Chapter Text
“I thought I was okay.”
You're sweating in a doctor's office.
You're sweating because Derek's voice has gone very shallow, very fast, and the doctor's face isn't budging an inch.
“I thought I was okay.” Derek repeats, firmer now.
“You have minimal brain damage. Minimal does not mean none.” The doctor explains calmly, spreading his hands. “Headaches and migraines are common during this stage, and you may feel disoriented due to the chemical imbalances you’re currently experiencing. You need to be resting.”
“I told you.” You whisper unhelpfully, and Derek scowls at you before turning back to the doctor.
“We’re just trying to get home. Don't you have any medication I can take?” Derek asks pointedly.
“Yes, but if you continue to push yourself like this your symptoms will–” The doctor tries, but Derek is on a mission.
“Great. Give it to me.” He says, sharp.
The doctor purses his lips, clearly disapproving of your boyfriend's stern demeanor.
No. He appears stern.
You, however, can see that he's beginning to crack.
After a fleeting, tense moment, the man sighs. “You should be able to manage your headaches with Tylenol, for now. If the pain worsens, you'll need to contact your doctor.”
Derek nods stiffly, and another awkward pause fills the room.
“Young man,” The doctor clears his throat, but quickly backpedals when Derek's nostrils flare in agitation. You rest your hand on his, silently asking him to refrain from lunging at the older man.
“Mr. Hutchins.” The doctor corrects quickly. “You've experienced trauma, that much is clear, and when it comes to the brain, no injury is too small. It's going to take both time and patience to ensure that your symptoms are not exacerbated. These things can last for life, if left untreated.” He warns meaningfully.
“I just want to move on and go home.” Derek hisses back at him.
He's not listening.
Your gaze keeps bouncing between them, nervously rubbing circles into the back of Derek's clenched hand.
“I understand–” The man starts.
“No, you don't.” Derek snaps at him before turning away. “We're done here. Useless.”
He’s muttering under his breath, half to you and half to himself. You worriedly bite your lip, giving the doctor an apologetic glance. The man sighs, leaving the room to collect Derek's paperwork.
You watch the door close before turning to your boyfriend, having half a mind to chide him for being so rude, only to see Derek hunched over himself, now clutching your hand in a death grip.
For a second you're terrified he's having an episode, or about to faint like he did when getting back on the bus that brought you here.
He's trembling, just barely.
You hesitate, but only for a moment.
You rest your free hand over the one he's currently trying to crush. “Der?”
He's staring at his lap, face hidden by the curtain of his hair.
You stroke his shaking hand, scooting a bit closer in your uncomfortable chair. “Der, talk to me. What's wrong?”
He raises his head a little, enough where you can see his sharp eyes and tired face. His features are screwed up with frustration, and grief, and a dozen other emotions you don't normally see him express in public.
His lip wobbles. His gaze flickers from your joined hands to your face, then back down, then back to your face again. He grimaces, eyes falling shut as he forces himself to look away.
You lift your hand up, resting the back of your knuckles against his collarbone.
Even like this, you can hear his heart hammering away in his chest.
At least it means he's still alive in there, even if he is giving you the silent treatment.
You can't be mad at him. You may not be smart, but you're not dumb.
This runs deeper than his usual stubbornness.
“Derek.” You call softly, moving your hand to rest on his shoulder, rubbing gently. “It's okay.”
And that’s what finally breaks him.
He's cried in front of you before. Hard to avoid, considering the shit you both went through.
But it was…different, back then.
He choked it all down, always shaking it off, never letting out more than what was absolutely necessary.
Quiet sniffles and teary eyes, aggravated yelling and desperate smiles: all of that, you've seen.
That's not crying. You've never seen him cry.
And thus, you are woefully unprepared when Derek: the calm one, the smart one, the strong one– Starts sobbing.
You immediately bolt out of your seat, taking hold of him as he folds over like an old newspaper.
“Hey– Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, it's alright, you're alright–” You say in a hushed tone, rubbing his back as he cries into his hands, shaking. He blindly grasps for you, leaning into your chest and letting you hug him as the last seven days drain out of his soul.
He couldn't stop even if he wanted to, almost hyperventilating with how hard he's panting.
You gently shush him, not to actually quiet the wails, but to try and soothe his frazzled hiccups. “C’mon, breathe for me, alright? Breathe, Der, you're going to hurt your head. Shhh, it's alright. It's alright. You'll be okay.”
“F-fuck-k everything-g–” He grits out, breathing heavily.
The anger doesn't last. He doesn't have the energy to make it last.
He ends up coughing instead, and the failed cursing just makes him dissolve back into tears.
“I want to go home.” He gently bumps his head against your chest, keening as he claws at you. “I want to feel normal a-again…”
He's been taking new medicine. He fainted from the last migraine he had. He's struggling to adjust to this new way of life, to the lack of static in his head.
And he keeps trying to be strong for you, because you're hurt too.
But that’s not fair.
If he keeps trying to just carry on, he's going to end up seriously hurting himself.
“I know.” You soothe tentatively, petting his hair. “I know, I know. I'm so sorry.”
He puts on quite a show when he wants to be the dashing knight type, and you admit, you are easily blindsided by him.
But he's not a knight. He's just a scared boy in a hospital.
A scared boy who was just told that his brain may not ever be the same again, and that he can't force his way back to normality, because that will just make everything worse.
You wince, carding your hands through his hair as you let him squeeze the life out of you.
Right now he seems to be caught between wanting to hurl himself out of the hospital bed and cling to you as tightly as possible.
“Can I sit next to you? Would you like that?” You whisper, pressing a kiss to his temple. He's already buried his face in your T-shirt, crying even harder.
“You’re going to wear yourself out.” You protest, continuing to pet him, trying to tilt his head in a way that helps him breathe. “Der, sweetie, can you– Alright.”
You inhale sharply before pulling yourself up onto the hospital bed, crowding him.
Derek doesn't mind in the slightest, seeing as he was already trying to more or less merge with your body. He coughs again, and you continue to rub his back as he sits up a bit.
“Breathe.” You remind him. He nods rapidly, turning his head away to press the heel of his palm to his leaking eyes.
“I don't know why I'm being like this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, this is so embarassing–”
You exhale, chest tightening. It breaks your heart to see him cry. “No, it's not. Not to me.”
He shakes his head slightly, still staring at the wall as he tries to get himself back under control.
You don't need him under control. You need him to feel safe enough to calm down.
You nudge him. “Derek.”
He growls at you from over his shoulder, trying his best to pick up the scattered shards of his mask.
“Please.” You beg softly. “Look at me?”
He shudders, sniffling.
You chuckle to yourself, worried. “Didn't know I was so ugly my own boyfriend won't even–”
He immediately snaps to you, glaring. “You are not ugly, don't ever say that–”
You grin at him, watery. Gotcha.
He's still him, mood swings be damned.
He huffs, scrubbing at the tears that continue to slip down his face. “Not fair.”
“Mhm.” You look him over, and this time he lets you, having thoroughly exhausted himself. Again. For like the billionth time.
His eyes are red and puffy, squinted in that way that means he's triggered another migraine from all the crying and jostling.
“C’mere.” You motion.
He blinks at you, sluggish.
“Oh, for…come on, Der.” You laugh patiently, brushing your thumb against his tear-sore cheek. He rests his head on your collar in reply, slumping against you. You arrange him so he can stay tucked under your chin, fixing the mess he's made of the blankets.
Once you're settled, you let out a long exhale. “It's gonna be okay, you know? We've already done the hard part."
He chuckles tiredly, nodding a little.
“We're in no rush. We can take all the time we need. If you’re in pain or feel sick during the trip, I need you to tell me.” You plead. It takes him a few minutes, but eventually his sounds of distress begin to taper out. He snuggles in close to you, voice rattly.
“I'm s-sorry.”
You huff, giving him a small kiss on the head. “Don't be sorry. How long have you been holding that in?”
“Dunno. Forever.” His voice breaks.
He’s holding you like he thinks you'll disappear.
You can't imagine ever leaving his side.
“We’re safe now.” You remind him. “You're safe, I'm safe. Everything will be okay. We'll make it work.”
“But–”
“Ah, no.” You quietly shush him, placing your hand on his chest, urging him to stay lying down. You may seem calm, but you’re actually very worried about how much he may have just strained himself.
“No buts. We'll be okay. You need to rest.” You declare. His jaw clenches and unclenches, and he looks like he wants to cry again. You tsk, tenderly rubbing at the tear tracks on his cheek. “You're gonna be okay. I promise.”
He sighs weakly, letting you fuss over him. He doesn't have the strength to fight you over it anyway, and even if he did, you would still win.
“I love you. I love you more than anything in the world.” You whisper in his ear, and he shies away from your blatant affection, hiding in your chest. You smile, toying with his hair. “I love you, so I'm gonna take care of you, okay?”
He tries to argue, making a disapproving noise. “I don't– Ave–”
“No buts. Remember?” You say with a raised brow as you settle down beside him. He nestles himself in your arms, going quiet as he picks at the blanket.
“I don’t know what I'm doing. Or why.” He admits in a small voice. “I don't know why I can't seem to…” He trails off, and the trembles come back.
“That’s okay. You don't need to do anything right now. Just relax.” You gently insist, and a pleased feeling takes over your chest when he shuts his eyes, pressing his face into your shoulder.
“Just let me take care of us, okay? Just for one day?” You murmur, coaxing. He grumbles, then nods against your neck, admitting defeat.
By the time the doctor returns, Derek's breathing has evened out, exhaustion dragging him into a heavy nap. The doctor takes a pause when he sees you squished against Derek in the bed but graciously doesn't comment.
He stands at your side, offering you the paperwork. You carefully press your hand over Derek's exposed ear, whispering to the man in front of you.
“I'm sorry if he was a little mean. He's been through a lot.” You say, sheepish.
The doctor shrugs, speaking at a similar volume. “No worries. Trust me, I've seen it all. Besides, you seem like you have things under control now.”
He flips through the paperwork.
“You two are travelling, so it's a bit hard to prescribe anything at this time. He was vague when describing his pain levels so, like I said earlier, keep Tylenol on hand, maybe some melatonin if he has trouble sleeping. Once you're back home, you should be taking him to a neurologist to make sure he continues to recover safely, and to answer any further questions he may have about potential medications or procedures, should his symptoms worsen.”
You smile faintly, nodding. “Thank you, sir.”
“Fainting is not a joke.” The doctor says as he hands over the paperwork. “Granted, I believe this episode was due to dehydration and lack of food mixed with an incoming migraine, not something like a hemorrhage. But in the future, watch out for warning signs that he may fall or trip, especially in the early days of recovery.”
“I've got him. Thanks.” You say, protectively pulling Derek a little closer, if such a thing were even possible.
The man sighs, rubbing the back of his head. “That's about all we can do for you here. He's all checked out. I wish you both the best of luck returning home. Oh, and happy new year.”
He bids you goodbye with a brief wave, and leaves the room once you return the sentiment.
As you wait, you make sure to read the discharge notes thoroughly, since there's a fifty-fifty chance that Derek won't.
Derek sleeps through the next fifteen minutes without so much of a twitch, and although you know he probably needs the sleep, you also know that he'd be very upset to find out you missed the next bus just to let him catch some zzzs.
Stubborn. So stubborn about everything, especially his own health.
You fix his hair where it's fallen into his face, shifting occasionally to make sure he stays comfortable. You wouldn't feel right leaving him all disheveled, he wouldn't like it.
You sigh, almost laughing.
God, you're really just a pair of fusspots, aren't you?
Somehow that makes you perfect for each other, whereas in another life there would be lots and lots of arguing between you two.
But no, you don't argue. You've never argued about anything with Derek Hutchins. Definitely not.
You quietly giggle, giving yourself another ten, fifteen minutes before biting the bullet and gently shaking Derek awake. You'd carry him out to the car, but uh, your ankle is sort of…destroyed. And so is your shoulder. Which is pissing you off, because you want to be able to carry him everywhere.
Alas, you’ll have to settle for apologetic wake-up kisses. You nuzzle him, nudging his shoulder. He doesn't stir in the slightest, at least not immediately, and you resist the urge to coo.
“Derek. Wake up. We're gonna miss our bus.”
He groans, opening one eye. “Hm?”
“We're discharged, bud. I can call an Uber to the nearest station, but I need you to help me walk out to the front."
He blinks, eyelashes fluttering, and you can see his brain registering “Help Avery” faster than anything else.
You chuckle as he looks you up and down, examining your wrapped ankle with a critical eye.
“Feeling okay?” He asks, rubbing at his irritates eyes.
“Yup. I'm doing great. How 'bout you?” You prod.
“Eh. Tired. Same as ever.”
“We'll get you some meds before we leave, okay? You can sleep on the bus.”
“Not safe.” He huffs as you get out of the bed.
“Sleep on the bus or be cranky the whole way home. Take it or leave it, big guy.”
He grunts in reply, making you smile.
You hover at his side while he slowly gets up.
When he fell, you were barely able to catch him. You don't want to see what happens if there's a round two.
Luckily, he doesn't fall.
He takes a moment, still waking up, yawns, and then stands like nothing's wrong. He looks at you, and automatically pats your hair down where the locs have gone crooked.
You grin. "Are you done being grumpy?”
“I'm not being grumpy.” He says flatly, looking at the paperwork in your hands. “What's that?”
“Your homework.” You wave it at him.
He immediately turns around and starts walking away.
Knew it.
He holds the door open for you, and together you crawl your way back to the bus station, hopeful to catch the next one out of here.
You're a little over a quarter into the journey back to San Diego, and although Derek collapsing was not ideal by any means, it makes sense for it to have happened, given everything that came before.
You make sure to keep an arm around his waist, although there's not a lot you can do with it if he falls. You're both kind of messed up right now.
Ah, well. It's the thought that counts.
When you finally get to the station, tickets secured, both of you immediately collapse into the rickety old waiting chairs.
“We should've gotten a car.” You wheeze.
“Driving? With your bum leg and my fainting spells? We’d be dead before we reached Monterey.” Derek huffs, laughing.
You slap him weakly against the chest, massaging your aching ankle. “Hmng. I need to charge my phone.”
“I can go get us a battery block for the ride, I need to find us some food anyway.” He muses, moving to stand.
“No.” You drone, grabbing his wrist when tries to get up. He looks down at you, how you're taking up three seats and looking positively beaten by gravity.
He sits down again, smiling that stupid, secretive smile that means he thinks you're being silly. You're not being silly.
“Wherever you go, I go. We don't have enough physical strength between us to peel the other off the floor right now so just sit down.” You demand, shaking his limp arm.
Great. Now you're the grumpy one.
“Aves. I'm fine.” He says, quirking an eyebrow.
“Yeah, yeah, you liar.”
“Avery, please take your head off the seat. It's gross.” He says dutifully, and of course he’s back to his normal annoying self now that he's had his cry-nap.
“You're gross.” You inform him, twisting around and putting your now-gross head in his lap.
He stares down at you, squinting. “We still need that charging block.”
“I'm not calling anybody until we're back home. Candy Crush can wait.”
“Oh, you're unbelievable.” He scolds, holding your face.
“We can get it later. The bus doesn't come for another two hours.” You complain, already comfortable.
“You just want to stay in my lap.”
“Maybe, maybe.” You snicker, which makes him smirk in turn. You can still see the redness from when he cried.
Your smile closes, and you brush your knuckle against his chin. “You doing okay? For real? You need anything, I'm there. I worry about you, you know?”
“The feeling is mutual, trust me.” He soothes, hugging your hand to his chest. His eyes are soft. “I was just…stressed out. I dunno. I felt weird. But I'll be okay. Eventually.”
“That’s right. And remember. You're never getting rid of me.” You say, waving your finger at him. “You had your chance and you blew it, mister. Now you get Avery nagging you for life.”
He tries to speak, but the giggles get to him first.
It's good to see him happy, after everything.
“Be careful.” You chide, reaching up to pet the side of his probably-aching head.
He leans down, kissing the space between your eyebrows. “What, I can't laugh anymore?”
“Mm.” You grunt, scowling.
You know what I mean.
“Fine, fine.” He leans back, sighing as he cradles your head.
You're probably inconveniencing a bunch of people by lying across the seats like this, but honestly, you couldn't care less.
You have ghoul-bitten ankle privileges.
And your boyfriend passed out less than twelve hours ago and currently needs all your attention, so the other non-traumatized passengers are going to have to wait their turn.
You get his medicine, he gets you your battery block.
You make it onto the bus with no issues, thank God.
And he does end up sleeping on the way home, his fingers tangled in yours.