REVISED AND EXPANDED: Alive Beneath the Snow, 4/5
Title: Alive Beneath the Snow, chapter four
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 5,562
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry)
Supporting Characters: Greg
Summary: The days wear on and everyone starts to wear down.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort.
Chapter Four
The doctor sighed, shaking his head as he turned away from Sean's still form. Scott, Elliott, and Barry were gathered on the other side of the bed, waiting to hear the prognosis. But it was easy enough to tell from his expression that he was unconvinced.
"There isn't any indication that anything has changed," he said, taking them in with a collective look. "Maybe you bumped his fingers yourself when you were holding his hand."
"I didn't!" Elliott said in frustration. "He moved. Even if you can't believe it, it's the truth. Is it so impossible to think that you might have been wrong about him?"
The physician removed his glasses, massaging his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "I just don't want you to be disappointed," he said. "The other doctor's arrived. We'll see what he says."
It was agonizing to wait while the second examination took place. Again they were forced to leave the room, and then the ICU, to pace about in the main hall. Thinking was almost impossible; all they could envision was Sean laying there, still fighting to live, and the doctors not believing it. In desperation they continued to pray, clinging to the newfound hope that Elliott had felt Sean move. But when at last the nurse called them to come back to the room, she did not look anything but somber. They followed her with sinking hearts.
"You're going to tell us the same thing, aren't you?" Scott frowned as he pushed open the door a moment later.
The second doctor sighed, looking up from where he had been monitoring Sean's vital signs. "I can't find any indication that he's still with us," he said. "The only hope is if, once the poison is fully out of his system, he will begin to revive."
"I thought the antidote wasn't even helping," Elliott frowned. "Isn't it what sent him into this state?!"
A nod. "Most likely. But it seems to have finally done something positive. The poison is dissipating. Whether or not it's too late, I can't say."
"How long will it take for the poison to be gone?" Scott asked as they walked back to the bed. He did not want to get his hopes up so soon. That would just be foolish. But this was new information in Sean's favor. It was impossible not to feel that there was something new to cling to and hope for.
The physician shook his head. "Another day, maybe. . . . Or more or less than that. It's hard to say for sure, when this is a poison we've never had experience with."
He studied the bedraggled trio with a slight frown. "And if the three of you don't get some rest, I'll be treating all of you," he said.
"We can't leave Sean," Elliott objected.
"We could take shifts," Scott suggested. He did not want to leave either, but he could see that Elliott was about to drop. And though Barry would never say it, and would try his hardest not to show it, he was weakening too.
"Do that," the doctor said. "Do anything, only see that you eat and sleep!" His expression softened as he went past them to the door. The poor men, so heartsick and worried, yet trying to keep hold of any smidgen of hope.
He prayed that their efforts would be rewarded.
****
Elliott sighed to himself as he sank into the chair next to Sean's bed. He had tried to insist on taking the first shift so that Scott and Barry could eat, but they had been even more insistent that he eat ahead of them. And, not wanting to waste time disagreeing, he had consented. He could barely remember what he had just eaten, let alone how it had tasted. He had just wanted to hurry back to Sean.
He still felt guilty about having attacked Vic. The guy was a complete creep, but Elliott was supposed to have better self-control. He was a law enforcement officer. That was supposed to come first, before personal feelings or grief. But he had not been able to stand the heartless way Vic had acted. Sean was in this predicament because of him, yet he showed no appreciation or gratitude whatsoever. The crumpled IOU had definitely been insincere.
"I lost control of myself tonight," he confessed to the quiet room. "I . . . I beat Vic up. His nose was bleeding and everything. . . ." He touched his cheek. "I think I finally remembered to wash the blood off of me. . . ."
He looked to Sean's silent form, still only breathing through artificial means. And the anger began to rise once more.
"He didn't care," he said, his voice cracking. "I bet even if he came and saw you, he wouldn't care at all. Not that I'd want him anywhere near you."
He ran his hands into his hair. ". . . I shouldn't have done it anyway," he said, trying to force back the hateful feelings. "And Barry. . . . He's normally the most composed of all of us, but even he lost it. He threw Vic clear across the room.
"I guess Vic's not really hurt bad, though. . . . At least not physically. I kind of hope we shook him up a little bit.
"The Chief already knows. . . . She said Scott called her before rumors could start spreading. She let us both off with a warning. We're just lucky she knows us so well. If that had been Schwemphf . . ." He shuddered. "We'd already be out of jobs and a place to stay. And you . . ." He shook his head. "I bet he'd order you taken off of life support. . . . At least if the same results come up after these other tests and the waiting period. . . . And I'm praying they don't."
He reached down, gripping Sean's hand. "I know you're still fighting," he said. "And I know you moved your fingers. No doctor is ever going to convince me otherwise. I won't let them take away any chance you have left to live. Neither will Scott and Barry."
Sean did not respond this time. Elliott lapsed into silence, just holding on to his hand. He was a harboring a vain hope that Sean would move again---but maybe just the contact alone would help bring him back, even if not immediately.
". . . We've been through a lot together, you and I." Speaking after such a long stretch of silence almost felt surreal. The words were loud in the lonely room, though Elliott had not raised his voice.
"Just think, we met before Barry or Scott joined us," he went on, leaning on the railing with his other arm. "I remember that time. . . . I was just that quiet nerd that the bullies picked on. . . . And I learned to fight because I hated being treated like a pushover. They left me alone after that, for the most part. They told me no one would want me around unless it was to be a bodyguard. I guess . . . I started to wonder if it was true.
"Then one day I saw this crazy kid wandering all over Manhattan, obviously lost." He chuckled. "Of course, he wouldn't admit it. He still doesn't. But . . ." He sighed. "I was lonely, and he looked lonely too . . . so I went over to say Hi. He jumped a mile. But then he turned to me with a big grin and said 'Hi!' . . . Just like we'd always known each other."
He allowed a small smile. "That wasn't a chance meeting," he said. "I think even you aren't skeptical about that. We were supposed to find each other and become surrogate brothers, just like we were supposed to meet Barry and Scott. We're a family."
And he outright chuckled. "Remember when you decided to grow your hair out and braid it? That caused enough of a stir, but then you decided to take it even further by bleaching it! And to only bleach the braids. . . ." He snickered. "Only you, Sean."
He slumped back, the weariness coming back into his eyes. Carrying on a one-sided conversation under these circumstances made him feel like crying. And remembering the past twisted his heart. There was always the chance that times like those would never come again. As much as he was determined to have hope, he could not stop the darker, hopeless thoughts from creeping into his mind.
"Sean . . ." he spoke, scarcely above a whisper. "Please come back. . . . Please. . . ."
The machines beeped and whirred and inhaled in reply.
****
The hours blurred into one long, unending nightmare. Meals consisted of sandwiches from the cafeteria and snacks from the vending machines. The others tried to sleep, but it was a nearly fruitless task. They tossed and turned in misery, forced to dream about Sean's condition when they were not awake to witness it.
Someone was always in Sean's room, talking or singing to him. Occasionally they would doze in the chair or on the other bed, but for the most part they remained awake, their eyes bloodshot and their hearts aching. Sean had not moved at all since Elliott had been certain Sean's fingers had brushed his hand. And the doctors had assessed that the poison had been gone for some time. For Sean to not show some sign of reviving, they were growing certain again that it was too late.
But all over the New York branch of ACME, the other agents waited and prayed. Sean was a skilled, intelligent detective, yet more importantly, he was a beloved friend. He was not forgotten in his time of need.
Greg was thinking of these things as he made his way to ACME several days later. His coat was draped over his arm, the latest case notes in his hand. The last thing he was expecting was to be hailed by Mrs. Pumpkinclanger as he entered the old, familiar alley. But their neighbor was leaning out the window with a frown.
"Has there been any news on that man with the braids?" she asked.
Greg started and looked up at her. "No, Mrs. P.," he said. "He's still the same."
She sniffed. "Let me know if there's any change," she ordered. Before Greg could even reply, she slammed the window.
He jumped a mile. "Uh . . . sure, Mrs. P.," he called up. "Any time. . . ." He turned to the steps, stunned as he walked up and grabbed the doorknob. Was she actually concerned about Sean? She was always complaining that he and the others made too much noise. He smiled a bit. Maybe she missed them being out in the alley. Not that she'd ever admit it.
As he entered his office, his eyes widened in surprise to see a man in a wheelchair being pushed into the room by an infirmary orderly. "Can I help you?" he asked, taking note of the bandages around the agent's left eye. He recognized the man, who had been hit by flying glass while on a case---but they were not personally acquainted.
"I just wanted to let you know I've been thinking of your friend," the injured agent said. "I heard about what happened when I woke up from my surgery."
Greg blinked. "Oh. . . . Well, thanks," he said. "I know he'd appreciate it. We've been worried about you, too. . . ."
A hand was held up to stop him. "I'm over the worst of it," the other man said. "I don't want people making a big fuss over me; I'll be up and around soon. The doctors think they were able to save my eye, too. But even if I'll be half-blind, I'll be alive." He sighed, shaking his head. "If your friend doesn't make it, I'll wonder why I was spared."
Greg looked down. "It'd just be one of those things," he said. He felt awkward with this conversation. He had not really known how to handle the situation with Sean at all, though he was doing his best to let the others know he was concerned. The last thing he wanted to do was make them feel like he was avoiding them.
The younger agent nodded. "I guess," he said. "Just one of those things. . . ." He gestured to the orderly, indicating to be taken back.
Greg glanced up again. "I'll let Sean's other friends know you're worried," he said.
He was met with another nod as the man was wheeled away. With a sigh Greg turned, going over the case notes in his hand. Where was the Voice when he was needed? He could heal Sean in an instant. Was Sean really supposed to keep laying like that, at death's door, while his friends worried and waited? What could really be gained from such a tragic, heart-rending experience?
"Come on, buddy," Greg said under his breath. "Don't let us down."
****
Scott rubbed his eyes, leaning on the bed railing in exhaustion. He felt more out of the loop than a zombie. But somewhere in his mind, he was aware that it had been over seventy-two hours since Sean had been put on the ventilator to preserve his life. It seemed so much longer.
He had barely slept at all the last few days. His mind and heart were in constant turmoil, keeping him awake for the most part. When he did sleep, it was more of a torture than a release. The visions he saw made him want to wake right up again and at least be rooted in reality. He did not want to see his worst fears realized---Sean crashing again, unable to be revived. . . . Schwemphf ordering him to be taken off of life support. . . . Sean crying out that he was still there and for the others to not let it happen. . . .
Last night Scott had come close to taking a sleeping pill. It had sounded so tempting---one little pill for eight hours of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep. But in the end he had turned it down. What if something critical happened right when he was asleep and he could not be awakened to be there for the others? He could not put them through that. He had to make sure that he was always there when they needed him.
"I've been trying to hold things together, Sean," he spoke at last, barely above a whisper. "I . . . I've been acting as the leader while we wait for you to wake up . . . not just because you asked me to, but because both El and Barry have already shattered. I can't break too. . . . I don't know how you ever managed it." He shook his head. "It . . . it's so hard. . . . Watching El and Barry suffering, and you laying here, and not being able to do anything. . . ."
He gripped his arms. "I can imagine how you felt all those times in the past. . . . It's bad enough to be a worried friend, without the responsibilities of a leader, too. The other day, I wanted so bad to let loose and attack Vic, like El and even Barry did. . . . But I knew that if all of us lost it, who'd be there to try to put things back together? I . . . I had to stay strong . . . even though I was breaking inside. . . ."
He peered more closely at the drawn face. "Sean, tell me something. The leader's supposed to be there for everyone else. But . . . if everyone's grief-stricken and falling apart, who . . . who's there for the leader?"
Sean did not reply. Scott gave a sad smile.
"I thought so," he said. "Sean, you were hurting so many times and never let on, weren't you? You had to be strong for us, so you comforted us while you suffered."
He rubbed at his eyes. "I guess on the other hand, it will make the others suffer more to worry about me," he realized. "They've asked if I'm okay. . . . I've just smiled and said I'm fine. But I'm not fine. I'm not! . . ." He trailed off, staring at the floor.
". . . I always wished you would admit you weren't fine when we could see you weren't," he remarked after a moment. "I'm just a hypocrite. I don't want to go through this alone. You never should have felt you had to, either."
He reached over the railing, laying his hand on Sean's shoulder. "We miss you," he continued sadly. "We miss your wild laughter and your jokes . . . even your snowballs.
"I have to thank you for throwing a snowball at me that day in Central Park." He smirked. "I never thought I'd thank anyone for something like that. But that snowball was the best thing that's happened to me. And . . . I think you somehow knew I needed it, even if you didn't fully realize yet that I was supposed to be with you and El and Barry. I sure didn't know. Not until the snow fell out of that tree, anyway.
"El went to clean up things in your room . . . you know, for when you're well enough to be there again. He found your rubber fish on the desk. I saw it too, when I went in to help him. . . . Oh Mama, I wish you were able to throw it. It was just so wrong to see it just sitting there . . . especially when . . . when we don't know when you're coming back." He refused to say if.
Sean's eyelids fluttered. Scott stopped talking, instead staring in disbelief and stunned amazement. Was it true? Had he really seen . . .
The lids opened halfway, revealing the glassy brown eyes. Scott gasped, leaning over to look into Sean's face.
"Sean?!" he breathed, hardly daring to speak. "Sean, can you hear me? Do you know me?"
A faint smile played on Sean's lips. His eyes fell closed again, but the smile remained.
Scott was still staring in joyous reverence. "Sean," he whispered, bending down and gently hugging his friend without disturbing any of the cords or tubes. Then he straightened, running to the door.
"Doctor!" he yelled. "Doctor, forget your brain machine. He woke up! Just for a minute, but he woke up! And he's smiling. You can see it! You can't deny this!"
Once again he was grinning.
"Thank You," he whispered, as he hurried back into the room to call the others. "Thank You!"
****
Elliott and Barry were soon awake and coming downstairs to the infirmary as fast as they could. What Scott had told them was what they had longed for and prayed for; it surely meant that Sean was going to recover! In some ways it seemed too good to be true. Were they really awake? Would they discover that this was only a shared dream and that Sean was still completely unresponsive?
They exchanged a wordless look as they reached the ICU. Scott had said Sean had slipped into sleep or unconsciousness again. Would there be evidence of his awakening to prove that Scott had actually witnessed it? Of course, they believed him. But the question was whether the doctors would.
Scott ran to them as they arrived at the room and pushed open the door. He was still beaming.
"Even the doctors can't deny he's still here!" he exclaimed, glomping first Elliott and then Barry in joy.
"There's definitely brain activity being recorded now," the physician said from across the room. He wrote on his clipboard as he studied the monitors, clearly stunned by the development.
"But there wasn't any being recorded when he opened his eyes and smiled at me," Scott said.
Elliott went to the bedside in amazement and awe. Sean's eyes were closed, but the smile was still on his lips. And the ventilator was off.
"I turned it off to test if he was breathing on his own, and he is," the doctor said, shaking his head. "But until we're sure it will last, I'll have to turn it back on, just enough to assist him."
"It will last," Scott said. "He's going to get better from here."
Barry wanted to believe. As he gazed at Sean's peaceful expression, it seemed likely that Scott was right. But after the roller-coaster they had been on, he did not know that he could fully trust that Sean had burst free of the woods. There could always be a setback.
Elliott laid a hand on Sean's shoulder. "You're on your way back, buddy," he said with a warm grin. "You're not going to leave us."
And Barry managed a smile.
He had to hope.
He had to believe.
****
Sean did, indeed, readily improve, much to the doctors' shock. Not only did he continue to breathe on his own, but he was breathing completely normal. After two more days, it was determined that there was no further need for the ventilator. The three conscious friends watched in joy as it was disconnected.
"Sean will be relieved that he won't have to wake up with a tube in his airways," Elliott said with a shudder.
"No kidding," Scott agreed.
Barry observed Sean, staying silent. And when would he wake up? His hope was increasing, but there was still that bit of worry. Sean had shown further signs that he was out of the coma and even out of an unconscious state in general; he moved now and then, sometimes shifting position, sometimes opening his eyes. Just earlier today he had managed to give Elliott a thumbs-up sign. But Barry could not help wishing for the time Sean would fully come back to them.
Sean's lips parted, though his eyes remained closed. Barry stiffened. Was he trying to speak? He struggled, his mouth moving several times as he fought to form a word.
Scott and Elliott noticed too. "Sean?!" Scott exclaimed. "What is it, buddy?"
Elliott gripped his hand. "We're all here with you, Sean," he said.
". . . El . . . ?" Sean's voice was weak and rasping, barely audible. But his friends all heard.
"That's right, Sean," Elliott said, grinning in joy. "It's me!"
". . . Scott . . ."
The blond grinned too, stunned by this unexpected surprise. "I'm here!" he declared, laying his hands on Sean's arm.
Sean turned his head slightly, taking on a questioning tone. ". . . B-Barry?"
"Yes." Barry reached for Sean's shoulder, overcome by emotions. "I'm here too."
A peaceful smile came over Sean's features. He sank back into senselessness, his lips still turned up.
The three conscious friends embraced. Sean was getting closer to returning to them.
****
Elliott lay awake on his bunk, his arms behind his head as he looked without seeing at the ceiling-and at Scott's bed horizontally above him. Scott was not moving, but it was hard to say whether he was asleep. Just in case he was, though, Elliott would be as quiet as possible. If Scott was finally asleep, the last thing Elliott would want would be to disturb him.
He turned onto his side, drawing the quilt over his shoulders as he burrowed. It had been easier to sleep the last few days. There was no denying that. But when Sean was still not awake, there was always that anticipation and hope in his mind. Sometimes he would lay in the dark for hours, envisioning every possible scenario of Sean reviving and reuniting with them. Hearing him speak their names yesterday had made Elliott's heart swell.
Above him, the other bed creaked. He looked over his shoulder as Scott rolled onto his other side, facing into the shadowy room. It was impossible to tell whether Scott's eyes were open, but his quick breathing indicated that he was awake.
Elliott rose onto an elbow. "Scott?" he spoke, keeping his voice low in case he was mistaken. If Scott was asleep, however, he must be having a terrible dream. In that case, waking up would likely be a relief.
Scott started. "Yeah?" His voice was clear, without any trace of past slumber.
Elliott sat up, letting the comforter fall from his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, El." Scott leaned back into the pillow. "Sean's getting better. Every day he shows some kind of improvement, sometimes several. Now he's even managed to talk! Why wouldn't I be okay?"
"I don't know." Elliott frowned, mulling over the matter. When he spoke again, his voice was slow, deliberate. "Maybe you can't help but wonder when he'll actually wake up. Maybe . . . even though the improvements are exciting and encouraging, you're still wishing for more."
Scott was silent. "El, are you really able to read me like that?" he said at last.
"Actually . . . I was talking about my own feelings," Elliott said with a half-smile as he rested his arm on his knee. "I could imagine you feeling the same. And Barry. It's just natural."
Scott raised himself up on an elbow. "It feels wrong," he said, his lips pulling down, "like I'm not grateful for what's already happening. And I am! But . . ." He looked away. "You're right, El. . . . I wish there was more. I wish the improvements could come to the climax and Sean would wake up all the way. I mean . . . I've been reading things about coma patients, and how it can take days, even weeks, for them to fully come back." He shook his head. "I don't want it to take that long!"
Elliott nodded. "I don't, either," he said. "Every time it's my shift with Sean, I congratulate him for what he's accomplished so far. And to try to encourage him more, I tell him what it's going to be like when he wakes up. . . . How happy everyone will be. . . . Especially the guy with the fake snow machine."
Scott laughed. "I can just see Sean smirking in glee," he said. "He's probably missed that snow as much as the operator's missed him."
"Yeah." Elliott leaned back. He and Scott had not had such a peaceful, even happy, conversation for the last few days. It felt good to talk again . . . to have a reason to be hopeful.
". . . Oh wow." Scott frowned. "El, I didn't mean to unload this on you. . . ."
"I've been hoping you would," Elliott said. "Both Barry and I can see how you're wearing yourself down." He shook his head. "We just didn't want to push you to talk."
Scott swallowed. "It means a lot," he said. The rest of his shell, having been given an opening, was beginning to crack. He leaned over the edge of the bed, reaching down to Elliott. "I . . . I've felt so alone . . . when I didn't have to. . . ."
Elliott stood on the mattress, walking across the bed to where Scott was hanging from the top bunk. Then he reached out as well, hugging Scott close.
"You're a lot like Sean," he said, "in some ways."
Scott gave a weak chuckle. "Good ways?" he asked.
"Not necessarily always healthy ways," Elliott said. "But unselfish-and that's good."
Scott smiled. "You and Barry are a lot like Sean, too," he said then. "In some ways."
****
it was two nights later when Barry had the late shift again. He sank into the chair by Sean's bed with a sigh, his eyes watering as he yawned. Hopefully, he thought, Scott and Elliott were getting some sleep upstairs. They more than deserved it.
He had to admit, he wished that he could have a better sleep, too. He tried to take Sean's words to heart, not wanting to go against the sincere request to not blame himself, but even with his best efforts it was difficult. He could not help wondering what would have happened if he had discovered Sean's wounds sooner. Maybe none of this would have ensued at all.
The maybes and what ifs plagued him at all hours, including when he tried to sleep. Scott and Elliott had tried to help and talk to him, and he appreciated it, but he doubted he was much better at getting over his feelings of blame than Scott was at allowing himself to say that he was overwhelmed.
He glanced to the bed. Sean had not moved or responded in the last while, but Barry had come to think of it as perhaps an indication that Sean was conserving his strength. And if so, maybe that meant he would soon wake up.
Barry was not especially in the habit of carrying on conversations with sleeping or unconscious people, but he had found himself talking to Sean at times. He, as well as Scott and Elliott, were convinced that being there with Sean and talking to him was helping to restore him to awareness. And in that case, Barry was more than willing to set aside any awkward feelings he might ordinarily have in the situation.
". . . Scott's been taking your request to heart," he said at last. "He's honored that you put that level of trust in him. But he's been running himself ragged. Elliott and I can both see it, yet when we try to convince him to open up, he can't. He insists he's fine. Of course, he always has been that way. I guess we all are, to some extent." He crossed his arms, shaking his head.
. . . What would have happened if he had flat-out refused to be friends with Sean and Elliott all those years ago? He had seen them only as two ridiculous kids when they had first met, and he had not wanted to join them or be part of their singing group at all. He had told them so, too.
And Sean had ended up as the one whom he felt the closest to, even though they were all close in different ways. When Sean confided in someone, it was usually to him. Scott and Elliott often brought problems to him, too. Maybe it was his quiet demeanor that made the others feel so comfortable going to him for advice.
". . . I guess I have to be grateful for the trouble you and El got me into," he grunted. "By the time we were safe, I realized what you'd said you already knew---we were friends."
"Of course we were," a weak voice mumbled. "And are."
Barry nearly fell out of the chair. "Sean?!" he gasped, looking to the younger man.
Sean's eyes were open halfway, but they were not as glazed as before. He grinned at Barry.
"In the flesh," he said. "Thanks to you and Scott and El not giving up on me."
Barry was still staring. It was the first time Sean had actually spoken in complete sentences since falling into the coma---something all of them had longed to hear for days. He stood up, leaning over the bed. As he bent down to embrace the other man, Sean reached out with shaking arms to return it.
"We could never give up on you," Barry said at last, still in stunned awe by this moment. Was it real? Had he fallen asleep and into a wonderful dream? But no . . . the hug was much too real. It was not a dream.
"Glad to hear it," Sean said. "Even though I already knew."
The door opened as Scott and Elliott came in. It swung shut behind them as they gawked in disbelieving awe and amazement. "Sean!" they cried in unison as they joyously ran to the bed, hugging Sean with gentleness as Barry pulled back.
"We've missed you!" Elliott exclaimed, hardly able to speak for his happiness.
"So much," Scott added. "The doctors didn't think you'd even make it. . . ."
"So I heard," Sean said with a wry smirk.
Scott rocked back, stunned. "You heard?!" he repeated.
"Yep." Sean leaned into the pillow. "I was yelling at the doctor when he was talking about turning off all the machines---stuff like 'Hey, I'm right here! I can hear everything you're saying! I'm not gone at all!' Of course, I wasn't able to do anything more than yell in my mind, which didn't do one bit of good." He looked at his dear friends. "But you guys came through for me."
Elliott clasped Sean's hand. "Always," he said.
Barry smiled. "I'll let the doctor know you're awake," he said.
Sean gave him a thumbs-up with his other hand. "I'll have fun letting him know I was listening in," he smirked.
Scott laughed, then sobered. "Everyone's been praying for you," he said. "All of ACME's believed in you and had faith that you'd get better."
Sean blinked. "Really." For a moment he was silent, pondering Scott's words. Then he grinned.
"Well, of course," he said. "No one wants to say goodbye to me. Can you imagine how dull things would get if I wasn't around? Who'd be here to lob snowballs at Greg and throw rubber fish in the alley?"
In spite of Sean's lighthearted words, he was truly touched by everyone's concern. Elliott laughed at his outward reaction, the burden of so many days lifted at last. Part of him could still scarcely believe this was taking place.
"We don't want to imagine," he said then. "We've already done plenty of it." He hugged Sean again.
Sean drew an arm around Elliott. He waved with his other hand, seeing Barry arriving with the physician. "What's up, doc?" he greeted.
Scott snickered.
The doctor shook his head. "Incredible," he breathed. "Just incredible."
"That's me," Sean said. "Mr. Incredible, defying odds since . . . even before I can remember."
"And you'd better keep defying them!" Scott said.
"For my adoring public? Or better yet, my best friends? Of course." Sean smirked.
Scott looked to Elliott and Barry in joy. They looked back, their expressions mirroring his. Each one of them was saying a silent prayer of thanksgiving.
Everything was going to be alright.
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: T/PG-13
Word Count: 5,562
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry)
Supporting Characters: Greg
Summary: The days wear on and everyone starts to wear down.
Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort.
Chapter Four
The doctor sighed, shaking his head as he turned away from Sean's still form. Scott, Elliott, and Barry were gathered on the other side of the bed, waiting to hear the prognosis. But it was easy enough to tell from his expression that he was unconvinced.
"There isn't any indication that anything has changed," he said, taking them in with a collective look. "Maybe you bumped his fingers yourself when you were holding his hand."
"I didn't!" Elliott said in frustration. "He moved. Even if you can't believe it, it's the truth. Is it so impossible to think that you might have been wrong about him?"
The physician removed his glasses, massaging his temples with his thumb and forefinger. "I just don't want you to be disappointed," he said. "The other doctor's arrived. We'll see what he says."
It was agonizing to wait while the second examination took place. Again they were forced to leave the room, and then the ICU, to pace about in the main hall. Thinking was almost impossible; all they could envision was Sean laying there, still fighting to live, and the doctors not believing it. In desperation they continued to pray, clinging to the newfound hope that Elliott had felt Sean move. But when at last the nurse called them to come back to the room, she did not look anything but somber. They followed her with sinking hearts.
"You're going to tell us the same thing, aren't you?" Scott frowned as he pushed open the door a moment later.
The second doctor sighed, looking up from where he had been monitoring Sean's vital signs. "I can't find any indication that he's still with us," he said. "The only hope is if, once the poison is fully out of his system, he will begin to revive."
"I thought the antidote wasn't even helping," Elliott frowned. "Isn't it what sent him into this state?!"
A nod. "Most likely. But it seems to have finally done something positive. The poison is dissipating. Whether or not it's too late, I can't say."
"How long will it take for the poison to be gone?" Scott asked as they walked back to the bed. He did not want to get his hopes up so soon. That would just be foolish. But this was new information in Sean's favor. It was impossible not to feel that there was something new to cling to and hope for.
The physician shook his head. "Another day, maybe. . . . Or more or less than that. It's hard to say for sure, when this is a poison we've never had experience with."
He studied the bedraggled trio with a slight frown. "And if the three of you don't get some rest, I'll be treating all of you," he said.
"We can't leave Sean," Elliott objected.
"We could take shifts," Scott suggested. He did not want to leave either, but he could see that Elliott was about to drop. And though Barry would never say it, and would try his hardest not to show it, he was weakening too.
"Do that," the doctor said. "Do anything, only see that you eat and sleep!" His expression softened as he went past them to the door. The poor men, so heartsick and worried, yet trying to keep hold of any smidgen of hope.
He prayed that their efforts would be rewarded.
****
Elliott sighed to himself as he sank into the chair next to Sean's bed. He had tried to insist on taking the first shift so that Scott and Barry could eat, but they had been even more insistent that he eat ahead of them. And, not wanting to waste time disagreeing, he had consented. He could barely remember what he had just eaten, let alone how it had tasted. He had just wanted to hurry back to Sean.
He still felt guilty about having attacked Vic. The guy was a complete creep, but Elliott was supposed to have better self-control. He was a law enforcement officer. That was supposed to come first, before personal feelings or grief. But he had not been able to stand the heartless way Vic had acted. Sean was in this predicament because of him, yet he showed no appreciation or gratitude whatsoever. The crumpled IOU had definitely been insincere.
"I lost control of myself tonight," he confessed to the quiet room. "I . . . I beat Vic up. His nose was bleeding and everything. . . ." He touched his cheek. "I think I finally remembered to wash the blood off of me. . . ."
He looked to Sean's silent form, still only breathing through artificial means. And the anger began to rise once more.
"He didn't care," he said, his voice cracking. "I bet even if he came and saw you, he wouldn't care at all. Not that I'd want him anywhere near you."
He ran his hands into his hair. ". . . I shouldn't have done it anyway," he said, trying to force back the hateful feelings. "And Barry. . . . He's normally the most composed of all of us, but even he lost it. He threw Vic clear across the room.
"I guess Vic's not really hurt bad, though. . . . At least not physically. I kind of hope we shook him up a little bit.
"The Chief already knows. . . . She said Scott called her before rumors could start spreading. She let us both off with a warning. We're just lucky she knows us so well. If that had been Schwemphf . . ." He shuddered. "We'd already be out of jobs and a place to stay. And you . . ." He shook his head. "I bet he'd order you taken off of life support. . . . At least if the same results come up after these other tests and the waiting period. . . . And I'm praying they don't."
He reached down, gripping Sean's hand. "I know you're still fighting," he said. "And I know you moved your fingers. No doctor is ever going to convince me otherwise. I won't let them take away any chance you have left to live. Neither will Scott and Barry."
Sean did not respond this time. Elliott lapsed into silence, just holding on to his hand. He was a harboring a vain hope that Sean would move again---but maybe just the contact alone would help bring him back, even if not immediately.
". . . We've been through a lot together, you and I." Speaking after such a long stretch of silence almost felt surreal. The words were loud in the lonely room, though Elliott had not raised his voice.
"Just think, we met before Barry or Scott joined us," he went on, leaning on the railing with his other arm. "I remember that time. . . . I was just that quiet nerd that the bullies picked on. . . . And I learned to fight because I hated being treated like a pushover. They left me alone after that, for the most part. They told me no one would want me around unless it was to be a bodyguard. I guess . . . I started to wonder if it was true.
"Then one day I saw this crazy kid wandering all over Manhattan, obviously lost." He chuckled. "Of course, he wouldn't admit it. He still doesn't. But . . ." He sighed. "I was lonely, and he looked lonely too . . . so I went over to say Hi. He jumped a mile. But then he turned to me with a big grin and said 'Hi!' . . . Just like we'd always known each other."
He allowed a small smile. "That wasn't a chance meeting," he said. "I think even you aren't skeptical about that. We were supposed to find each other and become surrogate brothers, just like we were supposed to meet Barry and Scott. We're a family."
And he outright chuckled. "Remember when you decided to grow your hair out and braid it? That caused enough of a stir, but then you decided to take it even further by bleaching it! And to only bleach the braids. . . ." He snickered. "Only you, Sean."
He slumped back, the weariness coming back into his eyes. Carrying on a one-sided conversation under these circumstances made him feel like crying. And remembering the past twisted his heart. There was always the chance that times like those would never come again. As much as he was determined to have hope, he could not stop the darker, hopeless thoughts from creeping into his mind.
"Sean . . ." he spoke, scarcely above a whisper. "Please come back. . . . Please. . . ."
The machines beeped and whirred and inhaled in reply.
****
The hours blurred into one long, unending nightmare. Meals consisted of sandwiches from the cafeteria and snacks from the vending machines. The others tried to sleep, but it was a nearly fruitless task. They tossed and turned in misery, forced to dream about Sean's condition when they were not awake to witness it.
Someone was always in Sean's room, talking or singing to him. Occasionally they would doze in the chair or on the other bed, but for the most part they remained awake, their eyes bloodshot and their hearts aching. Sean had not moved at all since Elliott had been certain Sean's fingers had brushed his hand. And the doctors had assessed that the poison had been gone for some time. For Sean to not show some sign of reviving, they were growing certain again that it was too late.
But all over the New York branch of ACME, the other agents waited and prayed. Sean was a skilled, intelligent detective, yet more importantly, he was a beloved friend. He was not forgotten in his time of need.
Greg was thinking of these things as he made his way to ACME several days later. His coat was draped over his arm, the latest case notes in his hand. The last thing he was expecting was to be hailed by Mrs. Pumpkinclanger as he entered the old, familiar alley. But their neighbor was leaning out the window with a frown.
"Has there been any news on that man with the braids?" she asked.
Greg started and looked up at her. "No, Mrs. P.," he said. "He's still the same."
She sniffed. "Let me know if there's any change," she ordered. Before Greg could even reply, she slammed the window.
He jumped a mile. "Uh . . . sure, Mrs. P.," he called up. "Any time. . . ." He turned to the steps, stunned as he walked up and grabbed the doorknob. Was she actually concerned about Sean? She was always complaining that he and the others made too much noise. He smiled a bit. Maybe she missed them being out in the alley. Not that she'd ever admit it.
As he entered his office, his eyes widened in surprise to see a man in a wheelchair being pushed into the room by an infirmary orderly. "Can I help you?" he asked, taking note of the bandages around the agent's left eye. He recognized the man, who had been hit by flying glass while on a case---but they were not personally acquainted.
"I just wanted to let you know I've been thinking of your friend," the injured agent said. "I heard about what happened when I woke up from my surgery."
Greg blinked. "Oh. . . . Well, thanks," he said. "I know he'd appreciate it. We've been worried about you, too. . . ."
A hand was held up to stop him. "I'm over the worst of it," the other man said. "I don't want people making a big fuss over me; I'll be up and around soon. The doctors think they were able to save my eye, too. But even if I'll be half-blind, I'll be alive." He sighed, shaking his head. "If your friend doesn't make it, I'll wonder why I was spared."
Greg looked down. "It'd just be one of those things," he said. He felt awkward with this conversation. He had not really known how to handle the situation with Sean at all, though he was doing his best to let the others know he was concerned. The last thing he wanted to do was make them feel like he was avoiding them.
The younger agent nodded. "I guess," he said. "Just one of those things. . . ." He gestured to the orderly, indicating to be taken back.
Greg glanced up again. "I'll let Sean's other friends know you're worried," he said.
He was met with another nod as the man was wheeled away. With a sigh Greg turned, going over the case notes in his hand. Where was the Voice when he was needed? He could heal Sean in an instant. Was Sean really supposed to keep laying like that, at death's door, while his friends worried and waited? What could really be gained from such a tragic, heart-rending experience?
"Come on, buddy," Greg said under his breath. "Don't let us down."
****
Scott rubbed his eyes, leaning on the bed railing in exhaustion. He felt more out of the loop than a zombie. But somewhere in his mind, he was aware that it had been over seventy-two hours since Sean had been put on the ventilator to preserve his life. It seemed so much longer.
He had barely slept at all the last few days. His mind and heart were in constant turmoil, keeping him awake for the most part. When he did sleep, it was more of a torture than a release. The visions he saw made him want to wake right up again and at least be rooted in reality. He did not want to see his worst fears realized---Sean crashing again, unable to be revived. . . . Schwemphf ordering him to be taken off of life support. . . . Sean crying out that he was still there and for the others to not let it happen. . . .
Last night Scott had come close to taking a sleeping pill. It had sounded so tempting---one little pill for eight hours of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep. But in the end he had turned it down. What if something critical happened right when he was asleep and he could not be awakened to be there for the others? He could not put them through that. He had to make sure that he was always there when they needed him.
"I've been trying to hold things together, Sean," he spoke at last, barely above a whisper. "I . . . I've been acting as the leader while we wait for you to wake up . . . not just because you asked me to, but because both El and Barry have already shattered. I can't break too. . . . I don't know how you ever managed it." He shook his head. "It . . . it's so hard. . . . Watching El and Barry suffering, and you laying here, and not being able to do anything. . . ."
He gripped his arms. "I can imagine how you felt all those times in the past. . . . It's bad enough to be a worried friend, without the responsibilities of a leader, too. The other day, I wanted so bad to let loose and attack Vic, like El and even Barry did. . . . But I knew that if all of us lost it, who'd be there to try to put things back together? I . . . I had to stay strong . . . even though I was breaking inside. . . ."
He peered more closely at the drawn face. "Sean, tell me something. The leader's supposed to be there for everyone else. But . . . if everyone's grief-stricken and falling apart, who . . . who's there for the leader?"
Sean did not reply. Scott gave a sad smile.
"I thought so," he said. "Sean, you were hurting so many times and never let on, weren't you? You had to be strong for us, so you comforted us while you suffered."
He rubbed at his eyes. "I guess on the other hand, it will make the others suffer more to worry about me," he realized. "They've asked if I'm okay. . . . I've just smiled and said I'm fine. But I'm not fine. I'm not! . . ." He trailed off, staring at the floor.
". . . I always wished you would admit you weren't fine when we could see you weren't," he remarked after a moment. "I'm just a hypocrite. I don't want to go through this alone. You never should have felt you had to, either."
He reached over the railing, laying his hand on Sean's shoulder. "We miss you," he continued sadly. "We miss your wild laughter and your jokes . . . even your snowballs.
"I have to thank you for throwing a snowball at me that day in Central Park." He smirked. "I never thought I'd thank anyone for something like that. But that snowball was the best thing that's happened to me. And . . . I think you somehow knew I needed it, even if you didn't fully realize yet that I was supposed to be with you and El and Barry. I sure didn't know. Not until the snow fell out of that tree, anyway.
"El went to clean up things in your room . . . you know, for when you're well enough to be there again. He found your rubber fish on the desk. I saw it too, when I went in to help him. . . . Oh Mama, I wish you were able to throw it. It was just so wrong to see it just sitting there . . . especially when . . . when we don't know when you're coming back." He refused to say if.
Sean's eyelids fluttered. Scott stopped talking, instead staring in disbelief and stunned amazement. Was it true? Had he really seen . . .
The lids opened halfway, revealing the glassy brown eyes. Scott gasped, leaning over to look into Sean's face.
"Sean?!" he breathed, hardly daring to speak. "Sean, can you hear me? Do you know me?"
A faint smile played on Sean's lips. His eyes fell closed again, but the smile remained.
Scott was still staring in joyous reverence. "Sean," he whispered, bending down and gently hugging his friend without disturbing any of the cords or tubes. Then he straightened, running to the door.
"Doctor!" he yelled. "Doctor, forget your brain machine. He woke up! Just for a minute, but he woke up! And he's smiling. You can see it! You can't deny this!"
Once again he was grinning.
"Thank You," he whispered, as he hurried back into the room to call the others. "Thank You!"
****
Elliott and Barry were soon awake and coming downstairs to the infirmary as fast as they could. What Scott had told them was what they had longed for and prayed for; it surely meant that Sean was going to recover! In some ways it seemed too good to be true. Were they really awake? Would they discover that this was only a shared dream and that Sean was still completely unresponsive?
They exchanged a wordless look as they reached the ICU. Scott had said Sean had slipped into sleep or unconsciousness again. Would there be evidence of his awakening to prove that Scott had actually witnessed it? Of course, they believed him. But the question was whether the doctors would.
Scott ran to them as they arrived at the room and pushed open the door. He was still beaming.
"Even the doctors can't deny he's still here!" he exclaimed, glomping first Elliott and then Barry in joy.
"There's definitely brain activity being recorded now," the physician said from across the room. He wrote on his clipboard as he studied the monitors, clearly stunned by the development.
"But there wasn't any being recorded when he opened his eyes and smiled at me," Scott said.
Elliott went to the bedside in amazement and awe. Sean's eyes were closed, but the smile was still on his lips. And the ventilator was off.
"I turned it off to test if he was breathing on his own, and he is," the doctor said, shaking his head. "But until we're sure it will last, I'll have to turn it back on, just enough to assist him."
"It will last," Scott said. "He's going to get better from here."
Barry wanted to believe. As he gazed at Sean's peaceful expression, it seemed likely that Scott was right. But after the roller-coaster they had been on, he did not know that he could fully trust that Sean had burst free of the woods. There could always be a setback.
Elliott laid a hand on Sean's shoulder. "You're on your way back, buddy," he said with a warm grin. "You're not going to leave us."
And Barry managed a smile.
He had to hope.
He had to believe.
****
Sean did, indeed, readily improve, much to the doctors' shock. Not only did he continue to breathe on his own, but he was breathing completely normal. After two more days, it was determined that there was no further need for the ventilator. The three conscious friends watched in joy as it was disconnected.
"Sean will be relieved that he won't have to wake up with a tube in his airways," Elliott said with a shudder.
"No kidding," Scott agreed.
Barry observed Sean, staying silent. And when would he wake up? His hope was increasing, but there was still that bit of worry. Sean had shown further signs that he was out of the coma and even out of an unconscious state in general; he moved now and then, sometimes shifting position, sometimes opening his eyes. Just earlier today he had managed to give Elliott a thumbs-up sign. But Barry could not help wishing for the time Sean would fully come back to them.
Sean's lips parted, though his eyes remained closed. Barry stiffened. Was he trying to speak? He struggled, his mouth moving several times as he fought to form a word.
Scott and Elliott noticed too. "Sean?!" Scott exclaimed. "What is it, buddy?"
Elliott gripped his hand. "We're all here with you, Sean," he said.
". . . El . . . ?" Sean's voice was weak and rasping, barely audible. But his friends all heard.
"That's right, Sean," Elliott said, grinning in joy. "It's me!"
". . . Scott . . ."
The blond grinned too, stunned by this unexpected surprise. "I'm here!" he declared, laying his hands on Sean's arm.
Sean turned his head slightly, taking on a questioning tone. ". . . B-Barry?"
"Yes." Barry reached for Sean's shoulder, overcome by emotions. "I'm here too."
A peaceful smile came over Sean's features. He sank back into senselessness, his lips still turned up.
The three conscious friends embraced. Sean was getting closer to returning to them.
****
Elliott lay awake on his bunk, his arms behind his head as he looked without seeing at the ceiling-and at Scott's bed horizontally above him. Scott was not moving, but it was hard to say whether he was asleep. Just in case he was, though, Elliott would be as quiet as possible. If Scott was finally asleep, the last thing Elliott would want would be to disturb him.
He turned onto his side, drawing the quilt over his shoulders as he burrowed. It had been easier to sleep the last few days. There was no denying that. But when Sean was still not awake, there was always that anticipation and hope in his mind. Sometimes he would lay in the dark for hours, envisioning every possible scenario of Sean reviving and reuniting with them. Hearing him speak their names yesterday had made Elliott's heart swell.
Above him, the other bed creaked. He looked over his shoulder as Scott rolled onto his other side, facing into the shadowy room. It was impossible to tell whether Scott's eyes were open, but his quick breathing indicated that he was awake.
Elliott rose onto an elbow. "Scott?" he spoke, keeping his voice low in case he was mistaken. If Scott was asleep, however, he must be having a terrible dream. In that case, waking up would likely be a relief.
Scott started. "Yeah?" His voice was clear, without any trace of past slumber.
Elliott sat up, letting the comforter fall from his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, El." Scott leaned back into the pillow. "Sean's getting better. Every day he shows some kind of improvement, sometimes several. Now he's even managed to talk! Why wouldn't I be okay?"
"I don't know." Elliott frowned, mulling over the matter. When he spoke again, his voice was slow, deliberate. "Maybe you can't help but wonder when he'll actually wake up. Maybe . . . even though the improvements are exciting and encouraging, you're still wishing for more."
Scott was silent. "El, are you really able to read me like that?" he said at last.
"Actually . . . I was talking about my own feelings," Elliott said with a half-smile as he rested his arm on his knee. "I could imagine you feeling the same. And Barry. It's just natural."
Scott raised himself up on an elbow. "It feels wrong," he said, his lips pulling down, "like I'm not grateful for what's already happening. And I am! But . . ." He looked away. "You're right, El. . . . I wish there was more. I wish the improvements could come to the climax and Sean would wake up all the way. I mean . . . I've been reading things about coma patients, and how it can take days, even weeks, for them to fully come back." He shook his head. "I don't want it to take that long!"
Elliott nodded. "I don't, either," he said. "Every time it's my shift with Sean, I congratulate him for what he's accomplished so far. And to try to encourage him more, I tell him what it's going to be like when he wakes up. . . . How happy everyone will be. . . . Especially the guy with the fake snow machine."
Scott laughed. "I can just see Sean smirking in glee," he said. "He's probably missed that snow as much as the operator's missed him."
"Yeah." Elliott leaned back. He and Scott had not had such a peaceful, even happy, conversation for the last few days. It felt good to talk again . . . to have a reason to be hopeful.
". . . Oh wow." Scott frowned. "El, I didn't mean to unload this on you. . . ."
"I've been hoping you would," Elliott said. "Both Barry and I can see how you're wearing yourself down." He shook his head. "We just didn't want to push you to talk."
Scott swallowed. "It means a lot," he said. The rest of his shell, having been given an opening, was beginning to crack. He leaned over the edge of the bed, reaching down to Elliott. "I . . . I've felt so alone . . . when I didn't have to. . . ."
Elliott stood on the mattress, walking across the bed to where Scott was hanging from the top bunk. Then he reached out as well, hugging Scott close.
"You're a lot like Sean," he said, "in some ways."
Scott gave a weak chuckle. "Good ways?" he asked.
"Not necessarily always healthy ways," Elliott said. "But unselfish-and that's good."
Scott smiled. "You and Barry are a lot like Sean, too," he said then. "In some ways."
****
it was two nights later when Barry had the late shift again. He sank into the chair by Sean's bed with a sigh, his eyes watering as he yawned. Hopefully, he thought, Scott and Elliott were getting some sleep upstairs. They more than deserved it.
He had to admit, he wished that he could have a better sleep, too. He tried to take Sean's words to heart, not wanting to go against the sincere request to not blame himself, but even with his best efforts it was difficult. He could not help wondering what would have happened if he had discovered Sean's wounds sooner. Maybe none of this would have ensued at all.
The maybes and what ifs plagued him at all hours, including when he tried to sleep. Scott and Elliott had tried to help and talk to him, and he appreciated it, but he doubted he was much better at getting over his feelings of blame than Scott was at allowing himself to say that he was overwhelmed.
He glanced to the bed. Sean had not moved or responded in the last while, but Barry had come to think of it as perhaps an indication that Sean was conserving his strength. And if so, maybe that meant he would soon wake up.
Barry was not especially in the habit of carrying on conversations with sleeping or unconscious people, but he had found himself talking to Sean at times. He, as well as Scott and Elliott, were convinced that being there with Sean and talking to him was helping to restore him to awareness. And in that case, Barry was more than willing to set aside any awkward feelings he might ordinarily have in the situation.
". . . Scott's been taking your request to heart," he said at last. "He's honored that you put that level of trust in him. But he's been running himself ragged. Elliott and I can both see it, yet when we try to convince him to open up, he can't. He insists he's fine. Of course, he always has been that way. I guess we all are, to some extent." He crossed his arms, shaking his head.
. . . What would have happened if he had flat-out refused to be friends with Sean and Elliott all those years ago? He had seen them only as two ridiculous kids when they had first met, and he had not wanted to join them or be part of their singing group at all. He had told them so, too.
And Sean had ended up as the one whom he felt the closest to, even though they were all close in different ways. When Sean confided in someone, it was usually to him. Scott and Elliott often brought problems to him, too. Maybe it was his quiet demeanor that made the others feel so comfortable going to him for advice.
". . . I guess I have to be grateful for the trouble you and El got me into," he grunted. "By the time we were safe, I realized what you'd said you already knew---we were friends."
"Of course we were," a weak voice mumbled. "And are."
Barry nearly fell out of the chair. "Sean?!" he gasped, looking to the younger man.
Sean's eyes were open halfway, but they were not as glazed as before. He grinned at Barry.
"In the flesh," he said. "Thanks to you and Scott and El not giving up on me."
Barry was still staring. It was the first time Sean had actually spoken in complete sentences since falling into the coma---something all of them had longed to hear for days. He stood up, leaning over the bed. As he bent down to embrace the other man, Sean reached out with shaking arms to return it.
"We could never give up on you," Barry said at last, still in stunned awe by this moment. Was it real? Had he fallen asleep and into a wonderful dream? But no . . . the hug was much too real. It was not a dream.
"Glad to hear it," Sean said. "Even though I already knew."
The door opened as Scott and Elliott came in. It swung shut behind them as they gawked in disbelieving awe and amazement. "Sean!" they cried in unison as they joyously ran to the bed, hugging Sean with gentleness as Barry pulled back.
"We've missed you!" Elliott exclaimed, hardly able to speak for his happiness.
"So much," Scott added. "The doctors didn't think you'd even make it. . . ."
"So I heard," Sean said with a wry smirk.
Scott rocked back, stunned. "You heard?!" he repeated.
"Yep." Sean leaned into the pillow. "I was yelling at the doctor when he was talking about turning off all the machines---stuff like 'Hey, I'm right here! I can hear everything you're saying! I'm not gone at all!' Of course, I wasn't able to do anything more than yell in my mind, which didn't do one bit of good." He looked at his dear friends. "But you guys came through for me."
Elliott clasped Sean's hand. "Always," he said.
Barry smiled. "I'll let the doctor know you're awake," he said.
Sean gave him a thumbs-up with his other hand. "I'll have fun letting him know I was listening in," he smirked.
Scott laughed, then sobered. "Everyone's been praying for you," he said. "All of ACME's believed in you and had faith that you'd get better."
Sean blinked. "Really." For a moment he was silent, pondering Scott's words. Then he grinned.
"Well, of course," he said. "No one wants to say goodbye to me. Can you imagine how dull things would get if I wasn't around? Who'd be here to lob snowballs at Greg and throw rubber fish in the alley?"
In spite of Sean's lighthearted words, he was truly touched by everyone's concern. Elliott laughed at his outward reaction, the burden of so many days lifted at last. Part of him could still scarcely believe this was taking place.
"We don't want to imagine," he said then. "We've already done plenty of it." He hugged Sean again.
Sean drew an arm around Elliott. He waved with his other hand, seeing Barry arriving with the physician. "What's up, doc?" he greeted.
Scott snickered.
The doctor shook his head. "Incredible," he breathed. "Just incredible."
"That's me," Sean said. "Mr. Incredible, defying odds since . . . even before I can remember."
"And you'd better keep defying them!" Scott said.
"For my adoring public? Or better yet, my best friends? Of course." Sean smirked.
Scott looked to Elliott and Barry in joy. They looked back, their expressions mirroring his. Each one of them was saying a silent prayer of thanksgiving.
Everything was going to be alright.