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Axel was asleep. Or, more appropriately, he was attempting to be asleep. The room was full of bright lights, an electric hum constantly filling the air around him. Honestly, he was just thankful it wasn’t quiet; somehow that would be scarier than being in and out of consciousness for hours. He truthfully still wasn’t entirely sure where he was, considering the last thing he really remembered was passing out in the middle of the street while giant gorillas invaded the city.
Oh, and the fact that he was actively bleeding out at the time. That was a decently important part of the whole passing-out-on-the-street situation.
Now though, he was well aware he wasn’t on the street, or anywhere he was remotely familiar with. The bed beneath him was hard, and the pillowcase under his head felt like it was fresh out of the package… not that he really knew what that felt like either.
The bed shifts, like someone had sat down next to him. He opens one eye, squinting in the direction of the movement.
Then, a voice cuts through the mechanical humming and buzzing surrounding him, “Hey, Ax, look at me.”
Axel’s eyes were going in and out of focus, trying to figure out who exactly was looming over him, bright lights shining behind the head positioned above him. He squints, clearly dazed, “Piper?”
“Yeah, buddy, it’s me.” There’s a hand on Axel’s arm, warm and present, unlike the glaring of the light on the ceiling. The room was too clean, too sterile. “Are you feeling okay?”
“No.” He groans, attempting to sit up. His hand goes to his other arm, well aware of what he’d feel. Nothing. Axel bites his lip, feeling his eyes well-up with tears as his voice cracks, “Shit.” If anyone else was sitting next to him, he would try his best not to break. He’d wipe his face and move on with himself until he was in the safety of the bathroom or his bedroom or wherever else, but… Hartley somehow understood. Hartley was like him, in an odd butt-of-the-joke kind of way, even if neither of them particularly enjoyed admitting to that fact.
Hartley wouldn’t judge him if he cried.
And so he does.
He lets out a choked sob, his arm gripping on to Hartley as he does. As expected, Hartley doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t belittle him or make this all worse than it already was. Hartley holds him. He holds him like he really cares, like he wants to be there for him. That alone makes Axel feel like crying even more, somehow.
Quietly, Hartley manages to whisper, “It’s okay,” and other various soothing phrases with a consistent hand pressed to Axel’s back. It should help, and perhaps it does, but Axel shudders, his hand gripping onto Hartley, like if he let go, he’d be right back to bleeding out on the street.
Axel feels small again. It had been years since he allowed himself to feel anything like this, long before joining the Rogues and long before dropping out of school. It wasn’t that no one had made him feel that way, but… he refused to consider it, refused to let anyone get through to him. Maybe that’s why he clung to the Trickster mantle, he simply didn’t want to ever be on the receiving end of what he dished out. With his head pressed against the somewhat infamous Pied Piper’s shoulder, tears still spilling down his face, he has a moment where he reconsiders everything that led him to this moment.
Maybe he could be good.
Maybe he could be like Hartley, reformed and still able to do a few bad things every once and a while with some supervision from the big leagues.
… Nah. This was way more fun, even if it all led to whatever this was.
He isn’t sure how long they sit like that, until his sobs quiet and he eventually tugs away, making a vaguely apologetic face at Hartley’s now tearstained shirt, “My bad.”
Hartley glances down, a small smile appearing on his face, “I could have expected that.”
“Uh. Thanks, I guess… for being here and all that.” He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly horribly self conscious. “Am I—” He cuts himself off before he can continue, turning his face away from Hartley.
“You’re going to be okay.”
Axel’s face scrunches up, his eyes welling with tears again. This was the type of feeling he hated the most. Helplessness. It was why he worked to join the Rogues in the first place. It was why he did anything… to not feel like he was helpless; trapped in a city he had used as entertainment since he was a kid, trapped somewhere where he never really felt adequate enough until he found his calling, as ridiculous as it was. Then, Hartley’s arm is on his shoulder. His good shoulder, the shoulder that didn’t ache and pulse with pain every second he was sitting up like this.
Hartley speaks again, quieter this time, “I know how hard it is.”
Axel snaps back, tugging away from the touch, “Do you?” He regrets it immediately, watching Hartley’s expression not change at the outburst. The man worked with kids just like him, unruly delinquents who were out on the streets looking for help. Axel knew that he had this act down to a science… but was it really an act with him?
A sigh escapes Hartley’s lips, something he would never let slip if he wasn’t so familiar with Axel. If they weren’t friends, or whatever this odd co-worker domesticity was. He continues, “I was in and out of the hospital for years as a kid. It’s probably the worst thing that will ever happen to you, but you keep going.” A pause. “People are going to tell you that nothing will change, but that’s not true. It will—” With that, he looks at Axel pointedly. “—Everything changes, and sometimes you just need to live with that.”
It’s quiet for a moment. The only sounds in the room are the typical drone of hospital equipment and the squeaking of wheels on a stretcher somewhere down the hall. It takes everything in Axel to not rip out his IV and storm out of here, leaving Hartley and all of this weakness behind. But, he doesn’t. He just sits.
Eventually, he manages to ask, “How’d you find me?”
He sighs again, seemingly a common occurrence around either of the Tricksters, “I didn’t. The hospital had me on file as your father.” His tone made it clear that this was not a fact he had ever been informed of.
A sheepish smile appears on Axel’s face as he leans his head back against the headboard, looking over to Hartley, “Maybe I should have told you about that, huh?”
Hartley can’t help but return a smile, shaking his head exasperatedly, “You realize that I’m not that much older than you, right?”
Axel tuts, shaking his head disapprovingly, “Teen dad: Hartley Rathaway.”
“And who exactly did I have you with, Axel?”
His eyes widen, evidently appalled at the question, “Ew. Don’t ask me that.”
Hartley rolls his eyes, “I had to explain to the nurse how I could have possibly been your dad. Do you realize how embarrassing that is?”
At that, Axel grins, unable to resist finding amusement in a prank, even if unintentional, “I owe you a lot of Father’s Day cards.”
“Oh god, don’t say that.” He shakes his head, disgusted. Suddenly, his expression becomes serious again, “I…” He hesitates. “I would have rathered it to be me than anyone else. That’s all I’ll say.”
“I’m old enough now, Pipes, you can let me in on your gossip.”
“It’s hardly gossip.” He shakes his head, rubbing his hands over his face. “The EMT’s found you writhing in the middle of the street in a pool of your own blood. All—” A shaky breath breaks up his words as he attempts to compose himself. “All of them were too busy to help you.” His voice cracks, and he cuts himself off from speaking any further.
Axel lets out a quiet, “Oh.” He shifts his weight, leaning onto Hartley, his eyes closed. “Thanks for giving a shit.”
“Of course.” Another pause. “They all care about you, I- you know that… they just—”
“—get preoccupied. I know.”
“Yeah.” He nods, as if to reassure himself more than Axel. “The doctor said you’re a quick healer.”
“I guess I kind of have to be, huh?”
“Huh is right.” He nudges against Axel. “I know I’m just your father on paper, but you’re welcome to come stay at my apartment. I can go get your stuff from the warehouse.”
Axel buries his face into Hartley’s shoulder, gritting his teeth. He knows he shouldn’t go back yet, he is well aware of that, but there’s such a weak part of him that longs for the rest of the Rogues to pity him; for the rest of them to see that he tried to be strong. That urge disgusts him. So, he steels himself, nodding against Hartley’s shoulder, “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”
Hartley smiles, “You’ll have to chip in a bit… maybe do some dishes.”
Axel groans, throwing himself back onto the bed with his eyes shut, “I can’ttttt.” He peeks open one eye, a grin taking over his expression.
That doesn’t dissuade Hartley, who starts listing off tasks, now also grinning, “Scrub the toilet, or vacuum, or do the laundry.”
“You’re literally planning to torture me. That’s what you’re doing.” Axel whacks Hartley with his hand, disgruntled.
“It’s good to keep occupied.”
Right. The arm. Axel lets out a breath, back against the headboard again. His voice is quiet, almost scared, “You don’t have to do all this.” A pause, deliberating. “I’ve, like, kind of been the worst to you.”
Hartley shrugs, “I don’t blame you for any of that.”
“You probably should,” It comes out a lot more pathetic than he meant it to, and Hartley takes his words as a cue to ruffle his hair, amused. “What’s that for?!”
He smiles, endeared. “Don’t put yourself down, Ax.” Hartley stands, glancing at the clock hung on the wall, clearly indicating visiting hours were about to end. “People can be nice without expecting anything in return. It might be time for you to learn that.”
And then he’s gone. And Axel is left alone to contemplate just about everything, including the tightly bandaged arm that he had been trying his best to ignore.