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The midnight air entered through the open window of the private hospital room, no one noticed it's cold chill.
The two occupants of the room wouldn't have noticed if an elephant trampled through the room playing a grand trumpet. Granted one was asleep, but the other was far from it.
The only noise was the heart monitor, its rhythmic tone beating to the wind.
Shawn Hunter, sat on the same dingy hospital chair that he had since he had first snuck in, through the window.
"You never screw up, Jon." He had repeated, "I'm, the screw up, remember?" His shallow laugh died the moment it left his lips.
"Don't do this to me, Jon." His shaky voice filled the room. He sighed, obviously not getting the reaction he had hoped.
He allowed his eyes to glaze over his bandaged and bruised body, the same face littered with these cuts and scrapes. His eyes welled up, filled with unshed emotion as he swallowed down his fears.
"You know, in some lights, you don't look so bad. Might still get a date while you're here." The dry attempt at a laugh fell, but his smile didn't.
"C'mon Jon, I know you're in there. I've talked and you've listened. But right now, I- I want it to be us both talking and neither of us listening." His smile kept up at the last thought, even if he did know Jon did listen to him, and him to Jon...most of the time at least
Where were those eyes staring into? His tightly shut lids made Shawn question multiple things that only Jon could answer.
You're a pretty smart kid, Shawn.
At the time Jon had told him that, Shawn had brushed it off with his usual attitude, but all the voices in his head whispered Jon's own.
A stray tear fell down his cheek as his small broken voice broke "I'm scared." He whispered softly, and he got the reaction he had expected, the reaction he had never wanted. Silence.
______________
It was dark, his head swirled and turned with increasing pain. Where was he? Was he dead? What happened? The increasing pain spread and flushed through his body causing his teeth to clench. His dentist would hate him. Then he remembered exactly what had turned his life on its head.
He was driving along the road he always did, the road he always knew. But this time, it was different, whether that was what he was feeling inside or the unfamiliar slip road he was going to take, the slip road that led to the centre.
It all happened so fast, even in the ambulance when he tried to remember what happened, or rather, put together all the pieces, he couldn't. But now he found his moment of clarity.
The truck, the fact that even the world's best motorcyclist can crash out if his head is clouded by other things. And the one thing on his mind was saving Shawn Hunter.
Maybe the trucker had his own problem, swirling in his head, but the fault lay with Jonathan Turner alone.
Thank, whatever you believe in for his moment of decency that Jon had had to put on his helmet, for if not then there would not be the need to pay for the expensive hospital bed and room.
The driver of the truck watched as the bike swerved into him, causing an sharp intake of breath at the painful scrape of metal against metal. The biker swerved away, hitting the railing of the bridge while the driver of the larger vehicle spun to a halt, facing the opposite way to where he was headed.
The man jumped out, not giving a caring thought to his van, but on the motionless citizen, claimed by the rails, leaning off the edge dangerously.
The man was alive, his pulse, thready but alive. The man thanked his and the injured lucky stars for that. Perhaps he was a bit too premature in his judgement to rejoice. After all there was no real way to tell if the man would survive such an ordeal.
_______
Jon struggled against himself, desperately trying in a dying attempt to move his little finger, big toe, anything.
Finally he settled on his forefinger, it slowly moved about the sheets, the silk sheets that were surely not his own. Hospital.
A flash of memory provided solace, even if it was short-lived. The memory of his boy's hand holding his own. Well maybe not his boy, because he never filled out those forms, the forms signifying his loss of complete freedom, showing his cowardice. Maybe he regretted not signing them. But Chet was home and wanted to stay, he promised his boy that, and this time, Jon had felt impressed by Shawn improvement. Shawn needed his real father, not just a 'bud' and Chet, although not perfectly, (but who would have been?) Filled that role.
Jon shook the fog away, desperately clinging to any conscious thought, trying to pry his heavy eyelids open.
He heard rapid breathing, was that his own? He felt calm however, was he really that deep in his own unconscious? His heart monitor proved witness to his calm demeanour. Finally, an eyelid prised itself open, expecting blinding light to flood his pupil causing an unsurmountable pain to rack his head, he braced himself.
Surprisingly he felt none, the room was succumbed in darkness, risking it all, he opened the other eye and drew a shaky breath surprised, to say the very least, when the rapid, quick breaths continued.
The more he listened the more he realised he knew that breather- "Shawn?" His throat felt dry and scratchy as he spoke. He glanced around for a cup and pitcher but to no avail.
"Jon?" The abyss spoke back. The voice marked with pain and tinted with relief.
Shawn flicked on a dim lamp beside him, displaying both of them, and the nights sky slipping through the, still, open window causing a chill. Shawn Hunter's red swollen eyes casted towards his limp body, bandaged and bruised.
"It's the dead of night, not to sound rude or anything but what the hell are you doing here?" Shawn managed a small smile, "couldn't sleep-"
"How did you even get in here?" If you followed Shawn's gaze to the open window you would get the same conclusion Jon did.
Another time Jon may have reprimanded him, whether it was just the pure exhaustion or perhaps he felt touched by his efforts, he stayed silent.
"You scared us." Shawn chuckled, trying to regulate his breathing, hiding the tears swirling in his eyes, swallowing the lump of emotion building in his throat.
What he wanted to say was you scared me, you ever do that again Jonathan Turner and so help me. How could you do that? You're meant to be great on your bike, if I knew this would have happened, I would have smashed it with Harley Kiner those years ago. But the dam Shawn built to mask his feelings was blocking his voice from those chosen words.
Every time Shawn looked at Jon, he felt guilt. He felt another pang of anger at himself. And at Philip Mac for deceiving him.
Shawn wanted to break this stupid silence, wanted to say how he really felt. How no matter how hard he would have tried to sleep, he couldn't have. And not anyone could alleviate this pain.
"I'm sorry." He said bowing his head, avoiding the eye contact as much as he could.
"About what?" Jon wasn't sure if he had even heard or imagined that quiet voice. But there's no way he would continue with that awful silence full of unspoken words and thoughts unsaid.
"Everything." Shawn pulled his knees up to his chest, feeling like a small child just wanting to cry, and then everything will all be better. Yeah right. He learned a long time ago that that was nothing but a myth.
"Shawn it wasn't your fault I-"
"Don't you dare say it's your fault Jon, or so help me-" he couldn't even finish his sentence, his loud, cracking voice cutting through the air with a knife.
"Well it's not yours." Jon retorted.
Fresh tears pooled in the boy's eyes as he fought against his breaking dam.
"The main thing is, everything's going to be okay." Jon lied through his teeth, (his dentist probably has a therapist).
"No, it never is." Shawn softly said.
"What if it happened to you on a different day, on a bridge where there wasn't a rail in the way?" His own voice shocked himself, but once he started he couldn't stop.
"Or a neighbourhood street where the little kids play." Shawn always thought fondly of kids and Jon knew the inner turmoil he would have felt if that had happened.
"Or the Angeles Crest in the snow or the rain." All these thoughts ran through Shawn's head, all reaching the same common conclusion. The dark conclusion with permanent solutions.
"What if you weren't alone? There were kids in the other car?" Jon knew the start of a panic attack when he saw one, the shaking, the breathlessness. The sweat almost dripping from his perspiring forehead.
"What if you were remote?"
"Shawn listen to me," but no, the Hunter boy was trapped in the depths of his own mind.
"No one knows where you are" he spoke that softly, almost to himself as he slowly rocked himself, hot tears streaming down his red face.
"If you changed anything, would you not have survived?" Jon flinched at the rise in voice,
"Shawn! Listen to me, I'm alive!"
All he got as a response, was the aggressive blow of wind flowing through the room. And the hyperventilating mess of Shawn, his own heart monitor ascending.
"I'm alive!" He all but yelled as silence followed suit.
Even the wind stilled, Shawn stifled his sobs and waited a few moments to catch his breath.
"You're alive."
And then the dam broke, all those years of pent-up emotion freely flowing along the hospital floor, Shawn moved his chair closer as Jon moved his arm as well as he could. Allowing a space for Shawn to sit, they had never shown all that much physical contact towards each other, but right now, it was all they really needed.
Shawn's head rested on Jon's shoulder. Jon fought back the urge to wince. Even if he hurt physically, the need for comfort was far superior.
After a while of just nothing, with the breeze having stilled once more, it seemed to signify the fact that neither knew if everything was going be okay. But they had each other. Shawn had the people he cared about counted on one hand, but they were real friends, and a few real friends are better tenfold than a hundred fake ones.
"I'm scared." Shawn spoke after what could've been minutes or hours. Before falling asleep in the nook of Jon's arm, comforted by the soft rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of the heart monitor.
Now it was Jon's turn to speak and no one to listen, he craned his head and looked down at the sleeping figure, softly snoring. "So am I." And only the wind responded.