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Avery should have been home 30 minutes ago. 25 minutes ago, Derek started rifling through the incomprehensible knowledge in his mind to try and figure out if he was on his way, maybe struggling up the stairs to the fourth floor with a heavy bag of groceries. 20 minutes ago, he had already seen at least three terrible possibilities in high definition – a random, undetected heart condition; an armed street robbery; falling debris from a construction site. 19 minutes ago, he had sat by the door, staring out of the peephole to try and recalibrate himself to the real world and the facts he knows to be true: Avery is sometimes fashionably late, Avery only went to buy dinner, Avery promised never to leave him.
He’s still here, 19 minutes and 13 unanswered calls later. Another fact: Avery has never not answered the phone.
It’s times like this that Derek hates Hastur even more than usual. It’s hard for him, a run-of-the-mill person who just happens to be a living prison for a spiteful, omniscient God, to make sense of the knowledge crammed inside his mind. Possibilities and worst-case-scenarios are rendered in the exact same clarity as his real memories, meaning that for the first time in his life, he cannot trust his brain. He’s nowhere near used to that fact yet – he’s only been out of hospital for two weeks, living alongside Avery in a cluttered but clean apartment, and he’s been spending most of his time adjusting to things like walking and talking again after a four-month period of stillness and silence. He’s been trusting Avery to keep him grounded to reality, to confirm what is real and what he doesn’t need to worry about.
His absence means that Derek should definitely worry right now.
If Hastur isn’t going to present the information to him, then Derek will go and search for it. He’ll do what anyone else would do in his situation – ask around, go looking, not stop until he finds Avery. Or until he finds an answer, which he does not want to think about right now, because an answer in the continued absence of Avery would be an answer about the continued absence of Avery. And the only thing that Derek can imagine would keep them apart is…
A car crash; choking on a wishbone mid-skateboarding; a chemical spill.
He takes Avery’s coat from the rack by the door and pulls it around himself. It smells warm and familiar, like fresh air and cheap aftershave, exactly as Avery’s hugs do. Derek’s breath catches in his throat at the idea that he’ll never hug Avery again – that their parting at the door earlier had been the last time he’d ever see Avery alive.
Just as he opens the front door, his phone begins to ring.
Avery! The silly picture of Avery, with his face squished up against a sheet of glass so it looks like he’s trapped in the phone, lights up the screen alongside his name. Derek wants to answer – really, he does – but he can’t shake the feeling that there will be someone unfamiliar on the other end, calling in response to his missed calls. Someone who watched the whole thing happen, who is sitting with Avery’s dead body on the side of the road, wondering how to break the news.
In his terror, he accidentally lets the phone go to voicemail. No – no no no. Not knowing would be so much worse than knowing. What if Avery isn’t dead, but dying? What if he’s asking for Derek? What if he needs him?
With shaky fingers, he redials the phone and listens to it ring. Surely Avery – or whoever has his phone – should pick up instantly, but it takes four rings before –
“Derek!”
Oh, thank god. Thank god. Just hearing Avery’s voice pauses him at the door, his body softening towards the sound. He presses the phone against his ear and says, “Avery! What happened?”
“Don’t freak out, okay?”
“Bit late for that.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry. Listen, everything’s fine. I had a little accident but it’s nothing major. I’ll be home soon.”
Derek can hear the sounds of overlapping conversations in the background, like Avery is in a busy waiting room. “Hospital?” He asks.
“Yeah,” Avery says. “But it’s fine, honestly. I wasn’t looking where I was going and skated right out into the road. Seriously, it’s my own fault.”
Desperately searching the filing cabinet of his mind, Derek cannot tell whether Avery is downplaying or downright lying. The visions of him with a dangerous head wound are indistinguishable from the ones where he has a broken arm, two broken legs, a concussion, missing teeth, a gouged eye, a severed finger.
“What happened?” He asks. “I’m on my way.”
“Really, you don’t need to come all this way. You only just got out of here,” Avery laughs. “They just want to look me over and check whether my wrist is broken before they send me home. Seriously, it’s fine.”
“I’m coming to you right now,” Derek takes Avery’s car key from the bowl by the door. “I’m taking your car.”’
“Oh, god, Derek, the last thing we need is both of us in hospital,” Avery’s laugh comes down the phone as a sheer relief, but it is underscored by a little wince of pain that Derek cannot ignore.
“I don’t care, I’m on my way. What happened? Talk to me.”
“I’m not talking on the phone if you’re driving! You’re already a liability as it is. And I really like my car.”
“I promise I’ll drive it safely,” Derek insists. “Please, Avery. I’m freaking out here. Tell me what’s going on.”
Avery takes a deep breath. “I was crossing the road and a car hit me. It’s fine, it wasn’t going super fast or anything. Threw me off my board. I was going to come right home but this very kind lady insisted on taking me to hospital. I’m sorry I didn’t call, I didn’t even know I still had my phone with me until she showed me all my stuff she picked up off the road.”
So car crash was correct. How many of Derek’s other worst-case-visions are also the truth? “Your things were in the road? Avery, how serious was this accident?”
“Not serious at all, I promise. You know my stuff’s always hanging out of my pockets anyway. A stiff breeze could make me lose my wallet.”
He laughs again, but Derek doesn’t even smile. “I’m coming to you right now. I won’t be long.”
“I’m not gonna change your mind, am I?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Alright,” Avery relents. “I’ll see you soon, then. Please drive safely, Derek. I promise I’m fine, and I need you to be, too.”
“I will. I promise.”
The ending of the phone call brings with it another wave of anxiety. In any other situation, Derek would be hesitant to drive – he’s got his license, but he hasn’t put his knowledge into practice for over five years now. Additionally, he’s only ever driven automatic cars, and Avery’s is a manual with a temperamental gear stick. But that’s not what he’s nervous about – all he can think about is Avery, alone in a hospital waiting room, downplaying his injuries and the pain in his voice for Derek’s benefit. He’s so kind, always putting other people above himself. Derek wants – needs – to be there with him right now.
For this reason, he doesn’t give up when he stalls the car three times on the way out of the apartment’s parking garage. Though his mind provides him with all the theoretical knowledge needed to operate a vehicle like this, actually doing so is a learning curve that he doesn’t have time to ease into at a slow and steady pace. He turns off the radio, which is set to a loud volume and Avery’s favourite station. He rolls the window down despite the cold air outside, sticking his hand out to apologise to other drivers when he accidentally cuts them off and makes them brake harshly. The car bunny-hops forwards and shakes violently every time he forgets to change gear, and by the time he makes it to the hospital, he’s sure that he’s going to have to take it to a mechanic to undo the grinding damage he’s done over the course of a simple, short drive.
But he doesn’t care. He just about manages to remember to pay for parking, and even that is only because he doesn’t want Avery to deal with the consequences since the car is in his name. He doesn’t even go back to check that he’s locked it like he normally checks the front door after leaving the house, and he walks faster than he’s technically able to into the hospital building.
He recognises it. Of course he does – he spent all of January here, and didn’t expect to be back so soon, especially not for a reason other than his own health. The kind receptionist remembers him and looks him up and down with an expression of concern, which only exacerbates his worries because she obviously knows he’s here to see Avery. Who could forget Avery, who visited every single day, bringing dinner for Derek and thank-you chocolates for the medical team responsible for looking after him?
“Where is he?” Derek asks, breathless.
“He’s in the emergency room,” the receptionist smiles. “He’s alright. He was joking and laughing when they brought him in. We’ve all been expecting you.”
“He’s seriously alright?”
“I mean, he’s banged up from the accident, but he’s going to be fine. Last I asked, he doesn’t need surgery or anything invasive. I’m sure he’s excited to tell you himself.”
“R-Right,” Derek says. He’s never actually visited the emergency room part of the hospital – at least not while conscious – and he looks around to see a sign pointing towards the left. “Just through there?”
“Just through there.”
With a grateful nod, he heads through, bypassing the second reception desk where new patients check in. His eyes scan the room, searching desperately and hungrily for Avery. There’s an elderly couple sitting together doing a crossword, and a mother trying to soothe a feverish baby. Some children are running through the aisles of seats, others are sitting quietly by the wooden bead-maze and abacus toys at a table in the corner. Derek does not care about any of them, looking across a sea of injured and sick people until, finally…
Avery. He’s looking down at his phone, holding it in his left hand instead of his right. This, Derek immediately understands, is because his right hand is swollen and twisted, held gingerly in his lap. For once, his legs are not bouncing restlessly, and he is unnaturally still. Derek ignores the protest from his own legs as he runs over, only just managing to avoid the temptation to drop to his knees in front of Avery. Instead, he sits in the vacant seat next to him.
Avery looks up from his phone and a bright smile overwhelms his face. “Derek!” He says. “I’m so glad you got here in one piece.”
“Never mind about that, tell me what happened.”
He puts his phone in his pocket and gestures at the limp, lifeless hand in his lap. “They think it’s broken,” he says. “But other than that, no major injuries.”
Derek must have a different definition of major injury. Anything that hurts Avery, as small as a paper cut or as large as a car, is significant enough to provoke worry and warrant devoted comfort. And it’s not just his wrist that has been damaged by the accident – his arms are road-rash bloody, his knees scraped in a similar way. Derek should have insisted more firmly that he wear a helmet when skateboarding, because the right side of his face is torn up and already scabbing. There’s a gash directly through his eyebrow and another at the corner of his lip. The fresh blood has been wiped away, presumably as soon as he came in by one of the nurses with a soft spot for him, but the injuries underneath are still wet and glistening without skin.
“It looks worse than it is,” Avery says. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”
“Who hit you?”
With a shrug, Avery says, “Dunno. He wasn’t going fast but he sped right up and left, so…”
“It was a hit and run?!”
“A small hit and a moderate-speed run. Seriously, nothing major.”
“Did you get his plates?” Derek asks. He looks down at the road rash on Avery’s arm, which has begun bleeding again. More than anything, this small trickle shoots a spear of delayed panic through Derek’s heart – Avery was hit by a car. Avery was bleeding in the road and, if it weren’t for the intervention of a kind stranger, might have stayed there until Derek found him.
The blood begins to move strangely upwards, and Derek follows it with his gaze as it dawns on him that it is doing so because Avery’s arm is moving with it. Avery is raising his good hand and… wiping Derek’s tears? He hadn’t even realised he was crying.
“It’s okay,” Avery says. “Maybe he was rushing somewhere important. I’m fine.”
“I’m going to kill him.” Derek meant for that to be an inside thought, one shared with Hastur, but the words come out like a violent and desperate gag.
“Hey,” Avery’s hand is still resting on Derek’s cheek. “It’s fine.”
But it isn’t fine. Even Hastur is blistering with rage and, for once, the infinite knowledge inside his head is clear as day. HQD-111: the plates of a blue Ford. He’s not actually going to track the driver down and kill him, as much as Hastur is itching to, but he’ll deal with it properly later. Now, all that matters is that Avery is alive.
“How do you feel?” He asks, finally.
Avery smiles. “Alright, all things considered.”
“And if you didn’t have to consider all things? If you could just say how you felt?”
This takes Avery aback a little, but he doesn’t recoil from Derek’s candour. “Sore,” he admits. “I think my wrist is broken. And… I’m annoyed at myself for not looking before I crossed. And that I had to go and fuck up my dominant hand.”
“Have they given you anything for the pain?”
Avery nods. “They’ve been very attentive. Not to brag, but I think I’m their favourite patient.”
“I think so too,” Derek smiles. “You’re an easy favourite. So what are we waiting for now?”
“An x-ray,” Avery says. “And then hopefully nothing else. I want to go home. And I want to order food because some idiot hit the takeout right out of my hands on the way home. Are you hungry?”
Derek shakes his head. “Are you?” He asks.
“A little bit. But I also feel kind of sick, so…”
“You feel sick?” Derek looks around for a nurse.
“They said it’s normal. I didn’t hit my head super hard-”
“You hit your head?!”
“Only a little bit,” Avery looks down. “It’s fine. They said I just need to ice it regularly over the next few days to bring down swelling and take paracetamol if it hurts. I mainly landed on my back.”
Derek hovers his hand over Avery’s shoulder, afraid to hurt him but desperate to touch him somehow. Leaning forward, Avery connects the soft front of his body not just to Derek’s hand, but his whole arm, resting his weight against Derek as he exposes his back. It was hidden by the angle of how he was sitting, but now Derek sees that his t-shirt has disintegrated in places, having done nothing to protect his skin from the violent friction of the road.
“Avery…” Derek says.
“It’s alright. I’m on good painkillers and I sleep on my front anyway.”
“Avery, I need you to stop downplaying everything. It’s only making me worry so much more.”
He feels the sag of Avery’s slow, sad sigh against his arm, and feels guilty for being so blunt. Then, Avery says, quietly, “I’m sorry. I just thought, y’know, with infinite knowledge… you’d already know I was fine.”
“I don’t need infinite knowledge to see that you’re not.”
A nurse approaches them. Derek recognises her – she always gave him extra dessert when he stayed here and liked to talk about her daughter at university. If he weren’t so focused on Avery, he’d ask how she was, but all he can do is look up at her as though begging her to click her fingers and heal Avery instantly.
“X-ray time,” she smiles. “It’s good to see you, Derek.”
“You too,” he says, still not moving until Avery takes his own weight and sits up straight. He winces as he gingerly holds his right hand in his left, standing up and following the nurse away from the waiting area. When they reach the x-ray room, labelled with a plaque, the nurse indicates for Derek to stay outside.
“But-” he says.
“It’s alright,” Avery reassures with a smile. “It’s an x-ray. They’re not taking me out back to shoot me dead.”
Derek still doesn’t want to leave him, but he doesn’t have time to come up with a reasonable protest before the door is shut and he’s alone again. Leaning against the wall, there are less people to observe here – those who walk down this way are usually headed towards the bathroom. It’s probably for the best that Derek is waiting around far away from the trauma centre, where people are brought when they get hit by cars and don’t survive. He has to keep reminding himself that Avery got lucky. Not lucky enough, but still.
After five minutes, he begins to worry. Could the x-ray machine have malfunctioned, firing demon-core radiation poisoning at Avery? Has his head injury suddenly worsened; has he collapsed on the floor? There are infinite possibilities and, without Avery in his line of sight, any one of them could be true. Derek tries to remember what Avery taught him about counting his breaths in measures of four, inhaling and pausing and exhaling to calm himself down when everything gets too much. He can’t afford to panic here – not when Avery, dying or injured, needs him either way.
Just when it becomes almost unbearable – when he begins to hyperventilate and feel the sweat-scratch of his back against the wall – he’s brought back to the truth by a gentle hand on his shoulder. “All done,” Avery is smiling at him, his right arm in a sling.
“All done?”
“It’s broken for sure,” he says. “But it’s not a bad break. They’re gonna let the swelling go down over the next few days and then put a cast on it. So start thinking about all the funny things you’re going to draw on it, because just signing your name isn’t enough. But that’s all.”
“That’s… all?”
“And a minor concussion,” the nurse chimes in, directing the slightly stern remark at Avery. “So you’ll need someone to stay with you for the next 24 hours just to make sure you don’t feel any worse. And your symptoms might continue for the next two weeks. But anything new – especially vomiting – and you come straight back, okay?”
“Of course,” Derek says.
“He won’t let me out of his sight,” Avery says, somewhat proudly. “Scout’s honour.”
“Well, then I’m confident to discharge you, Avery. I’ll see you again in three days and after that-” she smiles and looks at both of them in turn. “I hope to see neither of you again very soon, alright?”
As they slowly walk towards the exit of the hospital, Derek looks around every corner in his mind before they actually get there, trying to pre-empt trip hazards and clear a path for Avery to get back to the car safely. The potentially treacherous journey is lengthened by the fact that Avery stops to smile at multiple hospital staff, exchanging pleasantries and gesturing towards his sling with an exaggerated expression. Derek silently gives him all the time he needs, but when they get back to the car, he lets out a long-held breath.
“You actually got her here in one piece,” Avery says. “I’m impressed.”
“I’ve got precious cargo on the way back,” Derek opens the passenger side door for Avery. “You’re about to witness the safest driving you’ve ever seen.”
With a slight wince as he awkwardly manoeuvrers his body into the car, Avery sits down and, when Derek joins him, says, “Wow. It’s weird being in my own passenger seat.”
“Yeah,” Derek smiles, buckling both of their seatbelts. “That’s my seat.”
“Don’t worry,” Avery says. “You’ll always be my passenger princess.”
“Bold words for someone who’s going to need me to drive him around.”
In trying to turn it on, Derek immediately stalls the car.
Avery lets out a short, loud laugh, followed by a mumbled, “Fuck.” Looking over, Derek sees that he’s bracing himself and hunching forwards, his injured back hovering away from the seat. There’s a blanket and some pillows in the back that he keeps around for when Derek sleeps during long drives, and Derek leans over to bring them into the front.
“Here,” he says, using the pillow to create a soft barrier for Avery to lean against instead of the rough fabric of the car seat.
“Thanks.”
“You ready?”
Avery nods. “As I’ll ever be. Try not to hit anyone skateboarding on the way home. The last thing we need right now is a time loop.”
“I think those painkillers are making you a bit time loopy.”
“Mm, maybe. I just want to rest.”
“That’s okay,” Derek says. “I’ll look after us both.”
He clears his mind of road accidents, engine failure, harsh braking. He pulls the car out of the parking space smoothly, all his focus concentrated on not jerking Avery’s sore body around. Before he merges onto the road, he takes a long look at Avery, resting his head against the window, and thinks not of disaster – only of the warm apartment, the safety of duty, the strange pride of repaying a favour.