of them being forcibly separated again; the surgery was safe, they’d been reassured of it a thousand times, but there was always a chance. A chance for something to go wrong, for the drugs to not work properly or too well, for Pete’s heart to collapse under the strain. He’d been using an inhaler, as of late; the infection in his lungs, while initially cleared, had left lasting damage to his airways that made themselves known by leaving Pete struggling to breathe. What Ray had mistaken as panic attacks, which had been painstakingly explained to them as a normal result of the trauma they’d suffered, only meant more medication. On top of the medication that controlled his kidney failure and it’s symptoms, the sleeping pills for when it had been days without rest and he started getting erratic, and the antidepressants that helped to stabilise his low mood.
While he waited for news, in that sterile waiting area, he rolled the inhaler between his palms, the movement tremulous. His mom tried everything to calm him; a shitty machine hot chocolate, fries from the fast food place down the road, even just holding him and combing through his hair with her nails, gently scratching the scalp beneath. Through it all, he remained rigid, gaze fixed on the door Pete had disappeared through, as if he could conjure him back, safe and sound.
When the surgery was over, he couldn’t see Pete immediately. His heart rate has dropped while they operated and took a while to stabilise, which meant the surgery took longer than anticipated and his initial recovery would be in the ICU to monitor him as he woke from the anaesthesia. In that moment, Ray understood, really understood, what he put Pete through in the weeks he didn’t wake up. It was as if the world turned to static around him, slow and syrupy but somehow too fast for him to comprehend. All he could think about was the fear that Pete wouldn’t come back from this, that sleep would become death and Ray would never see him awake again. After all they’d been through, the surgery that was supposed to save his life could have been the thing to kill him.
He didn’t remember any of it, when asked about it later. Not the panic attack or being talked down from it, nor the ice pack his Mom got from one of the nurses to press against his neck and the back of his hands, trying to bring him down. Apparently he spoke to her, asked for Pete like he had no clue what was going on, and nodded through her explanations without hearing any of it. He’d scared the shit out of her, he could tell; he’d been almost catatonic, and her voice had wavered as she recounted it, more than a week later on the way to New York while Pete dozed in the backseat.
It wasn’t until Pete was moved onto the main ward and Ray was sat beside him that he came back to himself, returning to earth from wherever his mind had gone in an attempt to protect him. He didn’t remember it like that; one minute, he’d been in the waiting room, and the next Pete was squeezing his hand, hiding his concern under warm reassurance. He didn’t look sick; tired, maybe, but propping himself up on his elbows, attentive and alert. Nothing like when Ray first saw him after the Walk, organ failure and grief killing him in equal measure, and he choked on a sob seeing Pete okay after the scare they’d been given.
“I’m sorry I almost left you, then.” Ray blurted nonsensically, breath shuddering, “I didn’t want you to be alone, but I couldn’t let you die for me. I’m sorry you had to wake so long for me to wake up, and that I scared you so bad. I never want to be scared like that again, and you were like that for weeks-
Pete grasped the fabric of Ray’s shirt, dragging him forward until his head rested against Pete’s chest. Flat against the bed, the chair having skittered closer to the hospital bed with a screech against the linoleum floor, Ray’s breath calmed as he listened to Pete’s heartbeat. It was strong and certain, and Ray’s anxieties began to wane, feeling Pete’s warmth against him.
“No more sorries, okay? We’ve been through too much to spend the rest of our lives saying sorry. We’re both okay. We’re okay, baby.”
Despite the scare Pete gave them during the surgery, his recovery went smoothly. His body reacted well to the new kidney, and after just over a week, it was functioning, meaning he wouldn’t need any more dialysis. Ray hardly left his side, going home only to shower (after Pete would make a gentle comment about how greasy his hair was getting) or, briefly, to help out his Mom. While Pete was in hospital and Ray was there to be with him, she made the drive down to New York with the majority of their belongings to finalise the move, filling out the paperwork and getting everything ready so Pete could continue his recovery there.
Ray spent a couple of hours helping her pack the car, taking over most of the heavy despite her insistence she could manage. Just before she left, she caught him by the arm and pulled him into a firm hug, holding him firmly until he melted against her.
“Things are gonna be better, now.” She murmured, pressing a kiss against his hair, and Ray found he actually believed her.
She dropped him back at the hospital before she took off for New York, and when he reached Pete’s room, he was smiling, chatting to one of the nurses Ray recognised from their first months-long hospital stay. She’d been the one who usually brought Pete to visit him, a gentle woman in her early thirties by the name of Iris. She’d always kept a close eye on them, the first to notice if either of the two of their energy levels waned and encourage them to rest. Most memorable of all was when Pete had fallen asleep in his wheelchair, chin against his chest, and she’d looked at him with such genuine affection Ray couldn’t help but be surprised by it. As she wheeled him from the room, Pete stirred, mumbling Ray’s name, and she easily soothed him, whispering something and patting his shoulder.
When Pete was finally discharged, two weeks after his surgery, she’d grown teary eyed. She took advantage of the hospital’s policy that patients had to be wheeled to the exit after being discharged to walk with them, offering reassurances all the while. That they were so much better than when they arrived, that New York would be kinder to them, and that they should send her a postcard to let her know they got there safe. She hugged them both when it came time to say goodbye, Ray’s mom’s car idling outside, and made them promise to look after each other, no matter what. They each swore they would, solemnly honest, and bundled into the backseat of the Garraty family car.
His mom packed them a bag for the ride, like they were still little kids. Sandwiches, a book each she thought they’d like and a pack of playing cards, plus Pete’s inhaler, painkillers, and water to take them with. Ray had half a mind to poke fun at her mothering until he saw the look on Pete’s face. The shock and pure affection, telling of just how much the gesture meant to him, was enough to keep Ray quiet, and he instead watched his mom’s expression in the rear view mirror. The way she glanced at Pete and offered herself a secret smile, proud.
——
The house was the picture of suburbia; bigger than Ray had anticipated with a warmth that was a relief after moving away from the house he’d grown up in. The furniture left behind was worn, well loved and well chosen, and the large bay windows filled the entire front room with light. A ray of sun caught Pete’s face as Ray helped him onto the couch and his skin seemed to glow, a delicious warm brown the latter couldn’t help but press his lips to. Pete smiled, catching Ray’s face between his hands and peppering it with insistent kisses until Ray finally managed to fight him off, pushing him gently into the plush fabric of the couch.
“I’m gonna get the rest of our stuff, you okay here for a minute?”
“Such a gentleman,” Pete teased, and Ray flicked at his forehead, heading back out of the open front door to the car.
His ma stood in the front yard, her gaze focused towards the blue sky, and it was only when Ray got closer that he saw the shine to her eyes. The moment she heard Ray’s approach she scrubbed at the evidence, offering a reassuring smile, but Ray didn’t allow her to hide it. He pulled her into his arms, revelling in how weird it was to be bigger than his mother. She’d always felt larger than life, and growing up hadn’t changed that. It was only now that she was reduced to tears that he realised it.
“I’m alright, honey.” She murmured thickly.
“I know, Ma.”
She pulled away, wiping her eyes, and Ray let her, accepting her embarrassment. She’d always tried to hide her emotions from him, even after his dad died. It was as if she didn’t feel herself deserving, or that Ray would break if she faltered even for a moment. In reality, her put-on stoicism had always bothered him; he heard her crying, alone at night, and wished she’d simply cry when he was there to comfort her.
“I’m gonna get the rest of the bags out the car, you head inside Ma.”
Ray held out his hand for the key, which she’d been looping anxiously between her fingers, and she handed it over with a grateful smile.
“I’ll see if I can get the kettle running.”
With that, she headed inside, and Ray busied himself grabbing their hospital bags from the trunk. It only took him two trips, and once he’d placed the bags beside a stack of unopened boxes in the corner of the room, he made his way back to Pete. He’d stood, made his way to a cloth covered box in the corner of the room, and Ray got to watch the other boy’s face light up as he uncovered a vinyl player. There were a few records stored in the little cabinet the player sat on; none of the smuggled records his father loved so much, only sanctioned albums dented for for the population’s consumption, but it was music all the same.
Pete handled it with a reverence, brushing his fingers gently over over the arm and testing the speed dial with the utmost caution. It was cute, and Ray hung back in favour of watching him in privacy for a few moments. The previous owners had taken the speakers, but perhaps didn’t have the means to transport the player, because like so many other things in the house they’d left it behind. Ray couldn’t help but wonder if they’d been running from something too; it was strange to think of what had once been his own house like this, their abandoned belongings regarded by strangers.
Ray hugged Pete from behind, resting his chin in the crook between his neck and shoulder. There was a time where the other boy might have shied away from the contact or flinched at being approached from behind, but in that moment, Ray felt him soften at the touch, pressing his cheek to Ray’s.
“We’ll get some speakers for it, then you can listen to as much music as you like.” Ray offered, and Pete murmured his assent, his attention still focused on the player in front of him.
“I still have some of William’s old records,” His mom called from the kitchen, her voice warm, “I was too sentimental to get rid of them, and he hid them so well that no one found them when they searched the house. I’ll unpack them whenever you want, Pete, you’re welcome to have them.”
Pete inhaled shakily at that, and Ray found his hand, squeezing it in gentle support.
“Thanks, Ma.” Pete called back tentatively, and Ray couldn’t help leaning back to stare at him, taken aback.
His ma has been restless in her pursuit of getting Pete to stop being formal around her, especially dropping the moniker of ‘Mrs Garraty’, which he’d finally done over the last few weeks, and it seemed it had finally paid off. There was a gasp, our enough to echo, and soon they both jumped as their ma gathered them both into her arms. She squeezed them tight, rocking them back and forth slightly, and soon they were giggling like little kids as she pressed kisses to their cheeks.
“Ma, stop!” Ray laughed, and she pressed as extra long kiss against his cheek in retaliation.
“Never. I love you boys too much.”
She deftly swiped a few tears from Pete’s face, not commenting on them at all. There was nothing else either of them needed to say. She stepped back and held them both at arms length for a moment, seeming to just take in their appearances.
“Shall we order pizza for dinner?”
They both nodded enthusiastically, still childishly excited at the prospect of ordering take out. It was weird, how quickly the tension that seemed to overcome them in the old house had almost entirely evaporated. They’d recovered in that house, but it left it with that slight smell of sickness, antiseptic and pill dust and bile. That, and the everlasting knowledge that his father had been dragged through the halls of the house, taken to the front porch and shot like an animal. The bloodstain never came out of the concrete; no amount of rain or snow washed it away.
Ray wondered, briefly, if all the boys who’d died in those five days left their own mark. Not in the history books, or the family they left behind; there was no question of that. But on that road, a memorial of where they’d been killed, so no one would ever forget where Collie shot himself, or where number 38, Smith’s legs had been crushed by the halftrack. An undeniable permanency of the cruelty, so the tourists who walked the path for fun or the Walkers years on couldn’t forget what happened there. Their memories would be kept alive, by their families and forever imprinted in Ray and Pete’s minds, but would their deaths be remembered as vividly?
“You okay?” Pete asked quietly, and Ray nodded. Oddly, he meant it.
“Yeah. I think I’m just hungry.”
Pete raised his eyebrows in obvious disbelief, but seemed to read in Ray’s expression that he was okay. Rather than argue, he led Ray back to the couch, and the two of them curled up close together, lit by the warmth of the sun.