Night's Omen

The size of the party was pretty ridiculous.  Sebastian stood at the far end of the room in a rather heated debate with an older girl about the fundamentals of politics.  No, the most important part of a campaign was not health care or global warming.  Those were footnotes to more important issues, like the war and keeping the nation whole despite the inner feuding.  He was so absolutely tired of people who spent their free time berating America for their lack of free health care and their inability to go green.  Health care was certainly a wonderful perk, but if you were really in need of assistance, you could go to the emergency room.  The doctors in the ER would surely be annoyed, but they would never turn anyone away.  Didn’t these people know the first thing about how hospitals were set up?  About the oath those people took to never turn away from a patient?

It was irritating, to say the least.

What was more irritating was the fact that the damn woman wouldn’t shut up for five seconds and actually use her miniscule brain.  It was like talking to a brick wall with too much makeup.  Before he knew it, he was insulting her lack of adequate mind capabilities and reducing her to tears.

She got what she deserved.  If she couldn’t handle it, she shouldn’t have opened her fat trap to begin with.  It was all very simple, really.

Once that was over and done with, he mingled with a few friends and told them the story of the idiot girl, who was apparently named Ashley.  He left out the minor detail about insulting her; they more than likely wouldn’t have found that as funny as Sebastian did, which was a shame, but he wasn’t going to tempt fate.

Seeing his friend Cara enter the home was like a jumpstart for him.  He greeted her with a smile and let her wrap him in a hug which he returned, albeit awkwardly, before catching a dance with her.  He had a sneaking suspicion that she had a “thing” for him, but he ignored it for lack of a better solution.  She didn’t seem to mind, so really, was he doing anything wrong?  It wasn’t as if she had actually said anything, right?

The hours slipped away, one after the other without so much as a good bye.  The crowd began to thin, bodies flooding out of the door, and Sebastian realized that he should probably leave as well.  Once his friends were gone, there was really no point anymore.  The first step to leaving, though, was to find his brother.  Desiré knew most of these people, so the challenge was figuring out just who he was hanging out with.

It didn’t take too terribly long before he heard his brother’s laughter against several others.  He was soon standing beside him; arms crossed over his chest and face impassive as he waited for the group to finish their conversation.  This was particularly considerate of him since his more recent habit was to just butt in.

When the words finally subsided and Desiré turned his attention onto his brother, Sebastian looked towards the door meaningfully.  “Can we go now?”

They left then, heading down the stairs of the old house and into the grass towards their car.  The dirt road was long and uneven, hard to navigate through in the dark, but somehow Sebastian really just wanted to drive.  He doubted his protective older brother would let him, but it was always worth a try.

As they walked side by side, Sebastian hazarded a look at Desiré.  “Hey Dez, can I drive?”

It was just an argument waiting to happen and Sebastian should have known that.

Even after a few hours of horsing around with his friends, some who'd already graduated and some who hadn't, Sebastian really should have known better than to ask to drive with all of the crazies out.  Normally, Desiré wouldn't have cared all that much if Sebastian wanted to drive, since his brother had his license, and he could be trusted not to smash the car up like an idiot.  It was dark, a dirt road, and there were people all over the place who'd been drinking, some of them driving.  Desiré himself had done some drinking hours earlier, but he wasn't stupid and his 'protective older brother' streak was showing.  There was no way he'd drive with Sebastian in the car if he'd been drinking.  He didn't trust the people around them either, though.

"We have to take Uncle Dirk to the store to get his old man magazines, so why don't you drive then?  We have to follow Chris out of here, and I know he's been drinking too much to remember not to speed as much as he usually does," he explained, offering up a solution at the same time.  Usually, that was the best way to deal with any issue.  Offer a solution.  Sebastian was a strange case, though.  He wasn't likely to agree easily.

"Come on, you know what Chris is like.  Can't get him to follow the rules of the road when he hasn't had anything to drink.  I still don't see how he got his license."

Sebastian huffed, just barely avoiding a pout along with it.  Thankfully, he had grown out of the pouting several years ago.  Instead, to replace it, he had gotten a sharper tongue.  Fair trade, right?  Certainly.

"Chris is an idiot.  Everyone knows that.  And so are the morons running the DMV; that dumbass should have never had his license to begin with."  Most of this was said in a rather matter of fact tone of voice, but some of the words had a point on the tip.  He was insulting Chris.  But then, he didn't like the guy--who did Sebastian like?

"But I don't see why this has anything to do with me.  Sure he can't drive, but I've driven in the city before.  People can't drive there either."  Surprisingly, his voice had yet to raise.  That wasn't promise for the future, though.  Sebastian's eyes slid up to his brother's face as they approached the car, glaring accusingly.  "Or don't you think I'm capable?"

There was something inside of Sebastian that was always on the defensive; always believing that everyone hated him and thought that he was terrible.  That he couldn't do anything right.  It was a mixture of the things that people had said to him as well as the actions of, say, Uncle Dirk.  He honestly believed, or was afraid, that everyone believed he was weak and defenseless.  Of course, because he never shared those thoughts, no one had ever told him otherwise.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he raised his shoulders with silent anger and let his nostrils flare out when he let out a quick breath of air.  He knew knew knew that Desiré wasn't going to give up on this and deep down, he knew he shouldn't argue.  He couldn't let his pride go enough to just accept it, though.  So, instead, he made his way around the car and climbed in the passenger's seat, kicking his feet up on the dashboard and staring out of the window.

He was in.  So there.

Well.  Desiré couldn't argue with Sebastian about Chris, even if he DID think the guy wasn't as bad as his brother seemed to think.  He wasn't GOING to argue, either.  That wasn't the point.  The point was that Desiré wasn't going to have Sebastian driving with a bunch of drunks running around.  Period.

"Sebastian, of course I think you're capable.  I just know Chris and the kind of shit he pulls, so I'd prefer to drive," he offered instead, finally sighing in relief when Sebastian got in on the passenger side.  As far as he was concerned, discussion over.  He wasn't going to say another thing on the subject.

Really, he didn't know why it always came down to whether or not Sebastian was 'capable', since that was never on Desiré's mind.  Sebastian seemed to think it was important, though.  Naturally, it didn't occur to him that his little brother might have a really low self-esteem, since he didn't see a reason why.  Sebastian was smart as hell, and had a razor-sharp wit.  Desiré was a little slower on the uptake.

He had the car started up, and was following Chris' car without another word, and sure enough, the guy was going WAY too fast on the dirt road.  Desiré muttered a short little curse as he upped his own speed to avoid being left in a literal cloud of dust, but he felt better knowing that it wasn't his brother trying to keep up with the guy.

They were going way too fast.  Really, they were.  This was absolutely ridiculous, and he was going to have to bring it up to Chris later.  If he didn't think he guy would either freak or not hear it, he'd have called his cell to tell him to slow the hell down.  "I am going to kick the shit out of Chris later.  Look at the way he's driving!"

But Desiré was the Golden Boy, so of course he couldn't understand why Sebastian would have a low self-esteem.  Not with the confidence he had--how could he possibly sympathize?  Not that this was honestly a thought rolling through Sebastian, but he had thought it in the past.  He had even told Desiré that he was the favorite and that their mother and father and even Uncle Dirk thought that he could do no wrong.  Even when he would take the blame for something that both he and Sebastian did, they were never really hard on him.  But when it was Sebastian, it turned into another, "Oh God.  What did we do to create such a terrible kid?"  At least, that was what it seemed like when their mother would sigh and speak in that incredibly reasonable tone of hers, exasperated and tired from just looking at Sebastian.

He wasn't entirely wrong.  It wasn't just his imagination that made it all seem this way.  Their mother had really just stopped trying to show her youngest son affection because every time that she tried, he pushed her away.  She wanted to, in actuality, because once upon a time he used let her.  He was always less openly affectionate than most children, but it was once not uncommon for him to just fall into a hug that he desperately needed.  Now she was lucky if she could even pat him on the shoulder.  So naturally she couldn't help but sigh when Sebastian would get himself into more trouble, because it seemed like all he ever did was get into trouble.  Even her friends worried about him, and hell, he had even gotten into fights with several of her friends.  She knew that they didn't like him, although they'd never say it, and that they thought he was going to grow into something horrible.

Even though Sebastian wasn't aware of it, she worried a lot and wanted nothing short of the best for him.  She wanted him to be happy.

No one ever told him, though.  He never heard it.  He hadn't heard them say that they were proud of him in such a long time, or that he wasn't doomed to be a failure.  He knew that it was his fault, really he did, but it seemed like nothing he could do would fix it.  It was terrible how badly he wanted to hear those words, but since he would never ask for it, it was never said.

As he stared out of the window watching the trees roll by, he couldn't help but wonder when everything had gone downhill.  He almost asked Desiré, opening his mouth to speak, but he quickly thought better of the idea.  Instead he twisted in his seat and flicked on the radio, tossing his feet down off of the dashboard and sighing lightly.

Dammit.

And then Desiré spoke, mentioning Chris and his damn driving.  He shot a glare to Desiré, a rather unyielding look that spoke great volumes about the massive amounts of annoyance and pain and frustration that he was feeling.  That he was always feeling.  And hearing Desiré's voice just was not helping.

"Oh yes, he's a terrific driver, isn't he?  Just look at the way he drives in a wiggly line!  Amazing!"  There was so much acid in his voice.  He was just so angry.  "I don't know how he manages!  It's as if he was a pro or something.  To the left, to the right; you think there's no method to the madness, but there is!  Chris knows what he's doing!"  His voice lowered, "Why'd you pick him to follow anyway, Desiré?  Weren't there less incapacitated people roaming around?"

In there somewhere, there was a thinly veiled insult directed at Desiré.  He had horrible taste in friends.  None of them were worthwhile people.  It made Desiré look bad.

Without even thinking, Desiré shot a look at his younger brother, a little shocked at the vehemence of his response.  He could have expected Sebastian to be a little bent about not driving, but he had no way of predicting his brother's thought processes.  He had no idea that Sebastian's thoughts had taken a rotten turn, nor did he have a clue just how much the boy thought everyone hated him.  He really didn't think that anyone liked him all that much more than Sebastian, especially since Sebastian really DID get better grades, and really WAS much quicker in the wit department.  Desiré was pretty smart, but Sebastian was a force all his own.

A force that pretty much hated anyone Desiré liked, including Chris.  That much had been suggested before, but Sebastian had basically just smacked him in the face with the fact that he hated his friends.  "What?  He wasn't this bad when I talked to him about it!" he said, that being his only real explanation.  He liked Chris.  The guy was funny as hell, and they'd played football together. 

He seemed to realize rather suddenly that he just could NOT afford to give Sebastian as much attention as he'd like to, even if it was only a few seconds, but his eyes returned to the road to find Chris slamming on the breaks in front of them. 

"Shit!"

Desiré definitely didn't want to back-end Chris, even if he was pretty sure the beat-up old Chevy he was driving could take the collision, so he naturally swerved in an attempt to miss his friend's car.  He also slammed on the breaks, but he wasn't getting anymore traction than Chris had in his skidding.  They ended up sailing off the road, everything moving way too fast for a real reaction other than a horrified look on the older boy's face as he realized they were headed straight for a massive tree.  With the amount of space they had on each side of it, he figured in an instant that there'd be more room on Sebastian's side to avoid it, but if they didn't, Sebastian would get crushed. 

So, he jerked the wheel once more, hoping that trying to miss the tree on HIS side would work out better.  Sebastian wouldn't get hit head on.

Sebastian knew his brother wasn't stupid, but he almost insulted his intelligence when Desiré mentioned how Chris hadn't seen that bad off earlier.  He did stop himself, if only because his mind was already ten steps ahead of his mouth and he wasn't angry enough to impulsively shout it, not yet.  He still had his head on his shoulders despite the massive amount of negativity coursing through him.  One person should never have to feel so much.

But when Desiré focused on him, he missed the fact that Chris had come to an abrupt halt, breaks screeching and car rolling over the uneven dirt.  Sebastian's hand instantly grabbed the door and clutched it as tightly as he could, a short yell bubbling from the back of his throat.

He wasn't wearing his seatbelt.  That was all he could think.  They were going to die.

Sebastian didn't remember what happened next.  All he knew was that when he opened his eyes, blood appeared in his vision, dripping from a cut on his forehead.  The entire right side of his body ached, bruised and damaged.  It stung.  He groaned, pushing his face off of the airbag and bringing a shaking left hand to his face.  His right one couldn't move.  His fingers brushed the blood, smearing it against his skin in red comet streaks.

"Desiré," he said quietly, voice harsh with pain as he reached out to his brother.  "Desiré, are you okay?"  Of course he wasn't okay, but that wasn't what he was asking.  He was asking something much more important, but something he couldn't get himself to ask.  Are you alive?

The gravity of the situation suddenly struck him, and just as suddenly, he went numb with panic.  He immediately was fishing in his pockets for his cell phone, hoping that it wasn't crushed.  He had to call an ambulance!  He had to do something!  It didn't matter at that moment that his right arm was broken and that he probably bruised all sorts of internal organs.  Wounds would heal.  No, no, the important thing was making sure that they did.  Get someone there.  Get to safety.

But his phone was in his right pocket, and just like that, his face lost all color.  His cell phone was cracked in half.

It didn't matter though, because somehow, someway, he heard the distant sounds of an ambulance's cry.  The siren was such an amazing noise, calling out to them as it was.  Don't worry, it seemed to say.  Help is coming.  He leaned back in his seat, watching as the red lights drew closer.

"The ambulance is coming," he muttered, whether for his brother's benefit or his own was uncertain, but he seemed to be relieved by it, if only for a moment.

Sebastian wasn't wearing his seatbelt.  That hadn't even occurred to him, though he'd put his own on immediately upon getting in the car.  It was habit, and he hadn't thought about the fact that Sebastian's feet had been up on the dashboard just a few moments before, and just how horrible that would have been.  Desiré had time to realize that he wasn't going to miss the tree, and that hitting it head on would have been smarter.  Instead, it impacted the side of the car and the vehicle kept moving, smashing into the tree all along the driver's side from its momentum.  It crumpled where it met the door, not having an engine to hold off the the abuse, and poor Desiré happened to be less durable than the engine of the old Chevy.

He passed out.  He must have, because the next thing he knew after his whole world exploded was Sebastian's voice, saying his name.  He didn't even move, not sure if he could, and somewhere in his foggy mind, he wondered what that sound was.

Drip, drip, drip...

What was it?  It was so annoying!  WHY didn't someone make it stop?

That was when he moved, tilting his head in the direction of the sound, downward, and it took him almost a full minute to realize what he was looking at.  There was so much metal, and glass, so that he had actually had his head resting against a...tree.  He tilted his head up again almost curiously at the tree, with its abused back and the dark spot on its trunk, but that wasn't what confused him.  It was what was down.  It was like everything below the window was covered in that same dark stuff that was on the tree, and it was all over him.  Forgetting that the seatbelt was holding him as close to the door and the tree as he was, he tried to move.

BAD IDEA. 

He was probably bruised on his right side from the seatbelt itself, which had essentially saved Sebastian from getting crushed by the force of his brother's body, but Desiré's left side was just on fire.  The instant he moved at all, even as little as he did, that was all he felt.  He screamed, not really meaning to, but it took him so completely off-guard that he couldn't help himself.  He'd gone from fuzzy and confused to absolute agony in an instant, and even as he froze and the initial fire faded some, the pain was there and his mind was aware of it, so it wasn't going away.  Somehow, he noticed the cold sweat that started up with the understanding that this whole situation was BAD, and he thought again of Sebastian.  He hadn't really heard what he'd said.

Oh God, was Sebastian alright?

"S-Sabby," he tried, letting his head rest against whatever was closest again.  There were red lights nearby, in the edges of his vision.  Were they supposed to be there?  "How b-bad are you?"

Sebastian was staring out of the cracked windshield, watching the red lights get closer and closer and closer.  He knew Desiré was bad off, that was why he had wanted to call the ambulance in the first place.  It wasn't for him, but for his brother who was smashed against a tree.  He didn't want Desiré to suffer anymore than he had to, and that had included wasting away here.  Sebastian could have easily gotten out of the car and made a break for it.

He wouldn't leave Desiré though, never.  He was hard on him, and specifically went out of his way to make his life difficult, but Sebastian never would wish him dead.  They were brothers.  Sebastian really did love Desiré a lot.

He heard Desiré speak finally and released a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding.  At least, if nothing else, they were both alive.  He was instantly facing Desiré, to the best of his ability, and grabbed his hand with his functioning one.  The action was gentle, just in case Desiré's hand was hurt as well.  "I'm losing feeling in my right side," he answered wryly, laughing at the terrible situation.  There were sad undertones mingling in his voice.  "But I'll live.  The ambulance is coming.  They'll take care of you."

You, not me.  I'll be fine.

The sirens were suddenly on top of them, red lights flashing through the shattered glass and lighting up the inside of the broken car.  Sebastian let his eyes slip from his brother's face to the faces of the men opening his door as they spoke to one another in clear, loud voices.  Despite all of that, Sebastian couldn't understand them.  Everything was garbled.  It was then that he realized just how exhausted he was.

His eyes felt heavy and his head was swimming.  Everything hurt, inside and out.  Blood was running down the side of his face; guilt was swelling inside of his chest.  And for a brief second, Sebastian wished he would die.

It was his fault.  This whole thing was his fault.  He had distracted Desiré.  He had been selfish.  He was always so selfish!  Why.  Why was he such a terrible person?  Why, why, why?  He should have just kept his mouth shut and thought of other people for once.  Thought of Desiré for once.  He should have thought.

He felt himself being hoisted up and he unconsciously wrapped his hand tighter around Desiré.  No, no don't take me from him.  Everything was so distant.  He couldn't see.  He couldn't remember.  These were the good guys.  They were rescuing them.  Heroes.  Something he would never be.

His fingers withdrew from his brother's hand, no longer able to hold on.  They were crawling into the wreckage to get Desiré out.  But everything was hazy and looked as though it was from a dream, and as Sebastian was placed into the ambulance, he could see them moving Desiré, successfully freeing him from the disaster.

"Everything's gonna be alright, kid.  We're taking you to the hospital," he thought he heard someone say.

Everything would be fine.

And Sebastian let his eyes close--his world went black.

As much as Sebastian's thoughts seemed to be flying all over the place, Desiré's were pretty well-centered in the here and now.  Sebastian had answered, not with great news, but he'd managed to laugh, and even an ironic sort of laugh was better than nothing.  He managed an "Okay", for once not pushing for information or details, and squeezed his brother's hand.  That was a good sign, that his right side was at least alright enough for that.  It didn't hurt nearly as much, either.  True, it did still hurt some, but it was nothing in comparison.

Ah, the red lights.  They were getting brighter, and hopefully, they'd help drown out the dripping sounds he could still hear.  He'd finally realized what that was, and he didn't want to hear it anymore.  He didn't want to think about it. 

Suddenly, there were people, and it made him wonder if he'd slipped off again, only to have woken up when they started jolting him around.  Fortunately for his own dignity, he didn't even have the ability to yell anymore, mostly due to the way his consciousness still wanted to slip away, and so it was his breathing that was affected as they pulled him out of there.  It hurt a thousand times worse than it had that first time he'd moved, but at least he knew it was coming.  Where was Sebastian?

Where was he?  Sebastian!

Had he said it out loud?  Really, he didn't have the slightest clue.  All he knew was that there were voices somewhere in the fog around him, everything hurt, and he had the vague sense of movement.  He didn't know where Sebastian was, and that was a problem, but his mind couldn't even dredge up enough to find him.  He just needed to stop...

...worrying.

Everything was gonna be alright.

Sebastian's eyes opened again, and not for the first time, he wondered what had happened while he was unconscious.  And how long he had been out for.

It took a moment for his vision to clear and adjust to the bright lighting in the room.  Everything was white; sterile.  He hissed softly and made a move to bring a hand to his eyes.  His first instinct went to his dominant hand, his right, but when a sharp pain crawled up his arm, he yelped and attempted to move his fingers.  That didn't work as well as he had hoped.

A sudden movement outside of the room caught his attention as an attractive blonde woman walked in.  She was staring at a clipboard, tapping a pen in what appeared to be a nervous habit that she must have done while thinking.  With a hum of acknowledgment to Sebastian, she began adjusting his wires that he had managed to pull on while attempting to move.  She even had the audacity to click her tongue in reprimand, as if he should have known better.  Something about her though, was just completely motherly.

"I'm Ashley Webb and I'll be taking care of you here.  Your doctor is Dr. Smith, but he's roaming around somewhere, so you won't have to worry about him too much.  What's your name?"

"Sebastian," he answered slowly, "Alys."

"Alright, so Sebastian, do you know why you're here?"

He narrowed his eyes in that indignant way of his.  "Of course I do.  I was in an accident.  Where's my brother?"

"No need for the attitude.  I'm just making sure."  She flipped through her papers.  "You're suffering mild internal bruising and you've broken your right arm--"

"--Thus the cast," he inserted snidely as he sent a glance at his bandaged arm.

"And you might notice a few issues walking on your right leg.  It's not broken, only bruised.  Just be careful on it and take some painkillers.  Nothing extreme.  You're really lucky that it wasn't a lot worse.  You weren't wearing your seatbelt."

Sebastian knew he shouldn't have been as aggravated with the nurse as he was, but every time she opened her mouth, she sounded like she was attempting to talk to a child.  His own mother did the same thing.  "This may surprise you, but I was there."  He looked away from her, staring at the wall opposite of him.  "Now will you kindly tell me where my brother is?"

The nurse narrowed her eyes impatiently, but just as quickly as she did this, the look was gone and had morphed into something more sympathetic.  "He's in intensive care."  Seeing Sebastian's eyes widen and focus shoot back on her, she shook her head.  "We expect full recovery, don't worry."

"Then I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I requested to see him?" he asked, his gaze unwavering.

"Not yet; he's not awake."  She poised her pen over her paper, waving it from side to side.  "I'm going to need your information.  Your brother's name, your ages, contact information, et cetra.  Nothing too painful, I promise."

Sebastian shifted in his bed, frowning.  No, he wanted to see his brother.  He didn't care if she said that they expected him to be fine in the end, he wanted to see him.  However, he was sure that there really was nothing he could do to convince the nurse to change her answer, so he released a sigh and complied.

That meant that the family would be showing up soon.  Great, just what he wanted.  Mass panic.

Desiré had no more idea how long he'd been out than Sebastian did upon waking, but he certainly wasn't feeling nearly as energetic.  Arguing with doctors or nurses was well beyond his abilities at the moment, and all he really felt was groggy.  It could have been hours after Sebastian had given Nurse Webb their information or days, for all that he knew, but even the thought of moving didn't appeal to him.  Inevitably, he had to, though.

Why?

Well, for one thing, there was nothing about this room that felt familiar, right down to the nasty smell.  It was familiar, and unpleasant, which was part of how he recognized it.  A hospital.  He remembered it from when their grandfather was sick, before the man died.  He never liked hospitals, but then, not many people do.  Being stuck in one probably wasn't going to do him any good in that department, but he wasn't really complaining just yet.

He finally moved, tilting his head ever so slightly as though he was trying to test it out, and all he had was a little ache in his neck.  Okay, not so bad.  His head hurt, but he obviously couldn't see the gashes and bruising it had undertaken.  Seeing his mother sitting there with a pale face, seemingly asleep, didn't help his concerns about his physical condition in all this, but his father didn't appear to be around.  Where was he?  And where was Sebastian?  He needed to sit up so that he could see better.

Well.  He THOUGHT he needed to sit up.  As soon as he tried moving his left arm, his breath caught in his throat, the only audible sound to suggest the pain he'd just endured at trying to move it, and he wasn't sure if it was broken, or just cut to hell, what with all the bandages he finally saw (when it actually occurred to him to LOOK at it, the genius).  Eyes wide (which made him more aware of the fact that one was sore and puffy), he tried to tilt upward to see the rest, rather than move anything else that might hurt like hell.  He realized his left leg was wrapped as well, and that looked more like a cast underneath the blanket.  Brilliant.  That tilting still hurt, but it also made him realize that he was wrapped like a mummy, and it was mostly his left side that hurt, in shooting pains.  The right side was just sore, like bruises after football practice. 

Oh God, how bad was it?

He finally tore his eyes away from taking in his own situation to see what the rest of the room held, and that was when he made eye contact with Sebastian.  His father wasn't there, probably getting coffee.  Sebastian didn't look great, either, with bruises and a cast.  Desiré felt bad already, just looking at him.  He'd screwed up BAD this time. 

Shouldn't have taken my eyes off the road...

Thinking back, he also remembered the wet dripping sound, and how dark everything below the door had looked, even with lights flashing.  Blood, it was so obvious now, and it almost made him nauseous to think about it.  Once more, how bad?

From the point when Sebastian woke up to the point he was in now, not a lot had happened.  He was on so much medication that his head was foggy and he felt like he was moving in slow motion, but he couldn't feel the pain in his arm, leg, head; no where.  In fact, he couldn't even feel his guilt anymore.  He felt like his whole being was slow to react.  After the initial run in with Nurse Webb, she had suggested some medication to the doctor, and he must have agreed because before he knew it, he felt like he was high.

The family had shown up about an hour or so later.  Mother, father, and thankfully, no Uncle Dirk.  When Sebastian had finally been allowed to stand, which proved to be slightly difficult thanks to his leg being mildly damaged--they suggested an air cast for that one--his mother had seized him in an incredible bear hug that nearly constricted all of the oxygen from his lungs.  To her surprise, he didn't protest or shove her away.  He let her hug him, and he even returned it for the most part.  For him, that was a big deal.  However, Mom was a smart woman and knew that Sebastian hated it when people pointed out when he did something out of the ordinary, so she only smiled at him and told him how happy she was that he was alright.

He had to stop himself from telling her that the whole accident was his fault.  She didn't even mention the fact that there had been an accident.  That was the least of her concerns.

Father, though, had mentioned it.  He asked what had happened.  Sebastian blamed Chris and left it at that.

Sebastian was so guilty.  He didn't feel guilty, not on the drugs he was on, but he knew that he was.  That was enough to make him not want to talk about it any further than he absolutely had to.

Nurse Webb had been gracious enough to explain all of the details of what Sebastian would be going through for the next couple of months, all smiles and sympathetic glimpses.  When he wasn't arguing with her, he realized that she really was a nice woman.  Maybe he had been too hard on her?  No, maybe she shouldn't have treated him like a child.

Then came the subject of Desiré.  Webb said something about broken ribs, a broken arm and a smashed leg.  She was solemn when she mentioned his leg, going into details with a little sigh.  They were going to do what they could, but it looked like they had to possibly amputate.  That was the last option though, and she suggested surgery to the parents.  There was always the chance that they could repair it . . .

That led them to their current positions.  Their father was probably sitting at one of the tables in the shop staring into space like he always did when things got too stressful for him, coffee in hand; one for him and one for his wife.  He would be back.  Their mother had fallen asleep about a half hour prior to her husband's departure, which had been about ten minutes ago, and Sebastian had been absolutely lost in thought.  He was staring into space, eyes narrowed and hand under his chin.  Then, after what felt like an eternity, he saw Desiré move.

When their eyes connected, Sebastian froze.  Now what was he supposed to do?  He parted his lips to speak, closed his mouth again, then opened it once more.  "Welcome back," he managed, half smiling.  He wanted to bash his head against something.  "Want me to buzz the nurse?  She'll inject you with something potent and make you numb too."  Then, unable to help himself, he chuckled quietly.  His voice was soft and low, trying not to wake their mother.  Not yet.  She would swoop in and crush Desiré too.  Sebastian wanted to give his brother a moment to collect himself.

Fortunately, nobody had said anything to Desiré about his injuries, especially his leg, and so he didn't have to freak out or freeze just yet.  It was a toss-up as to which way he'd react, though he'd probably freeze up and give them all a shocked look, while he had an internal freak-out session.  Yeah, that'd be it.  It was just too much at once, and he already felt too out of it from the painkillers they already had him on just from trying to stabilize him to really react too strongly to anything.  He had time later.

"Back.  I don't feel back yet," he said, equally quietly, though that might have been his voice not feeling incredibly enthusiastic.  Did he want to feel numb.  "Man, I might fall asleep again if she did that.  How long has it been?"

He was avoiding the question he wanted to ask, which was about himself, and that was because, for once, he was being the cowardly one.  He didn't want to know.  "You okay?  You look like you got hit by a tree," he said, his voice pretty low-key and monotone, but at least he was trying.  An attempt at a smile hurt, so it didn't last long, but he relaxed against the bed a little.  Seeing Sebastian alive and mostly whole made him feel better.

"What's worse?  Falling back asleep or being in pain?"  Sebastian eyed Desiré carefully, able to see his pain clearly.  He knew what was wrong with his brother, although he didn't have the heart to tell him.  And why should he?  This was his brother and telling him bad news about his health wasn't his job.  Telling him other kinds of bad news was.

Sighing softly, he leaned forward a bit, putting his arms in his lap and letting his hair fall into his face haphazardly as he stared at the floor.  He then pulled his focus back up, seemingly taking a moment to regroup.  "I don't know how long you were out.  Since I came to, it's been four hours.  Who knows how long its been since the whole tree thing?  I didn't ask."  He didn't want to know, that was why he didn't ask.  He didn't think it really mattered.

He took a moment to answer Desiré's question about whether or not he was okay.  He actually wasn't sure.  Physically, he was sure he would be fine.  Otherwise, no, he wasn't okay.

But when had Sebastian ever been honest about his internal workings?

"But I'll live," he said finally.  That was the best answer he had.  Unable to help it, a sudden wash of guilt, the actual feeling, sliced through him.  He dropped his head again, unable to hold his brother's gaze without showing him what he felt, heaven forbid he actually show what was really on his mind, while the fingers on his left hand tapped his knee distractedly.  He didn't know what to say.  He definitely wanted to bash his head against a wall.

An apology stood on the tip of his tongue, but no sounds escaped him.  He was swallowing it.  Now wasn't the time.

That was a damn good question, and Desiré couldn't help the somewhat helpless look that crossed his face at that.  He didn't know which was worse, because he didn't want to sleep anymore and worry the hell out of everyone in his general vicinity, but he didn't want to deal with any of this.  It had been 4 hours already, for sure.  How long before Sebastian had woken up?  God, how long had their parents been there, if their mother was asleep?  Had they been around for the full four hours?  Damn, now HE felt guilty.

"What?" he asked, seeing Sebastian's expression change and the boy break their eye contact, and he got worried.  He almost wanted to ask what was wrong with him, but once again, he put it off.  It was almost like he KNEW, but he couldn't have.  Just a feeling.  "Oh, God, Dad.  How's he, and Uncle Dirk?  They mad?"

Those would be the two.  Their mother would be upset and relieved that they were awake, but they HAD wrecked the car, and they HAD been at a party.  Uncle Dirk was kind of crazy, so there was no way to predict that, and their Dad?  He was a good guy, but sometimes...they HAD wrecked the car. 

Ah, to distract himself with simpler worries.

God, he hated seeing his brother in such a state of helplessness.  Desiré was the strong one.  He was supposed to be fearless.  Sebastian knew that it wasn't fair to assume so much of his brother, but it was usually true.  When it wasn't true, Desiré usually put up a brave front to make it seem like he wasn't really worried or afraid.  There had been times when Desiré had even denied being sick when he clearly was.

Sebastian could sympathize.  He hated "the treatment" that people gave in these sorts of situations.  It really did make you feel defenseless and at a complete loss.  Everyone felt bad and made you feel worse by showing sympathy; it was nice of them, but it just added to that whole 'I'm weak and helpless' feeling.

"I don't know," he answered.  "Dad's been in and out since they got here, but he did give me the third degree about what happened.  He didn't really say much about it, though."  He pulled his head up to give their mother a quick glance before looking in Desiré's direction--a little more towards the window than at his brother.  "I'm sure Mom had something to do with that.  But you know how Dad gets.  He's probably pretending to read while having a mental breakdown."  He smiled wryly, not for the first time.  "Poor Dad can't handle the stress."

His smile faded, his head tilting up towards the ceiling.  "But Uncle Dirk didn't come.  I think that's better for both of us though; I'm really not looking forward to what he has to say."  Sebastian was never looking forward to what Uncle Dirk had to say.  He was pretty sure that somehow Dirk would blame Sebastian (even if he felt like it was his fault, which was beside the point) and run on his case for the next month or so.

Inevitably, it was always Sebastian's fault.  It was something that he could predict with one-hundred percent accuracy, like the rising of the sun.  It was just a fact of life.  By this point, though, Sebastian had taken to ignoring the old man, which worked for the most part.  He was just really worried that this time he wouldn't be able to ignore him.  He hated to admit it, but he would agree with Dirk, for once.

Dirk not coming was definitely for the best, but Desiré had almost been certain that the man would have come.  Their father not being around, probably off doing something to pretend he wasn't stressing out, sounded extremely like him, so he wasn't surprised, but he DID feel bad for Sebastian taking the heat for it all so far.  While he'd been sleeping.  Wow, a lot of use he was.

Sebastian still wasn't looking at him, which naturally made him paranoid.  Was it his face?  His face sure as hell HURT, so was it nasty?  Ew, he hoped not.  He used his less wrapped arm, which happened to be the right and not all that sore other than that bruised feeling, to feel at his face.  Yeah, it hurt, it felt swollen in some places and he had a few stitches that he'd hopefully be able to hide in his eyebrow once they'd healed, but it wasn't THAT bad. 

"Sorry about that.  You probably could have just shoved me to wake me up, and I'd have explained," he offered with an easy smile, like it might really have been an option.  "I'll talk to Dad next time he stops in.  I should have been watching the road."

There.  That was his opinion on the whole situation, and he wasn't changing it.  Regardless of anything Sebastian had said, he'd been driving longer, and he knew better than to look away from the road.  Uncle Dirk wouldn't see it that way, but there were reasons for that.  Like, the fact that Sebastian didn't ever listen to him, and therefore just wasn't his favorite person to be sympathetic to.  As far as Desiré was concerned, it wasn't a good enough reason to blame Sebastian. 

"Don't worry about Uncle Dirk and whatever he says.  You know how he is, so ignore him," he advised, and he hoped that his brother took his advice without argument for once, even if that didn't happen often.

"I wasn't going to wake you, Desiré.  It's really not that big of a deal."  Sebastian shook his head slowly, shrugging half heartedly.  "I don't really know if Dad's mad about it anyway.  Maybe he will be, but he hasn't seen as mad as he has worried."  But their father was hardly the best at showing emotion, so his worried was more distracted than anything, the family could just recognize it as worry.  At least Sebastian had yet to be yelled at.  For as much as he was talking and for aware as he seemed, he was really, really exhausted.

Sebastian purposely avoided the mention of Uncle Dirk.  He didn't want to respond to that.  Sure, Desiré should have been watching the road, but Sebastian should have been less obnoxious.  He knew better than to give someone a hard time when they were driving.  Most people got distracted enough as it was behind the wheel, only adding to the stress really was rude of him.  On top of that, he couldn't help but think of other stupid things that he had done that had horrible outcomes--the guilt was an accumulation of many, many things.

Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes for a moment, easing his mind.  "Are you sure you don't want me to buzz the nurse?"  His eyes parted, just slightly, the sliver of blue faded and pained, his face suddenly appearing worn, like their father.  "You don't have to lay there in pain, you know.  There's no reason to."

He was so worried.  Desiré could potentially lose a limb.  That absolutely wasn't fair and he didn't deserve it.  Not that anyone deserved it, but Sebastian felt that his brother deserved it least of all.  It wasn't fair!

Great.  It was better for Sebastian that their family was worried, since it meant he hadn't gotten in trouble for nothing just yet, but Desiré hated making people worry.  He'd have preferred having them mad at him.  From there, since he couldn't argue about waking him up, he just didn't say anything, turning his stare to the ceiling instead of his brother, who didn't seem to want to look at him.  Sebastian was being pretty avoidy, moreso than usual, and Desiré didn't like it.  He couldn't fault him for it.

The worst part about not talking, and just staring at the ceiling, was that there was no distraction from the way he felt.  Besides that bone-deep weariness, the fuzz from the medication he was probably already on, and the knowledge that the bomb was eventually going to drop, everything hurt, and he couldn't pretend not to notice.  When Sebastian offered to buzz the nurse again, he nodded slightly.

"Didn't want to wake Mom up, but I guess that's inevitable," he said with a sigh that HURT.  His whole chest ached, but he could only assume that the big damage there was in his ribs, considering the way his left side felt. 

"Yeeeah," he croaked a little hoarsely, wincing and reminding himself to keep his breaths shallow.  "Buzz her."

Normally, it was true that he'd put on a brave face and just pretend he was fine, and that was actually what he was doing here, for the most part.  He wasn't stupid, though.  Sebastian had already said it, so there was no reason to sit there in pain if he wasn't fooling anyone. 

Sebastian, again, only shrugged, leaning towards their mother and nudging her.  "Mom," he muttered, feeling a little bad about having to wake her.  "Mom, Desiré's up."

She blinked herself slowly into awareness, blearily staring at Sebastian through her sleep.  Then she looked to Desiré, seeing his eyes opened, and smiled widely.  "Oh, thank goodness.  We were afraid you would sleep forever."  She laughed lightly, her voice scratchy.  The red ring around her eyes signified her tears, which she had shed during the phone call with the hospital and open arriving.  Then with the news of her sons' conditions, and then at hearing about the possible amputation.  She had done a lot of crying in only several hours.

"I'm buzzing the nurse," Sebastian told her as he stood, pressing the button to the reception's desk.

"Good, good," she whispered, scooting her chair closer to Desiré and grabbing his hand.  "Oh sweetie, I'm so glad your alright."  She used the word 'alright' like Sebastian had.  She meant alive but couldn't say get herself to say that.  She didn't even want to acknowledge that she could have lost her boys.  She was tired of crying.

"Yes?"

"Desiré's up.  Can you send the nurse in?"

"Will do."

"Sebastian, where's your father?"

He paused on his way back to his seat, glancing towards to door uncertainly before sighing and seating himself again.  "I don't know.  He left a while ago to get coffee."

"Oh," she breathed.  "Why don't you call him and see if he'll come back?"

Sebastian snorted lightly.  "Why?  He'll come back when he's ready.  Don't force him."

She must have agreed because she fell silent, turning her attention back onto Desiré, smiling at him in that pleased little way of hers.  As if everything was right with the world.  And to her, it was.  They were both alive.  That was the most important thing right then.

He'd been dreading his mother waking up, and not because she'd yell, but because of this.  He got to look at her and see that she'd been crying, and know that it was his fault.  From what he could see, he was willing to guess that she'd cried a LOT, and that wasn't good for his conscience.  Making his Mom cry was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Hey, Mom, sorry," he told her first thing, and he was 'sorry' for a lot, including making her worry.  Naturally, he still didn't know what the big deal was, but he was happier not knowing.  "Guess I screwed this one up pretty bad."

As far as he was concerned, that was the case, and as long as he took responsibility, there was no need for anything involving Sebastian to ever come up.  He'd do the same thing when it came to talking to Uncle Dirk. 

"Don't worry, everything's going to be okay," she told him, and he glanced at Sebastian for an instant, wondering if he was the only one who noticed that EVERYONE had been saying that since the ambulance had arrived.  He thought he remembered someone telling him that when they were pulling him out. 

"Yeah, I mean, it could have been worse," he agreed obliviously, smiling for her.  He'd been worried when Sebastian mentioned that he couldn't feel his right side that his brother was going to be in serious trouble, so the fact that the boy was walking around with a cast was definitely good news. 

Having his Mom not respond at first got his attention again, though.  She finally spoke up, but the hesitation was already there, and he'd noticed.  This time, the look he shot Sebastian was worried. 

"It could have been," she agreed, and just in time for the nurse that Desiré actually hadn't seen yet to bustle in.  Did he dare ask?  What would his mother say?  Would the nurse answer instead?

How did you ask this?

Sebastian frowned a little, tucking his head down onto his chest and staring at the floor.  The view was better here.  "Yeah, it could have been worse," he muttered.  "We could be dead."

Is that worse?

"It could always be worse," the nurse answered lightly as she swept into the room.  Again, there was the clipboard, but this time Sebastian didn't feel up to arguing with her.  Desiré was getting news this time around.

The blonde shook her head and walked around Desiré's bed, offering him a sweet little smile.  "I've been given the instruction to give you some pain killers if you'd like."  Webb wouldn't do it without his consent.  After a brief pause, she wondered out loud, "Has anyone told you of your condition?"

Sebastian took the liberty of saying, "No."

She glanced at him.  His head raised so their eyes met momentarily before he dropped his head again, finding more interesting things on the floor.  Or at least seeming to.  She sighed a little.  "Well then, Mr. Alys," she regarded Desiré again.  "I want you to know that you're suffering from several broken bones and internal bleeding.  However, what we're the most concerned about is your leg."  Her bright blue eyes were soft as she spoke calmly, "It's severely damaged.  We're going to have to undergo surgery, although I really want you to know that the likelihood of the surgery being successful is slim.  The surgeons will do everything that they can, I promise, but you may have to lose your leg."

Sebastian fought putting his hands over his ears.  He didn't, in the end, but he wanted to.  He didn't want to hear this.  He already knew.  He already felt terrible about it.  Desiré had to know, but . . .

Couldn't he know later?

He kept his eyes fixed on the white tiles, his hurt hand sitting in its sling limply while his other flexed; open, closed, open, closed, in succession to keep his nerves at ease.  This was proving to be a horrible day and it was really only going to get worse.

As it turned out, Desiré was going to get an answer whether he wanted it or not, though the way Sebastian and his mother had reacted left him unsure whether he WANTED an answer.  Maybe he was just better off not knowing for the time being.  Ironic that, once he'd thought it, the nurse decided to deal with his issues.  Perfect timing.

Pain killers sounded nice, but he didn't respond in favor of looking at Sebastian again when his brother answered her question.  His condition?  That did NOT sound good.  It wasn't like he would have had a whole lot of time to ask even if he'd wanted to, but he didn't have to.  She shot off into an explanation, and he just stared at her and listened. 

Broken bones and internal bleeding.  Not too bad, all things considered.  He knew there were cuts and all, simply because he'd seen them when he was in the car, and felt them as he was pulled out.  She continued, though.  His leg.  Surgery.  Lose his leg?!

What?!  He couldn't lose his leg!  What was she saying?  If it was a joke, it wasn't at all funny, but nobody was laughing as he glanced from the nurse to his mother and then Sebastian.  Nobody was laughing, and his family didn't want to look at him.  It was true.  Oh, God.

"I'll take those painkillers."

Going home had been an experience.  Without Desiré around, it was almost as if Sebastian had no defenses or even the willpower to try.  Dirk rampaged and snapped and even hit him with his cane once or twice, but amazingly, Sebastian took it without a word of insult.  He could only glare, but even glaring hurt.

"S'your fault your brother's in the damn hospital!  Bet you were fucking distracting him, being a smart ass or something equally as stupid.  And now the boy won't be able to walk right anymore!  What about his sports?  His life that he was gonna have!  Bet you're proud of it, though.  Think you're real cheeky, huh?  I told your parents to straighten you out and now look what happened!"

He really didn't need to hear it out loud.  He already thought it.  It made him feel so ill, so hurt, so tired, and as he trudged up the stairs and into his room, he didn't say anything at all.

And there he remained for quite some time.

What had he done?  He shouldn't have been so. . . obnoxious.  He should have been a good little brother.  He should have listened to Desiré.  He should have known better and he should have acted better.  Why couldn't he just shut the hell up?

Uncle Dirk was absolutely right.  He was a terrible kid.  He was selfish, he was a smart ass, he was stupid and he never listened to anyone.

He sat in his room, eyes to the wall, cold and silent.  Sebastian didn't move at all save for the rise and fall of his chest.  It wasn't until he sucked in a deep breath that his eyes started to water, pricking the whites until they were stained with red as tears threatened to fall.  "Stupid," he told himself.  "So fucking stupid."  He didn't cry though, sitting there in that stony darkness, he only gripped the edge of his bed and stared at that god damned wall.

"Sebastian?" he heard.  His mother, he registered, sounded exhausted on the other side of his door as she knocked lightly.  "Sabby, it's dinnertime.  Please come out and eat."

No.  Even his lips moved to form the word but not a sound escaped him.

"Sebastian?" she tried again, knocking a little harder.  "Sebastian, answer me at least."

He recognized the panic in her voice.  She was afraid.  She was afraid that something bad might have occurred.  And his door was locked.  She noticed as well as she jiggled the handle erratically, harder and harder as she demanded that he open his door.

Slowly he rose, not wanting to make his mother any more upset than she was, and unlocked the door.  The two made eye contact and the whole world stilled.  Silence echoed around them and neither moved for quite some time.

She embraced him.

In the Alys family showing affection wasn't forbidden but it surely wasn't pressed.  They simply didn't do it often.  So when his mother held him tightly, releasing shuddering breaths into his hair, Sebastian could only awkwardly wrap his arms around her and let her cry.  He didn't ask her why she cried nor did he whisper that everything would be okay.  Sebastian didn't lie that way.  Everything wasn't going to be okay.

He did, however, say, "I'm here."

And she held him tighter.

He hadn't expected anyone today.

Shifting in his chair, Nero tapped his pen off of the desk in a rapid beat.  He was hunched over some papers, each covered in equations and formulas.  Even the Table of Elements was on the unorganized surface of the hardwood, tilted towards the right to face the serpiente as he mulled over his latest and greatest discovery.

There was a knock at the door, pulling him from his thoughts.  His olive eyes slowly shifted in that direction and he pulled his hand to rest under his chin, the top of the pen on his lips.  "Come in," he called.  He watched as a teenager emerged, a sly smile taking form across his face.  "Heeey there, Sebastian.  What can I do you for?"

"Nero," the kid started, stepping into the laboratory until he was in front of the desk.  "I know that you can do some amazing things. . . for people."

He studied the adolescent before him, eyes appraising and thoughtful.  The boy attended the college for several classes outside of high school--he was bright.  He also seemed to want a favor and he wasn't beating around the bush.

"I can," he agreed.

"Then maybe you could help me."

Sebastian looked at him confidently and Nero's smile grew just a little wider.  "Have a seat and let's discuss, shall we?"  He made a large sweeping motion with his arm, looking at Sebastian in a mix of amusement and interest.  "What's on your mind?"

"My brother's not doing so well," Sebastian explained as he sat down.  His posture was perfect and his face was impassive; he seemed so professional.  The only thing that gave him away was his eyes that glittered with a soft, almost faraway look.  Nero, however, was impressed by his strength of mind.  "We were in a car accident and the doctors are saying he'll have to lose his leg.  He could be permanently disabled if the surgery's a failure."

"And it will be."  Sebastian looked momentarily surprised by Nero's certainty but quickly masked it.  "If they're saying that he'll have to lose it, that means they can't fix it.  If you have any false hopes about that, you're in for a rude awakening."  Nero tilted his head as he examined Sebastian, eyes narrowed to slits.  "I'm not a miracle worker, kid.  I'm a scientist."

"I know.  And you're a good one."  Sebastian held his eye contact, searching for something.  "That's why I came to you.  I know you can do something about it because you're always one step ahead of everyone else.  Unless I'm mistaken?"

Nero smirked.  "Oh, you're good, I'll give you that.  You know just where to hit them, don't you?"  He rose to his feet, sending his eyes towards the back of the laboratory.  "Well, maybe today's your lucky day."  He could feel Sebastian's eyes on him as he walked towards his cabinet so he decided to make it a bit more of a show than it really was.  He swung the door open and placed his fingers on his chin thoughtfully, sorting through vials with his other hand.  He hummed thoughtfully in the back of his throat and clinked the tubes together as though he was truly searching.

"Aha," he finally exclaimed, lifting up a vial full of clear liquid.  Turning to face Sebastian, he flicked the glass with his fingers so that the substance inside rippled curiously.  "Looks like I have your solution."

But Sebastian was just a tad bit skeptical of this unidentifiable liquid.  "And what would that be?"

"Can't tell you," he answered, grinning.  "Just consider it regeneration water."

"And you're sure this will work?"

"Sure as protons are positive."

Sebastian frowned.  "What's the catch?"

But Nero remained undeterred.  "No catch, I swear.  All I get out of this is the satisfaction of seeing this baby work."

"You're serious?"

"Don't be such a skeptist.  It isn't like I told you vampires are real or anything."  He grinned.  "So, do you want this or not?"

Luck was on his side.  It was on his fucking side.

Sebastian walked out of the college, much happier than he had been upon entering.  He glanced down the sidewalk towards the hospital and began the walk there.  His stance was low key as he made his way through the throng of people, trying to evade and remain unseen.  He was thanking his lucky stars for giving him the opportunity to meet Nero, to have even thought to go to him.  Why hadn't he thought of it sooner?

Alright, so the "regeneration water" didn't sound very legitimate, but this was Nero.  Nero was a genius.  He knew, absolutely, one-hundred and one percent what he was doing.  And sure, his motives were sketchy at best, but Sebastian was hardly going to press that.  Just so long as it worked, Sebastian didn't care why Nero wanted to do it.

He came upon the hospital and pushed through the revolving door, stepping past the receptionist and into the elevator.  Up, up, up to the sixth floor, then down the hallway to the left.  He peaked into the room first, making sure it was clear, then he knocked on the open door to announce himself before entering.

Desiré still looked horrible, but that was to be expected.  He was due for surgery only a day from now, maybe even tonight if they could squeeze him in, so his nerves were probably frazzled as well.  But Sebastian was excited now, and while looking at his brother was absolutely depressing (and sparked that aching guilt inside of him), he was so thrilled that he could help him.

"Desiré, guess what," he prodded, taking a seat beside his bed out of habit.  He didn't seem as ridiculously happy as he was, but he surely seemed happier than usual.  "I talked to Nero Garrah about your. . ." he trailed off.  "He said he could help."

Maybe, just maybe, Sebastian even seemed a little proud of himself.

But he knew Desiré would be just as skeptical as he had been, so he was quick to press on.  "I know it seems far fetched but I really think he can help you."  He looked at him, pleading for him to just believe him, to go with it.  Just trust me, he silently begged.

Frazzled was an understatement.  Desiré had dropped the subject of his leg while his mother was there, actually falling into something of a daze with the amount of painkillers he was on once Nurse Webb medicated him, and he'd endured the rest of the visit with his parents and brother remarkably well for someone who felt as horrible as he did.  Then, he slept.  It was only the next day, when he'd woken up bored and alone (his parents weren't back yet) that he'd returned his thoughts to his leg.

He woke up late, which wasn't really surprising given his situation, but actually made him feel rather disoriented.  He was used to school and getting up at the asscrack of dawn everyday, so he even woke up fairly early on weekends.  Waking up in the afternoon felt strange, and Nurse Webb was actually back by then.  He'd slept through almost an entire shift of nurses, he assumed.  There was no way she'd just been there the whole time.  He was glad that she was back, though.  It gave him someone to talk to that he didn't have to put a brave face on for, someone who didn't know him and wouldn't judge.  He knew who she was, because he recognized her last name, but wasn't it part of her job to not tell the people he knew that he was upset?  Better that he ask her questions than his parents or brother.  She didn't sugar-coat it all, and she didn't get uncomfortable with the fact that he was hurt.  He didn't feel like he shouldn't be hurt around her.

It was for the best.

By the time Sebastian came in, Desiré was no less pleased with his situation, but he knew that the likelihood of that surgery working wasn't good and that he was pretty much guaranteed to lose his leg.  He'd had all afternoon to think it through, to come to terms with it.  He wasn't happy, he wasn't quite at the point that he'd accepted it, but he was in a good state of mind otherwise.  He didn't feel as foggy, though that was because he was on less medication and therefore in a bit more pain than the last time Sebastian had been in, but he could think, and if he could think, he could put on a good game face.  He smiled, ignoring the ache across his whole face when he did so (does your face hurt? cause it's killing me, har har), and tried to look as comfortable as he could.  It wasn't that hard, since he was trying to BE as comfortable as he could.  Nothing could really compete with the comfort of your own bed, and hospital beds aren't exactly the best of the bunch. 

Of course, any good mood he could have put up as a good front wasn't about to stand up in the face Sebastian's 'news'.  Desiré was more than 'skeptical'.  He downright didn't believe it.  He didn't WANT to believe it, because if this scientist that Sebastian knew could help, why couldn't the doctors do it?  It wasn't fair to expect him to have hope that he'd get to keep his leg, then have those hopes crushed again.  Sebastian seemed happier than usual, maybe even proud of himself, and so Desiré didn't say what he was thinking about it not being funny, but he didn't believe it.  If Sebastian wasn't kidding, which it didn't seem like he was, then Nero was just filling his head up with bullshit.  Desiré didn't appreciate that for his own good, or his brother's.  It wasn't fair, even when life isn't fair, this was worse. 

"Sebastian, if he could help, don't you think the doctors would do it?" he asked, the smile and 'good-mood-face' failing him.  God, did he want to believe it, to trust that Sebastian was totally right and this guy could help, but he was afraid to believe it.  There wasn't a lot he was afraid of, or afraid enough to let Sebastian even know about it, so he was careful, but he didn't want to risk this one.  He didn't want to get crushed again.

He hadn't expected this to be easy, but that really hadn't stopped him from hoping it would be regardless.  Sebastian kept his eyes on his brother, a sudden need to take care of him nearly overwhelming him, but he didn't move a muscle.  Each and every time he sat here, staring at his brother who was clearly in pain (oh yes, he could see through that facade, he just chose not to comment) he wanted to help him.  He wanted to make it better.  The fact of the matter was, though, that he couldn't.  That was why he had sought out help from the outside.  Because if he couldn't be the one to help, he was going to find someone else who could.

But he'd never tell his brother how worried he had been.

"Don't Sebastian me."  He frowned a little, trying to read Desiré to the best of his ability.  He never was the best at empathizing, though.  His brother was much better at that.  "The doctor's can't help you because there's limits to what they can do."  God, just believe me.  He looked desperate, much to his chagrin, as he sat there trying to create a better response than what he had.  Sebastian was amazingly persuasive though, so he knew he could figure something out.  His lips worked around his thoughts, moving only slightly as he tried to create a better argument.  "Nero is an absolute genius, Desiré.  He's made things happen that are impossible.  And you know I don't believe in miracle workers or magic, and I would think he was a fake if it wasn't for the fact that he works for the college."

He conveniently left out the part where he didn't trust Nero farther than he could throw him.  Desiré would never agree to this if he did.  Sebastian wasn't stupid.

"I've seen some of it, you know.  He once brought a mouse back from the dead."  That demonstration hadn't gone according to plan though, and the mouse ended up dead once again after only five minutes.  Nero claimed that he was still perfecting that one.  "I'm not kidding, he really did."  He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, glancing away from Desiré.  "You know I wouldn't tell you any of this if I didn't believe it.  And. . . what do you have to lose?  I don't see why it isn't worth a try.  And if you're worried about getting your hopes up, then keep them down and go in expecting the worst.  Come on, Dez, really," it was all he could do to stop himself from actually begging.

He didn't believe it, pure and simple.  There might not have been anything Sebastian could have said that would talk him into it, but there was one little fact working on his brother's side.  That fact?

Sebastian was his brother.

That may not have been the most solid of reasons, but it was what mattered.  Desiré was the older brother, and it was his job to take care of Sebastian.  Besides protecting him physically, making sure he was taken care of in the strictest sense of the word, it was Desiré's job to make sure that Sebastian was taken care of mentally.  His brother wasn't the easiest to understand, considering Sebastian didn't even tell Desiré about his doubts and low self-esteem, but the older of the boys did his best.  That was exactly why he was going to agree to what Sebastian wanted.  Even it if hurt, or made things worse, he'd deal with it, and just hope that Sebastian was right.  If his brother said it wouldn't hurt him worse, he trusted him. 

He started to cock an eyebrow up at mention of a zombie mouse, but it hurt, so he refrained.  Instead, he sighed, finally smiled, and nodded.  "Alright, we'll go see your witch doctor friend.  I still don't believe it, but you might be right," he conceded, willing to go only because it meant as much to Sebastian as it did.  He wouldn't refuse if it would make Sebastian feel better, especially knowing how much his brother liked to be able to do things for himself.  They'd go.

Sebastian had remained silent when Desiré was thinking.  He tried, desperately, to give him a pleading look without being obnoxious about it.  This was his brother though, his older brother.  The same older brother that he used to get to do the weirdest things just because Sebastian had begged him to play.  Sebastian was much more self-respecting now though, and begging just wasn't something that he did.

Uncle Dirk would just have more fuel if Sebastian did that anyway.

Then Desiré proclaimed that he would do it and Sebastian couldn't stop himself from smiling.  "Great!  But. . . we have to get to Nero.  He can't just come in here and treat you."  He stood up from his chair, glancing around the room as if he was looking for a solution.  "We could say you're going on a walk?  Just around the hospital or something."  He bit his lip and turned back to Desiré, trying to be creative.  "I could get you a wheelchair?  Or crutches?"  But Desiré hated appearing weak and admitting that he was hurt.  "Or you could be an ass and hobble out of here.  Whatever you want."

Sebastian was getting anxious.  He wanted to get this done.  He wanted to see his brother get better.

He wanted to stop feeling like he was responsible for something horrible, although he imagined that his brother getting miraculously better wasn't even going to cure him of that.

But. . . maybe it would help.

He was selfish, wasn't he?  Taking something that could be great for Desiré and making it about himself?  About his guilt?  And dammit, he should be guilty.  It was his fault, after all.  And he should feel that guilt forever and ever and suffer like guilty people should.

His hands absently clenched into balls, a sudden flash of uncertainty darting across his face.  He was quick to mask it, straightening his posture and turning himself a little to the side.  Things would get easier with time, right?  Right.

Ahh, that might be a problem.  Desiré hadn't known that he was going to have to figure out a way to GET to Nero, and a quick glance at the IV in his arm and the mess he was made him wonder just how much luck he'd have in moving.  He'd had to get Nurse Webb to help him to the bathroom already, which he HATED WITH A PASSION, but what else could he do?  He wasn't going to be a hassle and start making demands.  That was a Sebastian sort of move.  He'd have done it if it was FOR Sebastian, but he'd been planning on just suffering.  He'd asked for some crutches or something so that he didn't have to ask for help to the bathroom all the time, and the nurse had set them beside his bed, probably feeling bad for him.  Wouldn't that be a long walk on crutches?

Dragging an IV?

Yeeeeah, right.  If he was going to leave the hospital, he was losing the IV.  Period.  He wasn't dragging that thing around.  He could suffer with the blue pants they'd stuck him in, even if they were baggy and looked like PJ pants and the white t-shirt, but an IV was pushing it.  Hopefully, he wouldn't get reamed for taking it out when they got back later.

He was still assuming that he'd be coming back. 

"I'll use a crutch.  My arm's too messed up for two, but I only really need one on the opposite side, anyway.  If we're gonna go, we should probably go soon.  That nurse said she had to take care of something, so we don't want to wait long enough to run into her on our way out, and Mom said she wouldn't be around until after work," he warned Sebastian.  He didn't want to have to explain to the nurse or their parents why he was as messed up as he was and sneaking out of the hospital.  If they didn't run into anyone, it gave him more time to think up an excuse that wouldn't involve Sebastian. 

He leaned, covering up the wince he wanted to make, and grabbed one of the crutches that had fallen along the wall, just about out of sight, and pulled it close enough that he could start pulling himself out of bed.  Naturally, there were no arguments about being quick out of his younger brother, so he rested the crutch against the bed, slipped his right foot into one of those cheap hospital slippers, and started pulling that sticky medical tape off of his arm to rip the IV out.  Fortunately, it hadn't been pumping him full of anything that he thought was necessary, though he might miss the painkillers in it.  Oh well, they'd just put it back in later.

Finally, he hopped as carefully out of bed as he could, his whole body feeling like one great big ache, and he leaned on his less damaged side.  He offered up an abused version of his usual triumphant grin, and gestured to the door with his less damaged hand.  "After you.  And Sebastian?"

He waited until his brother was actually looking at him before making his next comment.  "Whether this works or not, it's all gonna be okay, I promise.  Got that?"  Sebastian had been adamant with their mother about not making promises like that, though he didn't know it, but Desiré would make that promise.  Sebastian was going to heal just fine, so everything was good.  Desiré knew he was strong enough to handle his own problems, and he remembered his big concern from the crash.  He remembered the way he turned the wheel, and why.  He might have missed the tree entirely if he'd have just risked hitting it on Sebastian's side, and given exactly how he'd hit it on his side, he was now confident that he could have avoided it.  He hadn't been willing to try, though.  If he hadn't made it work, it could be Sebastian in this situation, and that wasn't acceptable.  Everything was going to be okay because he'd made the right choice.  Now, he'd just deal with it, and maybe it would work out for him, as well.

Sebastian watched as Desiré got himself up, nodding along to his warning.  "Alright," he agreed.  Then they would leave now.  The sooner the better, Sebastian thought.  He wasn't sure how Nero was going to work this, but he was fairly certain that the results wouldn't be instantaneous.  That would be too lucky, and Sebastian just wasn't lucky.  He was already pushing his luck, literally, in that department.  He might have to offer a sacrifice to the Luck Monkey to keep this up.

He was looking out of the door was Desiré hailed him, and he slowly turned to face him, curious and unsure.  "...it's gonna be okay, I promise."  His eyes instantly narrowed, color appearing across his cheeks.  Don't make that promise, he wanted to say.  Don't lie to me.  But his lips didn't move, he only stared, hard, at his brother.  Then hurt struck his eyes and he blinked quickly, suddenly threatened by tears.  So he turned away and headed towards the door, not waiting for Desiré to follow.  "Don't say that," he said, tired.  But he stopped at the door, turning around to face his brother again.  He wanted to say something, that much was clear, but he was having trouble forming the words.

Because Sebastian was never good at expressing himself.

His eyes hit the floor and he sighed, shaking his head as he thought better of what he was about to do.  He didn't know how to say it.  He didn't know how to say that he had been so worried about Desiré, that he had cried.  That he blamed himself.  That the guilt was killing him.  So he decided not to even try.  He would probably be misunderstood anyway.  Desiré wouldn't hear him, he would try to make him feel better.  But that wasn't actually listening.  He would tell him that he was wrong, that he shouldn't feel like that, but that wouldn't help him.  So what was even the point?

He didn't bother forcing a smile or reassuring Desiré that, never mind, he was fine.  Instead he slipped out of the door and started down the hall.

Desiré, as sore and messed up as he was, still had the presence of mind to look around for someone who might stop them, then try to look as much like he belonged limping out of the hospital on that crutch as he could.  They got some looks, but nobody stopped them, so he must have done alright.  Good, since he really didn't want to be focusing on that.  He was more concerned about Sebastian, who had looked like he was going to say something, something painful for one of them (probably Sebastian), and then he'd changed his mind.

They were going to have to have a 'talk' later, to figure all this out.  He didn't need Sebastian blaming himself for something that wasn't his fault.  Distraction or no, Desiré knew how to drive, he'd been told a zillion times not to let his passengers distract him, and he'd made a simple mistake.  He didn't think Sebastian knew that he'd deliberately turned the wheel in the direction that risked himself instead of his younger brother, and that was fine for now.  Sebastian would only guilt himself for that, too.  Surprise, though.  Desiré was realizing that Sebastian must blame himself, which he knew he should have guessed sooner, but why would he have?  That look on his brother's face made him wonder, though.  He wouldn't have thought it, but was that what it was?  They were going to have to talk.

He sucked at those.

Really, Desiré was the one that understood people on an emotional level better, but that was really just because he was a nice guy who had a load of friends with all different sorts of drama.  That didn't mean he was good at talking about 'feelings' or getting into those heart-to-heart talks.  He was just going to have to do his best, and hope it worked.  In the meantime, doing his best was just putting on a brave face and following his brother, even when staying in that bed would have been more comfortable, and easier.

Somehow, that felt right.  If Sebastian was right, and this worked, he should have to work for it.  It should hurt, it should be hard, and he should have to fight for it.  It made sense to him.  Of course, he knew that this probably wasn't going to work, but that was fine.  He'd been wanting to get out of that bed, anyway.

Fortunately, the hospital wasn't as far from Nero's lab at the college as Desiré had thought, though that didn't mean it was a short, happy walk.  It might have been easier if they'd have talked more through it, but walking with a crutch was enough work that Desiré didn't mind the silence so much.  By the time they were inside the college, getting even MORE strange looks, he was definitely ready to just be there and get this over with.

"Go on, I'm right behind you," he urged his brother, trying not to sound breathless or pained.  Almost there...

It was better that Desiré hasn't told Sebastian that he had hit that tree on purpose for his brother.  That would have made it all worse.  He had hurt himself on purpose just to not hurt Sebastian.  How would that make him feel better?  Sure, then it was his fault that he had hit the tree, but it all went down to it being Sebastian's fault.  If Desiré thought that was going to be a problem, Sebastian blaming himself as he was, he was going to have to get over it.  That wouldn't stop the burning guilt that pained him everytime he closed his eyes.

Sebastian, though, was stronger than that.  Sure, it hurt, but he could mask it.  He could just stay silent and never tell anyone a damn thing.  It had worked in the past.

It didn't occur to him that maybe, just maybe, that was where his anger stemmed from.  Humans weren't made to bottle up emotions like that.

He didn't look back at his brother in fear of saying something stupid.  He felt terrible making his brother walk, although he had suggested a wheelchair first, and seeing him in pain like that would make it worse.  Because Sebastian was selfish.  He was a terrible person.

They walked into the college and Sebastian ignored the looks they were given.  He didn't care what other people thought and he never had.  That was why he said the things that he did.  Who gave a shit about other people's thoughts?  They didn't matter.

Desiré's reassurance was nice but unnecessary.  Sebastian would have gone anyway.  So walking down the hallway, he found Nero's laboratory and knocked.  He heard Nero tell him the door was open and nodded, clicking it open and holding it for Desiré.  It was then he looked at his brother, face entirely neutral.  His mask was back on.  Desiré, he noted, looked like hell.

This'd better work.

"Sebastian, welcome back!" Nero greeted, spinning in his chair to face the brothers, a lazy grin in place.  "You must be the brother," he then said as he looked to the older teenager on a crutch.  "Heard about your accident.  Sounds like it was nasty."  He rose, "Lucky for you, I have your solution.  Take a seat and relax, get off of that bad leg."

Sebastian stood back, watching Nero through a calculating gaze as the man walked to the back of the room to get a needle.  "How long should this take to work?"

Nero didn't look up from his preparations.  "Oh, he should notice a difference immediately.  The leg'll take about a week to heal properly, but it will."  He poured the vial into another container with the precision of a professional.  Then he smiled, capping the needle and holding it out for the brothers to see.  "Alright boys, let's fix some damaged goods."

"Wait," Sebastian snapped.

"Second thoughts?  You were all for it about two hours ago."

"I know," he breathed out.  "But you're absolutely sure this will work?  We can't have any maybes or probablys."

"Relax," Nero smiled, intense eyes sparkling.  "I know what I'm doing."

"With your regeneration water?"

"That's right," he agreed.  He walked back to the front of the room and around Desiré, standing in front of him with the needle in hand.  "So, what do you say?"  His eyes read 'you can trust me' but his smile was sharp, poisonous around the edges.

Sebastian shifted uncomfortably before he moved to be behind Nero, looking on anxiously.  This had to work.

Getting into that lab was simultaneously the best and worst part of the afternoon.  It meant Desiré could sit down and rest for a moment, but it also meant that he had to face Sebastian's miracle cure, which he still wasn't so sure about.  The witch doctor looked pleasant and normal enough, seemed trustworthy.  Sebastian trusted him enough to bring his brother here, so the guy had to be trustworthy, right?

Desiré had seen himself in the mirror that morning.  The accident didn't just sound bad, he made it look bad.  He hadn't been happy seeing what he looked like, since 'hell' about summed it up.

"A week?  You expect all this to heal in a week?  With 'regeneration water'?" he asked, not looking too convinced.  In fact, he was staring at that needle like he didn't trust it, which was exactly the issue.  "What's in that 'regeneration water' of yours that doctors don't know about?"

He had his questions and didn't mind asking them from the chair he'd promptly settled into, but the moment of truth was pretty much right there in his face.  Nero was standing there with the needle he claimed held the 'cure' for all of his hurts, and all Desiré had to do was say 'yes'.  Sebastian was looking on nervously, and it was him that his brother really focused on.  He'd promised he'd try it, despite his doubts and questions.  Realistically, was he really going to turn the scientist down, when his only other option was to lose his leg for certain?

No, he really wasn't.

Answers or no, he finally nodded, then looked away.  He didn't want to watch.

"Yes," Nero answered, his glittering eyes narrowed in minor frustration.  "Yes I expect you to be healed in a week with my regeneration water."  But he was smiling again, pushing the syringe lightly so that the slightest bit of the clear liquid leaked out of the tip.  The substance was thicker than it looked, obviously sticky as it dripped slowly.

Sebastian's pupils tightened as he zeroed in on the liquid, but he didn't say anything at all.

That was for the best.

"I'm a geneticist, kid.  What I do and what the pharmaceutical types do are two completely different things."  His smile turned into a smirk as he leaned over Desiré, grabbing his arm in a tight grip to pull it towards himself in order to feel around for a vein.  "I'm more interested in the how and they're more interested in the why.  I focus on improving lives while they're more. . . showy.  They can't get right down to the nitty-gritty stuff like I can."  Then, without warning, he stuck the needle under Desiré's skin.  "Besides," he said in mild amusement.  "I don't need FDA approval to do what I do."

Sebastian rolled his tongue over his front teeth, stepping forward to lean over Nero while the older man pressed the liquid into Desiré.  "But you know what you're doing," he said for his own benefit.

"That's what I told you, right?" he asked as he turned back to look at him.  "This stuff is relatively safe."

"Relatively?" Sebastian snapped.

Nero pulled the needle out, stepping back and cocking his head a little at Sebastian.  "That's better than potent, isn't it?"

"That's not the point!"

"Look," Nero started slowly, but Sebastian didn't want to hear any of that.

"No, you look.  I swear to God, if anything fucking happens--"

"--Relax, would you?  There are side effects, but the fact of the matter is that your brother won't lose his leg.  I'm not ET, Sebastian.  I can't just touch his wound and make it disappear."

Face stony and eyes calculating, Sebastian shoved past Nero to look at Desiré.  "You alright?"

"He's fine."

"I wasn't asking you!" Sebastian barked before searching Desiré again.

"You're welcome," Nero responded darkly, rolling his eyes and tossing the syringe onto his desk.  "Flu-like symptoms are common side effects, as are heightened senses, quicker reflexes, extra strength. . . meowing. . ." He was just testing to see if they were listening.

"Meowing?"

Oh, so they were.  "Yeah, meowing."  He grinned a little, as if this was all a big inside joke that they just weren't in on.  "Give it a couple of hours.  You'll feel worse before you'll feel better, but when you feel better, it'll be an extreme difference.  You'll be a lot more durable than you were even before the accident.  And hell, maybe you'll even get some cool night vision."

Maybe Desiré should have refused, specially upon hearing that yes, Nero expected him to heal in a week with his regeneration water.  The stuff didn't look much like water when it oozed out of the top of the needle and slowly dripped down the side, but who was he to point that out? 

Wait.  Geneticist?  Nero was a geneticist?  What could a geneticist possibly do to help him?  If there was anything he could do, did Desiré really want it?  Oh well, too late.  While Dez was busy NOT looking and thinking this mess over, Nero had grabbed his arm, found a vein and pushed the needle in.  No FDA approval.

Well, wasn't that brilliant?

In reality, none of what Desiré was hearing was all that reassuring, except the simple phrase, 'your brother won't lose his leg'.  That was it.  The rest made him worry, but Sebastian looked worried enough for both of them.  That meant that Dez was going to hold back on that bit.  He'd worry about the fact that the stuff was 'relatively safe' later.  He'd also have to think it all over and decide if he thought any of those 'common side effects' were true.  Nero sounded like he meant it when he started off with 'flu-like symptoms' bit, but the rest?  And meowing?  What the hell?  Night-vision?  This guy was off his rocker.

Great, so he'd just been injected with corn syrup or something, and still had to get back to the hospital and hope that surgery worked out.  This was going to be fun.  Sebastian had tried, though.

"I'm fine.  Feel better already," he lied, for Sebastian's sake, of course, and he started pushing himself back to a standing position.  Actually, he was starting to feel worse, but he attributed that to exertion when his body was a mess.  "We better get back.  If mom shows up and the room is empty, she'll have a stroke.  Thanks."

The last was directed at Nero, for at least trying, but he wasn't thinking that it was going to do anything.  They would be better off not mentioning this to their parents, he was thinking, but he waited until they were out of Nero's lab and working their way back to the hospital to mention it.

"Hey, when they ask, I talked you into going for a walk with me, okay?  I'm blaming it on cabin fever," he told his brother, since it was doubtful they'd completely get away with it.  Considering how achy and miserable he was feeling, he was probably going to look half-dead by the time they got back, so Nurse Webb would probably give him an earful for being an idiot.  That'd be fine, so long as he could lay down again.  It was strange, though.  He hadn't noticed how cold it was outside until now.  He shivered a little as he gimped along, even though he remembered sweating on the way over.  It must have cooled off while they were talking to Nero.

Nero didn't look much of anything aside from interested as Desiré stood up and hobbled towards the door.  This interest was far from kind though, no, it was much more like a butterfly collector as they inspected their latest specimen atop the point of a needle.  He was watching from the bottoms of his eyes, head tilted back slightly as he collapsed into his rolling chair, picking up a pen and smiling in mild amusement.

"Have fun at the hospital," he called.  "But if you let them take of your leg, you won't heal it.  It won't regrow itself."  And that was all he had to say about that, offering it as a warning.  Go through the surgery, he said, and you'll lose your leg indefinitely.  Wait it out and your leg will heal.

You'll see.

And Sebastian seemed to catch the undercurrent of what he meant, his bright blue eyes narrowing in a brief flash of curiosity.  He shot an inquisitive look back to Nero before following his brother out, his movements slow and careful as he tried to come up with something to say.  Something snarky, undoubtably, but something meaningful.

Nothing came.

Instead he frowned.  His brother was going to blame this on cabin fever?  Okay, sure, but that wouldn't explain any foreign substance in his bloodstream.  "Desiré," he started.  His jaw clenched a little and his nostrils flared, but he managed a simple, "This will work."  He meant the injection Nero had given him.  "Nero's a lot of things but a liar isn't one of them."  He tried to sound reasonable rather than his usual forcefulness.  He was walking on this subject carefully.

If this was anyone else. . .

"And if he says this will work. . . then it will."  And honestly, he didn't care if Desiré believed him or not.  That was what Sebastian believed and he was sticking by it.  Desiré could lie like he always did, pretend that everything was okay and that he was sure of himself even when he wasn't, but Sebastian wouldn't hear him anyway.  He stopped hearing his lies a while ago.  And that last one of I feel better already was unacceptable.

He wanted to tell his brother that.  He wanted to say, "Desiré, stop lying to me."  He knew it wouldn't stop his brother, but dammit, at least he would know that Sebastian didn't buy any of it.  And that he never did.  Like when he pretended that he wasn't sick when he was, or when he acted like he was happy when he wasn't--Sebastian saw those.

He just never said anything.  Sebastian ignored a lot.

Nero's warning was noted, but Desiré did nothing more than glance at him for it.  Just hearing about someone 'taking off his leg' was enough to make his stomach want to do a flip, which actually didn't seem all that unlikely right then.  He definitely wasn't feeling his best, even compared to the past two days.  Where had it come from all of a sudden?  Was it getting up after exerting himself and then resting?  Or was it from the injection.

The Injection.  That sounded so dramatic.

If Sebastian would have pointed out the fact that cabin fever wouldn't explain any foreign substances in his bloodstream, Desiré wouldn't have really had any argument for it.  All he was hoping was that he could hold off the surgery long enough to make it look like this stuff had the chance to work, then when it obviously didn't, he could face the music.  He still wasn't even sure what Nero had given him, so 'foreign substance' wasn't something he wanted to think about.  What if it made everything worse?

He really should have thought of that beforehand, he realized.  Sebastian was so certain that it'd work, but Desiré wasn't nearly as easily convinced.  Just because Nero wasn't a liar didn't mean that it'd work.  No FDA approval...  What if it wasn't safe?  Without FDA approval, that meant it was still experimental, didn't it?  That would mean that Nero couldn't really be positive that it'd work.  What had he tested it on?  Lab mice?  Was Dez the first human guinea pig on this one? 

If he'd known what it was, and what that meant, he'd have realized that lab mice wouldn't have been affected.

He thought over what to say, letting the thoughts run through his head as his brother walked and he hobbled, but nothing good came to mind.  Desiré didn't mind white lies like, 'I feel better' or 'It's going to be alright', but he wasn't going to say that he believed the geneticist.  He wouldn't lie on something like that, and he couldn't honestly say that he believed it.  "I trust you."

That was better.  He trusted Sebastian implicitly, despite everything Sebastian might think.  If Sebastian believed in Nero, that didn't mean Desiré did, but he could suspend his disbelief long enough to see, and nothing his brother thought would change any of that.  Time for a shot of truth, though.

"And actually, I lied.  I'm not feeling any better," he said breathlessly, feeling a little colder even than before.  Flu-like symptoms.  Nero had said it'd get worse before it gets better, and it'd start almost instantaneously.  If it was even possible, he'd paled further than he had before, which only had the grotesque effect of making the bruises and stitches on his face stand out even more harshly.  Lovely.  "I think it's starting to do something."

"I trust you."

"But not Nero," he muttered in response.  Sebastian was quiet, barely above a whisper.  The likelihood of Desiré hearing him was slim to none, but that was okay because honestly, he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

Sebastian chewed on the inside of his lip when Desiré told him that he was feeling worse.  That was what Nero had said would happen.  He would feel worse before he felt better.  Sebastian almost wanted to point that out, say that Nero obviously hadn't been lying and maybe that meant it was working after all.  But instead he snorted a little puff of air, his eyes focused forward and into the distance rather than on his brother.

"He must not be full of shit then."  He stopped to glance at Desiré, noticing his lack of color.  Thankfully, the hospital was only moments away and Sebastian didn't have it in him to appear worried.  He was, but he didn't look it.  "Imagine that."  This last bit was said just as quietly as before, sarcastic and cold in irritation.

"What's it feel like?  The flu?"  This wasn't sarcastic at all but rather a curious question.  As they rounded on the hospital, Sebastian opted to take the standard glass door rather than the revolving door.  It would be easier for Desiré.  He then held the door open, not saying anything regarding the fact that he was being helpful nor offering any angry or otherwise snappy comment.  He only waited patiently for Desiré, the image of calm and collected.

Sebastian only had a few switches, it seemed.  Irritated, frustrated, angry, enraged, calm, serene and neutral.  He really didn't hit many of the other emotions, at least not visibly.  It was almost as if he had forgotten how.  But even as far back as he could remember, he had never been the most open individual.  And really, Desiré wasn't very open either, he just acted as if he was.

At least Desiré could pretend, though.

One had to wonder, considering that both boys had the habit of being rather closed about their emotions, what had caused it.  Certainly not their mother, who mourned the fact that her youngest son wouldn't talk to her about such things and thought her oldest son was happy as a lark, and there was the chance that it was their father, though not likely.  Their father wasn't exactly the most open of individuals, but he wasn't quite like they were.  At least, Dez didn't think so.  Maybe, but really, the most likely of candidates was their uncle.  Uncle Dirk, for as much as Desiré appeared to like him, was a pain in the ass, and he'd done just as much damage to the older boy as to the younger, just in drastically different ways.  Sebastian suffered because Dirk was trying to toughen him up, and Dirk disliked Sebastian for resisting.  Dirk liked Desiré because he hadn't resisted, because he'd always been the 'good little soldier' for his ex-military uncle.  He'd done what he was told, worked until he wanted to break sometimes, and whether Sebastian knew it or not, Dez had taken as much of Dirk's rougher treatment as he could to keep his brother from having to deal with it.  He knew how to handle their uncle better, and he could turn his train of thought to something unpleasantly difficult for him in an attempt to get his uncle's attention off of Sebastian.  It didn't always work, but he tried.

He didn't complain, and it helped him with sports, but Dirk really was an ass.  He'd been the one to enforce the refusal to show pain or bad emotions in Desiré, and he'd been the one who got the boy into telling those white lies about his situation.  Dez didn't get sick, because whenever he was asked, he wasn't.  If he admitted that he was hurt, it was because it was BAD, and again, that was Dirk.  Their Uncle had tormented the hell out of Sebastian, probably being the reason why the boy was as bitter and sarcastic as he was now, and Desiré had suffered in an entirely different manner.  He just put a smile on his face and pretended it wasn't so bad.  No wonder he did well in his drama class.

He wasn't up for pretending right then, though.  Fortunately, that 'enhanced sense' mumbo jumbo that Nero had mentioned hadn't kicked in, so he hadn't heard the less pleasant comments his brother made.  That was definitely for the better, since he didn't have the energy to argue or deal with it.  He'd have just internalized it in a way that would have made it even more painfully clear than it already was that they were brothers, and put a smile on his face.  As for the rest, he merely nodded, and agreed.  "Guess not."

It was true, and Dez himself had noticed.  Nero had said flu-like symptoms, and he wasn't sure that was exactly what it was, but it could have been.  It looked like he was right.  Explaining this to doctors and their parents was going to be difficult.  "I don't know, it could be.  I feel kind of cold, and I've got a hell of a headache building up.  I guess that's what it could be, but I haven't had a fever in a long time, so I really don't know."

He wasn't one of those kids that got the flu every year.  Poor Sebastian got sick more often than he did, which always made him feel bad.  "Thanks," he offered up when his brother held the door for him, appreciating it whether Sebastian wanted to mention that he was being helpful or not.  He didn't have to.  Desiré noticed it and appreciated it without having it pointed out.  Once inside, he tried to keep his face down, so that nobody would really get a good look at him.  If he was looking half as bad as he felt, he was going to be noticed eventually.  Getting back into bed and THEN being found would be much better.

Dirk had dealt Desiré most of the physical damage.  He had pushed him and pushed him, instilled a belief system in his head and made him someone else.  He was tougher and he was a faker.  To Sebastian, he had given him most of the emotional damage.  He had torn through him, berated his every action, called him names and threatened him to high heaven.

Neither had gotten the worst of the damage.  It was fairly even and it had created basically the same problem--neither one of them could express themselves correctly.

Sebastian didn't acknowledge the words of gratitude his brother gave him, he never really did, and followed him carefully.  He was watching out for people who might have been a potential problem, people like the nurse, the doctor or their mother.  Seeing none of them, he made sure to keep his eyes alert as they stepped into the elevator and out again, down the hall and to Desiré's room.

No one was in there, but that didn't mean that it would stay that way.

Moving out of the way, Sebastian stood beside the bed, staying relatively close in case he was needed for whatever reason.  He didn't have to offer because he was sure Desiré knew that he was there to help.  And Desiré wasn't feeling well at all, so if he needed his help, Sebastian was sure he would ask.  And if he didn't, then his brother was more of an idiot than he ever gave him credit for.

He remained silent for a while before he finally asked, "Should I call the nurse?  Maybe you need some more medication.  You look like shit."

Well, at least he was honest.

Sebastian never really acknowledged it when Desiré thanked him for something, but they were both used to that by now.  Dez really just thought that Sebastian didn't know how to deal with it, so he didn't.  It just wasn't one of those things that they worried about, and life went on.  He could have just as easily thanked him again for the way his brother kept an eye out for trouble while they made their way back to Desiré's room, far too slowly for his tastes.  It was all his fault, too.  Sebastian only kept that pace because Dez was being slow, so if they got caught, it would be his own fault.  Best not to get caught, then.

Amazingly, they made it back to his room without incident, and Desiré suddenly found himself trying to get back into the bed.  That wasn't a problem until he tried lifting his very painful, casted leg in, but he managed without help.  If he'd have needed it for that one, he'd have taken it.  He was already messed up enough without being stubborn and refusing the assistance out of pride.  Even so, he didn't bother with the blanket or sheet, even though he was cold and trying to pretend he wasn't shivering.  He needed a moment to just recover, though. 

"Thanks, glad to hear I'm looking better," he offered, actually grinning at that one.  Sebastian's honesty was sometimes refreshing, and Dez didn't mind.  He knew it was true.  "Lemme get settled first.  Don't you think I've had all the medicine I need, though?"  Maybe they could get over with this one, since nobody had stopped them or come in to yell, yet.

Sebastian made a move to assist Desiré up on the bed, but he stopped himself and chose to look on like a good little brother.  Desiré didn't ask for his help so Sebastian assumed he could do that on his own.  He didn't want to make it any more obvious to Desiré that his leg was absolutely totaled.

Desiré managed on his own anyway.

He did, however, grab the blankets and pull them out from underneath his brother, then covered him with them whether he liked it or not.  If he was having flu-like symptoms then Sebastian was positive that he would get a fever and start getting cold.  He didn't realize that Desiré was already starting with that, but he didn't have to see him shivering to know what it was like.  He remained silent, although he gave Desiré a stern sort of 'take care of yourself' look, and moved around the bed to take his usual seat on the left side.

One thing that never changed, even as the boys aged, was that they took care of each other.  Even when Sebastian was furious with Desiré for one reason or another, and even when Desiré was tired of dealing with Sebastian's attitude, they always looked out for one another.  And because Desiré was the one in the hospital bed, it was Sebastian who rose up and took the role of caregiver.  They were a lot closer than they sometimes acted.

"No," Sebastian answered.  "Not from my end, especially considering that now you're coming down with the flu.  When you get a fever, they're going to give you more anyway."  He then paused thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing at Desiré in a look that may have read hold on a second before he stood and put the back of his hand on his brother's forehead.  When he pulled it away, he frowned and rolled his eyes.  Desiré wasn't burning yet, but he was definitely hotter than he was supposed to be.  "You have a fever."

If this was really Nero's doing then. . .

. . .then he couldn't wait for the medicine to do what it was supposed to.

It really wasn't as though Desiré needed anymore reminders that his leg was a wreck and totally useless, so he appreciated Sebastian's consideration of the issue.  He also appreciated that his brother stepped up to pull the blanket and sheet out from under him, then over.  He'd have gotten to it eventually, but this made it easier.  He hurt enough already without trying to maneuver that one.

Regardless of their unspoken agreement to always take care of each other, Desiré really wasn't used to being the one taken care of.  In smaller ways, yes, sure, it happened regularly, but this was major.  Usually, he and his brother looked out for each other all day, everyday in little things.  Dirk would bitch about some chore that hadn't been done, Sebastian would overhear and know that it was Dez's ass in the fire, and he'd go behind and do it.  Desiré had done the same for his brother, and that was just one of the more mundane things.  Desiré couldn't count the number of time his younger brother had come up after their mother had left, obviously not believing Desiré when he said he wasn't sick, and felt his head or shoved medicine of some sort at him.  Dez had watched out for his younger brother while Sebastian was sick before, but the younger boy was much better about just saying that he felt like crap.  Desiré knew he was frustrating because he didn't do that, but Sebastian seemed to have picked up on subtle things that his older brother did (and didn't do) when he wasn't well, so it still worked out.  To assume that the two brothers being so different at first glance meant that they weren't incredibly close would be a very stupid assumption, indeed.

As was usual, Sebastian took only a moment or so to get suspicious curious enough to check his brother's forehead, and then Desiré knew he was going to be pumped full of antibiotics, none of which were likely to work if this was supposed to happen with Nero's 'regeneration water'.  At least, he didn't think so.  "This should be a pretty good excuse not to go through with that surgery, you know.  I don't think they like operating on someone like this," he pointed out.  Maybe it was the fever, or maybe he was just willing to give Nero's concoction a chance, because he definitely remembered Nero saying that he shouldn't go through with the surgery.  He still wasn't in a hurry to get a nurse in there, though.  Any nurse that came in and found him getting worse somehow was going to end up calling his parents, and having his mother sitting in there even longer that evening was going to suck.  It just made him feel guilty.

Hopefully, this would work and she could stop worrying.

It had been a couple of days now, nearing the week mark.  Sebastian had been in and out of the hospital often, dropping by after school and just after his additional college courses.  He had even dropped by Nero's office a couple of times to update him on his brother's condition and pry him for more answers to his pressing questions.  Nero was highly evasive, though, much like a politician.  But Sebastian was good at that game too, he wanted to be a lawyer after all, and tried to cut into Nero's unwillingness to give him straight answers.

So far he had only gathered that what Nero had given Desiré was highly experimental, something that Nero had never tested ("Your brother gets the honor of being the first one to get the works.") and that Nero was expecting them both to be highly surprised by the end of this.  He had said something about a grand finale.

Nero was a very frustrating man.

Desiré was still sick, although not as much so as he had been just two days ago in the middle of his flu, and he seemed to be feeling better.  Even his wounds were looking better.  The doctors were screaming "medical anomaly" and some were even uttering "miracle."  Sebastian had asked about Desiré's leg and the doctors seemed to think that it was healing.

Sebastian had to admit, he was really proud of himself.  He had been skeptical, with reason of course, but he had tried Nero anyway.  He squeezed him for information, even argued with him at one point, and now Desiré was getting better.  It was a feeling that he wasn't used to, so Sebastian hardly wore the emotion.  He only patted himself on the back silently, and only sometimes. . .

Like right now, for instance.

He sat beside Desiré, much like he had been doing for what felt like forever now, and smiled slightly.  It was so nice to know that he had helped.  If he hadn't intervened, well, Dez might just not have his leg at all.  And while he still blamed himself for this even happening in the first place, he was glad that he had done something to make it up to his brother.

Unlike Sebastian, who had been in and out of the hospital, visiting Desiré and then stopping by to see Nero between school and his extra classes, Dez had been stuck in the hospital, listening to his parents talk to doctors, Sebastian pass on the news of what he'd heard from Nero, and the nurses tell him it was a miracle that he was healing like this.  Basically, that all boiled down to Desiré accepting that Nero had been right, Sebastian had been right, and that it had worked.

He could have done without the week of the 'Flu from Hell'.  Even the doctors had been going crazy over that one, since he hadn't really been responding to any medication, and the illness just ran its course.  They'd been howling that his bloodwork was all wonky, and suddenly, towards the end of it, his face stopped hurting every time he smiled, the bruising along his right side seemed to be gone, and he'd heard that the rest was improving.  His left arm and leg (and his side, since he'd managed to mess that up, too) were still bandaged up like a mummy, but none of them were hurting as much as they had been.  Of course, that was all relative, since his leg HAD BEEN a whole world of pain in and of itself.  Now, it wasn't great, but it had improved.  From the way things were looking, it would be fine.

He really did owe Sebastian, and Nero.

Of course, he didn't know anything about this 'grand finale', so he couldn't be paranoid about it, yet.  All he knew was that Sebastian had every right to be proud.  He didn't look it, though.  This 'silent pat on the back' wasn't going to cut it.

Sebastian gave him this slight little smile, and Dez returned it with a grin of his own.  One that didn't hurt.  That alone was great.  "I didn't believe it.  Even when I got that sick, I didn't believe that it would actually work, but it is.  This is amazing, Sebastian.  Thank you."

Sebastian clasped his hands together and placed them between his knees, leaning forward and letting his hair obscure his vision.  "I didn't do anything," he told Desiré with a shake of his head.  "You should thank Nero.  He's the genius here.  I was just the delivery boy."  He smiled self-deprecatingly, raising his head to look at his brother.

No, he knew that he had helped out.  But he believed what he said completely.  Sure, he was proud of himself, that was only natural, but Nero was the one who deserved the thanks.  He had created the serum and given Desiré the injection.  He was the one who assured them that he knew exactly what he was doing.  It was all thanks to Nero.

Sebastian didn't feel like he should be thanked for anything.  What had he done?

However, he slowly drew his smile out into a real one and looked away from his brother, a little embarrassed.  "But. . . you're welcome."  And that was sincere.

It wasn't hard for him to make that decision earlier.  The one that led him to Nero.  He loved his brother, Desiré was probably the most important person in his life, so he had been more than willing to search for a solution.  Anything to save his brother the trouble and the trauma that went along with losing a limb.  It only seemed natural.

It was nothing but natural to both of them to look out for each other, and sometimes, that just meant making sure that Sebastian felt suitably appreciated.  To Desiré, that was just common sense, but if he'd known how lowly his brother thought of himself, he'd have put more effort into it.  "Don't give me that 'delivery boy' nonsense.  Nero only did this because you asked him, and I wouldn't have even known about it if not for you, so you did plenty," he argued.

Then, he smiled again.  Sebastian had actually smiled at him, actually looked like he meant it, and responded.  That was more important than anything else.  Sebastian didn't always look like he meant it when he appeared happy, even if Desiré could still be fooled.  He tried, but Sebastian could be pretty good at pretending, himself. 

"You really saved my ass.  Guess I owe you one," he continued, and nevermind the fact that he'd gotten crushed the way he had trying to keep Sebastian safe.  That didn't count.  "I'll be sure to drop by and thank your scientist friend, too.  Have you talked to him at all since?"

"And I only asked because you're my brother," Sebastian answered without hesitation.  Then he paused, realized what he just said and faltered.  Well, great, that was sentimental.  He sighed and rolled his eyes at himself.  He didn't want to start going there to that squishy, soft place with his brother.  Although, it probably was high time that they have that moment, but Sebastian was putting it off until it had to happen.

He probably should have told Desiré how worried he had been about him, and how much it was killing him to know his brother was stuck in the damn hospital while he got to go home and be free (or as free as he could be at home).  And while he was sure Desiré already knew this without it having to be said out loud, it was probably one of those things that was better said than implied.

But he didn't say anything about it.

"You don't owe me anything."  No, no Desiré didn't and that was that.  "And last I talked to Nero, I told him you're getting better," he motioned towards Desiré's leg.  "He said we'll probably have to stop by and see him again soon.  He seemed pretty sure that you'd have a lot of questions for him. . ."

Sebastian definitely didn't do 'sentimental' and 'caring' all that well when it came down to conversation and showing his feelings, but Desiré knew what he meant.  He didn't take offense, though he snorted at the response, catching Sebastian's eye roll.  He was betting he knew what was up with that.

The younger of the two brothers wasn't the only one that felt that squishy, sentimental talk coming up, and though Desiré didn't want to be the one to bring it up, he knew someone was going to have to.  Eventually, one of them was going to crack and have to do it, and he was hoping it wasn't him.  That really wasn't his style.  It was true that they both knew that Sebastian had been worried and upset over this, but Desiré also underestimated the extent of his brother's concern.  He underestimated how much he meant to Sebastian, probably in the same way that Sebastian underestimated his own worth.  They weren't really so different, in the end.

Neither of them said it.

It wasn't like they had much time to approach the subject, though.  The door had already been open, which meant that they didn't get much in the way of warning before a tall doctor with short-cropped dark hair walked in, shutting the door behind himself.  Why was a doctor shutting the door?  What was going on?

Was Nero's injection doing something crazy to him?  "Um, hello?  Sorry, but who are you?"

Victor smiled that 'bedside manner smile' of his, taking in the two boys in front of him for a moment before answering the boy in the bed.  "I'm Dr. Batten.  I was going to be the surgeon who managed your leg before your surgery was postponed.  I thought I'd come see what all the trouble was about," he informed them casually, taking in their appearances.  The older boy looked far too healed up, especially considering the condition he'd been in upon arrival in comparison to the younger boy.  Victor had seen photos and x-rays.  That boy shouldn't have been healed like that, and his blood tests were showing strange things that hadn't been there when he first arrived at the hospital.

Very, very suspicious.

"Congratulations.  You seem to have made a miracle recovery, one that none of your doctors have any idea how to explain.  Do the two of you have any idea how it happened?" he asked, looking from the oldest, then back to the youngest.  He'd heard some of what was said as he came in, and he had a damn good idea what had happened.  He wanted to see what they said.

Sebastian was not looking forward to their heart-to-heart conversation.  He never, ever looked forward to those and actually tended to avoid them.  When he felt them coming, he generally escaped.  Today, though, he felt it coming and was unable to go anywhere.  He could only sit there and hope that it would pass.

Then the door opened and shut again, a new person standing in the room.  Sebastian stood up from his seat, his back was previously towards the door, and gave the man a level look.  What was this about?  He introduced himself as the would-be surgeon and mentioned the 'miracle' of Desiré's healing.  Sebastian automatically narrowed his eyes suspiciously, wondering why the hell the surgeon took it upon himself to appear in the room to tell them this?

How it happened?  Yeah, they knew, but what were they supposed to say?  "Oh yeah, a scientist gave him some crazy magic shot that healed him"?  Sebastian shrugged his shoulders indifferently.  "We don't know.  No one seems to."  He frowned a little.  "Why?  What do you expect us to know that the doctors don't?"

That was a reasonable enough response.  What could a couple of teenagers realistically have known or done to fix Desiré's leg?  What Nero did shouldn't have been possible anyway, so that really shouldn't be an option in this game.  However, Sebastian also had no idea that Victor had heard any of their previous conversation.

So, the younger one was going to play stupid.  That was fine, and not entirely unexpected.  Victor would have thought less of him if he just spilled it all with one vague question.  Victor would just get more specific, and see where this went. 

"Let me rephrase.  Are you two aware of what Nero did?" he asked, looking from one to the other.  He didn't personally know for sure, but he knew that it wasn't going to be as simple as a 'miracle cure'.  Given what he knew Nero was usually working on, he had ideas, especially with the strange blood tests.  If that was the case, he was going to have to push to get Desiré cleared for a release from the hospital. 

Leaving Sebastian to do the talking didn't seem like such a bad idea as far as Desiré was concerned, especially since he didn't honestly know much about what was going on.  He shot his brother the closest thing to a subtle 'uh oh' look as he could (a questioning sort of look with an eyebrow cocked up) when Victor mentioned Nero, and really, he didn't know what to say.  Other than spilling it or denying it, and this doctor seemed to know what was going on, or some, at least, they didn't have a lot of options.

Great.

So, what did this guy want?

He used Nero's name.  He used his name.  Shit, he knew.  Sebastian's whole body went rigid, eyes narrowing in outraged confusion.  Who the hell was this doctor and what did he want?

"Alright, who the hell are you and what do you want?"

Leave it to Sebastian to just get straight down to the point.

"Why would anything that was done be any of your concern?  Unless you know what he did, in which case, you should just say so.  I don't want to play any games, doctor."  Sebastian's expression had faded into something slightly more impassive, not entirely calm but no longer accusatory as it had been.

It couldn't be accusatory because he knew that Nero had done something.  Something bad.  Something he shouldn't have.  He knew by what Nero had said, the smile, the grand finale that they were waiting for.  And honestly?  Sebastian would have been lying through his teeth if he said that he wasn't nervous about it.  He was.  If anything awful happened, it would have been his fault.  His fault again.  And Desiré would be hurt again.  The fact of the matter was that he wasn't looking forward to the outcome of all of this.

He kept telling himself that it didn't matter.  Desiré still had his leg.  Desiré could still walk, run, jump, and be normal.

But normalcy was relative, wasn't it?