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Jack could go anywhere he wanted at any time, but he spent most of his time sitting by David's hospital bed, waiting for him to wake up. Ignoring the uncomfortable itch the torn-up left side of his face provided.
Sitting in a hospital room with your comatose best friend is expectedly pretty dull. He tried to kill time until David woke, but all his efforts proved disappointing.
He attended his own funeral just to see the turnout. It was a spectacle of hollow tears from people who hardly knew him, and watching his mother sob at his casket made his unbeating heart feel heavy.
He meandered about the streets of London. It wasn't fun without David.
He wandered the hospital. It was about as dismal as you'd expect.
Everywhere Jack went, corpses followed. He would wave when he saw them. Sometimes he'd take a seat and try to start a conversation to fill the time. All he ever got in return were empty stares.
So David's room was where Jack preferred to stay. It was about as fun as talking to corpses, but at least there he could be with his best friend.
For the most part, David was still. Every so often, though, he would stir. His hands would twitch, his eyes would flutter, he'd mumble nonsense words into his pillow. When that happened, Jack would crouch beside the bed and hold his hand until he calmed down. Physically, David couldn't feel him. Jack knew that. But he hoped his presence might still be calming somehow.
“I'm still here, pal.” He promised.
He moved his thumb in circles across the top of David's hand. Gradually, David’s breathing steadied.
Jack shut his eyes and sighed, and when he opened his eyes he wasn't with David anymore.
He was on his knees in a tiny, shabby hotel room. It was freezing cold and the window in the corner was cracked down the middle, deep and long. He was kneeling at the side of the one piece of furniture in the room - the bed.
“Fuck,” Jack muttered, realizing where he was.
He pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. The same bed he and David had shared the last night they’d both lived through.
“It's too cold in here,” David's shivering voice echoed in Jack's mind.
An unspoken agreement had Jack and David on either end of the small bed, backs to each other. Even under the sheets the room was an ice box. The boys curled in on themselves, shivering enough to make the bed shake with them.
“Fuck, it's freezing,” Jack remembered cursing.
“Here,” The bed shifted with David’s weight as he rolled over.
Jack wouldn't ever be able to say what he was expecting David to do just then, but it certainly hadn't been what happened.
The feeling of David's hand moving up his back, draping across his side was vivid in Jack's memory. It was agonizing slow motion. David pulling himself across the mattress. Jack feeling the warm breaths touch his ear seconds before David's body pressed against his. Their shared body heat warming each other into contentment. Minutes passed, Jack unable to sleep, unsure if David could, either. Jack could feel him, though, the tight safeguard of his arms, his warm, steady breaths, his slightly parted lips pressed lazily against the back of Jack's neck. And at one point, his groin, rubbing unconsciously against Jack's thigh.
The last time he'd ever feel David like that.
Jack tried to pretend he hadn't responded. He hadn't ground his hips back against David. His mind hadn't flooded with thoughts that kept him awake even longer. He hadn't snuck out of bed early that morning and gotten off to those thoughts in the hotel bathroom.
In the present, Jack sighed. Pushed a bloody hand through his permanently-wet hair.
They hadn’t talked about it. They’d never talked about any of it.
The lingering touches, the hover hands, the eye contact always held a moment too long. The rare study sessions that somehow ended with flushed cheeks and bruised necks. The drunk flirting at parties, never with anyone but each other. Like when Jack would stroke David’s face and ramble for twenty minutes about how nice his eyes were, or when David always managed to kiss Jack at least once in front of their other friends. Usually on the cheek, but sometimes he would miss and Jack would forget how to speak for the rest of the night.
Whenever it happened, it happened, and that was all. At least that way they’d never had to question themselves.
Jack was questioning a lot now.
*****
Jack was back in the hospital, sat on the edge of David's bed.
The nurse was there - Nurse Price. She shivered when she walked past Jack.
Light spilled into the room as Nurse Price opened the curtains. On the bed, David shifted. His head turned on the pillow. Jack reached for his hand again. When David spoke, it was almost too soft to be heard;
“Jack…”
Nurse Price turned at the window. “Mr. Kessler?”
Jack felt his grip tighten on David's hand protectively. He called for me , lady, not you.
“I'm right here, David.” He said, not caring that David wouldn't hear him.
It wasn't long afterwards that David woke up. Panicked, confused, calling out for Jack. Frantically demanding where Jack was. Begging the doctors to let him see Jack.
Watching him made Jack's heart ache. He wanted to rush to David's side, take his arm, tell him that he was there. That he'd been there the whole time.
But he knew he couldn't. Not now. That would only make things worse. So he waited.
He waited in the corner of the hospital, watching David insist to the police that they'd been attacked by an animal.
He waited while David refused to eat.
He waited while that Nurse Price stayed close by.
She was sweet. Funny, too. If Jack were still alive, he thought he might've gotten along with her. It was nice to see David calm when she was around. Her closeness made Jack nervous, though. If she got hurt, it was on David, which meant it was on him , because it was Jack's duty to make sure David didn't see the next full moon.
Shit, right. Time was running out.
He waited until a morning when David was alone, awake, and in as good a state as possible. Really, the time would never be right, but Jack did have a job to do. He couldn't wait any longer. At least he might be able to lift some of the weight off.
He was Jack Goodman, after all - taking heavy situations and making them funny was his specialty.
“Can I have a piece of toast?”
“...Get the fuck out of here, Jack.”
Not the hello Jack had been waiting nearly a month for.
*****
Jack only made himself known to David twice more, but he was always near. It wasn't like he had many more options that weren't depressing as all hell.
“You're not real.”
“Don't be a putz, David.”
He knew David wouldn't listen to him. He never did, not when it mattered.
“I'm sorry I called you a meatloaf, Jack…”
Yeah, I’ll bet you fuckin’ are.
Bringsley wouldn't shut the hell up. The others were angry, too - Well, save for Harry and Judith, who were just glad to still be together - but at least they were quieter about it. Not by much, though. Any more of this and Jack was sure he'd rot even faster just from the stress.
“You look awful.”
“Thank you.”
David never left that porno theatre. He didn't know the second night still counted, and Jack knew well enough not to tell him. David wasn't going to do it himself - he was too squeamish. The only way it was going to happen was if he was killed, like the first wolf had been.
Bringsley didn't hesitate to let Jack know how stupid his plan was. Which, yes, keeping David in public until moonrise and putting the people of Piccadilly Circus in direct danger was incredibly stupid. But it was the best option they had.
“David… Let me help you.”
The stars aligned in Jack's favor that night. The weight of his task lifted from his shoulders as the gunshots rang out, though the success didn't feel all that great. He stood at the side of the alley, watching with a guilt-heavy heart as poor Alex sobbed in the street.
"Your face looks better," David spoke suddenly from beside him.
Jack touched his own cheek, surprised to feel smooth flesh rather than bloody, exposed bone. His hand had restored from the rot, too. He looked at David, who, despite his nude corpse, stood in his vest and flannel beside Jack.
"You see what happens when you don't listen to me?" Jack ribbed.
David rolled his eyes. "Oh, shut up."
A moment passed. Poor, gentle Alex, who didn't deserve any of this, was led from the ally by the police. She never stopped sobbing. David's shoulders sagged at the sight. He stared down at his own feet. He felt Jack take his hand and squeeze. He seemed to consider the gesture before lacing their fingers together.
Jack looked up. He felt lighter, that anchor in his stomach keeping him between life and death gone. Really he was just dying all over again, though it was far less painful this time.
But all he could feel was David's hand. All he could see was David's eyes, his face inching slowly closer to Jack's.
They never talked about it.