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Jazz sits in the waiting room, fingers tangled together and over her mouth, one leg bouncing like it’s a nervous tick. Her parents are off to the side talking quietly, though occasionally her dad sounds excited; that just makes her more ticked off though.
Now she knows she’s not usually an angry person but she has her limits. And those two. Her and her brother's parents. Them and their idiotic, flawed, nonsensical, make-believe, ‘science’ is why they’re here now.
Why Danny’s in a hospital bed and she’s stuck waiting and hoping that her parents didn’t just damage her baby brother for life.
She can’t help but squeeze her eyes shut at the thought. She was the one that found him, laying on the floor of the lab surrounded by the smell of burning flesh. The green swirling glow from the contraption on the wall -she refuses to call that a ‘portal’- making the smoke coming off of Danny’s charred clothing and what she knows were electrical burns, look more ominous.
She thought he was dead.
She thought their parents and their stupid inventions killed her baby brother.
She’s not even mad at him for scaring her. For making her shake and cry, leaving her emotionally exhausted by the time they got here. Him having a pulse was one of the best and worst moments of her life. Him breathing knocked the ground from under her feet.
Her poor baby brother.
And those two. They didn’t even care. No that wasn’t true. They cared but barely. When the doctor had said he’d live, then suddenly their stupid ‘work’ was more interesting to them. God, she can’t believe them. Their bad safety protocols did this to him. Them not securing things or locking doors or anything! did this to him. And now they were muttering about their ‘work’ instead of the son, instead of her baby brother, that they nearly killed.
Would they just keep going till one of them died? Would they go past?
The doctor pulls her out of her thoughts. “Daniel’s all wrapped up now, so you can go in and see him if you want”.
She shouldn’t be the first one in the room, but she is. Her putting a hand gently on his bandaged one so quickly she nearly gives herself motion sickness; the taste of ash and smoke and her brother's burnt flesh in the back of her throat only making it worse.
God, she’s never going to be able to forget that smell.
And their parents, she would count if she cared, but it feels like it takes minutes for them to come in. Too busy ‘wrapping up’ their discussion about the contraption on the wall.
This is the first time she feels like she genuinely hates them. Does Danny? Will he? Could he even? He was a kinder, more forgiving, soul than she was. But with bits of the electrical burns poking out of the bandages on his face, she doesn’t know how he even could begin to forgive him. Especially when he’ll be reminded what they did every time he looks in a mirror; she couldn’t imagine the Linchenberg figures wouldn’t scar. They were just so deep, so stark against his skin. The deep purple and red, even black; like his veins had torn themselves free from his body and burned too. She couldn’t see that fading even an inch. And half his face is even wrapped up, will he be partially blind? That’s ignoring how traumatising facial deformities and scars are.
And knowing their parents, they won’t even pay for him to get a single therapy session. They disfigured their son, her baby brother, and they wouldn’t even be able to be bothered to pay a professional to teach him how to cope with it. Absently she mentally jots down to do some research and reading so she can learn how to teach him herself; it’s all she can do.
She wants to squeeze his hand, but she doesn’t want to hurt him.
He must be in so much pain. She’s glad he’s here, that he has medicine, that he’s unconscious. If their ‘parents’ had found him she doubts he would be. They’d send him off to bed, barely batting an eye. Part of her wonders if they’re heartless. But they’re just obsessed, and obsession breeds monsters.
She doesn’t want them to even touch him. She wants to get him away from here, from the house, from them; but she knows that won't do anyone any good. Danny loved their parents, as much as he had come to realise they were completely and utterly crazy. It would hurt him to leave them, no matter how much they wound up hurting him.
She can’t help tensing when he groans a little, twist his head to the side, blinks open his unbandaged eye, “wha-”, and winces.
God his throat probably hurt. It was probably dry. Did he scream when it happened? Did he scream so much, so pain-filled, that he made his throat raw? She hopes it’s just the medicine.
Their father rushes over and practically scoops him up in a bone-crushing hug before she can even move to offer her brother water. If her throat wasn’t so tight she’d snap at the man and ask him just what the Hell he thinks he’s doing. Danny was hurt! They needed to be gentle.
And yet... she watches Danny pat their father's back with the bandaged hand as if it was nothing. Even the doctor watching, and looking like he was about to step in, looks confused.
Did?... Did electrical burns based off the energy their parents used not hurt as much? Did they heal faster? But the medicine? he shouldn’t feel like moving, nonetheless sitting up. Watching their father step back and their mother smile softly as Danny gets out of bed and stands up, tilting his head at the doctor like he’s asking when he can leave.
Jazz slumps back in her chair, seeing the doctors actually gapping from the edge of her vision. Maybe... maybe Danny would be alright after all. As alright as someone who got severely electrocuted over half their body and passed out can be at least.
He shouldn’t be okay.
God, he shouldn’t be.
She wants to cry.
The doctor snaps back to reality, rushing over and motioning Danny to sit back down, chastising him, “kid, you shouldn’t even be moving. I don’t care how alright you feel, and you are not getting out of here for at least a week. So just, stay the bed, kid”. Jazz can’t help but laugh, almost manically, at her brother looking offended. Like he just can’t believe they’re making him stay. Him giving the doctor a very rough sounding, “‘tis but a flesh wound”, makes her completely lose it.
Maybe... maybe she won’t have to worry about him mentally. Not much at least. Maybe their parents didn’t permanently mess up the rest of his life or severely traumatise him. Oh he was definitely traumatised, she has no doubt about that. But maybe he’ll be alright.
Either way though, her parents... she can’t forgive them for this. She won’t forget either. She couldn’t. Even if Danny survived the hurt that they ultimately caused, in both the physical and mental capacity.
It wasn’t until much later she’d learn that he did indeed die that day. That their ‘parents’ had killed her baby brother.
She spent that night tasting ash and smoke, burnt flesh still at the back of her throat, wondering what that felt like for him. But she would never ask him.
End.