Blink

Woke

The night doesn't go well.

Scott wakes up freezing. His headache is back with full force and his shoulder hurts so much he can barely think to find the PCA thing. He rides out the long minutes it takes to work but once the drug finally kicks in, it barely seems to take the edge off and he wants to cry with frustration.

Shit, he can't handle this. He presses the button again. The machine beeps back at him. It hasn't been long enough. He knows that but he can't...he can't handle this. He pushes it again and can feel himself losing it when it just beeps plaintively at him.

He doesn't know if it's his harsh breathing or the fucking beeping that wakes his father, but soon he's standing beside the bed there's a cool hand surrounding the fist Scott has clenched around the traitorous controller.

"Scott? What's wrong? Did you push—"

"Yeah. S'not enough. Hurts." He pushes it once more for good measure, letting his dad hear the beeped refusal. "Dad, please!"

His father reaches for another controller, a smaller, plain looking one with a single grey button. "We'll get a nurse in here." He presses the button and then puts a hand to Scott's good cheek, cupping the jaw Scott's got clenched so tight he's afraid be might crack his own teeth. "Hold on, kiddo. It'll just—God, Scott." His hand moves from his jaw to his forehead. "You're burning up!"

No, he's not. He's cold. Burning up would be warm and warm would feel fantastic right about now.

A tinny alto voice comes in through an intercom behind his head. "Yes, do you need something?"

"My son's pain is a lot worse. And he has a fever."

"Someone will be right there."

Scott gasps out a sob at the thought of even a minor delay. His father is sitting right beside him now, murmuring hushed, soothing words before giving up and resorting to humming quietly. The tune is familiar, but Scott can't place it. It both helps a lot and not at all. His dad takes the PCA controller and lets Scott clutch uselessly at his hand instead.

A nurse comes in, opening and quickly closing his room door behind her. Scott's barely able to pay attention and he completely fails to catch her name even though he's pretty sure she introduces herself. She checks his temperature and gently peels back some of the bandages near his shoulder. She also fiddles with the PCA device and talks to his dad for what seems like forever.

"I'm going to get Dr. Briar to come look at you," she says finally. "And I'll get some additional pain meds approved at the same time. It won't be long, Scott."

Bullshit, Scott thinks. It's already been an eternity.

"Thank you," his dad says. And yeah, maybe that's the more appropriate, polite response. Scott's not in the mood for appropriate or polite, which is a bit out of character for him. Well, the impolite part is out of character. He has to admit he's often inappropriate.

"Why is she allowed to be in there?" whines a strident voice from the hallway as the nurse opens the door to leave. She pauses in the doorway, clearly taken aback by whatever's going on outside the room.

"She's doing her job," comes a softer but far more threatening tone. Even in Scott's less than ideal state he recognizes the sound of a pissed off Austin. "Hospital security is on the way and I'm sure they've called the police. Do not make me report you as an immediate threat. You won't like the result."

Incidentally, Scott, Mitch, and Kirstie may or may not have repeatedly debated whether getting to appreciate the sight of Austin when he's angry is worth being freaked out by whatever situation made him angry in the first place. Kirst generally votes no, Mitch almost always votes "hell yes, Daddy", and Scott's response depends almost entirely on how long it's been since he got laid.

"Everyone thinks he's dead!" says the unfamiliar voice. "Let me look for two seconds. If it's really him, I'll just take a picture and—"

"Absolutely not!" Austin snarls, louder now. There's the sound of a short scuffle. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Back up, now!"

Definitely not worth it this time, and not just because Scott can't actually see Austin.

Scott's occasionally scared by fans, more often since this past June. But he's a big, powerful-looking guy. People generally think twice before fucking with him, at least in person. Tweets and Insta comments can get a little weird sometimes, but Kirstie and Mitch have to deal with far more creepy bullshit on a regular basis than he, Kevin, or Avi do.

He doesn't like this. Not at all. He's got Austin, hospital security, apparently the police on their way, and his father all protecting him and he's never felt so vulnerable in his life.

The nurse finally steps out, closing the door quickly and firmly behind her. Scott looks up at his dad who's squeezing his hand, jaw clenched almost as tightly as Scott's.

"I love your fans, Scotty," he says, glaring at the closed door. "I met some of the most amazing people in Dallas last week. But sometimes..."

"Yeah," Scott agrees, grunting as another wave of pain flows over him. He pants, trying to regain his breath. He needs a distraction from both his body and his helplessness. "They think I'm dead?"

Hid dad shakes his head. "Not the smart ones. Not anymore. The hospital released a statement saying you were in serious but non-life-threatening condition after your surgery. Your mom got caught by a reporter on the way out last night. She didn't say much, just confirmed you're expected to fully recover. But there are rumors, everything from you dying when your baby mama went crazy—"

Scott has to snort at that. Hashtag TrueStory.

"—to the Illuminati assassinating you."

Okay, what? "Did I miss the part where the Illuminati hate acapella singers?"

"Conspiracy theories don't make sense, Scott. It's the Internet." His dad squeezes his hand and smiles a bit. "Mitch wanted to tweet a bunch of triangles for some reason, but Esther wouldn't let him."

Of course he did.

Scott idly wonders what @ptxconspiracies is saying, but decides Alexx and their friends have too much tact to be getting in on this.

Fuck, he's exhausted.

His attempts at distracting himself from how he's feeling are failing. He spends a few minutes concentrating on breathing and trying to remember warm things like stage lighting and volleyball on the beach and Mitch's lips on his own.

It doesn't work very well. Thankfully the nurse finally comes back in.

"Okay, Scott. I've got some extra hydromorphone for you and we're going to up your acetaminophen as well, which should also help deal with your fever." She sticks a syringe in a port-thing on his IV tube, and then fiddles with the valve of a small bag hanging beside the main one that Scott hasn't even noticed before. "The doctor will be here in a minute and she's going to try to determine if you're starting an infection or if your fever is caused by something else."

Scott's dad thanks her again. Scott probably should too, but he's run out of energy for even the most basic of conversation.

Blink.