Chapter Text
Alex was 16 when he collapsed. Sebastian had been in the middle of an assignment, so it had been Jim who had found him first. To say that the consulting criminal had taken finding his only son in a crumpled mess on the floor less then well would have been an understatement.
He hadn’t even gotten Alex to the hospital yet before given Sebastian a call, ordering him to return home. Not like Sebastian would have needed the order, Alex was his son as well.
By the time that Sebastian had gotten back to the country and to the hospital, Jim had nearly driving half the doctors there to tears and was terrorizing the rest of them to find a cure for Alex.
“They’re wasting time.” Jim fumed to Sebastian, who was the only one who could keep him under control (somewhat, this was Jim Moriarty, after all).
Sebastian wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t about to give Jim the typical platitudes (“Alex is in good hands now” “we have to trust the doctors” “everything is going to be fine”), but what he could do was keep Jim busy until someone could tell them what was wrong with their son.
Aplastic anemia.
When Sebastian first heard the diagnoses, he was relieved. He recognized the word anemia, it wasn’t that bad. They would just have to make sure Alex ate more spinach and took iron supplements, right?
The look on Jim’s face said otherwise. “It’s a bone marrow disease, causing a deficiency in all blood cell types, Seb.” He explained flatly, “It requires bone marrow transplants to combat.”
“Alright then, then we have him undergo the transplants.” Seb shrugged, itching for a cigarette, “He’s our boy, I can donate marrow for him.”
Jim had smirked in response. So their boy’s recovery would be complicated, they could deal with that.
Until they were told that neither of them were a bone marrow match.
“Say that again!” Jim seethed, “So help me, I will sk—”
“What my husband means is,” Sebastian cut in, “how are we not a match for Alex?”
The doctor looked over his clipboard once more, probably to keep from looking at them, “Well, you see, the highest chance of a bone marrow match is often with biological family—”
“We’re his parents!” Jim screeched, “We are his biological family!”
The doctor blinked, “Oh dear…I think there’s been some misunderstanding…”
Seb didn’t like where this was going…
Alex felt like hell when he finally opened his eyes. Even opening his eyes felt like a colossal effort. And seeing that he was not at home, but in a hospital room, only made it all worse. He groaned.
“I see you’re awake then.”
With great effort, Alex turned his head. There was another teen in the bed next to his, calmly reading a book despite the number of IVs he was hooked up to.
“Wh—”
“If you ask where you are, I will throw this book at you for asking such a stupid question.”
Alex frowned. As if he would be so plebeian, “I was going to ask what you were in for.”
The other teen looked up from his book, “Oh,” he smirked, “Just another one of my father’s experiments gone awry. It happens more often than he likes to admit.”
If he had the strength, he would have laughed, “What happened?”
“I accidently drank the wrong cup of tea. The cup with the poison was intended for my dad.” The other shut his book, looking at Alex, “I should clarify, my father is not trying to kill my dad.”
Deep down, Alex couldn’t help but think his parents would have liked this couple, “Do people often think your father is trying to kill your dad?”
“In the beginning, perhaps.” There was a pause, and then a smirk tugged on the other teen’s lips, “The name’s Hamish Holmes.”
“Alex Moran.”