Chapter Text
A rush of cool air swept over him as he was pulled from the ambulance. There were noises, too; a crowd of faces appearing over him, staring down at him, and then hands. Panic was the first feeling he registered. Restraint. A hand seized his wrist when he reached up to remove whatever obstruction was covering his mouth and nose, and he tried to jerk away. He needed to speak and he couldn’t and they didn’t understand. He tried again and the fingers on his wrist readjusted so that they were clutching his hand instead.
“It’s okay,” someone told him, “You’re safe now.”
He didn’t feel safe, but that wasn’t the point. That didn’t matter. All he cared about was the last image of his boyfriend burned into his memory, laid out on the concrete just inches out of his reach. Pale and unmoving. Surrounded by blood.
The ceiling lights above him swished by too quickly. When he closed his eyes it felt like a strobe light, making his head pound even harder. There were words spoken overhead but he could only catch fragments as they ebbed and flowed out of focus, like someone tuning a radio signal in his brain.
...attacked… alley… two of them…
“Where is he?” he tried to ask, but he wasn’t sure if they could hear him, his words vibrating against his skin as they caught in the trap over his mouth. Frustrated, he wriggled his hand out of the stranger’s grasp and yanked the mask down under his chin, sucking in a deep breath. He winced at the stab of pain in his ribs.
“Where’s - ahh - my boyfriend?” He flinched as another bolt of pain struck through him. “Y-you have to help him. Please.”
The man who had held his hand before looked at someone else standing over him and whispered something about a name. He tried to follow his gaze but even the small movement of his head sent his vision spiraling. Kevin, he heard another voice say, and then the man was leaning down close to him again, pulling the mask back into place over his nose.
“Kevin,” he said gently, “We are going to take care of you both, okay? We are doing everything we can.”
“I want to see him,” Kevin demanded, though he was sure it probably came out more as slurred gibberish as everything began to swim around him, “Please, I have to make sure he’s okay.”
All the noises were bleeding together, drifting further away, and he struggled to hold on until he had an answer. He felt a pinch in his arm, heard some muffled words exchanged above him, and he was pretty he could guess what that was because the world was going black faster than he could control.
“Please,” he tried again.
He was rolled to a stop and he blinked hard to concentrate on what was happening as the world continued to slip away. There were more voices, different, louder voices trailing up behind them. Footsteps, too. Lots of them. Fast. And the roll of wheels. Another gurney.
“Clear the way!” He heard a woman shout.
As the second gurney rushed past them, Kevin turned his head at just the right moment, catching a brief glimpse of blood-matted, fire-red hair through the wall of doctors surrounding him.
“Connor!”
He braced his elbows against the gurney and tried to push himself up. The movement sent a jolt of agony through his ribs and his stomach, but he didn’t care. He kept pushing, a pained growl ripping from his throat.
“Connor,” he tried to yell again, weaker this time as strong hands found his shoulders, his arms, and forced him down. He pulled against them for everything he was worth, which, at the moment, wasn’t much. His struggles were easily quelled, presumably aided by whatever chemicals were making their way through his bloodstream. And fast. His vision was tunneling, the darkness at the edges closing in and the hand was back in his, a voice telling him everything was going to be okay. He wished he could believe them.
In his last few moments of consciousness, Kevin found himself pleading with God for the first time in years.
A steady beeping pulled him to lucidity, starting far off like a dream and drawing closer as his senses trickled over him slowly. The scratch of cheap cotton under his palms. The sterile smells. Rubbing alcohol. Flowers? The soft chatter of familiar voices. One voice in particular, shrill even in its attempted whisper. It was enough to pull Kevin’s mind to the surface. He opened his eyes.
“Hey!” The voice came again, accompanied by a clutch around his fingers. “He’s awake!”
Kevin shrank back as two more presences appeared at his bedside, another on each side. His head hurt, making his vision dance but he blinked a few times, trying to focus on their faces. Arnold. Naba. James. Something was missing.
“Hey, there.” Church’s voice sounded so far away. Kevin squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pulsating quickly in his chest. The beeping beside him increased in its speed and something in him jolted awake, a brief but overwhelming rush of panic. His trembling arms struggled to prop him up against the bed, and instantly, there were hands on his shoulders, pressing him back gently.
“Woah, hey. Easy, bud.” It was Arnold. Arnold was speaking. Then James.
“Don’t try to get up, Kev.”
“Connor,” he choked out around the thickness in his throat, “Where’s… Where’s Connor?”
When he opened his eyes, James and Arnold were exchanging a look that made Kevin’s chest tighten even more. A pit of dread formed in his stomach.
“Please,” he whispered, an instant chill flooding his entire body. His palms went numb, the IV in his skin tugging slightly as he brought a hand to his chest, chutching at the thin gown. He couldn’t breathe. It was Naba who reached out to hold his hand, and he jolted, his wide eyes shifting over to find hers.
“Kevin,” she spoke softly, holding his gaze, “He’s alive, alright? Connor’s alive.”
He barely had time to expel the breath he was holding before she spoke again, her voice careful and hesitant.
“But,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze, “He is not well.”
Kevin blinked, trying to swallow back what was sure to be the threat of bile in his throat. He pushed himself up against his pillows, searching over his friends’ faces for answers.
“What do you mean?”
James closed his eyes. “He was hurt really bad,” he told him, “He lost a lot of blood, and. And he hit his head really hard. He hasn’t woken up.”
“But he will,” Kevin shot back immediately. It wasn’t a question. He couldn’t let it be. Connor would wake up.
“The doctors are doing everything they can.” Arnold smoothed his hand over his shoulder and Kevin winced as he hit a sore spot.
“What do you remember?” James asked.
Kevin narrowed his eyes, jumbled jigsaw pieces of memory dancing just out of his reach.
“We were celebrating,” he decided, a brief moment of clarity clicking into place. He let himself sink into the pillow, closing his eyes in concentration. “Connor had just gotten a callback. We went out for a drink.”
“They found you guys outside of Stanley’s,” Arnold supplied. Kevin opened his eyes.
“Our favorite bar.” Something shifted into place at his words. The memories that followed weren’t full pictures. Rather, fleeting sensations. The sound of Connor’s laughter. The smell of vodka on his breath. His lips against his neck. His hand on his thigh.
Then the tone darkened.
Cold air on his skin. Someone crying. Connor. Footsteps against pavement. Sirens.
“They were hurting him,” he whispered.
“It’s okay, pal,” Arnold said, but it wasn’t. He didn’t understand.
“He… he stepped outside to get some air.” Kevin kept his eyes straight ahead, unfocused as he tried to pull the pieces into order, “I should have gone with him, but I stayed inside to pay the tab.”
“Whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault,” James assured him.
“When I went out to find him, he wasn’t there. I heard… I heard him yelling, or… or like, crying out. I went around the corner and I saw them.” He stopped, choking back a sob. “He was on the ground. They were kicking him. He was bleeding so bad already. From his face. His head. I tried to stop them.”
“It sounds like you did stop them,” Naba said.
“Not soon enough,” he shook his head, “By the time I hit the ground, he was already unconscious. And now, he’s… he’s...”
“He’s going to be okay,” James said, “Chris is sitting with him now, so he’s not alone.”
“Yeah,” Arnold said, “And we know how stubborn Connor is. He won’t give up.”
“I want to see him.”
Arnold was quick to press him down again as Kevin lurched forward, James jumping to his other side to do the same.
“Kev, you’re still really injured,” James said, rubbing a soothing hand over his arm, but Kevin wasn’t having it. He shrugged out of their grip, struggling to swing his legs over the side of the bed.
“I don’t care,” he winced, bringing a hand to his side, “I need to see him.”
Arnold and James exchanged a look over him, eventually deciding it was no use trying to stop him when he was this determined.
“Okay,” James conceded, moving around to the other side of the bed to help Arnold get him to his feet, “Just go slow, alright?”
“Lean on us,” Arnold instructed as Kevin’s feet hit the cold tile.
He scooted to the edge of the bed, slowly shifting his weight onto wobbling legs. He did as he was told, draping the arm that wasn’t clutching his ribs over Arnold’s shoulders. James spotted him from the other side, offering a supportive hand on his back.
“You shouldn’t be walking,” Naba interjected, “I’m getting you a wheelchair.”
“No, I’m fine.” Kevin shook his head, faltering as he tried to take a step forward. Naba raised an eyebrow.
“It wasn’t a suggestion.”
His breath halted the moment he saw him. Everything halted.
Ignoring the protests from the chorus of friends behind him, Kevin gripped the arms of the wheelchair as they stopped in the doorway, pushing himself to his feet. Chris, who had been sitting at Connor’s bedside when he arrived, rose and offered a steadying hand. Kevin swayed slightly, gripping his IV pole for support before making his way past him, padding slowly across the room. With every step, his eyes never left the sweet, broken boy in the hospital bed.
He gripped the railing as soon as he reached his bedside, knuckles white and trembling as he scanned over his boyfriend’s form. The prick of oncoming tears tickled behind his nose. Connor’s face was barely recognizable underneath the thick patches of gauze and the ugly swirls of purple that peeked from behind them. The freckled skin of his arms lie bare above the covers, littered with scratches and cuts. Kevin reached for his hand, gently turning it in his. His stomach churned at the angry, red streaks that had begun to scab over on his palm. When he closed his eyes, his mind supplied a million horrific images.
Connor hitting the ground. Connor catching himself on his hands. Connor being kicked back down.
“I’m sorry.” Beads of moisture collected at the tip of his nose before he could stop them, dripping onto the white blanket. He brought his hand to Connor’s face, letting his fingertips graze softly over his forehead. “I’m so sorry.”
A nurse appeared at the opposite side of the bed. Kevin spared her a brief glance as she began tending to one of the bandages on his arm.
“Boyfriend?” She asked. Kevin nodded, wiping his tears with the back of his finger. “You picked yourself a tough one.”
Her words only made Kevin’s eyes blur over again. He brushed a tendril of hair from Connor’s forehead.
“Is he going to be okay?” He didn’t look up as he asked the question, part of him finding it impossible to tear his gaze away from Connor, part of him scared of the answer he might find in the woman’s eyes. The nurse hesitated for a moment, her hands keeping busy at Connor’s arm.
“He took quite a bit of abuse out there,” she said, “I won’t sugarcoat it. With a head injury like the one he sustained, there’s no certainty about the state he could be in if and when he wakes up.”
Kevin’s head jerked up.
“If?” The word was pinched tightly in his throat, the room starting to spin around him.
“The doctors are hopeful at this point,” she was quick to assure him, though her words brought very little comfort, “We have no reason to believe he won’t wake up. In circumstances like these… it’s really difficult to discern either way.”
Kevin held his weight against the bedside railing. It felt like his legs would give out beneath him at any moment.
“What do we do?” The desperation in his own voice terrified him. “I mean how - how do we…?”
“We wait.” The smile she offered was a sad one. Sympathetic in a way she must have practiced hundreds of times. Kevin nodded as she finished with his bandage and peeled off her latex gloves. It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but it seemed to be the only one he would get. He could feel the hovering presence of his friends in the doorway, but in that moment, there was no one else in the world except the boy in front of him. He reached down to place his hand over Connor’s, softer, more careful with his touch than he had ever been. The gentle pulsation he felt beneath his fingertips was the only sensation keeping him anchored to the ground.
“Okay,” he whispered so quietly he wasn't sure he'd spoken at all - to the nurse, to himself, to Connor. “We wait.”