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When Minute wakes up, he doesn't know why.
It doesn't feel like normal waking up, but why wouldn't it be?
And then he remembers the pills.
Why he woke up, he now wonders in a different way.
He swallows heavily, feeling it strain his throat as he lies on his back.
The beeping confirms what he thought: the hospital.
He closes his eyes again. Hospital visits are expensive. This won't wnd well for him, but maybe, maybe at least he can push away the time that his guardians realize he's awake.
Minute is a coward, truly.
He hears the beeping speed up.
"Is he awake?", a voice asks. It is a... a strange voice. Strange in the sense that Minute doesn't know it. It's not his social worker, but also neither of the foster guardians he's with. But a doctor wouldn't have to asks something like that, would he?
Hesitantly, Minute opens his eyes.
Two men sit by his bedside, leaning over him. One is pale, with white blonde hair doing its best to obscure a facial tattoo of some kind covering one of the man's light grey eyes. Minute can't make out any details.
The other man is older, older and shorter. Beard stubble sprouts from his cheeks and a ball of curly brown hair from his head.
No matter how often Minute's gaze runs over their features, there is one thing that stays the same.
He doesn't recognize them.
The heart monitor speeds up further. At least, he thinks hysterically, if they kill me, someone will know.
(Another part of him thinks, 'oh, maybe they'll kill me.' Minute wonders if that hope should scare him.
He supposes it's expected at this point)
"Minute?", the blonde man asks. And how does he know Minute's name? Did he get a new social worker? Two new social workers? Can that even happen?
Or is this a child psychology thing? But then he wouldn't be waiting at Minute's bed. Surely psychologists have better things to do?
Minute opens his mouth, then closes it again. He doesn't have anything to say, though it alerts him to thirst his parched throat expresses.
Who found him?
Who even would have cared enough to call an ambulance? He can't imagine either of his fosters parents would.
"Minute?", the older man tries.
He seems... He seems scary. Something inside of Minute tells him that he should be scared. But at the same time, this man seems... he seems so concerned.
Warmth lingers openly in the man's eyes, aimed at Minute. He doens't remember the last time someone looked at him like that.
And the younger one, too, seems worried. Concerned. And weirdly, too.
Both of them seem to— to care.
And to care on a personal level.
Which, again, begs the question of who, in between all the portals of the end, these men are.
Something about the two tells Minute that they won't hurt him if he asks. That they are safe to ask things to, even stupid questions.
When the older man prods him again, now with wrinkles brows, "Minute? Are you okay?", Minute asks, in place of an answer, "Who are you?"
Both men flinch back. Their eyes open wide and they stare at Minute with such shock it makes him flinch, then feel guilty as the shock turns into pain, turn into frightful, terrifying rage.
The younger man pushes his chair over a she jumps up. "Those stupid fucking invis-my-ass sucking fuckheads!"
Minute closes his eyes and shields his face. He fucked up. He fucked up really bad. The beeping beeps faster and faster, then starts screaming.
Minute bites his lip to stiffle a whimper. Everything is so loud all of sudden. His head hurts.
But he needs to hear. He needs to hear if they approach and to hear ehat they say and if they want anything and Minute still doesn't knwo who these men even are.
"Leo, you're scaring him!", the older man shouts.
Scraping.
The first man sighs.
Minute peeks through betwen his arms to see the blonde man sititng on the plastic chair again, looking faintly guilty while the old man's eyes sweep around to meet Minute's.
Minute closes his eyes.
Too late.
"It's okay", the curly haired guy says. "Leo isn't mad at you. He won't you. I won't hurt you. Neither of us will hurt you, I promise, Minute."
He sounds so earnest.
But adults like to lie. Adults really like to lie, in fact. Some do it by accident. Most don't.
So, well, Minute doens't know if he should believe that.
He wants to. Something inside of him tells Minute that Clown can be trusted.
Clown?
Clown and Leo. Yes.
Minute doesn't know how he knows, but he knows. He knows he knows.
"Why are you here?", Minute asks, slowly lowering his arms.
"We work together", ths man named Clown says.
But Minute would know that, wouldn't he? He works in grungy pharmacy four stations from the end of the red line. He doens't have coworkers named Leo and Clown.
But something tells him tha the does.
It feels right, hearing that.
Clown continues, "You...were in an accident. You lost your memories, it seems."
The first part seems like a lie. The angry glance the man names Leo shoots Clown only confirms Minute's suspicion.
But the second part to disbelieving to be untrue. Why lie? If it wasn't an accident... did he try again?
And should Minute questions it?
Probably not, right? Adults don't like that, no matter how much Minute's instincts tell hik that these adults are safe.
"What is the last thing you remember?", Leo buts in and spares Minute the agony of having to choose.
Instead, a new problem appears: The last things Minute remembers is swallowing the full amount of asthma medication he still had.
That's a weird thing to tell a strangery isn't it?
It seems weird, certainly.
And if they're coworkers as Clown said, then they don't have any business knowing Minute's business, do they?
But... but they feel safe, somehow, like they wouldn't hit him and wouldn't call him crazy and wouldn't tell him to shove it and wouldn't tell his guardians.
Minute loooks for words.
"...I passed out", he settles on.
"And before that?", Leo pries, leaning forward again.
Minute scoots backwards. "Lying on my bed at home. What is the last thing I should remember?"
He wants to take the words back. Minute isn't supposed to question adults. What is he doing?
"We were on a job", Clown answers in Leo's stead, "We travel a lot for work, and we were succesful."
As he continues onward, Clown seems angry. Somehow, Minute knows it isn't at him.
Clown's hands clench into the flimsy blanket Minure is covered with. His brows furrow and his eyes go distant and dark."We celebrated. Someone poisoned you."
Leo and Clown and Minute and— "The PMC", Minute breathes.
Yes. Champaigne and— "So it wasn't you?"
Clown flinches. He looks at Minute, looks at Leo, Leo looks at Minute.
"No! Oh Minute...", Clown reaches out but seems to reconsider, pulling his hand back again.
Minute wishes he hadn't. He could really use a hug right about now.
Tears prick in his eyes. "You didn't betray me?"
He sounds small eevn to his own ears, quire pathetic.
Clown softens. "We didn't betray you." He places a hand on Minute's knee. "I promise."
"But we know who did it!", Leo chimes up angrily, "and we've torn those invis fuckheads apart while you slept. We've got you, Min!"
Leo grins.
"That we did, thank you, Leo", Clown says, then smiles.
"And yes, we've got you. We promise."
Minute remembers.
"PMC always and forever?", he dares to ask.
In a chorus, Leo enthusiastic, Clown calm but not cold, both genuine, "PMC always and forever!"