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'I close my eyes and go back in time
I see you smiling
You're so alive
We were so young
We had no fears
We were so young
We had no idea
That life was just happening'
Souvenirs.
//
He's heard that life and death situations make you do weird shit.
For example:
Making out with your step sister.
It's ironic, really, that it takes a damn accident for him to just do it. Grab her and finally kiss her. And he knows he's getting blood all over her dress (which strikes him funny that that's what he worries about the most at this moment), but it just doesn't matter. Nothing matters. He's going to die anyway. Might as well make it worth it. Scratch a few things off his bucket list all at once.
It's all his own fault. He knows it. He's dying because he was reckless, so this is what he deserves, right? It just fucking sucks that it's the first and last time he's ever going to kiss her.
He can taste something salty. Probably tears, but he can't tell if they're his own, or if they are hers. Probably both. Definitely both. His hand is gripping onto her hair, painfully trying to feel the silky strands he had so often dreamed about touching. But his arm is growing numb, and he can't be sure where his hand even is. Is he even holding onto her anymore? His eyes open, and he nearly gasps. She's sparkling. Honest to god, sparkles.
It's only later when he closes his eyes and the sparkles litter his vision that it dawns on him that those aren't sparkles at all. It's not fairy dust, or magic. It's the loss of blood. The blinding stars.
Scratch that. She is sparkling. She always has. Every time he's ever looked at her, she's been covered in magical rays of light, reaching out to him, washing him with warmth. She makes him feel so warm... So cozy...
"Derek, you're shivering," she cries, like that's the only thing wrong with him. That's the only thing she can concentrate on - his shaking body.
He laughs, and doesn't even wince at the pain anymore. He's too far gone to feel anything. It's all just one big blur of shock and humour. "It's hot out here. Isn't it hot?"
Her hair brushes over his cheeks, and he can feel it. God, he can feel it. (And he tastes more tears).
"No. It's raining."
"It is?"
He can't tell. Maybe if he could look past her red eyes, he would see the lightning striking in the distance. Maybe he would hear it, too, if she wasn't crying so loudly.
He smiles. "Hey, didn't you always say you wanted to kiss in the rain?" She can cross something off her list, too.
"Not like this."
"Yeah, this is probably a downer," he agrees. When he looks down at his body, he doesn't recognize it. He knows it's his - he knows that much - but when he tries to lift his hand again, nothing happens. "Shit, I think I'm paralyzed," he stammers. Figures. His eyes trail down the pavement.
Is all that blood his? This is even worse than he thought.
"Did you happen to call an ambulance by chance?"
She cries again. "Of course, you idiot. I did that ages ago."
"Good." His mouth fills with bile. Great. Just the cherry on top. He loves throwing up. What a great way to go out. Paralyzed and puking. "Are you okay?"
She doesn't respond.
"Case, are you okay? Are you bleeding?"
"I don't know."
"You've got a lot of blood on you."
"I know. I think it's all yours."
He squints down at her torso, but he is unable to see anything clearly. He used to need glasses as a kid, but this is worse. No matter how much he strains, the world only grows fuzzier. "Make sure the paramedics look at you first."
"You're the one who needs the paramedics," she retorts.
His head shakes. At least his neck can still move. "Don't worry about me. Have you seen how much blood I've lost?" His eyes slip closed. "I'm already dead. Just make sure you're okay."
"No, Derek"--
"I'm dead, Casey. I don't matter. You can't die, too. What's the point of me dying if you're not safe?"
It's definitely his own tears. He nearly chokes on them. Or maybe it's blood. Either way, he begins to choke.
"You're not going to die."
He'd like to disagree. "Yeah, I am." He coughs again, but this time he can't recover.
He's glad he can't feel anything lower than his shoulders. Her hands scoop under him, lifting him to the side, so his vomit can clear onto the pavement.
"Gross," he breathes, leaning into her embrace.
"You're not going to die," she repeats, and when he closes his eyes and relaxes against her, that's all he can hear. She rocks him back and forth, muttering the same thing over and over. "You're not going to die."
He decides not to argue. It's always been useless to argue with her. She always just gets her way. Every fucking time.
"Casey," he coughs, and when he spits, he sees more red.
"Shh."
"I need to tell you something."
The rocking comes to a halt. She said it was raining, right? The only drops he can feel are her tears on his cheek.
"Casey, I"--
"Shh," she soothes. "Tell me later."
Sure. If he could just survive until later. "I gotta tell you now."
"No, you don't," she scolds. "You can tell me later. When you're all better."
Contrary just to be contrary. It's something he's always hated about her, because he's a hypocrite. He's such a hypocrite. (And at least he owns up to it).
"Fine." The rocking starts again, and he closes his eyes. "For the record," he starts, and suddenly the darkness of his eyelids turn red. And blue. "For the record, your dress is pretty."
She flinches. "Thanks."
"You're always pretty." It's something he should have said a long time ago.
If only he could have seen this coming, he wouldn't have wasted so much time.
"Casey"--
But he can't finish his thought. Someone is above him. And then another. The paramedics? He can't tell.
He finds his arms are moving without feeling or his knowledge, pushing them away. "Casey. Check Casey."
"Son, you need to lie still."
"No," he argues, trying to fight back. His vision turns completely red. Red, and blue. Red, and black. Sparkles. "Not me. Casey." Why aren't they listening? Just let him die. As long as Casey is alright. Just leave him alone. "Casey..."
No one is paying attention to him. Damn paramedics.
"Stop it!" He shouts. "It's Casey. She might be hurt"
"Just lie still."
He can't lie still. Where is Casey? Where did she go? They can't let her die. The blood... There is so much blood on her...
Red. Red and blue. Red and black.
So much red.
And sparkles.
//
He's heard that near death experiences can make you do weird shit.
She has to be a witch or something. Or an angel. Maybe a demon, or a saint. Or even a magical fairy or something.
Because there is no way he was supposed to survive. He was supposed to die.
So, obviously, she has some supernatural powers that she can just say he won't die, and he won't die. He should thank her, really. Except for the fact that he was ready to die. He was so ready to just end it all.
And now he is alive?
That can't just be luck.
(He's decided on an angel).
When he opens his eyes, he knows he's not dead, because he's got an IV strapped to his arm. So unless the afterlife starts in a hospital bed, he's very much alive.
And he's alone.
He half expected (except for the fact he was only expecting to die) that someone would be at his bedside, curled up in a chair, asleep, and holding onto his hand, waiting for him to wake up. That's how it happens in the movies, right? His mom or his dad, or Marti or Nora or Lizzie or Edwin or Sam or someone.
He's completely alone.
God, would someone turn off that beeping? It gets faster and faster--
The door opens, and a nurse comes in. As soon as he makes eye contact with her, she heads right back out. He can vaguely hear her say that he is awake as she goes into the hall.
That's more like it.
The door bursts open, and a solitary person walks in.
"You didn't die," he says, voice hoarse as she takes a few steps closer to his bed.
She only smiles at him. It's the weakest smile he's ever seen.
"No. I'm not hurt."
Good. Now he can go through life envying her for not even getting a scratch, while he's probably paralyzed until he actually dies. For real.
He rolls his eyes, but regrets it when he realizes he has a massive headache. "Shit," he breathes, sinking back into his pillow.
She stops at his bedside. "You didn't die, either."
He smirks. "You told me I wouldn't."
Smiling back, she slips down into a chair, pushed up against his bed. So she has been sitting there... He wonders if she had been holding his hand, too. Just like the movies.
"I'm surprised you actually listened to me," she says.
Yes, she has been holding his hand. Because when she rests her arm on the bed, it's in the exact right position for him to extend his fingers and hold on to her. He holds onto her loosely, thumb dragging across the back of her hand.
Maybe he isn't paralyzed. It's too early to tell. He's too tired to really test it.
"I always listen to you."
Her eyebrow lifts - one of her gorgeous eyebrows - and she skeptically stares at him.
He chuckles, but winces when he becomes aware that's a bad idea. "I don't always obey you, but I listen."
She just shrugs. "Oh."
The pain behind his eyes is great, and he knows he should probably close them - try to fall back into a dreamless sleep - but he can't tear himself from looking up into her eyes. Her eyes that are still red with tears. It's all he can see - and all he ever wants to see - even when his eyes do close. Her eyes, looking down into his, clear with tears.
"Casey," he breathes. Her name is always there, always on his lips. Whenever he breathes, thinks, says anything, it's her name.
She sits up, and her thumb rubs gently over his hand, her fingers tightening around his own, like if she lets go, he might slip away.
But that won't happen. He's decided.
"Casey, I need to tell you something."
And this time, she's ready to listen.
He swallows, and he realizes he can still taste the tinny aroma of blood. How long has he been out? Shaking his head, he clears his thoughts, back to the only thought that matters. His hand squeezes against her's, and he's surprised he has any strength whatsoever. He loosens his grip, rearranging their fingers, intertwining them together. He watches as her lips curl lightly before bouncing back into a concerned frown.
He clears his throat. "I -"
But he never gets to finish saying it.
The door bursts open again, and this time many people enter. He recognizes the nurse who had discovered his awakened state, and then an older man, he deduced is the doctor.
Then it's his father and Nora. And then finally, his mother.
That's how he knows he's been asleep for a while. Because she's flown back from Spain already.
The room becomes a flurry of medical talk and the nurse is hanging a new bag and attaching it to his IV. When the doctor approaches, Casey's hands fall away from him, and she retreats to the other side of the room. His hand hurts without her touch. It figures, he needs her to survive now. He always new she was important to him. He just never realized it was because she is his life force. And always will be.
And although his doctor is talking to him, and checking charts and reading computers and adjusting dials, and although his parents are all huddled in the corner watching with concerned faces, and although the nurse is forcing him to raise his arm so she can adjust a tube running behind him, he doesn't see any of it.
He only sees the girl pressed against the wall, her blue eyes shining. Her hands clenched to her sides, and he knows she is aching to hold him, too.
It's later when the doctor leaves and the nurse announces his family can visit for only five minutes when he finally sees his parents. His mom is rushing to his side, and she's reaching out to his hand. He almost flinches away, but finds that he is too weak. It's not right. He doesn't want to hold her hand. He wants Casey. His stepsister. His life force.
His angel.
The room is much more solemn than he wants. He'd rather everyone to fuss over him. He did, afterall, just beat death. (But like he's already admitted to himself, it was Casey who beat it for him).
And as they're speaking in hushed tones, he's mildly aware that they are speaking to him, but he doesn't respond. He has only word on his lips, and it's the name that he lives to say.
And even though he still has something to tell her, as he makes eye contact with her again, he finds he doesn't need to say it.
She already knows.
And he smilies.
//
Fin.