Cid/Vincent High-School RP: Part 6
Summary: an AU account of Cid and Vincent in a modern high-school setting.
Warnings for this chapter: tears, diary juice, legal drug use, an old Valentine (take that as you will), and evil, bitchy sisters.
Disclaimer: Square Enix owns Cid and Vincent, the rest is sadly our own mad-cap invention XD
Previous chapters: "part1(illustrated)", "part2(illustrated)", "part3(illustrated)", "part4(illustrated)", "part5".
The nurse in the sick room nearly has a fit when she sees Cid, and the condition the other boys are in. They don't usually get much action at the school. This would certainly have to rate high up her list of schoolyard incidents.
“What on earth happened? Were you boys fighting? I hope you realise I'm going to have to tell the Principal about this. Goodness, you're all in a right mess! Tell me what happened and put him there, yes, and sit down. I'll fetch you some clean water and iodine.”
Byron lays Cid out on one of the cots with a groan, and straightens, turning to face the nurse.
Vincent drops the bags by the cot, and stands at the head, touching Cid's face, tearful and sniffling miserably. He should have known, he should have gone ahead, he should have been there...
Byron takes a seat with a wince, and starts in. “He got jumped. Four guys. Laid into us too when we came to help. He was pretty far gone when we got there. He passed out just about three minutes ago. Hasn't been out long, but they were vicious - I don't know how bad it is.”
The nurse nods and tends first to Cid, he being the most obviously hurt. She grabs a phone and holds it between her ear and shoulder as she peels open Cid's eyes and tries to gauge his condition.
“Yes sir. A brawl. Apparently there are other involved who aren't here. Happened at,” she turns to Byron and gets her answer, then looks back to Cid, “at the old broken fountain. Got three here, and one's unconscious. Looks a broken rib, at the least of it. I reckon there'll be more needing medical attention. Might want to call some families, and an ambulance. Can't treat this boy properly here.”
She hangs up, and certain that Cid isn't dying, she fetches her tools and gives some clean swabs and lotions for Byron and Vincent to apply to themselves, while she tends to the worst of Cid's wounds
A little while later, the two other unconscious boys are brought in. The two members from the football team aren't to be found. Cid's mum is going to meet Cid at the hospital, the nurse informs. Vincent and Byron's fathers are coming to collect them early from school. Nothing much is said, and while Vincent and Byron aren't told they're in trouble, it's clear some of the adults aren't entirely sure they're innocent, and treat them suspectly.
The ambulance people come to take Cid.
Vincent doesn't bother with the swab, holding it limply in his lap and staring mournfully at Cid. Eventually, Byron gets up and crouches at Vincent's knee and takes up the swab, clearing away the blood. It looks like the worst he came away with is a split lip. If it stings at all, Vincent doesn't flinch or show it. He just sits and stares at his best friend. He can't escape the feeling that he's at fault. He just can't. Staring at Cid just makes it worse, but he can't bring himself to look away.
Vincent's father comes first, as the ambulance people come to take Cid. Vincent wants to ride in the ambulance with him. He struggles when people tell him no. “Please, please, let me ride with him. Please let me ride with him. Please don't take him away...!” He turns to his father, tears streaming down his face, gasping, and his father looks to the ambulance personnel.
The ambulance people look to Grimoire and shrug. “There's room for him if you allow it. You can meet us at the hospital.” They pick Cid up and put him on a stretcher and start taking him out. The two other boys are taken not long after, as a new medical team arrive.
Grimoire takes one look at his son, and nods. Vincent can spare no thought for thanks, following the stretcher and climbing inside the ambulance. He takes a seat, his hands going for one of Cid's, and cradling it. He can remember Cid doing the same for him on so many doctor's visits, after so many operations... He reaches out to brush Cid's hair back, and the tears start all over again.
One of the ambulance men pats Vincent consoling on the shoulder. “It's alright, kid. I've seen all sorts of injuries, and he'll be fine. Just be a bit sore for a while.”
It makes it worse, jerking a sob from Vincent. He presses his face to Cid's hand, crying into the palm. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...”
The ambulance member sits back and decides to leave Vincent to his grief, afraid to say something else that'll make it worse.
At the hospital, Vincent is handed back over into the custody of his father, while they take him off to treat him properly. Not too long after, a nurse comes up to the two Valentines with a sugary smile.
“Hi there. You're the Valentines, right? Cid's awake now, and wants to see you. His mum's already with him. He's doing just fine. Room 208.”
Vincent's tearing off down the hall, despite the admonitions of his father and the nurse, and loses his footing outside Cid's room. He scrambles up from the floor, and takes two huge strides to get to Cid's bedside.
“Cid!”
The lowered guard rail makes it easier for him to throw his arms about Cid's neck, and cling.
“Ow ow ow ow ow,” Cid says, but despite this laughs, he brings both his arms up to hug Vincent back, although gently. He's got bandages around his chest, a splint on his left wrist, some stitches on his forhead, and a few other smaller bandages covering nasty cuts. The rest of him is either swollen or bruised. He looks pale, and surprisingly frail, but he's smiling despite it all. Mrs Highwind smiles at Cid, and leaves him to have some alone time with Vincent, as she goes out to talk to Grimoire. “Hey Freak. Easy on the chest, eh?”
Vincent pulls back, but he's not smiling; he's crying. He knuckles an eye, breath hitching, and leaves his stained and scuffed metal hand on Cid's chest. He doesn't want to look so stupid in front of Cid, but somehow he manages to just look stupid in front of him - crying and sobbing and clutching at him, like he's five, or a girl.
“Hey. Heyyyy...” Cid tries to sooth, bring his right hand to cup Vincent's cheek. He rubs his thumb over the smooth skin. “It's okay, 'm okay. Ye don't need te cry Vince. Hey, what happened?” He asks, frowning, noticing his friend's split lip. He runs his thumb over it worriedly.
“I don't know!” Vincent bursts out. “There was just... there was this note, and then when I went to the office they said it wasn't real, and I knew, I knew it was a set-up, and me and Byron went to get you and... and oh God, you were on the floor, and... and...”
“Shhh, shhh,” He soothes, and pulls Vincent back down against him, ignoring the ache in his chest, and strokes the thick, dark hair comfortingly. “It's okay Freak. It's alright. It's over now. Dirty bastards. Kenneth knew I'd have 'im if he came fer me by 'imself, so he 'ad te bring a possy. Real damn brave of him, slimy bastard. Did Byron fight 'em off? Is he alright?”
Vincent nods against Cid's shoulder, his hands fisting in the cloth at Cid's sides. “He got a bloody nose and a bruised belly.
“.... I hit them.”
Cid goes stiff, and looks down at the form clinging to him. “Whoa, what? You fought 'em too?”
Vincent doesn't nod, doesn't move, just continues in the same soft, toneless voice. “I just kept hitting them and hitting them and hitting them and hitting them and hitting them... until they didn't move anymore...”
Cid hugs Vincent tighter and swallows, feeling an icicle of fear run down his spine. It's a mixture of fear that little, delicate had Vincent thrown himself into a fight, outnumbered and outsized, because of him, and partly due to the image Vincent paints with his words. He hopes the other boys are alright, for Vincent's sake. “It's okay,” he whispers, still stroking the hair. “I'm okay. Thank you, for saving me. I'll protect you now.”
Vincent’s breath hitches hard, his hold on Cid tightening. “You shouldn't have to! You're always protecting me, always fighting for me, but when it comes down to it, when you need me, I fail you! I should have been there! I should have protected you!”
“Hey!” Cid says harshly. “Hey, don't say shit like that. It's not yer fault, and you did protect me, you were there. This was some stupid fight between me and one o' the footballers. It wasn't your responsibility, but ye were able te help me when I was in trouble anyways.
“..'Sides,” Cid adds, his voice softer, and a little sullen, “I like protectin' ye. Makes me feel like 'm actually important. Actually doin' somethin, actually bein' useful.”
Vincent finally raises his head, sniffling, eyes watering, and scrubs at his face. “You're stupid. You're always useful, always. There isn't anything you can't do. And, and, you're always important to me, the most important person in the world to me. I don't... I don't want you to stop... protecting me... but I want to be useful and important to you too, like that. I want to be able to protect you too. I don't want to ever see you like this again. I'm going to have nightmares.”
Cid's face falls, and he presses Vincent against him again so his friend won’t see the expression. He's failed Vincent. He let them attack him, let them beat him, and now Vincent's suffering because he wasn't strong enough. Cid promises himself he'll work out more. Maybe Byron and he could start doing gym at the school, for the football team? “'Course yer important te me, Freak. Why else would I like protectin' ye so much? Jesus. You and my mum. Yer all I got in the world. 'M sorry. I'll get stronger fer you, I promise. Just you watch.”
Vincent makes a frustrated noise, and possibly for the first time in his life that he recalls, pushes Cid away in anger. “You just don't get it! Don't you understand? You're already strong enough for me - to me, there's no one greater! I want... I want...” His hands start to claw, and his desperately searching eyes land on them. The wind goes out of his sails, and he sags. He takes up Cid's hand again, stroking it, and presses it to his cheek, looking pained. “I want to be good enough for you.”
Cid grunts at the shove, but takes it good naturedly. He brings Vincent's face down to his, so they're pressing their foreheads together. “Freak, yer already too good fer me. Yer so damn precious.....
“.... I can't believe I missed seeing ye beat someone up,” Cid smiles crookedly.
Vincent sniffs loudly, and scrubs at his eyes. “.... move over.”
Cid does so, awkwardly. He makes a sound like a grunt, but the tone is different, a genuinely hurt sound that is rare on Cid's lips. He brushes it away by smiling, inviting Vince to lie down and cuddle up next to him.
Vincent does so, lying close, almost fearful, curled up along Cid's side. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry...”
Cid puts his finger over Vincent's lips. “Don't. I want a friend, not a broken record Vince. 'Sides, if anyone should be appologisin', it's me, fer getting you involved in a fight that had nothing to do with you.”
Vincent turns his head away to dodge the silencing finger, putting his face in Cid's neck. His hand comes up to Cid's mouth. His voice comes out somewhat sleepy. “Ridiculous. Quiet.”
Cid smiles, part amused, part sad. He rests his cheek against Vincent's head, and is lulled by the soothing feeling of Vincent breathing gently against his neck. He closes his eyes, and easily falls asleep.
Vincent's on his way the instant he falls quiet, his body losing all tension so that he's slumped partially on Cid, his arm low about his waist.
After a few minutes, Grimoire enters the room, followed by Ms. Highwind. He smiles softly at both of them, and comes up to Vincent's side. His hand comes up to stroke over his head, and down his arm and back up, to brush his hair away, struck with pangs of heartache - not because he's sad, but because he loves his son so much. Even his other half.
He turns his smile on Cid's mum, then back to the bed. “... We have good boys, don't we. Such good boys...”
“I know,” Ms Highwind replies, softly. She has dark rings under her eyes, and her smile for the boys is soft and a little bittersweet. “Cid's the only good thing that's ever come of life. And Vincent's like another son to me. We are so very blessed... I'll tell the nurse to let Vincent stay. They just want to keep Cid one night for observation. I think it'll be good to have Vincent here. Cid will get restless in no time, and Vincent will likely have more luck keeping my boy in bed then I would.”
Grimoire snorts at that, softly, and doesn't stop petting Vincent's dark hair.
~*~
Later that evening, Cid's acquired a stress ball from one of the nurses he's managed to charm. He throws it with his right hand, looking bored and irritated. “Why can't I go home? There's nothing wrong with me,” he sulks. “Jesus, even our folks left. It aint fair. I'm gonna fucking kill Kenneth when I see 'im next.” He catches the ball and clenches it vehemantly.
“You can't kill him,” Vincent offers benignly, sitting in a chair with his feet propped on the bed. “It lowers your GPA.”
Cid squints at Vincent suspiciously. Then throws the soft ball at him, half-heartedly. “Yeah, well... C'mon, let's just go. It aint that far home. Hell, i'll even pay fer a cab. There's nothin' te do here!”
Vincent catches it and throws it back. “No. We're staying here until they say you can go.”
Cid sags into the bed further. “I'm huuungrrryyyyyy... and booooorreedd. And my chest hurts! Entertain me, Vincent!” He whines, and throws the ball again.
Vincent throws the ball back, agitated. “Why don't you just grow some more stubble, then.”
Cid flops back against the bed, and hides a wince for his trouble. He wonders if he could ask for some strong pain killers, the one's everone says they hallucinate on. At least it would be entertaining.
Vincent eyes narrow. “You're in pain.”
“Eh, it's nothing. I've had worse,” Cid says casually. He turns his head to look at Vincent, trying to change the subject. “Hey, think we should call Byron and see how he's doing?”
Vincent ignores his first statement, pressing the button for the nurse's station. He doesn't take a seat, but instead simply stands beside the bed. “Do you have his number? I could use one of the payphones in the corridor.”
“It's in my diary,” Cid says sullenly, lifting his chin towards his bag his mum brought.
A nurse comes in and smiles politely at the boys. “Anything I can do for you?”
Cid just glares at Vincent.
Vincent smiles nicely at the nurse, dipping his head respectfully. “Yes, I'm sorry for the trouble, but my friend is in some pain. Would it be possible to approve a morphine drip?”
The nurse is about to reply when Cid cuts in. “Whoah, what, a drip? You mean, a needle? Stuck in me? No way in Hell, Vincent.”
The nurse looks between the two with raised eyebrows. “I'd have to ask the doctor...”
“No!” Cid emphasises again.
Vincent is unfazed by the outburst. “Of course, capsules will be just as acceptable. Thank you.”
Cid purses his mouth and folds his arms, looking away, determined to ignore them both.
The nurse smiles and walks out to find the doctor.
The confrontation done with, Vincent turns to Cid's bag, and withdraws the diary. “I'll wait until the nurse comes back, and then I'll call Byron.”
Cid says nothing, still sulking.
In the diary, at the back where there's room for people's numbers and email addresses, Vincent's is at the very top of the list. Then follows what could be half the school's phone numbers. Near the bottom, above a few other footballer's names, is Byron's.
The nurse comes back, with two plastic cups, one with a couple of pills in, the other with water. She puts them by the side of Cid's bed. “There you are. Don't have to take 'em, Master Highwind, but if you're in pain, those should help. If you'd like more, just buzz for me again.” She picks up his chart and writes down the medication on there, then leaves. Cid's still glaring in the opposite direction.
Vincent sighs, and comes up to Cid's side. He touches Cid's arm, trying to wedge a hand in with his. “Cid, please take them? Please, Chief?”
Cid turns his face more and hunches up, scowling viciously to try and fight off the undeniable tide that is Vincent. He allows the hand though. “... i'm strong enough without 'em,” he mumbles through clenched teeth.
Vincent bows his head, and he brings up his other hand to clasp Cid's hand, gentle. He speaks very softly, and fondly. “Please. If not for you, then for my own peace of mind. Please - I don't like seeing you in pain. You might be able to stand it, but I'm weak that way.”
Cid turns and looks at Vincent, half annoyance, half acceptance. He lets his gaze slide away to the cup of pills, and screws up his nose in distaste. “Ye aint weak,” he grumbles, and reaches for the cup, glaring down at the pills hatefully. He throws them back into his mouth, and washes it down with a couple gulps of water. He doesn't let go Vincent's hand.
Vincent beams at him happily, squeezing his hand and pressing his cheek to Cid's stubbled one. “Thank you, thank you so much Cid. I owe you one.”
Cid grunts, and leans his face against Vincent's. “Go call Byron. Careful if 'is dad picks up. Sounds a bit miserly, that old man does.”
Vincent presses close one last time and then pulls away, grabbing up Cid's diary and rooting about in his jean's pocket on his way out there door. He throws Cid a smile. “Be right back!”
“'Kay,” Cid says, unable to help smiling because Vincent is. He picks up the ball and starts throwing it, wondering how strong the pills are, and how long before they take affect.
Vincent stops at the nurse's station, telling them where he'll be if needed, and that Cid is alone in his room, just in case.
He rounds the corner and drops his quarters into the phone, cradling it against his shoulder while he finds Byron's number, and punches it in.
It rings for a while. A woman picks up.
“Hello?”
Vincent doesn't like her, straight off the bat. She's dismissive and self-absorbed. “Is Byron McCullaheigh home?”
“Why? Who's calling?”
“A classmate. Vincent.”
There's a little chuckle, and a smile, in the voice. “Oooohhhh, the cripple, riiiiight. What do you want?”
Vincent's stung by the remark, but presses on. “I wanted to know if Byron's all right after the fight today.”
She ignores him, her voice becoming more focused on him, concentrated, intimate and sly. “You know Cid?”
Vincent's brow furrows, his jaw tightens. Something like anger, but not the same flames inside him. “Can I please talk to Byron?”
She presses on, voice dropping. “I think he's hot. All that muscle, just the right height... blonde and blue-eyed and tan like a down-home country boy. Like a cowboy.”
It's getting uncomfortable now. “Please let me talk to Byron.”
“He got a girlfriend? I haven't seen him with one. Just crippled old you. You should really let him get out some. Let him get some action. I can tell. He's just ready for it. You can tell by the way he walks. He has the perfect ass for a pair of jeans. Just perfect.”
Vincent swallows. “Please don't speak of him that way.”
She mimicks him. “Please don't speak of him that way. You gotta learn, kiddo, you might be a little boy, but Cid? He's already a man. Men like women. Men like women talking about them. Grow. Up.” Her voice shifts tone, becoming teasing and cruel. “Still want to talk to Byron?”
Vincent's voice is subdued. He tries not to grind his teeth. “Yes, please.”
She turns her head from the phone, hollering. “Dad! Someone wants to talk to Byron!”
Then, distantly, a man's voice. “How's that? Gimme the phone, sugar.”
She does, because it's soon Byron's Dad on the phone. “What d'you want?”
Vincent swallows. “I wanted to check on Byron after today's fight.”
“You one'a the boys that got in the fight?”
“Yes, sir.’
“Boy, I hope your Daddy gave you something to think about. Dumb bastards, getting into fights like that at school. School's for learnin', not fightin'. Byron ain't coming to the phone. He's grounded. You can talk to him next at school. Don't go gettin' my boy into any more trouble now, y'hear?”
The line goes dead. Vincent draws the phone away, alive with conflicting, hateful emotions. He stares at the receiver, hesitates, then hangs it back up. He makes his way back to Cid's room with more caution and less speed than he had left it, stopping at the nurse's station to check to see if he'd been all right before continuing.
“Hey Vince! Vince! C'mere!” Cid says excitedly when Vincent returns, waving him to his side. “C'mere, c'mere, c'mere!!”
Vincent picks up his pace, and pastes on a smile. “What's up?”
Cid grabs Vincent's hand, and puts it on his nose. “..Can ye feel that?”
Vincent's eyebrows raise. “Feel what?”
Cid laughs. “I CAN'T FEEL MY NOSE!” He pats Vincent's hand on his face, his pupils dilated.
Vincent groans, dropping his head. “God, they didn't...” He sighs, taking Cid's face in his hands and trying to get his attention, still holding the diary. He can well remember being on this particular painkiller. He was loopy for hours. Cid had had a ball. They still told stories about it. “Cid. Look at me. I'm going to put your diary away. Then I'm getting you juice, all right? Me. Diary. Juice. Okay?”
Cid grins at him lazily. “Will diary-juice help me nose my feel again?”
Vincent smiles at him indulgently, and pats his cheek. “Yes Cid. Diary-juice.” He makes to move out of Cid's loose grip on his wrist.
“Wait!” Cid cries, grabbing Vincent's wrist tighter. “You can't go; I can't feel! Whose gonna feel for me? You have to be my feeler.”
Vincent keeps smiling. “I know. I'm going to feel our way to the juice machine, which is just down the hall, and then I'm going to feel our way back! But I need you here so I can feel my way back, all right? Stay here while I get diary-juice? All right?”
Cid lets go of Vincent's wrist, and gives him a lazy salute. “Aye aye, Freak.”
Vincent pats his cheek once more. “Thank you Chief, I'll be right back.”
He exits the room awkwardly, constantly looking over at Cid, and as soon as he's out, races down the hall, shoves a dollar into the machine, gets a bottle of apple juice, and careens back in before Cid's drunken mind can decide he would like to help by pretending he has no legs and hauling himself across the floor with his hands.
Cid, however, is in no such danger. In fact, it looks like he's fallen asleep, until he opens a bleary eye and smiles sleepily at Vincent. “Heeyyyyy Feeler. Did you call Byron?”
Vincent carefully pushes aside all the negative feelings of the phonecall, and gives Cid a smile as he opens the juice. “Yes. I didn't get a chance to talk to him, because he's grounded. But I suppose he's fine.” He takes Cid's hand and wraps it around the bottle, keeping his own wrapped supportively about it. “Careful sips, now.”
“Byron's underground? Does he have a feeler?” Cid asks, as he takes a sip of the juice. He lies back after, and closes his eyes. “Hey Vince?”
Vincent answers distractedly, fussing with the juice. “Yes?”
“... You remember that Valentine's ye got last year?”
Vincent smiles at him, briefly. “Hard not to remember; I only got the one.”
Cid humms. “You ever figured out who it were from?”
Vincent tries not to become too serious. “... that one. No. Probably just a prankster at school. Someone out for a laugh.” His mouth twitches up in a weak smile.
“Oh.” Cid says, and he opens an eye and looks at Vincent, before closing it again. There seems to be something very pregnant about the silence. “... you didn't like it, then?”
Vincent studiously avoids Cid's gaze, swallowing back old hurt. “The card was nice. The joke was not.”
“The joke?” Cid asks, opening both eyes and looking at Vincent hazily.
Vincent sighs. He doesn't know why he bothered. Cid's doped. He abandons the conversation, smiling at Cid, and petting back his hair. “Nevermind, Cid. Just go to sleep.”
Cid's mouth turns down. “You don't trust me? Just 'cause I can't feel. How can you hold that against a man?”
Vincent dismisses the claim, giving Cid a moderately serious look. “You know that's not true. I trust you, you know that.”
“Not with the joke someone put in my Valentine's card,” Cid grumbles, closing his eyes with the soothing hand Vincent has in his hair.
Vincent gives him a queer look, not understanding. He keeps moving his hand through Cid's hair, occasionally stroking his brow or cheek.
Cid huffs and gives up, and lets himself be lulled into sleep.
Vincent's mouth curls up in an affectionate smile, and he pets Cid for a minute or two more. He almost never gets a chance like this.
After a moment, his hand stills. He brings it down to Cid's cheek, and then pulls away, drawing up a chair and taking a seat at Cid's side. Eventually, the long day catches up with him again, and he nods off, dropping his head to his folded arm, his other hand clutching Cid's.
~*~*~*~*~
Warnings for this chapter: tears, diary juice, legal drug use, an old Valentine (take that as you will), and evil, bitchy sisters.
Disclaimer: Square Enix owns Cid and Vincent, the rest is sadly our own mad-cap invention XD
Previous chapters: "part1(illustrated)", "part2(illustrated)", "part3(illustrated)", "part4(illustrated)", "part5".
The nurse in the sick room nearly has a fit when she sees Cid, and the condition the other boys are in. They don't usually get much action at the school. This would certainly have to rate high up her list of schoolyard incidents.
“What on earth happened? Were you boys fighting? I hope you realise I'm going to have to tell the Principal about this. Goodness, you're all in a right mess! Tell me what happened and put him there, yes, and sit down. I'll fetch you some clean water and iodine.”
Byron lays Cid out on one of the cots with a groan, and straightens, turning to face the nurse.
Vincent drops the bags by the cot, and stands at the head, touching Cid's face, tearful and sniffling miserably. He should have known, he should have gone ahead, he should have been there...
Byron takes a seat with a wince, and starts in. “He got jumped. Four guys. Laid into us too when we came to help. He was pretty far gone when we got there. He passed out just about three minutes ago. Hasn't been out long, but they were vicious - I don't know how bad it is.”
The nurse nods and tends first to Cid, he being the most obviously hurt. She grabs a phone and holds it between her ear and shoulder as she peels open Cid's eyes and tries to gauge his condition.
“Yes sir. A brawl. Apparently there are other involved who aren't here. Happened at,” she turns to Byron and gets her answer, then looks back to Cid, “at the old broken fountain. Got three here, and one's unconscious. Looks a broken rib, at the least of it. I reckon there'll be more needing medical attention. Might want to call some families, and an ambulance. Can't treat this boy properly here.”
She hangs up, and certain that Cid isn't dying, she fetches her tools and gives some clean swabs and lotions for Byron and Vincent to apply to themselves, while she tends to the worst of Cid's wounds
A little while later, the two other unconscious boys are brought in. The two members from the football team aren't to be found. Cid's mum is going to meet Cid at the hospital, the nurse informs. Vincent and Byron's fathers are coming to collect them early from school. Nothing much is said, and while Vincent and Byron aren't told they're in trouble, it's clear some of the adults aren't entirely sure they're innocent, and treat them suspectly.
The ambulance people come to take Cid.
Vincent doesn't bother with the swab, holding it limply in his lap and staring mournfully at Cid. Eventually, Byron gets up and crouches at Vincent's knee and takes up the swab, clearing away the blood. It looks like the worst he came away with is a split lip. If it stings at all, Vincent doesn't flinch or show it. He just sits and stares at his best friend. He can't escape the feeling that he's at fault. He just can't. Staring at Cid just makes it worse, but he can't bring himself to look away.
Vincent's father comes first, as the ambulance people come to take Cid. Vincent wants to ride in the ambulance with him. He struggles when people tell him no. “Please, please, let me ride with him. Please let me ride with him. Please don't take him away...!” He turns to his father, tears streaming down his face, gasping, and his father looks to the ambulance personnel.
The ambulance people look to Grimoire and shrug. “There's room for him if you allow it. You can meet us at the hospital.” They pick Cid up and put him on a stretcher and start taking him out. The two other boys are taken not long after, as a new medical team arrive.
Grimoire takes one look at his son, and nods. Vincent can spare no thought for thanks, following the stretcher and climbing inside the ambulance. He takes a seat, his hands going for one of Cid's, and cradling it. He can remember Cid doing the same for him on so many doctor's visits, after so many operations... He reaches out to brush Cid's hair back, and the tears start all over again.
One of the ambulance men pats Vincent consoling on the shoulder. “It's alright, kid. I've seen all sorts of injuries, and he'll be fine. Just be a bit sore for a while.”
It makes it worse, jerking a sob from Vincent. He presses his face to Cid's hand, crying into the palm. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...”
The ambulance member sits back and decides to leave Vincent to his grief, afraid to say something else that'll make it worse.
At the hospital, Vincent is handed back over into the custody of his father, while they take him off to treat him properly. Not too long after, a nurse comes up to the two Valentines with a sugary smile.
“Hi there. You're the Valentines, right? Cid's awake now, and wants to see you. His mum's already with him. He's doing just fine. Room 208.”
Vincent's tearing off down the hall, despite the admonitions of his father and the nurse, and loses his footing outside Cid's room. He scrambles up from the floor, and takes two huge strides to get to Cid's bedside.
“Cid!”
The lowered guard rail makes it easier for him to throw his arms about Cid's neck, and cling.
“Ow ow ow ow ow,” Cid says, but despite this laughs, he brings both his arms up to hug Vincent back, although gently. He's got bandages around his chest, a splint on his left wrist, some stitches on his forhead, and a few other smaller bandages covering nasty cuts. The rest of him is either swollen or bruised. He looks pale, and surprisingly frail, but he's smiling despite it all. Mrs Highwind smiles at Cid, and leaves him to have some alone time with Vincent, as she goes out to talk to Grimoire. “Hey Freak. Easy on the chest, eh?”
Vincent pulls back, but he's not smiling; he's crying. He knuckles an eye, breath hitching, and leaves his stained and scuffed metal hand on Cid's chest. He doesn't want to look so stupid in front of Cid, but somehow he manages to just look stupid in front of him - crying and sobbing and clutching at him, like he's five, or a girl.
“Hey. Heyyyy...” Cid tries to sooth, bring his right hand to cup Vincent's cheek. He rubs his thumb over the smooth skin. “It's okay, 'm okay. Ye don't need te cry Vince. Hey, what happened?” He asks, frowning, noticing his friend's split lip. He runs his thumb over it worriedly.
“I don't know!” Vincent bursts out. “There was just... there was this note, and then when I went to the office they said it wasn't real, and I knew, I knew it was a set-up, and me and Byron went to get you and... and oh God, you were on the floor, and... and...”
“Shhh, shhh,” He soothes, and pulls Vincent back down against him, ignoring the ache in his chest, and strokes the thick, dark hair comfortingly. “It's okay Freak. It's alright. It's over now. Dirty bastards. Kenneth knew I'd have 'im if he came fer me by 'imself, so he 'ad te bring a possy. Real damn brave of him, slimy bastard. Did Byron fight 'em off? Is he alright?”
Vincent nods against Cid's shoulder, his hands fisting in the cloth at Cid's sides. “He got a bloody nose and a bruised belly.
“.... I hit them.”
Cid goes stiff, and looks down at the form clinging to him. “Whoa, what? You fought 'em too?”
Vincent doesn't nod, doesn't move, just continues in the same soft, toneless voice. “I just kept hitting them and hitting them and hitting them and hitting them and hitting them... until they didn't move anymore...”
Cid hugs Vincent tighter and swallows, feeling an icicle of fear run down his spine. It's a mixture of fear that little, delicate had Vincent thrown himself into a fight, outnumbered and outsized, because of him, and partly due to the image Vincent paints with his words. He hopes the other boys are alright, for Vincent's sake. “It's okay,” he whispers, still stroking the hair. “I'm okay. Thank you, for saving me. I'll protect you now.”
Vincent’s breath hitches hard, his hold on Cid tightening. “You shouldn't have to! You're always protecting me, always fighting for me, but when it comes down to it, when you need me, I fail you! I should have been there! I should have protected you!”
“Hey!” Cid says harshly. “Hey, don't say shit like that. It's not yer fault, and you did protect me, you were there. This was some stupid fight between me and one o' the footballers. It wasn't your responsibility, but ye were able te help me when I was in trouble anyways.
“..'Sides,” Cid adds, his voice softer, and a little sullen, “I like protectin' ye. Makes me feel like 'm actually important. Actually doin' somethin, actually bein' useful.”
Vincent finally raises his head, sniffling, eyes watering, and scrubs at his face. “You're stupid. You're always useful, always. There isn't anything you can't do. And, and, you're always important to me, the most important person in the world to me. I don't... I don't want you to stop... protecting me... but I want to be useful and important to you too, like that. I want to be able to protect you too. I don't want to ever see you like this again. I'm going to have nightmares.”
Cid's face falls, and he presses Vincent against him again so his friend won’t see the expression. He's failed Vincent. He let them attack him, let them beat him, and now Vincent's suffering because he wasn't strong enough. Cid promises himself he'll work out more. Maybe Byron and he could start doing gym at the school, for the football team? “'Course yer important te me, Freak. Why else would I like protectin' ye so much? Jesus. You and my mum. Yer all I got in the world. 'M sorry. I'll get stronger fer you, I promise. Just you watch.”
Vincent makes a frustrated noise, and possibly for the first time in his life that he recalls, pushes Cid away in anger. “You just don't get it! Don't you understand? You're already strong enough for me - to me, there's no one greater! I want... I want...” His hands start to claw, and his desperately searching eyes land on them. The wind goes out of his sails, and he sags. He takes up Cid's hand again, stroking it, and presses it to his cheek, looking pained. “I want to be good enough for you.”
Cid grunts at the shove, but takes it good naturedly. He brings Vincent's face down to his, so they're pressing their foreheads together. “Freak, yer already too good fer me. Yer so damn precious.....
“.... I can't believe I missed seeing ye beat someone up,” Cid smiles crookedly.
Vincent sniffs loudly, and scrubs at his eyes. “.... move over.”
Cid does so, awkwardly. He makes a sound like a grunt, but the tone is different, a genuinely hurt sound that is rare on Cid's lips. He brushes it away by smiling, inviting Vince to lie down and cuddle up next to him.
Vincent does so, lying close, almost fearful, curled up along Cid's side. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry...”
Cid puts his finger over Vincent's lips. “Don't. I want a friend, not a broken record Vince. 'Sides, if anyone should be appologisin', it's me, fer getting you involved in a fight that had nothing to do with you.”
Vincent turns his head away to dodge the silencing finger, putting his face in Cid's neck. His hand comes up to Cid's mouth. His voice comes out somewhat sleepy. “Ridiculous. Quiet.”
Cid smiles, part amused, part sad. He rests his cheek against Vincent's head, and is lulled by the soothing feeling of Vincent breathing gently against his neck. He closes his eyes, and easily falls asleep.
Vincent's on his way the instant he falls quiet, his body losing all tension so that he's slumped partially on Cid, his arm low about his waist.
After a few minutes, Grimoire enters the room, followed by Ms. Highwind. He smiles softly at both of them, and comes up to Vincent's side. His hand comes up to stroke over his head, and down his arm and back up, to brush his hair away, struck with pangs of heartache - not because he's sad, but because he loves his son so much. Even his other half.
He turns his smile on Cid's mum, then back to the bed. “... We have good boys, don't we. Such good boys...”
“I know,” Ms Highwind replies, softly. She has dark rings under her eyes, and her smile for the boys is soft and a little bittersweet. “Cid's the only good thing that's ever come of life. And Vincent's like another son to me. We are so very blessed... I'll tell the nurse to let Vincent stay. They just want to keep Cid one night for observation. I think it'll be good to have Vincent here. Cid will get restless in no time, and Vincent will likely have more luck keeping my boy in bed then I would.”
Grimoire snorts at that, softly, and doesn't stop petting Vincent's dark hair.
~*~
Later that evening, Cid's acquired a stress ball from one of the nurses he's managed to charm. He throws it with his right hand, looking bored and irritated. “Why can't I go home? There's nothing wrong with me,” he sulks. “Jesus, even our folks left. It aint fair. I'm gonna fucking kill Kenneth when I see 'im next.” He catches the ball and clenches it vehemantly.
“You can't kill him,” Vincent offers benignly, sitting in a chair with his feet propped on the bed. “It lowers your GPA.”
Cid squints at Vincent suspiciously. Then throws the soft ball at him, half-heartedly. “Yeah, well... C'mon, let's just go. It aint that far home. Hell, i'll even pay fer a cab. There's nothin' te do here!”
Vincent catches it and throws it back. “No. We're staying here until they say you can go.”
Cid sags into the bed further. “I'm huuungrrryyyyyy... and booooorreedd. And my chest hurts! Entertain me, Vincent!” He whines, and throws the ball again.
Vincent throws the ball back, agitated. “Why don't you just grow some more stubble, then.”
Cid flops back against the bed, and hides a wince for his trouble. He wonders if he could ask for some strong pain killers, the one's everone says they hallucinate on. At least it would be entertaining.
Vincent eyes narrow. “You're in pain.”
“Eh, it's nothing. I've had worse,” Cid says casually. He turns his head to look at Vincent, trying to change the subject. “Hey, think we should call Byron and see how he's doing?”
Vincent ignores his first statement, pressing the button for the nurse's station. He doesn't take a seat, but instead simply stands beside the bed. “Do you have his number? I could use one of the payphones in the corridor.”
“It's in my diary,” Cid says sullenly, lifting his chin towards his bag his mum brought.
A nurse comes in and smiles politely at the boys. “Anything I can do for you?”
Cid just glares at Vincent.
Vincent smiles nicely at the nurse, dipping his head respectfully. “Yes, I'm sorry for the trouble, but my friend is in some pain. Would it be possible to approve a morphine drip?”
The nurse is about to reply when Cid cuts in. “Whoah, what, a drip? You mean, a needle? Stuck in me? No way in Hell, Vincent.”
The nurse looks between the two with raised eyebrows. “I'd have to ask the doctor...”
“No!” Cid emphasises again.
Vincent is unfazed by the outburst. “Of course, capsules will be just as acceptable. Thank you.”
Cid purses his mouth and folds his arms, looking away, determined to ignore them both.
The nurse smiles and walks out to find the doctor.
The confrontation done with, Vincent turns to Cid's bag, and withdraws the diary. “I'll wait until the nurse comes back, and then I'll call Byron.”
Cid says nothing, still sulking.
In the diary, at the back where there's room for people's numbers and email addresses, Vincent's is at the very top of the list. Then follows what could be half the school's phone numbers. Near the bottom, above a few other footballer's names, is Byron's.
The nurse comes back, with two plastic cups, one with a couple of pills in, the other with water. She puts them by the side of Cid's bed. “There you are. Don't have to take 'em, Master Highwind, but if you're in pain, those should help. If you'd like more, just buzz for me again.” She picks up his chart and writes down the medication on there, then leaves. Cid's still glaring in the opposite direction.
Vincent sighs, and comes up to Cid's side. He touches Cid's arm, trying to wedge a hand in with his. “Cid, please take them? Please, Chief?”
Cid turns his face more and hunches up, scowling viciously to try and fight off the undeniable tide that is Vincent. He allows the hand though. “... i'm strong enough without 'em,” he mumbles through clenched teeth.
Vincent bows his head, and he brings up his other hand to clasp Cid's hand, gentle. He speaks very softly, and fondly. “Please. If not for you, then for my own peace of mind. Please - I don't like seeing you in pain. You might be able to stand it, but I'm weak that way.”
Cid turns and looks at Vincent, half annoyance, half acceptance. He lets his gaze slide away to the cup of pills, and screws up his nose in distaste. “Ye aint weak,” he grumbles, and reaches for the cup, glaring down at the pills hatefully. He throws them back into his mouth, and washes it down with a couple gulps of water. He doesn't let go Vincent's hand.
Vincent beams at him happily, squeezing his hand and pressing his cheek to Cid's stubbled one. “Thank you, thank you so much Cid. I owe you one.”
Cid grunts, and leans his face against Vincent's. “Go call Byron. Careful if 'is dad picks up. Sounds a bit miserly, that old man does.”
Vincent presses close one last time and then pulls away, grabbing up Cid's diary and rooting about in his jean's pocket on his way out there door. He throws Cid a smile. “Be right back!”
“'Kay,” Cid says, unable to help smiling because Vincent is. He picks up the ball and starts throwing it, wondering how strong the pills are, and how long before they take affect.
Vincent stops at the nurse's station, telling them where he'll be if needed, and that Cid is alone in his room, just in case.
He rounds the corner and drops his quarters into the phone, cradling it against his shoulder while he finds Byron's number, and punches it in.
It rings for a while. A woman picks up.
“Hello?”
Vincent doesn't like her, straight off the bat. She's dismissive and self-absorbed. “Is Byron McCullaheigh home?”
“Why? Who's calling?”
“A classmate. Vincent.”
There's a little chuckle, and a smile, in the voice. “Oooohhhh, the cripple, riiiiight. What do you want?”
Vincent's stung by the remark, but presses on. “I wanted to know if Byron's all right after the fight today.”
She ignores him, her voice becoming more focused on him, concentrated, intimate and sly. “You know Cid?”
Vincent's brow furrows, his jaw tightens. Something like anger, but not the same flames inside him. “Can I please talk to Byron?”
She presses on, voice dropping. “I think he's hot. All that muscle, just the right height... blonde and blue-eyed and tan like a down-home country boy. Like a cowboy.”
It's getting uncomfortable now. “Please let me talk to Byron.”
“He got a girlfriend? I haven't seen him with one. Just crippled old you. You should really let him get out some. Let him get some action. I can tell. He's just ready for it. You can tell by the way he walks. He has the perfect ass for a pair of jeans. Just perfect.”
Vincent swallows. “Please don't speak of him that way.”
She mimicks him. “Please don't speak of him that way. You gotta learn, kiddo, you might be a little boy, but Cid? He's already a man. Men like women. Men like women talking about them. Grow. Up.” Her voice shifts tone, becoming teasing and cruel. “Still want to talk to Byron?”
Vincent's voice is subdued. He tries not to grind his teeth. “Yes, please.”
She turns her head from the phone, hollering. “Dad! Someone wants to talk to Byron!”
Then, distantly, a man's voice. “How's that? Gimme the phone, sugar.”
She does, because it's soon Byron's Dad on the phone. “What d'you want?”
Vincent swallows. “I wanted to check on Byron after today's fight.”
“You one'a the boys that got in the fight?”
“Yes, sir.’
“Boy, I hope your Daddy gave you something to think about. Dumb bastards, getting into fights like that at school. School's for learnin', not fightin'. Byron ain't coming to the phone. He's grounded. You can talk to him next at school. Don't go gettin' my boy into any more trouble now, y'hear?”
The line goes dead. Vincent draws the phone away, alive with conflicting, hateful emotions. He stares at the receiver, hesitates, then hangs it back up. He makes his way back to Cid's room with more caution and less speed than he had left it, stopping at the nurse's station to check to see if he'd been all right before continuing.
“Hey Vince! Vince! C'mere!” Cid says excitedly when Vincent returns, waving him to his side. “C'mere, c'mere, c'mere!!”
Vincent picks up his pace, and pastes on a smile. “What's up?”
Cid grabs Vincent's hand, and puts it on his nose. “..Can ye feel that?”
Vincent's eyebrows raise. “Feel what?”
Cid laughs. “I CAN'T FEEL MY NOSE!” He pats Vincent's hand on his face, his pupils dilated.
Vincent groans, dropping his head. “God, they didn't...” He sighs, taking Cid's face in his hands and trying to get his attention, still holding the diary. He can well remember being on this particular painkiller. He was loopy for hours. Cid had had a ball. They still told stories about it. “Cid. Look at me. I'm going to put your diary away. Then I'm getting you juice, all right? Me. Diary. Juice. Okay?”
Cid grins at him lazily. “Will diary-juice help me nose my feel again?”
Vincent smiles at him indulgently, and pats his cheek. “Yes Cid. Diary-juice.” He makes to move out of Cid's loose grip on his wrist.
“Wait!” Cid cries, grabbing Vincent's wrist tighter. “You can't go; I can't feel! Whose gonna feel for me? You have to be my feeler.”
Vincent keeps smiling. “I know. I'm going to feel our way to the juice machine, which is just down the hall, and then I'm going to feel our way back! But I need you here so I can feel my way back, all right? Stay here while I get diary-juice? All right?”
Cid lets go of Vincent's wrist, and gives him a lazy salute. “Aye aye, Freak.”
Vincent pats his cheek once more. “Thank you Chief, I'll be right back.”
He exits the room awkwardly, constantly looking over at Cid, and as soon as he's out, races down the hall, shoves a dollar into the machine, gets a bottle of apple juice, and careens back in before Cid's drunken mind can decide he would like to help by pretending he has no legs and hauling himself across the floor with his hands.
Cid, however, is in no such danger. In fact, it looks like he's fallen asleep, until he opens a bleary eye and smiles sleepily at Vincent. “Heeyyyyy Feeler. Did you call Byron?”
Vincent carefully pushes aside all the negative feelings of the phonecall, and gives Cid a smile as he opens the juice. “Yes. I didn't get a chance to talk to him, because he's grounded. But I suppose he's fine.” He takes Cid's hand and wraps it around the bottle, keeping his own wrapped supportively about it. “Careful sips, now.”
“Byron's underground? Does he have a feeler?” Cid asks, as he takes a sip of the juice. He lies back after, and closes his eyes. “Hey Vince?”
Vincent answers distractedly, fussing with the juice. “Yes?”
“... You remember that Valentine's ye got last year?”
Vincent smiles at him, briefly. “Hard not to remember; I only got the one.”
Cid humms. “You ever figured out who it were from?”
Vincent tries not to become too serious. “... that one. No. Probably just a prankster at school. Someone out for a laugh.” His mouth twitches up in a weak smile.
“Oh.” Cid says, and he opens an eye and looks at Vincent, before closing it again. There seems to be something very pregnant about the silence. “... you didn't like it, then?”
Vincent studiously avoids Cid's gaze, swallowing back old hurt. “The card was nice. The joke was not.”
“The joke?” Cid asks, opening both eyes and looking at Vincent hazily.
Vincent sighs. He doesn't know why he bothered. Cid's doped. He abandons the conversation, smiling at Cid, and petting back his hair. “Nevermind, Cid. Just go to sleep.”
Cid's mouth turns down. “You don't trust me? Just 'cause I can't feel. How can you hold that against a man?”
Vincent dismisses the claim, giving Cid a moderately serious look. “You know that's not true. I trust you, you know that.”
“Not with the joke someone put in my Valentine's card,” Cid grumbles, closing his eyes with the soothing hand Vincent has in his hair.
Vincent gives him a queer look, not understanding. He keeps moving his hand through Cid's hair, occasionally stroking his brow or cheek.
Cid huffs and gives up, and lets himself be lulled into sleep.
Vincent's mouth curls up in an affectionate smile, and he pets Cid for a minute or two more. He almost never gets a chance like this.
After a moment, his hand stills. He brings it down to Cid's cheek, and then pulls away, drawing up a chair and taking a seat at Cid's side. Eventually, the long day catches up with him again, and he nods off, dropping his head to his folded arm, his other hand clutching Cid's.
~*~*~*~*~