Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Peace, Mercutio, peace.” Soft though his voice was, it came out wrong, slurred and shaky as Jason moved agonizingly slowly to step into place beside him again. And there were his hands, pressing harder than necessary against Peter’s arms, his chest. “Thou talk’st of nothing.” Then at his face, gently tracing along his jawline and down the length of his nose, fingertips trembling against Peter’s lips before moving to pull them against Jason’s own.
“Are you okay?” Peter whispered, managing to keep his head steady as Jason slowly - everything was moving far too slowly - let his hands rest softly against his cheeks.
“I’ll be fine.” Jason shook his head, big blue eyes too wide for him to be so sluggish darting rapidly side-to-side.
“Oh, god, Jason - you’re flying.” Peter felt his own eyes widen, panic settling in as Jason shushed him and, somehow, managed to close the gap between their mouths - lips slotting together perfectly the same way as they always had. The gasps and yelps that went up from the audience were loud enough to be almost painful, and the matching reactions from the rest of the cast waiting in the wings were worse. Jason was drooling by the time Peter pulled his head away, a desperate whining noise catching in the back of his throat. His eyes were still moving, shaky hands cold against Peter’s jaw as his knees gave out and Peter barely managed to stop them both from slamming their heads against the ground. As it was, he just knew he was gonna be bruised in the morning.
“Guys! Come on!” Someone hissed from the wings but Peter only halfway heard her, the outraged murmurs from the audience getting louder and louder in front of them as Jason seemed to start spasming, clumsily grabbing for the buttons down the front of Peter’s costume.
“Jason, stop it, this isn’t funny.”
“Please…” He whined, shallow breathing getting more and more laboured by the second as his frustration and panic got the better of him. “Please… I’m sorry, Peter, please.”
“What is happening out here?” Sister Chantelle walked briskly across the stage, hovering above the pair and glaring down at them.
“Something’s wrong with him.” Peter was still whispering, as though somehow they would be able to salvage the play if they could just drag Jason offstage and get him back to normal, as though half of the audience wasn’t up and out of their seats, trying to figure out what was happening. Peter wished he knew.
“What on earth is going on up here?” A thundering male voice joined them onstage and Peter jumped, even Jason in his state of delirium moving to shield his face but only succeeding in punching himself in the head.
“Sir, if you can please just take your seat-” Sister Chantelle turned to speak with the man, but he promptly stepped around her to crouch beside Peter.
“Jason Nathaniel McConnell, you better have a damn good explanation for this faggy little scene, or so help me-” Whatever he was about to say, Jason cut him off by vomiting all over himself, Peter, and the man that Peter had by now figured out was his father. He barely gasped another breath before a second round spewed out of him and he started seizing, eyes rolling back in his head.
“Call 911!” Sister Chantelle snapped, and in the midst of what felt like a million people searching for their phones Lucas stumbled out to center stage, shaking his head.
“They’re already on their way.” He managed, still holding his own phone against his ear and heaving shaky breaths, terrified eyes trained on Jason’s erratic movements against Peter’s legs. He wasn’t really sure when everyone had crowded the stage, Nadia dropping to her knees on Jason’s other side with a wail - the headpiece for her nurse costume abandoned somewhere backstage.
“Jason, Jason, Jace, hey, hey hey hey, you’re fine, shhh, you’re okay, come on.” Peter wasn’t sure why he wasn’t crying, adjusting himself to better cushion Jason’s head and gently brushing sweaty hair off his forehead, useless whispers of comfort falling from his lips against deaf ears.
“Don’t you touch him.” Without a warning Peter’s hands were roughly shoved away, and - as quickly as he had started - Jason stopped seizing, being thrown limply over his father’s arm.
“Oh god, he’s not conscious!” Lucas wailed into the phone and a scream went up from somewhere in the audience. Sister Chantelle snatched the phone from a now sobbing Lucas and held it against her own ear, pacing back and forth and gesturing wildly at the wide-eyed stage crew for someone to close the curtains. Alan was the first person to react, practically tripping over himself to dash across the stage and losing his glasses when he almost face-planted. But the curtains fell and the overhead lights came on and Peter screwed his eyes shut against the sudden loud brightness. He thought he could hear Sister Chantelle yelling something, but the words were lost in translation as his vision struggled to adjust to the lighting, reaching helplessly for the space in front of him where Jason was supposed to be. He was long gone, though, already halfway to the door in his father’s arms. Nadia and Ivy followed anxiously behind, a blurry mess of done-up hair and ragged breathing and dresses and tears. With a gasp of breath Peter started scrambling unsteadily to his feet, yelping when someone else knelt in front of him, shaky hands on his shoulders keeping him where he was.
“Peter? Peter, are you okay?” He understood that it was his mother in front of him, searching for some shred of reassurance on his face, but he felt himself stare right through her.
“No…” Was all he managed before the tears started rolling hotly down his face. “No, no, no, we- we gotta - hospital.”
“He’s going to the hospital, honey, it’s okay. The ambulance is coming, it’s okay.” She sounded so far away, not quite real in one of her nice dresses instead of her usual knit sweaters. Peter shook his head, prising her hands off his shoulders.
“No! We gotta go, we gotta- he won’t, he doesn’t… I need to-” He didn’t know what he was trying to say, vision tilting sideways as he stood up too fast. Heartbeat pounding painfully in his ears he found his eyes darting anxiously between everyone else on stage. Matt was rocking on his knees, eyes screwed shut and nails digging into his skin as he mumbled desperate prayers into his clasped hands.
“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t- I’m sorry!” Lucas’ screaming was only partly muffled by the fabric of Tanya’s costume as she clutched him against her chest, rocking them back and forth and making shushing sounds through her own tears. Kyra crouched beside them, panicked hands pressed comfortingly against Lucas’ back. Zach, Rory and Diane had fled for the curtains, Rory and Diane holding hands as though their lives depended on it while Zach shakily stepped out of sight, his voice joining Sister Chantelle’s shouting instructions at their no longer captive audience. Peter didn’t know where Ivy and the McConnell’s had gone, all he knew was that he couldn’t see them anymore and he felt his heartbeat pick up pace (as though it was even possible for it to pound any faster).
“Come on, Peter, let’s get somewhere quiet, breathe, hey.” His mother spoke softly, wrapping her arms around his shoulder and pulling him against her chest. “It’ll be okay, Peter, it’s okay.”
He almost choked on the breath he heaved, shaking his head and pushing himself out of her arms.
“Hospital please, Mom, please.” He grabbed helplessly at his vomit-soaked costume, halfway wanting to tear it off just to try and get rid of some of the soul-crushing heaviness that had wrapped itself around him. She looked like she wanted to say more, fear and confusion welling up along with the tears in her eyes, but suddenly Sister Chantelle blew through the curtains again and they turned to look at her.
“Right. The ambulance is out front, Jason is being dealt with. I want all of you to go home, and stay there until further notice. We will be in touch with each of you once we get a handle on the situation.” There was an uncertainty in her usually commanding voice and it made Peter want to throw up. “You families are still waiting in the auditorium for you. Peter, I want to talk-”
“I’m sorry, I don’t think now is really the best time.” His mother cut her off with an apologetic look, shaking her head. “I really just want to get him home.”
“Oh- of course. I’m so, so sorry. Truly.” Sister Chantelle nodded, the tiny heels on her shoes clicking against the scuffed stage as she moved on to assist in Tanya and Kyra’s attempts to get Lucas to calm down, lest he stop breathing as well.
“Come on, hey, let’s get you home, yeah? Come on, honey.” His mother cautiously put her hand against Peter’s back, trying to steer him towards the stairs at the front of the stage. “We’ll get you a nice hot shower, and some dinner, yeah? Does that sound good?”
“No!” Peter protested, stepping away from her hand again. “We have to go to the hospital!”
“Peter, the doctors are going to be doing all that they can. You being there or not won’t make a difference.”
“But… I love him.” Doesn’t that matter?
“Peter.” There was something breaking in his mother’s voice and it felt like a stab in the gut.
“Mom. Please.” They could still hear Lucas crying in the background as Sister Chantelle managed to prise him gently off Tanya and let her catch her breath, someone Peter had to assume was her father crouching down to pick her up and rock her gently.
“Oh, Peter.” His mother shook her head, heaving a breath and digging in her purse for her car keys. “I’ll have to go and grab you a change of clothes.” Peter let out a yelping noise, equal parts relief and panic, and dragged his mother along beside him as he ran as fast as shaky legs would carry him towards the St Cecilia’s parking lot.

Chapter Text

Peter had not spent a lot of time in hospitals. He had however watched about a million hours of various medical dramas, so he liked to think he wasn’t totally clueless. Almost the second his mother parked the car he threw himself out of it, nearly crashing into the sliding doors as they opened far too slowly onto the near-empty hospital lobby. His mother might have been calling after him but he didn’t care to hear her, making a beeline for the reception desk.
“Jason McConnell?” He gasped breathlessly, blinking under the too-bright fluorescents above him. The receptionist’s nails clicked against the keyboard as she typed something, frown deepening as she shuffled the mouse about on the desk.
“And what relation are you?”
“I’m sorry?” Peter cocked his head slightly and the receptionist blinked back across at him.
“Mr McConnell was brought in in quite frankly critical condition. Only the immediate family is allowed upstairs to see him until we get further word.”
“Oh, god.” Peter felt the tears sting at his eyes again and stared up at the ceiling in an attempt to stop them from falling.
“I’m sorry. You’re welcome to stay down here as long as you’d like.” The sympathy in her voice felt fake, and Peter stopped to glare across at her as his mother wrapped an arm around his shoulders and began steering him towards the couches in the waiting area. He wanted to shove her off, to march back over and demand he be let upstairs because if he knew one thing about Jason McConnell it was that he hated his family. (Okay, not Nadia. He loved Nadia more than Peter thinks she really knew.)
“Come on, Peter, it’s okay. Do you want to stay, or do you want to come home and change?” His mother prompted softly, her breath hitching as her eyes landed on the only other figure in the waiting area.

She could have been a painting, loose ringlets of copper coloured hair framing a lightly freckled, tear-streaked face. She had forsaken the couches, collapsed on the floor just in front, dark blue fabric pooling around her, the silvery parts of the bodice glimmering in the harsh hospital lighting. One arm draped protectively across her abdomen, the other crossed over her chest as she clutched her bare shoulder. Her eyes were beautiful and haunting and tragic and in that moment Peter hated her.

“It’s Ivy, right?” Peter’s mother gently sat him down at one end of the couch, then crouched carefully beside Ivy, who jumped at the presence.
“Huh?” Her eyes caught on Peter’s and he flicked them away, tucking his knees against his chest and glaring down at the arm of the couch. She let out a helpless breath and he started feeling his resolve weaken and the guilt creep up his spine.
“I read your name in the program - you make a lovely Juliet.” Mrs Simmonds smiled sadly, pulling the glossy little book out of her purse and holding it out towards Ivy, who slowly unfolded her arm and took it shakily, adjusting her legs under her dress until she was sitting with them crossed.
“Oh. Thank you.” Ivy pulled her hair forward so it hung over her shoulders, somehow managing a soft smile as she slowly paged through the program. Mrs Simmonds stood up slowly, pausing to press a kiss against Peter’s forehead.
“I’m going to run home and grab you a change of clothes, okay? I promise I’ll be right back.” Peter shrugged a response, not trusting himself to speak. His mother studied him for a moment, pressing her lips together in an attempt not to start crying. Her heels clicked against the tiled floor as she left and Peter found himself listening to the echoes so he didn’t have to focus on the smell of vomit lingering on his clothes or Ivy’s sniffling beside him. He jammed his thumb against his teeth, chewing on the nail and glaring at nothing.
“Are you okay?” Her voice was tiny, uncertain, so not like the Ivy Robinson he had convinced himself that he knew. He hummed, glancing down at her and watching her fingertips skim across the cover of the program, tracing the title over and over again like it was some kind of good luck charm. She blinked mournfully up at him, bottom lip trembling under shimmery lip gloss. Peter opened his mouth as if to say something but no words came out, so he went back to chewing on his nail with another shrug and Ivy looked back down at the program instead.
“What… I mean, is he…” She tried again, voice squeaking and wobbling as she paused to screw her face up in an attempt not to burst into sobs. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” He shot a glare in the direction of the reception desk, but the woman was both too far away and busy on the phone to even notice. Achingly slowly he pulled his knees away from his chest, letting his feet rest gently on top of the spilled fabric of Ivy’s costume. It was pretty - and it was easier to look at the almost invisible floral pattern of her dress than it was to look across at her wet eyes, so Peter stared down at the sea of dark blue between them, heaving a breath.
“He was on… something. I don’t know what, he’s never ever been that out of it - even on bad trips. Whatever it was, I guess it was just. Too much.”
“Oh.” Ivy let out a breath and Peter managed a sideways glance at her. She was studying one of their rehearsal photos from the climax of the show - her and Jason “dead” onstage. Shaky fingers traced along their outlines and she bit at her lip. Silence reigned for an agonizingly slow minute as Peter cautiously inched forwards, sliding off the couch and settling into place on the ground beside Ivy - close enough that their shoulders could almost touch.
“He’ll be okay, right?” She had stopped trying to catch his eyes with her own, keeping them trained on the rehearsal photos. It hadn’t been all that long ago that they were taken, really, but somehow Peter hardly recognised them. He opened and closed his mouth again, trying to find an answer that wasn’t all mixed up with an insult or one of his lines from the play. Ivy blinked anxiously across at him.
“Peter?” She whispered his name like a prayer and anything else he had wanted to say dissolved on his tongue.
“Oh, god, Ivy, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He choked out apologies, pressing his hands to his mouth and struggling to keep holding her gaze through his tears. She made a gasping noise and shook her head, setting the program down to wrap still-trembling arms around Peter’s shoulders as he struggled fruitlessly to hold back his sobs. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“No.” She whined almost inaudibly against his chest, tightening her grip. He screwed his eyes shut and let himself melt into her embrace, guilt and anger and fear filling up every inch of space between them. Ivy’s own tears came flooding back at the same time as Peter heard his mother’s panicked yelp and ensuing footsteps, and not for the first time since Jason had collapsed he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He didn’t remember falling asleep. But he must have, blinking awake and almost falling off the couch as he blearily pushed himself to a sitting position. He mumbled a vague good morning but no one replied, and for a moment he forgot where he was, stumbling to his feet. His shoes had been kicked off at some point overnight, and the floor was cold underneath his socks as he wandered over to try his luck at the reception desk again. It was a different person sitting at the computer, a woman about twice the age of the one who had been working when they had first arrived, if Peter had to guess.
“Good morning, hon, what can I do for you?” She spoke sweetly, peering across at him through horn-rimmed glasses.
“Hi. Jason McConnell? He was brought in last night, I don’t…” Peter trailed off with a shrug and another yawn. The receptionist chuckled affectionately and tapped on her keyboard for a few moments. A frustratingly familiar frown graced her features as she glanced across at him again.
“Okay, so I have on file that Mr McConnell is stable-” Peter pressed his hands against his mouth in relief, letting out a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding. “-but still in intensive care, so visitors are limited to only immediate family.”
“Okay. Thank you, really, uhm.” Peter pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands and turned around to try and will away the bitter glare making its way across his face. He set off in the direction of the couches, intending to find his shoes and then his mother, but before he could Ivy caught his eye again, rocking on her heels and fiddling with the cord of the phone attached to the wall in its little cubicle. He watched her nod shakily, speaking inaudibly and shrugging as Peter wandered within earshot.
“...Diane’s dad recorded it up until Jason… yeah, no, uhm. I don’t know if he’ll share it, I don’t… okay. Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Everyone’s okay, we’re just not at school… I know, it’s okay. Uh huh. That’s okay, I can sleep at Nadia’s if - you can? You don’t have to… okay, Mom. Yeah. I love you. Buh-bye.” She let out a wet-sounding laugh as she hung up the phone, sniffling and wiping at her face.
“Hey.” Peter ventured cautiously, stepping back a little when she jumped as she spun around.
“Oh! Good morning.” She sniffled again and put on a shaky smile. “Sleep okay?”
“Had better nights.” Peter shrugged, Ivy letting out a breath of agreement.
“Me too. We’re, uhm, we’re all just in the cafeteria.” She tucked a loose ringlet behind her ear and slid her hands into the pockets of a cardigan Peter’s mother had brought her and headed off in the direction of the hospital’s cafeteria, Peter trailing after her without a second thought about his shoes.

Chapter Text

He wanted to ask who ‘all of us’ was, but the question was answered for him as he turned a corner and saw a collection of people sitting around anxiously in red and green plastic chairs. He faltered for a second, taking in Nadia’s exhausted, tear stained face next to her mother. Mrs McConnell was a woman he saw only on occasion, and each time he had been so scared of doing something wrong that he hadn’t let himself absorb any information about her personality. She rubbed circles against Nadia’s back, nodding softly at something his mother was saying. Ivy had taken her seat back up on the other side of the table, settling in next to Nadia and Peter slowly sank into the chair opposite her.
“Peter! Good morning, honey.” His mother reached over to brush the hair off his forehead and smile sadly across at him.
“Hey.” He forced a smile back, letting his eyes flick over for the briefest of seconds to meet Mrs McConnell’s. Nadia and Jason had taken after her for the most part in the looks department, but she had strikingly dark grey eyes that seemed to ask a million questions all at once and Peter found himself looking away, staring down at Ivy’s fingers tapping anxiously against the table instead.
“Do you want breakfast? Coffee?” His mother prompted quietly, speaking slowly as though he was still a little kid.
“I’m okay.” He shrugged, forcing his gaze across to Nadia’s. She looked a little out of place, still in her nurse’s costume from the night before without even a jacket thrown over the top, tired eyes looking mournfully back at him. “Jason, is he…?”
“Stable. So they tell me.” Nadia shrugged, hands wrapped tensely around a takeaway cup of what smelled like coffee. He couldn’t remember her ever liking coffee before.
“Okay. Good.” Peter nodded slowly, not sure where the conversation was supposed to be going. Ivy hummed an agreement and Peter’s mother turned to her.
“Did you get in touch with your mom?”
“Yeah, uhm. She said she’s coming down today when she can.” She managed a smile and Claire let out a breath of relief. “So, yeah. When she gets here I’ll probably just. Go home.”
“Oh.” Nadia bit at her lip and looked anxiously between Ivy and her mother. “You can stay until you can visit him, we don’t mind.”
Ivy forced a shaky smile and shook her head.
“We can sneak you up there, before you go, surely.” Mrs McConnell fixed those tired grey eyes on Ivy, all sympathetic half-smiles.
“It’s okay, really. I don’t… what Jason wants.” The middle of the sentence was lost, Ivy’s voice catching on Jason’s name like it was a swear she wasn’t supposed to know as she wrapped her arms around her middle. Mrs McConnell let out a pained breath and Nadia’s hands tightened around her coffee cup. Peter picked at his nails and kept his gaze on the generic speckled plastic of the table.
“Jason - he’s not really in a place to decide for himself, let’s face it. And I know you two were…” Mrs McConnell trailed off, looking between Ivy and Nadia for some type of confirmation.
“We weren’t… I don’t… it’s, uhm. It’s complicated.” Ivy stumbled over her words, and Peter was suddenly hyper aware of four sets of eyes on him, his knee starting to bounce under the table.
“Complicated.” Mrs McConnell echoed with a frown.
“Peter?” His mother prompted gently, reaching over to rub his shoulder. He shrank away from her hand, trying to will away the tears that had started to sting at his eyes again while he kept them transfixed on the table. Blood started to bead along the edge of his thumbnail and he knew this should be a problem but it hardly seemed real, stale air on the back of his neck sending an anxious shiver down his spine.
“Peter, hey.” Nadia’s voice was hoarse, deep and scratchy as though she hadn’t used it in a while. “It’s okay.”
“Is it?” He mumbled darkly, under his breath, flicking his eyes back over to her face. She seemed to shrink back in on herself slightly, blinking down at her cup of coffee as though she’d find some kind of answer in the bitterness. Ivy let out a sniffle and Peter glanced across at her, apologies for the both of them drying up in his throat as his eyes caught on Mr McConnell approaching their table, heavy footsteps bringing a newfound tension with them.
“How’s he doing?” Mrs McConnell halfway rose out of her seat, but her husband just shook his head at her, hovering behind Nadia and either oblivious or uncaring of the way her breathing seemed to shallow.
“What is he still doing here?” Mr McConnell jerked his head in Peter’s direction, scowling at his wife. Mrs McConnell shrugged helplessly back at him.
“Excuse me, I don’t think-” His mother’s quiet interruption was resolutely ignored.
“Ivy’s mother is coming to collect her later today.” Mrs McConnell reached over to tuck a few escaped strands of Nadia’s hair back behind her ear. Mr McConnell hummed and fixed his gaze on Ivy for a moment, who shifted slightly in her seat and hugged herself a little bit tighter.
“Alright then. The doctors are going to pull him out again this evening I believe.” Under the matter-of-factness there was an edge of exasperation in his voice, as though being half-dead in the hospital was just Jason’s idea of throwing some sort of unnecessary tantrum that his father now had to clean up after.
“Out of what?” Peter interrupted, eyes flicking between the tension in Mr McConnell’s jaw, Nadia’s screwed shut eyes, and the shake in Mrs McConnell’s bottom lip as she opened her mouth to answer him.
“Jason, he… the doctors thought it the best course of action to induce a coma.”
“Holy shit.”
“Just until the seizures stop.” Mrs McConnell finished in a hurry, wiping away the tears threatening to start falling again.
“Oh.” Peter looked up at the ceiling, clinical white seeming further away than it was thanks to the too-bright fluorescents, and imagined Jason several floors above them - unconscious and hooked up to a million stupid little wires, probably unaware that he was even still alive. The thought made him feel sick and he lay his head in his arms on the table, letting out a shaky breath.
“I’m sure he’ll be alright, Peter.” His mother’s quiet voice betrayed her, unconvinced of her own assurances, as she rubbed soothing circles against his back. “He’s a tough kid, Jason is.”
Mr McConnell scoffed and Peter dug his nails into the fabric of his hoodie. Not tough enough - no one had to say the words out loud to hear them.

Even if he had wanted to sit back up he didn’t think his body would let him. Several minutes of tense silence passed before Ivy quietly excused herself to try and call her mother again, Mrs Simmonds following her away from the table with shaky promises to get in touch with Peter’s father. Nadia finished her coffee and started picking at the paper wrapped around it, her mother humming disapprovingly but making no moves to redirect her.
“This is fucking ridiculous.” Without warning Mr McConnell strode away, making Nadia jump as her mother rose hurriedly to follow him, speaking unintelligibly in a breathless panic. Peter listened as she let out a long breath, stammering for a moment before her mouth finally formed the right words.
“Hey. Are you… are you okay?” Still facedown on the table Peter shrugged a response. Nadia let out another breath before continuing. “He, uh. He was… maybe asking isn’t the right word, but - in the ambulance, when he was conscious, at least, I… your name, that’s all he could say. All he wanted to say.”
“Oh.” Peter swallowed hard, sitting up just enough to peer guiltily across at Nadia, who was still shredding the paper from her coffee cup with shaky fingers. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for? Jason’s the one who-” Nadia cut herself off, screwing her eyes shut as her fist clenched to crush the empty cup in her hands. Peter bit back another apology, forcing himself to sit upright and let Nadia meet his eyes. It was funny - they were twins, and yet he had never even considered that they had the same eyes. Nadia looked away, swiping fingers across her face and only serving to smudge already streaky makeup further before trying again.
“He’s the stupid idiot who overdosed.” The word felt like a stab in the chest, like Nadia had chosen it specifically to taunt him, even though it was the abject truth. “On purpose.”
“He- we don’t… we don’t know… that.” Peter wasn’t entirely sure why he was arguing the point. Nadia looked across at him, even in the middle of probably the worst day of any of their lives finding it in herself to fix him with a pointed eyebrow raise.
“Peter…” The sympathy in her voice was almost worse than the anguish. “Did… did you know? That he…” She trailed off, glancing around before leaning over the table slightly to mime cutting at her wrists. Peter opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, pressing his palms against his thighs under the table.

Peter didn’t not know, and Jason knew that - but they didn’t talk about it. Jason kept up his shiny ‘golden boy’ act, hollow reassurances that it was all under control not doing quite enough to let Peter ignore those days when the shower ran just a little too long and Jason moved just a little too carefully, when his sweatpants ended up with scratchy lines of dried blood littered against the fabric, uncomfortable against Peter’s own thighs when he borrowed them. The closest they got was Jason’s whispered apologies when Peter found fresh cuts, tracing his fingers softly across his ribs and pretending like it didn’t make him want to throw up.

His silence must have been confirmation enough, and Nadia drew her hands away.
“Idiot.” She repeated weakly, crossing her arms over her chest. Peter hummed non-comitally and wiped at his own face as he listened to the sound of footsteps approaching - it was a small breath of relief that they weren’t heavy enough to belong to Mr McConnell.
“How are you holding up?” His mother asked softly, putting a hand on his shoulder as she sank into the chair beside him.
“Okay, I guess.” He answered with a shrug, pulling his gaze away from Nadia’s puffy-eyed glare to look across at her. She looked exhausted and a part of him felt guilty for dragging her along with him to the hospital. “Did you manage to get a hold of Dad?”
“Yes, actually - he told me he wasn’t at home, but I can definitely call him again and ask him to come down. I wasn’t sure what you wanted.” She rubbed comfortingly at his arm as she spoke.
“Oh. No, that’s okay.” He went back to picking at his nails, staring blankly down at the plastic tabletop and trying to keep his breathing even. His mother let out a pained breath and removed her hand from his shoulder at the same time as a paper bag and takeaway cup slid into his line of vision. He blinked across the table at Ivy, who was gently placing similar items in front of Nadia with a cautious smile.
“Thanks.” Nadia managed, making no moves to uncross her arms. Ivy turned her attention back to Peter with a small shrug.
“It’s just, like, grilled cheese.” She explained quietly as she opened up her own breakfast. “And I didn’t know if you liked coffee so I got hot chocolate.”
“Right. Thanks.” He forced a smile and then turned back down to look at his fingers, watching his thumbnail starting to bleed again.
“You should eat, Peter.” His mother interjected, slotting a hand between the both of his so he couldn’t keep pulling at the ragged edges. He let out a huff and shrugged, glancing across at Nadia for backup - but she had managed to lift the cup to her lips, peering into the paper bag and leaving him with no choice other than to untangle his fingers from his mother’s and pick at the breakfast Ivy had bought him, chewing slowly and hating himself for being able to enjoy it.

Chapter Text

By the time everyone had made their way through breakfast, Peter was halfway to feeling sort of okay. He had to guess that Nadia and Ivy were too, shoulder to shoulder as they flipped through the ‘Romeo & Juliet’ program and quietly made passing judgements on everyone else’s performances. His mother had produced a crochet hook and yarn out of her bag and seemed content enough to hum to herself as she worked on what Peter could only assume was a stuffed animal of some kind. He let out a breath and watched her hands move, feeling a little bit bad he had never let her teach him. Not that he thought crochet was a particularly enthralling hobby, but it would’ve given him something to do with his hands other than run his fingertips over the thick metal chain that hung around his neck - the cross sat against his chest, a comfortable weight to the rise and fall of his breath.
“Hey, everyone.” A pleasant, chirpy voice startled him out of his thoughts and he turned around in the chair to blink over at the nurse as she approached, clipboard in hand. Mr and Mrs McConnell hovered beside her as she continued.
“I’m Tabi, I’ve been upstairs helping look after Jason this morning.” Peter sat up slightly straighter in his chair, and heard Ivy and Nadia do the same on the opposite side of the table. “He’s doing well, everything’s stable, and we’re doing all that needs to be done, so don’t you worry about that.”
“Are we allowed up to see him?” Nadia asked before anyone else had the chance.
“He is still in intensive care, so I’m afraid it’s still limited to two visitors at a time, and immediate family or next of kin only.” Tabi shot an apologetic look at Peter’s mother, who nodded softly in understanding. Her eyes flicked across the table to land on Ivy, and she frowned down at her clipboard before looking over at Mr and Mrs McConnell. “We may be able to make a tiny exception, however, if you two thought it would do Jason well to have his girlfriend duck in-”
“Boyfriend.” The word left Peter’s mouth before he was consciously aware of it.
“Peter.” His mother’s voice was soft, but the warning edge in it was clear.
“Boyfriend.” He repeated, standing up slowly and pushing the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows. “He was… I mean, we were…”
“Oh. Oh, okay! Well, as I say, if we thought it best for-” To Tabi’s credit, she at least seemed unphased at the revelation, almost brightening as she turned her gaze on him instead.
“Excuse me, sorry.” Mr McConnell didn’t sound very sorry about it as he held a hand out to cut Tabi off, fixing Peter with a stormy glare. He could already feel his resolve weaken as his shoulders tensed, heart breaking a little for Jason as he struggled to hold eye contact with Mr McConnell.
“Seán, let’s not.” Mrs McConnell laughed nervously, eyes darting between Tabi and Ivy and Peter’s mother as they all seemed to take a step back from the interaction. Her protests fell on deaf ears as Mr McConnell stalked forward to stand in front of Peter, far too close for comfort. He shifted backwards slightly, stabilizing himself with a sweaty hand against the edge of the table.
“And what, exactly, are you playing at?” Mr McConnell’s voice was dangerously low, a growl that made Peter’s skin crawl.
“I just… he… I wanted…” He stumbled over his words, keeping his breathing shallow in a fruitless attempt to not inhale the thick, heavy scent of Mr McConnell’s cologne. A part of him wondered where he’d found the time, and anger sparked up his spine as his fingers clenched the edge of the table. “I want to see him.”
“You are not to even think about setting foot in that room - or any room - anywhere near my son. Do you hear me?”
Peter swallowed hard and shook his head, back starting to ache where he was leaning away from the heat of Mr McConnell’s breath.
“He loves me.” It was a defiant truth and a desperate prayer at the same time, tears stinging at Peter’s eyes as the words left his mouth almost inaudibly. Mr McConnell growled as he stepped back, heaving a breath and all too quickly plastering a pleasant expression on his face as he turned back to Tabi, wide-eyed and clutching her clipboard against her chest.
“I’m sorry, Tammy, was it?”
“Tabi.” She supplied awkwardly. Mr McConnell raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
“Right. Thank you for the update, but we’ll take it from here, if you’ll excuse us.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” She managed to catch Peter’s eyes for a moment but he glanced away guiltily. “Uhm, I’ll be on the ward until one today, I’ve only got Jason and one other patient to attend to, so just come up and find me and we can definitely arrange some visitors. Lovely to meet you all.” She raised an awkward hand in a goodbye gesture before turning on her heel and walking away. A tiny, angry part of Peter wanted to run after her, demand to be let up, but the more sensible, sadder part of him knew that there was no point. Even if somehow he managed to push through the stone pillar of a man that was Mr McConnell, what right did he have to Jason that Ivy didn’t? Ivy wasn’t the one who had known full well how bad he could get, yet stood by and watched him fall apart. Peter wasn’t the one holding some part of Jason inside him in a terrifyingly physical way, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Hey!” Mr McConnell barked, flicking his fingertips against Peter’s chest with enough force to send him stumbling backward, smacking his hip against the edge of the table as he did. He blinked hard and bit down on his lip, fighting back tears. “Whatever sick fantasy you’re trying to act out here, I will not have you take advantage of my son.”
“I’m not. I’m not. He’s my boyfriend.” Peter gave up on glaring, vision blurring as he shook his head and dug his nails against the table’s edge.
“How dare you accuse him of such a sin - how dare you damn him for your vices?” Mr McConnell spat.
“I didn’t - I’m not, I didn’t.” Peter almost choked on his quickening breaths, leaning away from Mr McConnell’s hand as it extended out towards him again, thick fingers curling underneath the metal cross sitting against his chest.
“And you have the nerve to claim our symbol of faith.”
Peter let out a sob in his panic, grabbing the chain back out of Mr McConnell’s shaking hand and almost losing his balance against the table. Someone else might have been yelling something, but he didn’t really hear her. An intense anger flickered across Mr McConnell’s stormy eyes and he growled again, raising his hand.

Peter screwed his eyes shut and braced for contact - but Mr McConnell didn’t hit him. When he heard the solid smack of a hand against a face he flinched, but his cheek wasn’t stinging the way he would have expected it to and he slowly cracked his eyes open. Mrs McConnell pressed her hands against her cheek and blinked rapidly down at the plastic-looking floor, letting out slow, shaky breaths. Mr McConnell cleared his throat and turned back around, but before he had a chance to open his mouth again Peter’s mother yanked Peter away from the table, halfway hiding him behind her. He let out a sob and shot a wide-eyed glance across the table at Nadia, who was doing her best to be as still and small as possible, and Ivy, who let out a terrified squeak as her hands flew to her mouth.
“Nadia. We’re going up to see your brother.” Mr McConnell commanded. Nadia silently rose from her seat at the table, brushing a few crumbs off her chest.
“Nadia…” Ivy’s breathless voice was almost inaudible, tear-filled eyes following her movements. Nadia ever so slightly shook her head and her father shot Ivy a glare before rounding on Mrs McConnell instead.
“Run along home and get him something presentable to wear when he wakes up. Nadia, too. She looks utterly ridiculous in that stupid costume.” He criticized her as though she wasn’t even there, and Peter watched her hands ball into fists around the fabric of her skirt.
“Of course.” Mrs McConnell forced a shaky smile. Peter felt his mother’s hand tense against his arm.
“And call Samantha - tell her… tell her whatever you want, really. Just make sure she’s rescheduled my meetings and that she knows the deadline for that report was moved forward so it’s due on the Friday night, not the Sunday.” He waved a hand dismissively and strode away, Nadia following slowly with a worried glance at her mother’s back.
“Erin, I…” Peter’s mother dropped his arm, taking a cautious step towards Mrs McConnell. She stepped back and shook her head, plastering on a smile with a palm still resting softly against her cheek.
“I ought to go.” She didn’t offer anything more than an apologetic look across at Ivy, slinking away without another word. Peter’s mother let out an anxious breath and watched her go, before turning back to face Peter as he pressed a shaky fist - still clutching his cross - against his mouth and dropped to the floor with an exhausted sob.
“Peter, honey, are you okay? You’re alright, it’s okay, shhh.” She dropped to her knees in front of him, brushing the loose curls off his forehead and gently attempting to tuck them behind his ear. Her own eyes were shiny with tears and if Peter had been able to think about anything other than the heavy, sick feeling crawling around in his guts he would have apologised. Once his heartbeat stopped trying to tear itself out of his chest, he almost could have fallen asleep again right there on the floor of the hospital cafeteria. His mother hadn’t taken too long to push herself to her feet and take up her seat again, but she let Peter rest his head against her knee as he tried to cry himself out before the McConnell’s came back, running his fingers against the corners of the cross clenched in his hand.

He had all but forgotten about Ivy’s earlier phone call until a tall woman in a pair of bright pink sneakers wandered cautiously into the cafeteria and Ivy let out a screaming wail, chair clattering to the ground as she shoved herself away from the table. She tripped over the hem of her dress but the other woman caught her, the pair of them collapsing into a tangled heap.
“Ivy, baby, are you okay? Babygirl, it’s okay. I’m here now, I’ve got you, it’s okay.” She cooed, stroking at Ivy’s hair (the ringlets long since crushed, leaving her normally soft hair looking frizzy and untamed). She looked helplessly across at Peter and his mother, as though they could give her an answer. Ivy started crying harder, shaking her head and wrapping her arms as tightly as she could manage around her mother’s middle. Peter hurriedly wiped away his own tears, forcing himself to his feet and sniffling hard as he tried to ignore the eyes of the handful of other hospital patrons shooting glances their way.
“I’m gonna use the bathroom.” He mumbled to his mother, stumbling away from the table at the same time as she rose to approach Ivy and her mother, all sympathetic apologies and wet eyes he was already starting to get sick of. He had to skirt around the pair of them to get back to the couches in the foyer, figuring that he really should be wearing his shoes in the hospital, and despite his best efforts Ivy’s mother caught his eyes, offering him a shaky smile as he passed. She didn’t hold his gaze for long, but he had seen enough sorrow and confusion in her face to last a lifetime - and she had apologised for it, mouthed a silent ‘sorry’ as she ran her fingers through Ivy’s messy hair. Peter felt sick. It was small comfort that someone had taken it upon themselves to set his shoes out beside the couch, but he didn’t find the time to appreciate it before he was shoving his feet into them, crushing his fingers in the process and barely even caring. The hospital was well signposted, and he moved basically on autopilot down various hallways and corridors until swinging the bathroom door open - it was lighter than he anticipated and slammed against the tiled wall with a loud bang. He jumped and let out a yelp, stepping aside on unsteady feet to let the man who had been washing his hands exit. He cocked his head to the side curiously as he walked past, furrowing his eyebrows slightly and for a moment Peter could have sworn that he knew him.
“Dad?” The whisper barely escaped his lips, crackly and breathless.
“Hm? No, sorry.” The man paused for a moment, just long enough for Peter to realise he actually looked nothing like his father, then shook his head and kept walking down the hall, footsteps echoing as he went. Peter almost didn’t make it into the stall before throwing up. The stench of vomit and sterilization stung at his nose and lips as he dropped to his knees, letting the tears start rolling down his face again as he tried not to think about Jason’s dad or Ivy’s mother or his own horrible selfishness.

Chapter Text

He had done his best to put himself back together in the bathroom mirror - rinsing his mouth with tap water, scrubbing uselessly at tear tracks with his fingers, pressing down at the puffiness under his eyes. He still looked sort of like he belonged on one of the wards, but no one made any comment as he sank down into his chair in the cafeteria again. Ivy smiled cautiously across at him and he shrugged a response. Her face fell and she leant against her mother’s shoulder again, looking down with her at the ‘Romeo & Juliet’ program. He almost wouldn’t have guessed they were related. They were both slight and lightly freckled, conventionally attractive features marred by an impossible tiredness that made them look older than they probably really were, but that was about where the resemblance ended - where Ivy’s copper hair fell around her to frame the softness of her features, her mother’s dark hair was cut short and drew attention to the sharpness of her cheekbones and deep-set eyes. She smiled softly across at him and he forced one back, but before Mrs Robinson had time to say anything in particular Peter’s mother returned to the table, bearing gifts in the form of more takeaway coffee cups.
“You’re back!” Her enthusiasm was more than he deserved, really, but he let himself chuckle anyway.
“Yeah. Thank you.” He took the cup she handed him and held it up to his face, trying to figure out what it was as he inhaled the steam curling over itself into the air through the hole in the lid.
“Of course. Have you met Rebecca?” His mother prompted, handing Ivy’s mother one of the cups and setting the third one down in front of Ivy. Peter looked across at her and shook his head. His mother hummed and settled back down in his own chair. “Well. Here she is.”
“Lovely to meet you, Peter - Ivy was just showing me your rehearsal photos.” Mrs Robinson let out a gentle laugh as she extended a hand. Peter managed to quickly wipe the sweat off his palm before taking it and shaking limply, withdrawing his hand almost the second she loosened her grip. If she was offended she did a good job of not showing it. “I really am sorry I couldn’t make it up to watch you all.”
“”S fine.” Peter mumbled with a shrug, putting the cup against his mouth and pretending to drink, if only so he wouldn’t have to answer any more questions. She slowly pulled her own hand away, reaching over to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Ivy’s ear before letting it rest on the edge of the table again.
“Oh, that’s nice.” She commented quietly, and Ivy smiled against her shoulder.
“Yeah. It took everyone forever to get the choreo right.” Despite himself Peter tried to figure out which photo they were exclaiming over - he musn’t have been very subtle, Ivy lowering the program enough that he could see it upside down. “Pilgrim’s Hands.”
“Oh. Yeah, everyone was really bad for that one. Well, all of it, but.” He let out a breath and managed a half smile. Goodness knows he had stumbled over his own feet enough helping Jason rehearse for hours on end in their messy little dorm room.
“You look like you’re managing okay.” Mrs Robinson absently traced a finger along the edge of the photo, an edge of wistfulness lacing her voice.
“It’s all about getting the right angles.” Ivy joked, sitting up and stretching her arms out in front of her. Peter noticed her shooting an anxious glance at the entryway as she did so. Her mother let out a chuckle, still examining the double page spread with a tentative appreciation. Ms Simmonds had pulled out her crochet again, and Peter tuned the rest of the room out to watch her hands for a little while - it was easier to seek silent comfort in her familiarity than try to figure out what he was supposed to say to Mrs Robinson.

It had gotten to be almost quarter to two, and even though he wasn’t sure Jason had formally met her he was a little upset that Tabi had gone home.
“I take it you and Jason were close?” Mrs Robinson’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he blinked across at her, feeling his chest tighten. His fingers crawled up his chest to find the bump under his hoodie where his cross was safely tucked away, away from judging eyes and grasping fingers and the clingy scent of hospital sterilization.
“They were roommates at school.” His mother answered for him - her tone was bright and friendly, but she shot him a sideways glance and a sliver of uncertainty entered her voice as she spoke.
“Oh, of course - roommates are like a built-in best friend. I never had one myself, but I work with people who keep in touch with the people they lived with in college. I can only imagine having known someone so intimately since you were…?”
“Twelve.” Peter could still clearly remember his first semester at St Cecilia’s. All of twelve years old and absolutely terrified, Jason’s big blue eyes and dimpled smiles had been his saving grace - if he was honest with himself they still were.
“Twelve?” Mrs Robinson echoed, eyes widening sympathetically. “No wonder you’re here with his family. They must be grateful for you, caring about him so much.”
Peter bit at his bottom lip and shrugged, staring down at the tabletop and picking at his nails again.
“Mom.” Ivy interrupted with a quiet determination.
“Hmm?”
“He’s here because they… I mean. Peter was - is? Is.” She furrowed her brow as she spoke, repeating the word as though she was trying to convince herself. Peter glanced across at her and their eyes met for a moment, a flicker of understanding gracing each of their faces. Ivy heaved a breath for the both of them before continuing. “Peter is Jason’s boyfriend.”

Out of Ivy’s mouth the truth was terrifying, and for a second he understood why Jason tried so hard to stop her from having it. He felt himself stop moving and dug his fingernails into his hand, trying to brace himself for whatever condemnation Mrs Robinson was about to spit his way.

“Boyfriend…? I don’t - the way you talked about him, Ivy, I thought you two were something.” Her confusion was laced with a disapproval as her eyes flicked between Peter and Ivy.
“Yeah, we… it’s more complicated than that. A - a lot more.” Ivy’s arms snaked across her abdomen as she wrapped herself in a kind of hug - and even though the sensible part of Peter knew he couldn’t be blamed the guilt crept back in and he bit down on his bottom lip in an attempt to stop it from shaking.
“And you all… Jason’s parents know about… this?” Mrs Robinson looked to his mother for an answer, gesturing helplessly over at Peter.
“Not until this morning.” She shrugged tensely, keeping her eyes trained on her crochet.
“And?”
“I think the McConnell’s are under a lot of stress at the moment.” His mother answered carefully. Mrs Robinson turned her panicked uncertainty to him and Peter tried to ignore the lingering scent of Mr McConnell’s cologne, glancing up at his mother out of the corner of his eye.
“They hate me.” A defeated chuckle escaped his lips and he pressed a hand over his mouth as the words started to sink in.
“Don’t say that, Peter, they just think-” His mother set her crochet down on the table and turned to brush the hair away from his face.
“That I’m going to hell, yeah, and dragging Jason down there with me.” The bite in his voice must have startled her and she stopped moving, blinking across at him with her hand still hovering in the air between them.
“Don’t say that.” She repeated sharply, withdrawing her hand and fixing him with a pointed look. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Peter challenged, tears stinging at his eyes. How he had any left, he didn’t know. She opened her mouth and closed it again gently, looking away and letting out a breath.
“No, it’s not.” She shook her head and offered Ivy and her mother a tense smile across the table.
“They hate me.” Peter repeated, voice starting to shake as his mother refused to meet his eyes.
“We’re not having this conversation right now, okay?” She spoke softly, but there was a finality in the statement as she picked up her crochet hook again. The lack of sympathy hurt, but maybe it was deserved. For all Peter knew she was holding herself back, could have simply said ‘You made this bed, now lie in it’. He was halfway tempted to slam his hands against the table and storm off, throw the McConnell’s anger and hatred back at her until she understood it, but he glanced across the table at the uncomfortable facial expressions on Ivy and her mother and heaved a long breath instead, crossing his arms over his chest and slouching back down in his chair.
“Oh-kay.” Mrs Robinson spoke slowly, carefully, eyes trained on Peter as though if she were too loud or too careless he would scream. Maybe he would have. “Uhm. I wo- I should maybe see, or, or, speak to, uh, Jason’s parents before we go home? Is that…?”
“Mr McConnell’s upstairs with Jason and Nadia. Mrs McConnell went home to get them a change of clothes, but I don’t know when she’ll be back.” Ivy shrugged beside her, fiddling with the ends of her sleeves. Mrs Robinson hummed anxiously and glanced down at her watch, then back across at the entryway.
“We can go home. I can call Nadia later, or something.” Ivy offered, already halfway out of her seat and reaching for her mother’s bag.
“We can wait, Ivy, I’ll just have to ring up and tell work-”
“Mom! We can go. Really. I know it’s a long drive.” Ivy forced a smile and her mother looked across at her, letting out a breath so full of relief and affection it almost made Peter sick.
“You’re a good girl, Ivy. Use the bathroom before we go.”
“I’ll walk you.” Peter interrupted gently, pushing himself to shaky feet. Ivy set her mother’s bag softly back on the table and followed him out of the cafeteria, falling into step beside him as they crossed over into the waiting area. Peter spared a glance over at the reception desk - it was the same woman as from when they had arrived the previous night and he glared at her, rearranging his expression when he noticed Ivy watching him.
“Sorry.” She shrugged wordlessly as they walked down corridors, footsteps echoing against clinically white walls on their way to the bathrooms. Peter hovered by the door as Ivy went in, leaning against the wall and absently picking at his nails. It occurred to him that he probably looked like a creep - the words ‘I’m gay’ almost falling out of his mouth with every passerby who gave him a second glance. Ivy emerged from the bathroom, still shaking slightly damp hands, and Peter managed a smile across at her. She returned it cautiously as they started back towards the waiting room and their no doubt waiting mothers. Rounding a corner they almost crashed directly into a nurse and two patients.
“Ah- sorry!” Ivy pressed her back against the wall with a sheepish grin.
“Watch yourselves, okay?” The nurse rolled his eyes, straightening his ID badge, but there was a playfulness to it. Peter nodded and offered the couple a wave as they kept moving and the nurse resumed his spiel. “Uh, that aside, maternity ward’s just up this way. I know we’ve still got a little while before things really start moving, you did well to wait as long as you did…”
Their voices and footsteps faded as they kept on their way further into the hospital, and Peter let out an awkward breath. He turned to check that Ivy was still with him but she had poked her head around the corner, biting at her lip and watching them retreat down the hallway.
“Ivy, hey.” She jumped at the sound of his voice and whirled around guiltily, brushing the hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear.
“Sorry.”
“Nah, I - uhm.” He wanted to be looking at her face, usually all bright green eyes and coy smiles, but he found his gaze fixed on her abdomen instead. “Have you told your mom yet?”
“Oh.” He could see her start to twist at her fingers anxiously. “No.”
“Are you going to?”
“I don’t know.” He had wanted to ask the other question - but the shake in her voice made him hesitate. It was a warning sign he recognised, one that meant there wouldn’t be a bend before the break. So Ivy heaved a breath and they started walking again, emerging into the waiting room where their mothers were, in fact, waiting. Mrs McConnell was there too, carrying a bag that Peter presumed contained outfits for Jason and Nadia to replace their Romeo & Juliet costumes with. He glanced across at Ivy, still wearing hers under the cardigan she had borrowed from his mother. He looked back to the bag in Mrs McConnell’s hand and silently wondered if she even knew what they liked to wear - and whether she cared enough to bring it in.
“…call me anytime you need anything.” His mother was handing Mrs Robinson back her phone as they approached, pressing it down hard against her palm in a display of reassurance.
“Of course. Thank you, Claire, really.” Mrs Robinson smiled tiredly, tucking her phone back into her bag and smiling across at Ivy. Ivy smiled back at her then faced Peter again, blinking at him silently for a moment before throwing her arms around his middle for the second time in two days. He stumbled a little but awkwardly returned the hug, mumbling into her hair.
“Good luck.” She responded by squeezing tighter, leaning back just far enough to stand on her tiptoes and let her breath skim past his ear.
“Tell Jason I love him. Please.” She stepped away and blinked hopefully up at him. He forced a smile and nodded as Ivy slipped her hand into her mother’s and they left the hospital. Peter watched their backs through the sliding doors and tried to ignore the feeling that, somehow, Ivy needed to be here more than he did.

Chapter Text

There were only so many mediocre hospital cafeteria cups of coffee a person could drink before they went insane - Peter wasn’t all too keen to put a number on it, but his mother seemed to be, standing up yet again.
“I’m okay, thanks.” He answered the question before she had time to ask it and she let out a quiet giggle, shaking her head and rearranging her expression before turning to the McConnell’s side of the table.
“Hmm. Erin, Nadia? Seán?” She offered politely. “Anything more to drink? Something to eat, perhaps?”
“Don’t trouble yourself.” Mr McConnell quipped sarcastically under his breath, looking away from his phone just long enough to roll his eyes.
“I am actually just a little hungry, if it’s-” Nadia started, but her mother cut her off with a pointed throat clearing.
“I think you can wait until dinnertime, Nadia.”
Peter’s mother let out a pained breath but held her tongue, tousling Peter’s hair before leaving the table, her crochet project now identifiably a rabbit. Peter glanced across at Nadia, who managed a half smile before flicking her eyes away under her mother’s disapproving glare. Peter stared down at his hands again, wishing he had his phone or a book or something - anything to fill his time with that wasn’t just picking at his nails until they bled. He knew that he had these things back at his dorm room, but even the thought of leaving the hospital before Jason knew he was there made him shake with anxiety. He jumped when his mother’s phone buzzed against the tabletop to snap him out of his thoughts. His father’s name lit up the screen and Peter swallowed hard, sparing a pleading look at his mother’s back. But she wasn’t close enough to hear the phone ringing, let alone pick up in time, and so he reached over with shaky hands to answer it.
“Hey.”
“Peter? Hi - where’s your mother?”
“Getting coffee. I can hand you over, give me a second.” Peter stood up awkwardly, shrinking away from Mr McConnell’s pointed glare. Nadia watched him and parted her lips as though to say something, but decided against it as she continued avoiding her mother’s eyes.
“No, that’s - I was trying to get through to you, anyway, but you didn’t answer. Where are you?”
“We’re at the hospital… I thought Mom said she called you.”
“She did, Peter, she did. Sorry.” He imagined he could almost hear his father shaking his head and pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I guess I just figured you would be heading home overnight - if you’re not allowed up, I mean, there doesn’t seem much point in waiting around.”
“What did you wanna call me about?” Peter dodged the unspoken question, skirting around tables to wander back to the waiting area for more quiet (and to shake the feeling of Mr and Mrs McConnell’s almost gleefully judgemental eyes on his back).
“Right, yeah - sorry for missing your show. I know I told your mom I’d come, but something unavoidable came up last minute, I didn’t - couldn’t get around it.”
“It’s whatever. It was kind of a disaster, anyway.” Peter admitted, leaning against the wall and picking at the edges of the pot plant beside him to try and figure out if it was real or plastic.
“Certainly seems that way. I’m sure you did well, though - speaking of which! Your graduation, that’s coming up pretty soon too, right?”
“First Sunday in June, yeah.”
“Oh shit, that’s next month, isn’t it - what’s your school’s whole ticketing process for that one, do you know?” His father clicked his tongue and Peter heard him rummaging around for a pen.
“You don’t have to come.” Peter shrugged even though his dad couldn’t see him, coming to the conclusion that the plant was probably plastic. His dad blew out a long breath on the other end of the line.
“No, we will. Graduating is a real achievement, Peter.” And a significant role in his school’s senior production wasn’t?
“Sure, yeah. I don’t know, they might be up on the school website or something. I haven’t checked.”
“Alright then, I’ll have a look into it.” A beat of tense silence sat between them through the phone, and even though Peter wasn’t sure it would be any better to be face to face with his father, at least he’d be able to tell if it upset him as well. He felt a prickle of resentment against the back of his neck when a crying wail started up somewhere in the background of his father’s call and he startled.
“Ah, shoot, that’ll be Carter. I’m meant to be on distraction duty while Ruby makes dinner - I gotta run, Peter. But we’ll come see you at graduation, yeah? Good kid. Tell your mother.” He hung up before Peter had even half a chance to respond.
“Bye.” He mumbled halfheartedly against his mother’s phone screen, drawing it away from his face and heaving a breath. He spared another glance over at the reception desk, brows furrowing at the sight of both the same woman working and the mess of shiny curls he had long since come to recognise as Matt’s. He paused to watch them argue inaudibly about something or another before Matt shook his head and marched over towards the couches. He stopped short when their eyes met, tripping over himself a little bit. His nervousness would have been almost endearing if they both didn’t know why it was so bad.
“Uhm. Hey.” Matt offered quietly, pushing the hair out of his face. He looked about as tired as Peter felt, and his chest started hurting.
“You’ve just missed Ivy.” He bit back, cringing a little when Matt took a step backwards.
“Oh. Okay.” He answered hesitantly, tracing a finger along his knuckles as he spoke. The backs of his hands were bruised and littered with scratches, half-moon divots in the skin Peter had to assume came from his fingernails. The backs of his own hands twinged sympathetically and he let out a breath.
“Sorry.” He knew that he didn’t sound very sorry, and Matt shrugged.
“It’s fine. I wasn’t… not here for her, really. Is she doing okay?”
“Her mom came and got her.” He hadn’t realised they had moved until Peter found himself sitting down heavily on the couch. Matt sank down much more gracefully next to him, biting at his lip.
“Okay. Uhm… Jason? Is he…?”
“Upstairs. Stable. They put him in a coma because he was having seizures in the ambulance.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not allowed to see him.” Peter screwed his eyes shut and let his head fall against the back of the couch, blowing a shaky breath towards the ceiling.
“I’m sorry.” Without looking across at him Peter shrugged.
“‘S not your fault.” A mean part of him thought that really it probably was Matt’s fault - but then he let his mind wander. He could still feel Mr McConnell’s breath against his face and the cuts buried in Jason’s thighs and the claw marks in the back of Matt’s hands and the cross around his own neck and thought maybe there was always going to be something.
“I tried calling, uhm, pretty much everyone? Let them know I was driving, but I uh. Didn’t get through.” They didn’t pick up. The truth - though left unspoken - sat heavily between them.

Matt was not exactly everyone’s favourite person at the best of times - and even in amongst all their confusion and disgust and panic about Peter-and-Jason being PeterandJason, he’s not sure that their classmates would be all too eager to side with the person who outed them.

“I’m sure they’re all just… tired.” The lie was sticky in his mouth.
“Probably.” Matt forced a chuckle and stared down at the carpet under their feet. “I… how are you holding up? I mean… yeah.”
Peter turned his head, slowly blinking his eyes open to fix them on Matt. Still scratching absently at his knuckles, he looked almost scared. Of what, Peter wasn’t entirely sure.
“Oh, uhm. You know.” He shrugged again, sniffling a breath. Matt made a weak humming sound in the back of his throat and looked down at his hands.
“I’m sorry.” He repeated softly. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry. Everyone was just so, so sorry - but why couldn’t they have been sorry sooner, before the play and the overdose and the hospital? Before the fight and the baby and the outing? Before the crying and the cutting and the late nights where it was the only word Jason could say? I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry–

“Peter! Peter, hey, it’s okay.” Nadia appeared out of nowhere and sank to her knees in front of him, pressing her hands against his legs as they bounced wildly. He let out a yelp and pressed his hands against his face, shaking his head and wiping clumsily at the tears he hadn’t realised had started falling. Matt was digging his nails into his hands and staring at the ground again, lips moving soundlessly in guilty prayer.
“You’re okay, Peter, hey. What happened?” Nadia turned her head to snap at Matt with a glare. He blew out a wet-sounding breath and shrugged.
“I don’t know. I… I just… I’m sorry.”
“You should be.” Nadia mumbled darkly under her breath, expression softening as she focused back on Peter, trying to bring himself out of the crying fit Matt’s sympathy seemed to have triggered.
“Don’t. Please.” He protested weakly, shaking his head harder.
“Okay, sorry. Sorry.” The pressure of her hands against his knees was oddly comforting and he felt his legs slow and then stop bouncing entirely. He hoped that the sparking tension sitting heavily between Nadia and Matt would dissipate in the time it took for his vision to unblur. No such luck. He forced a smile down at her and Nadia let out a huff as she stood up, only to immediately squash herself onto the couch beside him, forcing him to shift over until his knees bumped into Matt’s - and what should have been casual contact felt like a warning shot of betrayal. For a moment no one said anything, the only sound interrupting their fragile truce being muffled traffic sounds from outside and the sharp clacking of the receptionist’s computer keyboard.
“I should go.” Matt finally broke the silence, looking down uncomfortably at the place where their bodies met, but making no moves to break contact. Not really trusting himself to speak without crying again, Peter shrugged. Nadia hummed a noncommittal response over his shoulder.
“Thanks for showing up.” She tacked on, the usual bite in her voice softening as Matt slowly stood up to leave, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.
“Thanks for letting me.” He forced a smile, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes and blowing out a shaky breath. “I, uhm. I’m praying for him. And you. If that’s okay.”
He gently nudged Peter’s foot with his own and he managed to peer up at him through lashes clumped together with tears.
“Thank you.” He wasn’t sure if Matt had really heard him as he turned on his heel and walked slowly back towards the doors, his usual purposefulness replaced with agonizingly slow, cautious movements. Nadia made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat, and if she wanted to say more managed to stop herself as Peter reached blindly, with shaky fingers, to take her hand. It was kind of sweaty and awkward, but she let him hold it and offered a halfhearted squeeze back. A chuckle escaped Peter’s lips before he could stop it. He stared blankly at the empty space on the couch beside him and wiped at the tears still managing to leak out of his eyes, wordless prayers falling out of his mouth - for Jason, for Matt, for Nadia, for his mother and his father and everyone else who was supposed to be here but wasn’t.

Chapter Text

It could have been five minutes or an hour later when Nadia squeezed his hand again before standing up, adjusting the hem of her shirt and letting out a sigh. Peter blinked himself back to the present, following her gaze to land on Mr and Mrs McConnell looking expectantly across at her. He wiped at his face and stared down at the floor, scuffing the toes of his shoes slightly against the carpet, and focused on his breathing.
“Peter, hey.” His mother interrupted softly, sinking down onto the couch beside him. He hummed a response but didn’t look up at her, and she let out a pained breath. He flinched slightly at the sudden presence of her hand on his shoulder, but quickly relaxed into it. She rubbed slow circles against his back for a moment, then paused. “How are you doing?”
“Okay, I guess.” He shrugged and looked up at her out of the corner of his eye.
“That’s good.” She smiled sympathetically, but she seemed almost guilty about it as he forced himself to sit up straighter. The McConnell’s had disappeared from their line of sight and he sort of hated how much better it made him feel.
“It’s getting late.” She prompted gently, and he shrugged again.
“I know.”
His mother opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, glancing anxiously at the door and then back over at him.
“The staff are going to have to ask us to leave soon. We should get out of here before then. Go home, have something to eat. Maybe we can stop at that little Italian place you love? I wanted to go last night, actually, after your show…” She trailed off with a nervous laugh and Peter let his expression harden, shaking his head.
“We don’t have to, of course.” His mother backtracked. “We can just have something simple at home, shower, get a good night’s rest.”
“I want to see him.”
“ICU visiting hours are over.” Her voice was still soft, but there was a firmness to it that made Peter dig his fingers into the cushion underneath him.
“Okay.” He tried to keep the shake entering his voice from undermining the glare on his face. His mother let out a long sigh and stood up again, gathering her purse and blinking expectantly down at him.
“Peter. We’re going.”
“You go.” He countered, staring down at his feet rather than meeting her eyes.
“I am not leaving you here with them - by yourself.” Ms Simmonds corrected herself tensely, but not before Peter felt his heartbeat skip.
“If they went home I could stay.” He argued, managing to flick his eyes up to watch her expression. She bit down on her lip and looked to the door again, the stars starting to shine through the dusky evening light.
“I want you to come home and eat something proper, and shower, and sleep. We can talk about coming back in the morning.”
“You never want to talk about it.” He hadn’t meant to let it out, but as the mumble passed his lips it pulled the anger from his chest along with it.
“I’m sorry?” His mother furrowed her brows and blinked down at him. For a moment Peter wanted to back down, not smash up the fragile illusion of her ‘unconditional’ love - but then he thought about his father, and Carter in tears on the other side of the phone, about Mr McConnell’s deep voice spitting slurs and casting blame and refusing to apologise - and he heaved a breath instead.
“You won’t even let me say it.”
“Say what?”
“That he’s my boyfriend. That he loves me and I love him and that’s okay, because I’m-”
“Oh, stop it.” His mother’s voice started shaking as she cut him off, and Peter let the words dissolve into more of a frustrated scream than anything else. His mother stepped back in surprise and Peter felt a mean dose of satisfaction when he glanced over at the reception desk, the two people behind it (presumably swapping shifts) peering back curiously.
“This is getting ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous, Peter.”
He tightened his grip on the couch again and wondered for a moment whether it would be worth the pain of breaking his own fingers. They’d have to let him stay then.
“No, I’m not.”
“It’s not about you being… it’s not about that, Peter. It’s about you and Jason both getting the rest and care you need. You being here isn’t going to help it.”
“Neither is me not being here.” He argued.
“Peter, please. We’re all tired, can we not fight, I - I’m trying to be your mother. I can’t do any more than that right now, I just can’t.” She blew out a shaky but determined breath, and even without meeting her eyes he could feel his resolve start to weaken.
“That’s not fair.” He tried to protest, but his voice wouldn’t work properly and the words came out as more of a childish whine than anything else. His mother didn’t say anything, just fiddled with the strap on her purse and shot anxious glances between the door and the reception desk. “That’s not fair, Mom, you know it’s not.”
“Life isn’t f-” She cut herself off and took a step backwards, pressing her lips together and shutting her eyes for a moment. She blinked them slowly back open and let out a defeated breath.

“Listen, Peter, please.” She set her hands on his knees to stabilise herself as she crouched, and Peter found himself staring down at them. Somewhere between the end of break and their opening night she had found the time to go get her nails done - some pale sunset orange colour. Normally she hated orange, and tears started stinging at Peter’s eyes again as he brought his gaze up to meet hers.
“Peter, honey.” She repeated his name so softly, so carefully, like if she handled the syllables too roughly they’d break. “I know he means a lot to you. He means a lot to me, too, really.”
“I love him.” He forced himself to hold eye contact as the whisper parted his lips, the air tightening around his ribs.
“I know.” A tear rolled down his mother’s cheek, catching on the edge of the tiny, scared, upturned corner of her mouth. He opened his mouth to say something else, but nothing more than a whine let itself out and he flung his arms around her shoulders. Without even meaning to, he had settled himself into her lap as though he was a much younger child, and still she stroked his hair while he listened to her try and steady her breathing again.
“I know.” She repeated softly. “I know, baby, I know.”
“I - I - I’m… I’m-” He stuttered against her shoulder, trying not to burst into sobs again and get snot all over her knitted sweater.
“I know.” She cut him off before he could get the word out - but this time he didn’t mind so much. For the first time in years, Peter really believed that she did.
“I love you.” He mumbled. She didn’t say anything back, just hugged him tighter and exhaled another breath. The moment was interrupted by a collection of footfalls that Peter quickly recognised as the McConnell’s and hurriedly straightened himself up.
“Hey. Uh, Jason’s-”
“Car. Now.” The rest of Nadia’s sentence was cut off by her father’s curt instructions as her mother shepherded her away, sparing half a glance back across at Peter and his mother as Claire slowly pushed herself to her feet.
“How is he?” She asked politely, trying to disguise her tiredness.
“We’re going home. I strongly suggest you do the same.” Mr McConnell ignored the question, and although he was answering his mother he turned his glare towards Peter instead, still sitting on the floor.
“We won’t stay long.” Peter’s mother adjusted her purse on her shoulder and forced a smile. Mr McConnell rolled his eyes before turning on his heel and striding away.
“Mom, please.” Peter whined haplessly as soon as he was out of earshot. A sensible part of him knew he was behaving childishly, but it was largely overshadowed by overwhelming guilt and a sickening anxiety that he was about to lose his soulmate forever.
“It’s not up to me. It’s hospital policy. I’m sorry.” As though summoned by sheer mention, a man in a nurse’s uniform approached from the direction of the reception desk. Peter braced himself for another steely voice to try and steer him out the door, staring down at his shoes.
“I’m so sorry, I’m working on getting him home, he’s just -”
“I want to see him.” Peter interrupted, and his mother let out a despairing breath.
“Peter, please.”
“You’re his mother?” The nurse spoke with a low cadence that somehow reminded Peter of rainfall.
“I am, yes. I’m sorry, he’s had a very distressing night last night, it’s…”
“It’s okay.” The nurse cut her off gently and Peter let his eyes flick across to his shoes instead, and the blue and white checkerboard laces. “You’re here with the McConnell family?”
“Not exactly, but, uhm, yes. We’re here for Jason.”
“Yeah, sure, sure.” The nurse hummed down at something on his clipboard and clicked his tongue. “Mr and Mrs McConnell seemed very insistent that only immediate family be allowed up on the ward, unfortunately. But what we can do for you is get an overnight guest form, uh, which basically would just give us a record of…”
“Peter.”
“Peter’s presence, just for safety reasons. Since he’s still a minor - I’d presume so?”
“Yes, he’s not eighteen until next year.”
“No worries - since he’s still a minor we need a parent or guardian to sign off on it, is the only thing.” The nurse rocked back on his heels slightly and Peter looked desperately back up at his mother. Claire pressed her lips together and exhaled hard through her nose, sparing another longing glance at the door. He was almost scared to let the plea escape his mouth, lest it punctuate the silence in such a way that it interrupted his mother’s careful deliberation.
“Okay. Yes, okay.” She shook her head and wiped carefully at her eyes before reaching out to take the clipboard out of the nurse’s hands. Peter let out a tearful laugh in relief, pushing himself to his feet to wrap his arms around his mothers middle and bury his face in the back of her shoulder.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, I love you so so much.”
“I love you too, Peter, it’s okay.” Claire let out a wet-sounding chuckle of her own and patted at Peter’s arm, handing the clipboard back to the nurse.
“You’re welcome to stay here if you really want to - but between you and I these couches are not the most comfortable. So if you’ll just follow me…” The nurse trailed off and Peter squeezed his mother in a final hug before falling into step beside the nurse, watching her grip the straps of her purse tighter and make her way outside. A cold night breeze snuck inside as the doors slid open to let her out and Peter let a sigh escape.
“You holding up okay? Do you want a glass of water or anything before we head up?” The nurse prompted gently in his rumbly voice as Peter snuck a glance across at his ID badge.
“I’m okay.” He shook his head and the nurse - Selena - hummed sympathetically. As he reached over to press the button on the elevator, Peter’s eyes caught on the mandala tattoo on the inside of his wrist not doing quite enough to cover up the scars that littered the skin underneath it.

The elevator ride was a quiet one, but Peter found himself not minding. He pulled the cross back out from under his clothes, running his thumb over the texture and watching Selena tap his foot as they ascended.
“Oh, perfect, here we are.” The doors slid open and Peter followed him down a hallway and around a corner, their footsteps echoing slightly against the floor. Selena pressed a button on the wall and the thick glass door slid open on a cozy looking room. Couches and a bare-looking bookcase lined the walls, and Peter skirted around one of three dark wood coffee tables to examine the few titles on the shelves. It was mostly kids stuff, plus a couple of travel guides and a copy of the Bible. Despite himself Peter pulled it off the shelf, absently tracing the cover with his fingertips. The breath he let out must have been a little too pained because Selena stepped into place beside him again.
“You doing okay?”
“Huh? Oh. Uhm. Yeah, I guess. Thank you.”
“Sure.” He shrugged and offered a half smile, sinking down onto one of the couches. Hugging the Bible to his chest, Peter tentatively took a seat next to him to resume staring at his shoes. “He’s lucky to have you, you know?”
Peter shook his head and let out a wet-sounding chuckle as he tried to blink away the tears once again stinging at his eyes.
“He… I… I shouldn’t’ve…” He trailed off before he could actually figure out how the sentence was supposed to end.
“I can’t let you in the room, but I’ll let him know you’re here.” Selena put a quick hand on Peter’s shoulder, just long enough to be comforting before standing up again and making his way towards the door.

Chapter Text

It was not the first time Peter had ever been left waiting on his own at the hospital. But last time it had happened he had been seven years old, and his grandmother had only been fifteen minutes away. He was seventeen now, his grandmother was at least six hours away, and he was no longer so easily amused by a copy of ‘Where’s Wally?’ with several missing pages. He paged absently through the bible without registering the words and tried not to look at the clock. Even though common sense told him to get some sleep, the voice in his head that was starting to sound suspiciously like Jason’s made him flick his gaze over to the door at every sound. But no one came into the room and a guilty part of him wished he would’ve just gone home with his mother. Giving up on trying to look busy, Peter closed the book with a sigh and set it down gently on the couch cushion beside him. He turned his cross in his hands, pressing the sharp edges into the pads of his fingers and watching the overhead lights catch on the silver. Cautiously, he unclasped the chain behind his neck, and despite himself he shivered at the loss of the weight. He let the metal slide out of his fingers to pool itself on the cover of the bible as he slowly dropped to his knees in front of it, resting his elbows against the couch cushions and pressing his mouth against his folded hands.

Peter had never had trouble with prayer. He knew a lot of people did, that they struggled to find the right words or times or places or even the right reasons, and sometimes he let it make him feel bad. But shutting his eyes against the overhead lights and letting out a breath that tickled at his palms, he could only find it in himself to be grateful that he didn’t.

He still had the right words. He just wasn’t totally sure that God could still hear him.

So caught up in his own silent prayers, he hadn’t noticed the door open until a voice interrupted the otherwise stillness of the room.
“May I join you?” Peter let out a yelp and turned his head to look up at where the voice had come from, between glittery threads in a white sweater and a halo forming around the curls that blocked his view of the ceiling lights.
“Mother Mary-” Simultaneously scrambling to put his cross back on and looking around helplessly for angels, it took a few moments for him to properly comprehend the question. “Oh. Yeah, uhm. Yeah.”
“Thank you.” The figure knelt solemnly beside him and Peter blinked across at her for a few moments before letting out a breath of realization.
“Oh! Sister! Sorry, I thought you were the…” He trailed off as Sister Chantelle looked across at him curiously. He still wasn’t completely sure whether it had been a vision or dream or pot-brownie-induced hallucination of the Virgin Mary that had appeared to him after Ivy’s party. It felt like a million years ago now, when his biggest problems were Jason refusing to dance with him and trying to prise a half-empty wine bottle out of Matt’s hands. He stared down at the bible and made a silent promise to never get high, or drink with Matt, ever again.
“Yes?” Sister Chantelle pulled him out of his thoughts and he shook his head.
“... no one, sorry, I, uhm. I’m tired, I think.” He managed a sheepish smile before going back to picking at his nails.
“Alright, Peter.” Sister Chantelle wrapped a comforting hand around his wrist and squeezed gently, before drawing it away to say a quiet prayer of her own, and for an agonizingly long few minutes the ticking of the clock was the only sound that punctuated the silence of the room.
“Amen.” Peter startled a little when Sister Chantelle stood up with a groan, turning the bible over in her hands and patting the cushion beside her as she settled down onto the couch. It was weird to see her in something that wasn’t the habit she donned during the school year - but even without it she exuded an air of authority, and Peter pushed himself to his feet. Tentatively sitting beside her, he fought back a yawn.
“They tell me he’s doing well. Stable, awake. He’ll pull through.”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, baby.” Sister Chantelle absently tapped her fingertips against the bible in her lap as she spoke. “It wasn’t your fault. He was so, so loved by you, Peter. And I’m certain he knew that.”
“I… I just don’t understand.” Peter dug his nails into his hands and willed himself not to start crying.
“I don’t think any of us do.” Sister Chantelle let out a breath, her usual exasperation replaced with an air of sadness. Peter hummed a halfhearted response, not entirely sure of how much comfort was appropriate to offer. He watched her fingertips stop tapping as she clasped her hands again, pressing them against the cover until they shook.

Despite the room being quite cozy, the silence seemed to stretch on for miles before Peter ventured to break it again.
“He, uhm. He was really good. Jason. As Romeo, I mean.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, he was. You all were.” Despite himself Peter raised an eyebrow and glanced across at Sister Chantelle, who managed a sad smile back.
“You were.” She insisted. “All of you - you really put your all into your rehearsals, and it paid off. For the most part.” Peter giggled at the long-suffering sigh that accompanied the end of the sentence.
“Well, we tried.” He shrugged, cutting himself off with a yawn.
“I know you did.” Sister Chantelle reached over to pat him on the knee. And as much as she was talking about the group efforts to memorize lyrics and harmonies, something in her voice told Peter that she was talking to him specifically, about trying for Jason, too. “You should get some rest.”
“No, I’m okay. And you said Jason’s awake, I need to-”
“Peter.” She cut him off sharply, but sincere affection rounded out the word. “Jason will still be awake if you fall asleep. I promise.”
He opened his mouth to argue with her, but thought better of it when she fixed him with a look she usually reserved for Diane - one that could not more clearly mean ‘shut up’ if she said the words aloud. He whined a little under his breath but settled back down against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Good kid.”

He hadn’t intended to actually fall asleep, only to pretend to try for enough time that Sister Chantelle couldn’t reprimand him for it. But something about her presence was a comfort - as was something about her shoulder, so it would seem, as he blinked awake and found himself leaning into it.
“Shit, sorry Sister.” He hurriedly wiped at the drool that always seemed to find its way out of his mouth while he slept.
“Language.” She tutted out of habit, hurriedly shaking her head and offering a polite smile instead. “It’s okay.”
“Sorry.” Peter repeated lamely, straightening up with a groan. “Any updates on Jason?”
“Not yet, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.” He tried not to let the anxiety creep back into his voice, but he mustn't have been doing a very good job, if Sister Chantelle’s heartfelt sigh was anything to go by.
“It’s still early, Peter, and I don’t doubt Jason’s still very fragile right now. But if it would make you feel better, we can always go and ask one of the nurses-” She was cut off by and looked over towards the sound of the door sliding open again onto a familiar blonde plait.
“Speak of the devil.” Sister Chantelle shrugged and Peter pushed himself to his feet, running a hand through his hair.
“Hey! I’m Tabi, I spoke to you yesterday morning. You’re the, uhm… boyfriend?” She handled the word carefully and Peter noticed her eyes flick down to his cross. He hurriedly tucked it back under his clothes and nodded profusely.
“Peter.” He supplied, poking himself in the chest a few times for emphasis. Tabi let out a breathy chuckle and nodded once in acknowledgement before turning to address Sister Chantelle.
“I’ve been told that you’re here for Jason McConnell as well?” She waved a hand dismissively and nodded in Peter’s direction.
“I just wanted to make sure that the pair of them got here okay, offer any missing context to the doctors. When I spoke to them last night they told me he was doing well.”
“Yeah, totally.” Tabi smiled and clicked her tongue a little, looking down at her clipboard. “He’s doing really well, uh, the seizures have stopped, and because they managed to pump his stomach in the ambulance, just as a precaution, they’re fairly confident that he’s fully sobered up. He did suffer burns in the mouth and throat - he can’t talk that well right now, and because we’re not sure of the full extent of the damage just yet I can’t say for certain whether he will fully regain his powers of speech, unfortunately.”
“Oh.” Peter couldn’t stop the whine escaping his mouth, but bit down hard on his lip when the two women turned their sympathetic eyes on him.
“He’ll pull through, Peter.” Although he knew she didn’t intend it, the condescension in Sister Chatelle’s reassurance squeezed his heart uncomfortably and he blinked hard to try and shake the feeling.
“He’s awake! He’s stable, and he’s no longer resisting treatment, too, which is good.” Tabi let out a quiet breath of relief as she spoke. The room once again lapsed into silence - a silence heavy with the unspoken implications of Jason not cooperating.
“Is he… I mean. Visitors. Can I…?” Peter stumbled over the words, already preparing for the inevitable refusal.
“I don’t see why not.”
“Really?” He pulled his eyes away from the ragged edges of his picked-at nail beds and blinked hopefully over at Tabi. She smiled across at him, and the gap between her front teeth may as well have been a halo.
“Legally, it’s a little… Jason’s still a minor, correct?”
“Yeah.” His and Nadia’s birthday was right at the end of the year, the week after Christmas. It felt like forever away.
“Yeah, okay. So his parents do technically have final say in regards to his treatment from a procedural standpoint, but as a patient Jason has the right to say who he does and doesn’t want to see - for the most part. Legally he’s not emancipated, so we do have to let his parents in to see him if they request to do so - but according to his notes, Mr and Mrs McConnell won’t be returning until later this morning.” Peter frowned a little at the phrasing, moving to check his watch before he realised he still wasn’t wearing one. Sister Chantelle hummed down at her own wrist and made a noise of surprise.
“Quarter past three.”
“Yeah. I don’t think Mr and Mrs McConnell are back until about six-thirty, seven o’clock.” Tabi shrugged, and Peter felt resentment spark up his spine. What right did they have to decide anything for Jason, when they weren’t even here? “I’m sure we can get you in and out by then, though.”
“Yeah. Sure.” He managed to make his voice work without snapping, and Tabi hummed again.
“Perfect. So if the pair of you want to follow me, the ICU is just-”
“Oh, no, you go on without me.” Sister Chantelle interrupted, shaking her head. Peter turned to tilt his head at her in confusion, and she chuckled. “I’m not sure he cares to see me, Peter. After I made him Romeo and all.”
“Sister, I…” Peter trailed off, watching fear and regret flash across Sister Chantelle’s usually steely eyes. The realization that she was blaming herself hit him like a punch in the gut.
“I have to get back to school, anywho. Lots of phone calls to make.” She stood up slowly with a quiet grumble, and when Peter caught her eyes again they had returned to their usual unfathomable tiredness. She crossed the room and set the bible down gently back on the bookshelf, and when she turned back around Peter flung his arms around her middle.
“Thank you.” He mumbled against her sweater. She simply hummed a response and ruffled his hair affectionately.
“Tell him we’re all thinking of him, and praying for a fast and safe recovery.” Not trusting himself to speak without crying, again, he nodded and waved at her as she walked out the door. “God bless.”
“You ready to go?” Tabi prompted once she was out of sight down the hall. Peter wiped awkwardly at his face and nodded.
“Yes, please.”
“Right on down this way to intensive care.” She chirped brightly, Peter trailing after her with his heartbeat pounding twice as fast as their footsteps.

Chapter Text

He had expected to be relieved, but with every step he seemed to tense up as more and more anxiety crept into his head. He couldn’t stop replaying the way Jason had collapsed, the desperation and panic in his voice before his breath had given out on him.
“Are you okay?” Tabi prompted gently, hand already on the handle of the door. Jason’s name was written on the whiteboard - the handwriting was unmistakably Nadia’s and Peter thought he might burst into tears right there and then.
“Yeah, sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Tabi took her hand off the door handle and shrugged. “You’re dealing with a really, really hard thing right now. You’re allowed to be… upset? Confused, struggling - it’s all totally normal. If you’re needing or wanting extra help, we can definitely help set you up with some support services.”
“Sure.” Peter nodded cautiously, picking at the skin around his thumbnail again as Tabi pushed the door open for him.

The first thing that struck Peter was how still he was. Ever since the first day they had met, Jason’s presence had brought with it a level of energy - whether that was rocking on his tiptoes or waving his hands around or shaking out his hair or bouncing on his heels while he talked. Even if he had no idea what he was on about, Peter could spend hours just watching him. Even if he wasn’t talking, something special buzzed in the air around him, and the fragments of it got caught in the lungs and eyes of anyone in proximity. Now, though, he was slouched over in bed, staring blankly at the TV in the corner or the room while some baseball game or another played fuzzy audio in the background.

“Jason, hey, look who I found for you.” Tabi prompted gently. Usually Peter would have wanted to protest her baby-talk, but surrounded by wires and monitors with lights and beeps he was certain were driving Jason insane, he really did look impossibly young. Jason hummed but didn’t look away from the TV screen. Tabi frowned and beckoned Peter to follow her over to the chairs set up by his bedside.
“Jason, can you look at me please?” She tried again, but Jason resolutely ignored her. “It’s not your parents again, I promise.” Jason screwed his eyes shut and flopped backwards in response, wincing slightly. Tabi shrugged across at Peter, gesturing that he should try and say something. He bit on his lip and sucked in a breath, suddenly nervous.
“Hey, Jace. Uhm. How are you holding up?” His voice came out whispery and croaky, but almost immediately Jason sat straight up, blinking across at him with blue eyes full of equal parts confusion and fear.
“What are you doing here?”
“He came to see-” Tabi started to answer, but before she could finish the sentence Peter’s heartbeat skipped and he leant forward.
“What do you mean what am I doing here? You collapsed, Jason - onstage! In front of everyone! You… you were drooling and seizing and then you passed out - you could have died!” He hadn’t meant to start yelling, but once the tears started flowing so did his words. Jason dug his nails into his palms and stared at a spot just to Peter’s left, and Peter’s heart squeezed in his chest watching the tears start rolling slowly down his face.
“I know.” He almost wouldn’t have heard it if Jason’s lips hadn’t moved.
“You know.” Peter pressed his hands to his face despairingly. “You know. And… and you didn’t just tell me?”
“‘M sorry.” Jason mumbled. “I’m sorry.”
“Why… you know I love you. You have to know that.” Peter peered across at him through gapped fingers, and through the blur of tears just vaguely made out a shrug. “You have to know I never stopped - even when I hated you and I hated Ivy and I withdrew from Notre Dame - I never stopped loving you.”
“Don’t.” Jason whined quietly and Peter sat back up to wipe at his eyes, pouting defiantly over at him. Jason pressed his hands against his thighs through the hospital blanket and managed uneven breaths, shaking his head.
“I love you.” Peter repeated helplessly as Jason clenched his fists.
“Stop it.”
“I do.” Peter protested, slowly pushing himself up out of his chair to perch gingerly on the end of the bed. He watched Jason’s eyes trace the cautious movements of his hand against the fabric. Peter flicked his gaze back over to Tabi, who was scribbling something down on her clipboard. She looked up and caught his eyes, tilting her head in confusion.
“Am… I mean. Can I be here just me? Is that allowed?”
“Huh? Yeah, sure.” Tabi waved a hand dismissively as she got up out of her chair. “I’ll come back and get you before Jason’s parents arrive again.”
Even the mention of them seemed to make Jason tense up again, and Tabi let out an apologetic sigh as she closed the door softly behind her.

For a little while neither of them did anything, just sat and watched the baseball in the awkward half-silence of the room. But then a quiet whine escaped Jason’s mouth and Peter looked over at him, pressing a hand to his mouth and digging his nails into his thigh on the other side.
“Jace, hey, whoah, you’re okay. You’re okay, hey, I’m here.” Ignoring the probable rule about not disturbing patient beds, Peter kicked his shoes off and crawled up to wrap his arms around Jason’s shaking shoulders, taking as much care as possible not to tug at the IV in his arm.
“No, no, no no no no no. I was- it was supposed to-” His protests became unintelligible as Jason pulled his hands away from himself to grab desperately at the fabric of Peter’s hoodie and the sobs started escaping freely.
“It didn’t. It didn’t, you’re okay. You’re here and you’re okay.” Peter couldn’t be sure that anything he was saying was helping, the way Jason’s nails dug into his arms, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care about the pain when it was the closest they had been in weeks.
“You’re okay, Jace, you’re okay.” He repeated the platitude like a prayer, like if he said it over and over it could serve as penance enough that God might forgive them. Jason shook his head and pressed Peter’s arm harder against his chest, sobs wracking his body so violently the bed creaked underneath them.
“I’m sorry.” He managed to choke out. “Peter, I - I just - I’m sorry.” He cut himself off with a coughing fit, dropping Peter’s arm to smack himself in the chest. Peter yelped at the spray of blood now decorating the bedsheets and his hoodie sleeve, looking around desperately for the button to call in one of the nurses.

“No more talking for a little while, okay?” Peter had shrugged off his hoodie and taken the seat at Jason’s bedside, arm outstretched to interlock their pinky fingers as Jason gagged on whatever antiseptic the nurse, Clara, administered. She watched for a moment to check that he wasn’t about to throw up again, and once she was satisfied she offered a tight-lipped smile. “Good kid.”
On her way out the door, she paused to glare at their hands, looking Peter up and down before rolling her eyes and pulling the door closed behind her. Jason untangled their pinkies and drew his hand away to pick at the bandage holding his IV in place.
“Jace…” Peter protested quietly, leaving his hand within reach and half-heartedly wiggling his fingers - an invitation that was resolutely ignored. “I’m sorry.”
Jason shrugged, but didn’t look back at him. Peter hummed sadly and glanced over at the TV in the corner.
“Your game’s finished.” He pointed out unnecessarily, blinking up at the screen to watch what was playing next. He anticipated more sports, but was surprised by a familiar opening sequence. He flicked his eyes over to Jason, then back up to the TV screen. “You, uh, wanna watch it, or something else, or…” He trailed off awkwardly as the scene exploded into dialogue, unmistakably Shakespearean. Jason pulled a face and turned the TV off, blowing out a long breath. Peter managed a quiet smile before sitting at the end of the bed again, slowly scooting backwards until he could rest his head on Jason’s shoulder.
“Why’d Sister Chantelle pick Romeo & Juliet, anyway? We should’ve done something less tragic - like Hamlet, maybe.”
Jason let out a breathless chuckle and Peter sat up slightly to smile across at him.
“Yeah, maybe not.” He pressed a gentle kiss against Jason’s neck before settling down again, shoulder to shoulder. “You make a good Romeo, anyway.” He felt Jason shrug and let out a sigh. Peter hadn’t realised how comforting the fuzzy background noise of the TV had been, but now it wasn’t there anymore he was missing it. He looked down at their arms, frowning a little at the bruise welling up around where Jason’s IV entered his arm, and risked interlocking their fingers again. Jason didn’t say anything, just squeezed Peter’s hand in his.

For what felt like the millionth time in the past few days Peter woke up disoriented and achy. The steady beeping of Jason’s heart rate monitor brought him back to the room, his arm around Jason’s shoulders and Jason’s hands wrapped around his wrist like a lifeline. He reached up to brush some of the hair away from Jason’s forehead, listening to the barely audible sigh of his breathing, trying to commit the pattern to memory. Usually, at school, Jason was the one who woke up first, and more often than not he’d only fall asleep after Peter had. A knock on the door interrupted and he jumped as it cautiously swung open.
“Hey, boys, how’s it going in here? We holding up okay…” Tabi trailed off as the door clicked shut behind her, watching Jason grumble and snuggle down further into Peter’s side while he slept.
“Sorry, I, uhm.” Peter searched for an excuse that wouldn’t get him into trouble with the hospital staff and then banned from Jason’s room.
“No, don’t be sorry.” Tabi waved a hand dismissively, smiling across at him. “If anything, thank you. That’s the most comfortable I’ve seen him since he’s been here.”
“Oh.” Peter looked back down at Jason, brow furrowed even in his sleep, frown interrupted by the barest parting of his lips.
“Yeah.” Tabi sighed fondly. “Mr and Mrs McConnell are speaking with the doctor at the moment, but I thought I’d come up and let you know.”
“Right, yeah, thank you.” Tabi nodded and disappeared from the room again, leaving Peter to carefully untangle himself from Jason’s grip. “Jace, hey, baby. Hey baby.”
Jason mumbled something that may have been ‘hey baby’ as well, rubbing at his face and slowly blinking awake as Peter pushed himself to a sitting position.
“Good morning.” He teased gently as he clambered out of the hospital bed to pull his shoes back on.
“Where are you going?” Jason croaked out, wincing as he yawned.
“Your parents are back again, so I oughta get going. I probably should call my mom.” Peter shrugged, pulling his hoodie back on.
“But…” Jason cut himself off, biting down hard on his bottom lip and looking across at the door.
“I love you.” Peter offered, leaning over to place a kiss against Jason’s chapped mouth. He smiled sadly and offered a tiny wave as he walked towards the door. Before he could open it it swung towards him and he stepped backwards in surprise. Jason flinched as his father’s footsteps entered the room, his mother right behind him. Tabi sidled in awkwardly after her, wide eyes looking around apologetically.
“Get out of here.” Mr McConnell spat at Peter as he tried to keep inching towards the door. “Call that insufferable mother of yours and leave my family alone.”
“Yes sir.” Peter mumbled, pausing in the doorway just long enough to turn around. “Jason, please call-”
“Out!”
“I love you!” Jason’s voice was so sudden and loud even Mr McConnell blinked in surprise, glare faltering for just a split second. “I love you, Peter.”
“I know. I love you, too, Jason.” He leant against the doorframe and nodded across the room at him.

The two of them locked teary eyes and Peter’s heart skipped a beat just the way it had the first time. And even if he tripped backwards as Mr McConnell shoved him out of the room and just narrowly avoided having his fingers crushed in the doorway, Peter was determined to keep Jason McConnell’s dimpled smile in his life for as long as he possibly could.