A1 Sauce
Death is a polite thing.
It holds intricate details of your life that suggest it might be worth living, soft familiar voices ringing through black air that beckon and coo and sigh. A lot of the voices sound like Sam and Josh to Chris, sound like his dad. The white lights follow him to the end, where his mother's red lipped smile cracks open so impossibly wide, all teeth and tongue.
She tells him to crawl inside if he wants to live.
Chris does.
It's 10:47 AM.
That's what the clock says, what his mind says. 10:47 AM. He's in a hospital room, the quiet beeping of the monitor steady with his heartbeat. It's beige, impersonal aside from the tray of unopened cards and balloons. A present sits in one of the seats, dressed up beautifully in olive and blue. Soft voices come from the other side of a closed door.
There's a ringing in his ear, a high pitch whine whenever he tries to focus.
Chris breathes.
His throat is dry, lips chapped, tasting of sandpaper and metal. Chris struggles to move. He feels like sand, this constant beading texture moving under his skin. Chris sighs heavily. It hurts to do so. The colors blend together. Chris closes his eyes. There are no thoughts, no random songs, just blank.
The door to his hospital room opens. Chris forces his eyes open. A doctor slips inside with dark, wavy hair and glasses. He seems surprised to see Chris awake.
"Good Morning, I'm Dr. Cheski." The doctor, Cheski, introduces himself, fishing out a small pen light from his breast pocket. He clicks it on, ordering Chris to follow the point, follow the light, squeeze his hand until the doctor smiles in approval.
"You've been asleep for a while. How do you feel?"
"Like shit."
Dr. Cheski laughs. It's a nice sound. "Well, that's what happens sometimes. Your dads been at your bedside since you came in. Want me to go get him?"
Chris nods drowsily. He watches Dr. Cheski disappear through the same door. The silence lasts a minute before his dad comes into view.
"Oh. Hey, kiddo." He speaks softly, hand curled around a portable IV stand. He's in an old, navy sweater and plain sweats. Chris tries to smile. He can feel it twitch on his lips, dying away before it fully forms. His dad quietly closes the door behind him, shuffling over to his son with a quiet smile.
"You made it." Chris finds himself trying to smile again. It stays this time. His dad returns it, tiny, hollowed stretch of lips. Chris wonders if it's the drugs they're pumping in causing the happiness that filters through his brain. He never thought he'd be happy to his dad standing beside his bed. Chris contemplates telling him that his mom guided him away from the compelling idea of death.
But his dad was still alive. He was here at Chris' bedside.
"Yeah. We both did." His dad responds. He grabs a chair nestled in the corner and drags it over. It takes a minute for his dad to sit down, a muted wince etching across his face. Chris reaches his hand out. It trembles slightly. His dad takes it with a surprised look.
"I-I'm sorry, dad." Chris mutters softly. "I'm... I'm sorry. I'm-"
"Hey, kiddo. Hey." His dad hushes him, squeezing his hand. Chris swallows, mimicking the gesture until he tires. It's barely a few seconds. A few seconds of firm grasping, grasping that slowly becomes a tremble, a tremble that shifts into a terrible shake.
His dad eases Chris' hand down to the bed, folding his own over it. He leans forward, IV cord dangling.
"I'm sorry too." His dad says.
Chris shakes his head tiredly. "Dad-"
"No, Chris."
Chris forces himself to look at his dad. He can see the beginnings of wrinkles, the worry lines, eyes tired and dull. His dad cracks a smile.
"Chris," he starts, wetting his lips. "I'm not a good guy or a good dad. I put you through so much these past couple of years. I don't expect forgiveness or anything. But. I want you to know I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. For me. I'm sorry, Chris. I'm sorry. I should've protected you from what happened, from me."
His voice breaks towards the end, worn fingers trembling over Chris'. Chris isn't sure what to say, what he can say. He could say it's okay, that he's past it all because life suddenly seems so simple when you're up against something evil. Chris was alive. He could move past the tension between them, the unspoken trail of eggshells they've created. His dad wanted to be a dad. Chris could be a son.
He zones out a bit, searching for words until he can't find what to say so instead Chris nods his head a bit. That earns him a shaky smile, another squeeze against his skin. This could work, August and Chris. Chris is in a hospital room, lying on a bed, wrapped up too warm in quilts. He's survived the worse. He could survive through another try at being family.
"Guess we both got some battle scars out of this, yeah?"
Chris finds himself frowning, unsure what exactly his dad is referring to. Chris takes in his surrounding again, the blurred quality, the gifts, the plain walls, his arm. His arm. Chris pushes at the blanket tucked around him. The IV gets caught on a thread, nearly tearing out in his haste but he has to see.
"Chris.." His dad's voice rattles his insides.
Chris' right arm is bandaged tight, smooth white gauze nestled around an uneven slab of skin. Fingers graze along the edge. His thoughts collide into one another, racking through memories and facts and Chris stares into the space where the rest of his arm would be. It's a numbing acknowledgement.
Chris forces himself to look away, to look back at his dad, the familiar burn of tears stinging his eyes. It all tumbles around inside him with a startling clarity, the mountain, the Nixkamich, Josh. Josh. Josh.
"Where's Josh?"
"Chris-"
"Dad, where's Josh? Emily?"
His dad sputters, appearing nervous.
"Hannah? Sam?" Chris forces himself upright. "Beth? Are they okay? Where is Josh?"
"Chris-"
"Dad, please." Chris stresses, voice a bit high and shrill. His dad takes in Chris' distressed expression, sighing heavily in response. He slouches back in his seat.
"Everyone is fine. The girls are fine." His dad informs him. Chris stares at him expectantly.
"And... Josh?"
"He's okay." His dad sighs again. "He's at a different hospital. Somewhere outside of town."
Somewhere far from you, is what Chris' mind tells him. It flares up in his chest like something akin to panic. Chris didn't understand what it meant, Josh being far away, at another hospital. He didn't understand why. Chris fists at his blanket.
"C-Can... When will I be able to see him?
"I don't know, kiddo." His dad answers sadly. "His parents came by with that." He gestures to the large present sitting in the chair.
"Did they say anything?" Chris stares down into his lap.
"No, Chris. I'm sorry."
Chris blinks back tears. "D-Did you see him?"
"No."
"What will everyone think happened?"
"A bear attack."
Chris almost laughs.
"They found you in the woods near the abandoned building on 51. Sam was with you. Josh and the others were found a couple of blocks away. It was... a very convincing story."
Chris turns to him. "You went looking for me. Before your accident. You went looking and you found Josh instead."
"Yeah."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
His dad smiles. "I don't think I would've believed you."
A knock comes to the door, the creak of the hinge filling the room. Sam's head pops in through the crack, immediately wincing when she notices both Pilgrims staring back at her. August beckons her inside, bracing himself on the arm of the chair as he stands.
"You don't have to leave, Mr. Pilgrim. I'm just here. I can wait. Outside." Sam says hurriedly.
August raises an eyebrow at her. "I'm going to see if I can get some lime jello before Mr. Pulanski in room 308 steals it all again."
He hands Chris his glasses from the nearby desk. Chris huffs out a laugh, sliding them onto his face. Everything becomes a bit clearer. "You don't even like limes."
His dad leans over, pressing a small kiss to Chris' forehead. "It's lime or tapioca and I'm not that old yet to consider tapioca."
August turns to Sam. "I'll let you guys catch up."
Sam nods nervously, slipping further inside the room. A large bag sits between her fingers. It's weird seeing her this way, in a sweater too big and leggings, hair disheveled and messy like she slept on one side too long.
"Will you come back?" Chris asks before August leaves.
"I'm your dad. Of course I will. I'll bring you a lime jello."
Sam continues to awkwardly stand there, eyes focused on the floor until August leaves, door closing behind him. Sam looks up, hazel eyes watering. Her hands twist along the handle of the bag she's holding. Chris slouches back in his bed. He smiles softly at her.
"I'm so glad you're okay."
A look of guilt flashes across Sam's face, lips parting as she grimaces.
"Sam-"
"I'm so sorry, Chris." Sam croaks, chest heaving and she's crying. The entire situation unsettles Chris because Sam was probably the most grounded out of everyone, besides Emily but even Chris has seen Emily cry. Chris exhales shakily.
"Sam. Sam, don't cry please."
"This is all my fault. If... If I just would've been fast enough on the mountain you wouldn't have been injured and this wouldn't have happened." Sam babbles, face red as she furiously wipes the tears. "I fucked up. I fucked up, Chris. I'm so sorry."
Sam hiccups loudly, fingers uncurling around the bag. It falls to the floor with a soft thump. Chris tries to figure out what to say, how to reassure her but Sam is standing in front of his bed, sobbing loudly. Chris never wants to see anything like this again.
"Sam. Sammy, listen to me." Chris reaches for her, shoulder protesting with a sharp ache. He exhales shakily. Sam hurries to him, taking his hand in hers. She doesn't mention the way his hold quivers, doesn't mention how quickly he's slouching back on the bed. Sam just sits beside him, holding his hand tightly and cries and cries and cries.
Chris isn't sure how long it lasts, but the hands on the clock have shifted considerably since he woke up. Sam's grip is nearly crushing but it's such an easy, simple pain when Chris considers what happened to him.
"How long has it been?" Chris asks when Sam quiets.
"Two weeks."
Chris' eyebrows raise. "Really? It felt like a second."
"Chris," Sam stresses. "You were in a coma. The doctors said it was unlikely if you woke up from it. Josh was.... It's been rough, Chris. Emily did all your make up work, even though the school was pretty understanding given the circumstances."
"How did you guys get me to the woods? I'm pretty sure I bled everywhere. Did they see anything? The circle?"
"It was salt so it was pretty easy to get rid of. The police didn't even search the area. We told them you and Josh were hanging out and then a bear attacked and dragged you away."
Chris snorts. "That's such a bullshit story."
"It's probably a lot easier to believe than a 17 year old boy ripping apart his best friend."
The words unsettle him. Chris glances back at his missing forearm.
"How's Josh?" Chris asks quietly.
Sam sits back in her seat, slowly releasing Chris' hand. She sighs. "He's not good, Chris. They've sewn up most of his face but... You need to focus on your recovery first."
Chris turns to her. "I want to see him."
"I know." Sam nods. "I know. I do too. He's getting discharged this week I think. Josh won't be back to school though. His mom is taking time off to watch him and he'll be homeschooled for the remainder of the year. The Twins will also be... there to help."
"Oh." Chris says dumbly. He slumps down further, staring at the ceiling with a dull emptiness. Josh wasn't coming back to school. He wasn't coming back. Chris doesn't even know if he'll be able to see him.
"This blows." Chris mumbles. It's not what he wants to say but it's the closest thing to the dejection he feels. Sam shifts in her seat beside him.
"Want to open all your wack ass gifts?"
Chris shrugs. "Yeah. Okay."
Sam seems grateful for his willingness, busy distracting herself with placing different bags on Chris' bed. Chris awkwardly fumbles with the first one, used to two hands instead of one. He nearly sends the contents spilling to the ground but Sam catches it easily. Most of them are 'Get Well' cards with bears covered in felt, some a bit more personal like Emily's detailed binder regarding EOCTs or Matt's Steve Jobs bobble head that has a football helmet on it. Ashley left behind a cute phone charm, Jess' a massive 6 disc Blu Ray copy of all Star Wars films with a 'sick ass, baby' written on the front.
Sam purposely leaves the large present in the chair untouched, handing Chris gift after gifts. Mike sent a wolf plush wearing a bow tie. Sam's gift was a bit endearing because it's just the jacket Chris was wearing that day, free of blood, beautifully stitched back together. He folds it against his chin, smoothing the plush fabric in his hands.
"Thank you." Chris says softly.
"It's the least I could do." Sam grins. It doesn't quite reach her eyes. She takes the large present from the seat, hands slightly creasing the olive wrapping.
"From the Washington's." Sam tells him, setting it in front of him. Chris slowly peels the paper, pushing the blue binding away easily. A black box sits underneath. Chris glances at Sam, who shrugs with a bit of a smile. He opens it. There's a clear container inside, the top covered in different blueprints. Chris realizes the prints are for a prosthetic, beautifully detailed.
"Who drew these?" Chris already knows the answer but it seems a bit surreal.
"Josh." Sam answers. "Your doctor knows about it but you know how Melinda and Bob are. Flashy. Surprises. They'll probably fit you for it within the week."
"It can't be that easy."
"Somethings are, Chris."
Chris further opens the gift. The clear container inside is glass with an intricate way to get in. A prosthetic sits inside, pale, matte peach, almost like porcelain, suspended on a simple black beam.The joints in the fingers don't look how he's expecting, no robotic knuckles or thumb. It looks almost real but also painfully a fake because Chris knows his arm is gone. Forever. Chris touches the glass, a lump forming in his throat.
"Chris.."
"I never told him I loved him." Chris admits, staring intently at the prosthetic. "I never said it."
Sam sits down beside him. "I'm sure he knows, Chris. It's kinda been obvious since middle school. You went through a lot for him this year. You lost your arm, Chris. Josh knows."
Chris shakes his head furiously. "I should've told him. I should've.. Sam, what if I never see him again?"
He turns to her, eyes swelling with tears. Sam reaches out and grabs his hand. She squeezes once, then twice. Her smile wavers.
"That won't happen, Chris. Just focus on getting better. They had to pop your shoulder back in place and you almost died on the operating table when your heart crashed. You need to focus on you. It's what Josh would want. And when you're better. Not 100% but like 80%, I'll make it happen."
"Sam-"
"No, Chris." Sam snaps angrily. Her mouth is twisted into a frown, eyebrows furrowed. She's staring at him, staring at him with a look that reminds Chris of his mom.
"Ok." Chris says. "I'll leave it to you."
Sam sits down in the chair beside his bed. She reaches for his hand. Chris takes it.
"I'm so happy you woke up, Chris."
Chris is too.