Blink

Answers

"He didn't remember the accident." Scott's dad's voice gradually drifts into his sleep. "He was horrified when we told him you'd been hurt while he was driving. He basically shut down after that. I didn't know what...He's a good driver, but he's not always...Connie gets so angry about the car SnapChats."

Yes, yes she does. Scott's been on the receiving end of more than one lecture about it. He's always blown it off as his parents worrying too much, but wow, look where that apparently got him.

"I swear, Rick. It wasn't his fault." And oh, it's Mitch. Mitch is here. Mitch is...Mitch is defending him? "I know he snaps and texts too much when he's driving, but he wasn't this time. He was bitching about my choice of playlist, which I admit I put on just to drive him nuts, but he wasn't distracted."

Weird-ass electronica, then. Mitch has amazing taste in music, but his love of some of the more bizarrely-produced dance tracks baffles even Scott a lot of the time. Although sometimes it's totally worth letting Mitch be Mitch and play them on repeat just to see Avi's face when he hears it.

Scott may possibly be focusing on the less-than-key aspects of Mitch's point. He instead focuses on trying to claw his way back to full consciousness.

It seems to be working. Plus side, he can feel his shoulder again. Down side, he can feel his fucking shoulder again.

Scott's dad lets out a puff of air. "What happened? Esther didn't know when she called to tell us and arrange our flights, and then we were too busy trying to get here to ask questions. Was anyone else hurt? The people in the truck?"

"There was only a driver." A hand settles on Scott's forearm, warm and comforting and too small to be his father's. "They took him away in an ambulance long before they could get Scott out. I couldn't see any serious injuries but they were doing CPR on the guy. The cops who interviewed me that night didn't have any information on his condition and I haven't heard anything since."

Oh. Oh, God. Scott's been so focused on feeling sorry for himself and worrying about Mitch that he didn't stop to consider whoever was in the truck. Is he... did he kill someone? The realization is enough to wake him up the rest of the way, and shit he instantly regrets it.

The pain flares quickly and soon Scott's clawing at the blanket with his good hand as he tries to get a handle on it without actually screaming. He considers the deep groan that comes out instead to be a tolerable compromise. The warm hand slides up so it's gripping his bicep rather than his forearm, but thankfully it doesn't let go. Scott really needs the connection to someone else's body while his own is betraying him so badly.

"Scott, press this, kiddo," his dad's voice says, and the PCA button is placed in his hand before he even manages to open his eyes. He pushes it gratefully, and then pushes twice more for good measure even though he knows that's not how it works. The machine beeps its refusal back at him, but like an elevator or a crosswalk button, abusing it makes him feel like he's actually accomplishing something.

Mitch is sitting closest to him, beside his right shoulder. It's his hand on Scott's arm and he looks upset. Mitch winces a bit when they make eye contact—why is everyone doing that?—but also manages a small but genuine smile.

Once the pain starts to subside, Scott looks Mitch over. He takes in the too-pale face, the bruises and cuts, some of which have a couple of stitches or little bandages, the awkward way he's holding himself that suggests further damage under his clothes, his stubbled head and complete lack of makeup, and the bright pink cast around his left wrist. Fuck. "Mitch."

"God," Mitch's voice hitches. "It's so good to see you awake."

Scott's not so sure it's good to be awake. In fact, he's pretty sure it isn't. But if his being awake makes Mitch happy, he'll manage it for as long as possible. Besides, he'll never be able to sleep again if he doesn't at least start apologizing. "I...I'm so sorry, Mitchy."