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The sound of screeching of tires woke Henry. The smell of burning gasoline and rubber filling his senses so strongly he gagged. Immediately the pain in his body made itself known. Sharp waves of agony trailed down his spine to both his legs, muscles jumping in spasms. When he instinctively clenched his fists in the blanket to brace against the pain, the agony spiked in his arms as well.
A gasp of pain left his lips. He stilled trying to even out his too fast breathes and get his bearings. For who knows how long Henry just breathed, eyes closed against the waves crashing throughout his body. After an indefinite amount of time he cautiously opened his eyes and looked around. He was in his bed, in his apartment. The sun peeked through the black out curtains, a sliver of gold light on the floor.
He heard the sound of Casey in the kitchen, probably cooking breakfast based on the time the clock on the bedside table showed. Henry took stock of his body and surroundings. He was in his bed, his left leg was locked in pain, right leg not much better. The bed was still warm so Casey must have left only a little while ago. His back hurt from the pressure on his healed spine, near where he knew the scars from surgery were. His left arm felt dead with pins and needles. The right was better, capable of movement at least with only a slight twinge. A headache brewed behind his eyes, promising more pain before the day was over.
Today would be a bad day, Henry realized, at least pain wise. Fuck, he needed to take his meds and shower, if the sticky uncomfortableness of drying sweat was any indication. He had been too tired last night to barely change into pajamas.
The cold had seeped into his bones yesterday making the bare minimum a challenge. Henry lay there contemplating if he had the strength for a shower alone or if he would have to submit to the horrifying ordeal of letting Casey help him. He decided that was a problem for later Henry to deal with. First he had to get up to get his meds.
Mornings were always a struggle but winter mornings were the worst. To leave the warmth of the bed to the cool air of the room was a special hellish punishment. His cane was left at least where he left it last night, next to the bedside table. He mentally thanked his past self for having the forethought. However it was likely to be a crutches day if Henry was honest with himself.
These lived in the corner of the room where Henry avoided them like the plague until days like this hit and he was forced to reconsider his hatred. He knew a wheelchair was what the doctors’ recommended but Henry couldn’t bring himself to use one again since the hospital. He pushed that thought away.
His medications were in the bathroom, which was next to the bedroom. A thirty second walk thanks to New York’s shoebox sized apartments but today it felt like a mile. It always did on these days.
Henry knew he needed to get up before Casey came back from cooking breakfast if he didn’t want to worry him. Rationally he knew Casey never looked down on him for needing help on bad days (and so called good days too), but something inside him hated having Casey see him struggling to simply get out of bed.
He removed the covers and immediately felt goosebumps form on his skin. He was wearing soft pajama pants with a long sleeve shirt but the radiator in the room was finicky at the best of times. No matter how much Casey and him tried to get it to work properly, it always struggled in the cold to heat the room.
Henry slowly willed his body to move, first his upper body into a sitting position, balanced with his right arm. His back gave a little spasm but relented as he made it to fully sitting. Next his legs to the edge of the mattress. Icy hot waves of nerve damaged signals flooded his brain and he had to bite back a low groan, worried Casey would hear.
Finally his feet touched the carpeted floor and he was sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Progress’ he thought to himself sarcastically. He took a breathe and was just about to reach for his cane when Casey appeared in the doorway. In his hands was Henry’s pill container and a glass of water.
“Hey”, Casey said softly, “Good morning.” He walked over, set the glass down, and handed Henry the pill container. He opened it and looked down. An colorful array of anti depressants, anti anxiety, and painkillers stared back at him. He took them and quickly washed them down with the water that Casey handed to him. Casey then took the glass from him, leaned down and gently kissed the top of Henry’s head.
Henry wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He didn’t deserve Casey’s love, not after what he had done. He wanted to rage at Casey, at the world, at the unfairness of it all. But Casey was too gentle, too soft spoken and too compassionate. The idea of starting an argument with him, knowing how he’d react, made the fire turn to nausea in Henry’s gut. Casey didn’t deserve Henry’s ire. He didn’t deserve to be dragged down by a thing as broken as Henry. Because he was broken, in more ways than one. The wreck had opened him up from the inside and tore at what had made him whole.
Though maybe that wasn’t quite true, a small voice whispered to him, maybe there had always been something wrong with Henry. Maybe the crash had flung the inner ugliness out, the way it had flung his body to the hard concrete ground of the Brooklyn bridge, where he laid broken and raw.
As lost in his thoughts as Henry was, he didn’t notice Casey watching him. Casey knew sometimes Henry got lost in the maze that was his thoughts. He also knew they weren’t always nice thoughts but he didn’t know how to help most times so he simply watched until Henry came back. Henry always came back, though sometimes it could take awhile and sometimes he wasn’t always completely there.
That was fine to Casey, he didn’t judge just as Henry didn’t judge when the words died in his throat. He’d keep watch like he always did, faithful guard dog to the end. The mind wanderings happened a lot on the bad days though not unpresent on good days too. Today was a bad day for sure based on the tenseness in Henry’s body, the way he held himself.
Henry blinked suddenly and then came back to Casey and awareness. He saw Casey watching him silently. “ I did it again, didn’t I?” He asked the other man. Casey nodded. Henry hated when his mind got lost in itself. “Sorry,” he said. Casey shrugged.
“Don’t be.” He said simply, walking over to the corner with the crutches, grabbing them before bringing them to the man sitting on the bed. “Breakfast, then if you want to shower I can help.” Henry didn’t really want to eat after his nightmare but the medication always made him very nauseous if he didn’t eat, so breakfast it was.
Henry got the crutches under him and with Casey’s help got to a standing position. Casey then stepped back to let Henry lead the way. He always gave Henry space which he appreciated. It was bad enough to need help standing, he hated it when people hovered. Though with Casey it never really felt like hovering. He was simply there. He didn’t fuss like some others when they saw Henry struggling, rushing to help, to save as if that didn’t make Henry feel more broken. Casey simply was. He was nearby and Henry was sure if he stumbled or god forbid started to fall, Casey would catch him but he didn’t hover. It was nice.
Henry finally made it to the little thrifted dining table near the kitchen and sat down heavily in the chair. Crutches were set aside. The table was only fifteen steps from the bedroom but it felt a lot longer today. He felt winded in a way only chronic pain can make you feel.
Casey put a small plate of still hot scrambled eggs and a piece of toast in front of Henry. They ate in comfortable silence, as they often did. Casey never much of a talker and Henry stuck in his own head. When Henry actually managed to finish his plate, Casey smiled at him as he took the now empty plate to the sink.
Henry felt for once this morning a little better, enough to try a shower though he’d probably need Casey’s help at the very least with washing his hair. The meds were kicking in, he could tell. His body’s suffering of earlier had settled to a more ignorable ache though he knew he’d still have to be careful. At least he didn’t have class today. The thought of trudging across campus made Henry internally wince.
Casey returned and asked “Shower?” Henry couldn’t resist teasing him. “What, you think I stink?” His voice came out a bit hoarse. Casey shrugged, “I know you always feel better when you’re clean and this will warm you up.” Henry couldn’t argue with that. “Wash my hair?” He asked Casey to which he nodded and helped him up from his chair.
They slowly made their way to the bathroom. When they reached it Casey immediately started the water, knowing the pipes took awhile to heat up. He then picked up Henry’s shower chair from where it stood to the side of the tub and plopped it down. Henry watched Casey’s biceps flex as he did this.
Not for the first time he thought of what it would be like to paint Casey. He had sketched him before but painting him was different. The angles of the other man fascinated him. Lost once again in his head, thinking of the different ways he could paint the man, he had not started to undress.
He blinked to awareness, Casey again gave him a look with a raised eyebrow when Henry realized he had been staring at the man. Henry blushed and ducked his head down from where he was sitting on the toilet to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. “Do you want help?” Casey asked without a hint of judgment, his voice soft like always. Henry gave a little shrug then nodded.
His left arm would have a hard time he knew. Casey knew this too. So gently he helped Henry disrobe, and then into the shower. The water was the perfect temperature. Henry leaned back into the spray, getting his hair wet, then tipped lightly forward as Casey poured into his hands and lathered them up.
He gingerly but efficiently washed Henry's hair. Days old sweat and grease washed away down the drain. Henry leaned into the touch of Casey's hands. For the second time that day he wanted to cry. The experience reminded him when he was young and ill with fever, his mom had done the same for him. He missed her so much it was a physical pain that threatening to choke him in his chest. His father and Athena too. It hurt so much it was impossible to think it would ever stop hurting. Just like his body, his heart was broken.
Unaware of his inner turmoil, Casey continued washing Henry. He had grabbed a wash cloth and was wetting it. He dragged it across Henry's body, mindful of the scars that littered it. There was nothing sexual about it, just gentle efficiency. Soon he was done, giving Henry a quick but through rise off. He grabbed a towel from the rack and tenderly toweled him off. Henry stood up, bracing himself against Casey's arm and tied the towel around his waist.
They walked to the bedroom where Henry sat back down on the bed. The shower left him feeling exhausted, grief swirling around his head, but at least he was cleaner. Casey tossed comfortable clothes to Henry. A soft long sleeve shirt and soft trousers, along with a pair of boxers and socks. Henry dressed himself with minimal difficulty.
He had planned to go back to working on the half finished painting that was in their living room but Henry couldn't muster up the energy to stand again. That was fine, he was ahead of schedule with that assignment and even if he wasn't, the professors had given him a lot of leeway ever since the crash. Henry laid down on the bed and patted the spot next to him.
Casey immediately joined him on the bed. Henry curled up on his side and pulled Casey with him effectively causing Casey to hold him. It was quiet except for the ancient radiator and their breathing. The silence ate at Henry, still raw from the waves of grief he had felt in the shower. The dark cloud that had been hovering all morning, burst and he started to cry. Casey's arms tightened a fraction around Henry, but he didn't say anything.
Henry broke the silence, "I miss them." Casey simply responded with "I know." Henry continued to cry and Casey continued to hold him even when the force of his sobbing caused him to tremble and shake. Henry cried until he couldn't cry anymore, with Casey silently holding him together. Finally when his tears died down, Henry drifted off to sleep, still being held, feeling warm and loved.