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Kotetsu hated hospitals.
Yeah, maybe the places themselves weren’t the problem – contrary to popular opinion, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew that much.
People got sick. People got hurt. Whether the hospital was involved or not, that was just the way things were. That they lived long enough to make it to the hospital for help – that the people there served as heroes in their own right in order to make others better – was a good thing.
Logically speaking, more people probably walked out of the hospital all patched up and healed than the alternative – right? He’d never actually looked into the statistics, but that’s what would have made sense.
It wasn’t, however, how it felt.
Logic, facts, all of that business aside, he knew that hospitals were a place people died.
In large amounts, even. Statistically speaking, more people probably died in hospitals than elsewhere, right? Not that he hadn’t seen his share of gory scenes in all kinds of settings, but with hospitals it was different. Condensed. Packed together. Too much sickness, too much pain, too much death in too small of space – too much risk.
Too many people going in, but never coming out.
Everything about the places, from sterile halls to liminal and unsettling attempts at comfortable ambiance (chairs that were somehow always uncomfortable no matter how soft they appeared, paintings devoid of artistic spirit, cheap gifts that seemed so out of place against the backdrop of medical supplies they delivered more of an aura of foreboding than “get well soon”) unsettled him.
Even the vending machines, by all accounts one of the only forms of comfort and sustenance to exhausted loved ones waiting in prolonged trepidation for any news at all, landed somewhere in the uncanny. Food, but not a meal – stomach-churning sounds like the clinking of change, twisting of rusted metal dispensers, and the inevitable, welcome but hollow thump that signaled the arrival of what was sure to be the least satisfying sustenance imaginable, not taking the edge off either nauseous appetite nor anxiety.
Yeah. Maybe he’d had just a bit too much experience.
Over recent years, he’d done his best not to have to deal with the damned things at all. Not the least futile of ambitions for someone in the line of work of a hero, of course, and thus one which he consistently failed.
Somehow, he thought, pretending it was a mystery as to why, it was easier when it was himself under the knife than anyone else. At least when he was hurt, sick, whatever, he was out of it for a good deal, and as soon as he came back to his senses there was little that could be done to actually force him to stay.
When it was someone else – anyone else – things got more difficult. It didn’t matter if it was a friend, one of the other heroes, a civilian he was supposed to protect, an acquaintance or even a criminal. He couldn’t stand it. Having them here, surrounded on all sides by suffocating walls and beeping machinery – this world of health and healing that reeked so profoundly of death – was unbearable.
How the hell did this time manage to be even worse?
Right – like he didn’t know the answer to that. The answer was almost laughably simple. It was different, it was worse, because it was Bunny.
Logic would have suggested that he maintain a vigil at his bedside. That was how any normal person, any good partner, would have behaved. Look out for him, be there when he woke up – that’s how it went, right? It should have been Kotetsu’s duty to bear those countless hours of agonized waiting for any sort of change.
He’d done it before. He could do it again, right?
No – he’d done it before, so he couldn’t. Not again. There was not a single bit of doubt in his mind that no one would get that if he attempted to explain, so he never did. No one asked – maybe knowing enough about him not to press – and the person to whom it would have mattered most didn’t know whether he was there or not, and couldn’t have listened.
That was just fine. After all, Kotetsu had no desire at all to explain. Even allowing himself to think about it for too long nearly caused him to break, and as it was he was held together with what felt like duct tape and a prayer.
He didn’t need to think about the dread that beat so palpably within his chest in order to know it. That feeling was familiar, old and unmistakable.
Each time he passed through the door of that hospital – each time he stood outside of his partner’s room, allowing himself a few precious moments of proximity as well as assurance that the heart monitor at his beside continued to beep – that same feeling crept through every vein and nerve in his entire body. He’d felt it before, at the worst time of his entire life.
Well, maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised – it wasn’t the first thing he’d felt with Barnaby that was far too similar to Tomoe.
Not that it was ever exactly the same. Even now, the heaviness in his chest and tension in every muscle refused to give way to any other emotion. For that, he was grateful – though this feeling, prolonged at length, was nearly unbearable, anything – anything at all was better than having it break into a destructive grief.
Instead, he’d have to linger in this place of anticipation, breath bated and every bit of willpower within him geared towards not expecting the worst.
You’re an optimist, damn it, he could hear the shaking voice insist even as its owner remained still and silent in his hospital bed, act like it.
“. . . You’ve got it, partner. . .” Trembling lips forced themselves into a fragile smile, and as quickly as he’d come – just like every brief visit before – Kotetsu turned to leave.
The action came with no more relief than his arrival. For as painful as it was to see a loved one all hooked up to machines, there was no denying the comfort that came with the sight of a visible heartbeat, and to remove himself from it allowed for the return of unspeakable anxieties. Hands in pockets, desperately attempting not to look back, all the way down a hallway that managed to be far too bright as well as dim and lifeless all at once.
Just as always, it was the door at the end of the hall that caused him to hesitate the most. To stay here worrying over Barnaby – torturing himself by remaining still, paralyzed, useless – would have been the worst possible decision, both for himself as well his mission to locate the bastard who was responsible for his partner’s injury.
Kotetsu was more useful on the outside. He told himself so repeatedly, hand frozen on the handle of the door.
Just as he’d told himself for years now – an idea that had never quite managed to sink in – he knew, at least logically, that he couldn’t prevent anything bad from happening with his presence. It was the doctors who would help Barnaby if he took a bad turn. Kotetsu’s presence or absence would have no effect at all.
Somehow, the thought was never as comforting as he intended.
After all, if something bad did happen – wouldn’t it be better if he were there for it, this time? Anything at all would be better than receiving that single, awful phone call, of running back here as fast as he could only to encounter a dark room and a still form beneath a dismal, pale sheet –
Realizing his chest had begun to ache, Kotetsu forced out a breath and closed his eyes. The doorway wasn’t as frightening if he couldn’t see it, and it was through that refusal to face just what it was he was doing that he managed to open the door and finally walk out.
Another sigh passed his lips as he managed to relax, not by any significant degree but at least more so than the past several minutes. Part of him would never be able to truly rest until Barnaby was awake and himself again.
Part of him hadn’t rested since the last time he’d left the person he loved in a hospital bed, not knowing he’d never again see her anywhere else.
A hand rose to scratch the back of his head, lingering on the tense muscles of his neck. It wasn’t his style to linger on these feelings, and it wasn’t his place to act like he had any other choice than to follow his gut.
If there was a right or wrong choice here – if Kotetsu was on the wrong side of things by choosing not to stay – he had to trust that both Tomoe and Barnaby would understand. It was who he was – it was the promise he had made.
If he couldn’t manage to force himself to maintain a lover’s bedside vigil, he’d take to the streets and channel his grief into something useful.
He’d be a hero.
Once again, someone’s condition had taken a startling turn. Once again, Kotetsu hadn’t been there to see it.
With how little he actually managed to stay in or near that room, he supposed it was inevitable. Nevertheless, it was difficult to forgive himself, and he’d never be able to forget the way his stomach had dropped when that phone call had come, mind immediately jumping to the worst case scenario.
Still figures under bedsheets, devoid of all that had made them human – themselves – the person Kotetsu had loved –
That this call, miraculously and blessedly so, had been delivering good news had been all he’d cared about for days. Bunny was awake – the relief of that was enough to distract from any remorse over not having been there to see him opening his eyes, and the events that transpired after were more than enough to hold Kotetsu’s focus for several months.
Long enough, busy enough, that those awful, silent days spent watching Barnaby sleep paled in comparison to everything else that held his focus. There was no real reason to even think about it anymore, with everything else they had to worry about.
Yet, as the world changed around them and turned into something new, he found his thoughts drifting towards it more and more. Perhaps it was only as a result of just now being allowed the chance to process.
Perhaps it was spending more time with Barnaby asleep at his side.
It was different. Genuine, restful sleep was nothing like that of an injury-induced coma. That was glaringly obvious every time Kotetsu found himself jarring awake in the middle of the night and searching for the comfort of his lover’s presence.
More often than not, now, he was there – warm, breathing, nestled comfortably under blankets. Most of the time, Barnaby always managed to sleep so neatly, scarcely moving at all in his sleep even to hog blankets. When they’d first started sharing one another’s beds, Kotetsu had teased that he probably never even had to make the thing when he got up.
As they were to learn, things changed if, in some sleepy search for comfort, one of them made contact with the other. Times like those, they woke up in a tangle of limbs, someone’s head on someone else’s chest, arms holding tight and occasionally pinned awkwardly enough to cause pins and needles to linger for hours.
Though that unpleasant sensation, along with the occasional imprints on skin or pajamas dampened with just a hint of drool, always lead to grumpy morning complaints, he knew neither of them truly minded.
They’d spent enough time in bed alone.
Tonight, they’d gone to bed at different times, a lack of wanting to disturb the other’s rest preventing the occurrence of messy cuddling. If that had contributed to his own difficulty staying asleep, Kotetsu wouldn’t have been surprised.
Propped slightly onto an elbow, he watched his partner sleep for a moment: turned on his side while cradling a pillow, legs drawn slightly up, breaths gentle and rumbling every so often into a quiet snore that Barnaby would insist on waking never existed.
He was just fine – Kotetsu knew that, smiling a gentle smile as he reached out to gently tuck sleep-mussed hair back into place.
It made no goddamn sense that looking on messy golden strands like this caused them to melt in his imagination, suddenly all tucked away beneath pristine, suffocating bandages. There was no reason his hand should have stilled, no reason it should have shaken in place, no reason he should have had the urge to pull Barnaby closer – hold him tighter – shake him awake just for the reassurance of seeing brilliant green eyes open –
Shit.
They were open.
Quickly pulling his hand back, Kotetsu plastered over his simultaneous rush of both guilt and relief with a sheepish smile. “Sorry – didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispered, both hoping for Barnaby to drift off once more and dreading the thought of being left alone.
The manner in which his hand was caught as it withdrew dismissed the possibility of the former. It was a clumsy grab, made with imperfect vision further blurred by sleep, but Kotetsu gave in immediately and laced their fingers together before bringing their joined hands back to the bed.
“Again . . .?”
Barnaby’s sleepy mumble surprised him. Shit, maybe he was seeing things perfectly well after all. Too well, even, just as he always seemed to when it came to Kotetsu.
“. . . No idea what you mean, Bunny. Just go back to sleep, alright?” One of the benefits of knowing that Barnaby saw right through him and would know the hidden meanings behind the words was absolving himself of the need to force himself to actually be honest.
Those eyes were still open – they were searching his face, and Kotetsu didn’t want to think about what they’d find there beneath his smile. He could practically see an argument form in Barnaby’s mind, gathering behind lips that pursed themselves into a thin line.
But to his surprise, Barnaby didn’t speak. Instead, he shifted from his position in order to move closer, tossing blankets from their neat place in the process and dragging his pillow closer to Kotetsu’s. Though he pulled his hand away, Kotetsu couldn’t find it within him to mind when Barnaby settled back down scarcely inches away, legs finding his own beneath the covers as an arm settled over his waist to curl around his back.
Soft lips pressed to his temple, then an eyelid as he closed them in sudden contentment. A shaky, relieved breath drew itself from his lips, and Kotetsu found himself melting back down onto the bed, head tucked somewhere near Barnaby’s shoulder as he tucked himself against his body.
“. . . Thanks . . .” he offered softly, unwilling to specify for what exactly he was thankful and knowing that he didn’t need to.
“. . . Don’t worry about it . . .” came Barnaby’s somewhat muffled voice, already beginning to grow heavy as sleep came for him once more. “. . .I’m here . . .”
Yeah . . .you sure are. Though hidden, the smile that stole across Kotetsu’s lips was far more genuine. The nightmares and what-ifs would take more time to truly fade – some, he was certain, would never disappear completely – but perhaps tonight they could be kept at bay.