"Wait, he's-what?" Sansa cradles her cellphone against her neck, walking carefully to the kitchen with her armload of groceries. "Robb, what did you say?"
"It's Jon, Sans, he's been in an accident."
"An-" She startles, and a bag of apples slips from her grasp, hitting the floor with a thud and splitting open. She tries to wrap her mind around Robb's words as she watches the apples roll unevenly across the hardwood. "What sort of accident? Is he alright?"
Jon's brooding eyes flash in her memory, the sad boy, her sort-of brother, the one she's never been particularly close to, never treated particularly kind. Her chest constricts slightly, arms tightening around the produce.
"I don't know. I'm headed to the hospital now. I know you aren't-" He trails off. "Mum and Dad are still in Manchester and-"
And the rest of their siblings are scattered across the country. Arya in Portland, Bran in Michigan, Rickon away with their parents.
"Which hospital?" She asks.
"Mass General. Sansa, you don't have to-"
"I'll be there." She says firmly. "I'm on my way."
She dumps her produce haphazardly in the fridge, leaving the rest of her groceries on the counter. She begins typing the website for an airline into her phone's browser, then pauses. Factoring in security on both sides and taking a taxi out to the airport, it would probably be faster to drive. It's already past nine, since she was stuck late at the office and had to hit up the market on the way home, and she doesn't really care for late-night driving, but-
Robb needs her. Jon…she's always gotten the sense that her coolness towards him is mutual, but he is her brother. Sort of.
Mind made up, she rushes to her bedroom, grabbing the bag she always keeps packed in the back of her closet. This isn't what she had in mind when she stashed it away with blood still under her fingernails, but she's glad she has it. She throws in a couple extra sweaters and a pair of winter boots. It's been a mild winter so far in New York, but she knows Boston has been colder, so she grabs a heavy coat and a scarf as well as she swipes her keys off the counter. With a last look around her apartment, the weight of what's happened settles in her bones like ice. Her pace quickens as she makes her way to the elevator. By the time the doors open into the parkade she's half running.
A lady doesn't run. Sansa hears her mother's voice in her head. She walks briskly, with purpose.
After throwing her bag in the trunk of her silver Mercedes, she puts the hospital into her GPS.
Estimated trip duration: 4 hours 20 minutes.
It takes her five and a half hours. The roads are icy and slick, and by the time she pulls into visitor parking outside the hospital Sansa has worked herself into a knot of guilt and worry.
For years she all but ignored Jon, resenting him when Ned brought him home, announcing that Jon's mother, Ned's brother's ex-wife, Lyanna, had passed. Sansa was eight, and Jon was eleven, and all she really knew was that her mother smiled less and laughed rarely after the dark haired boy was moved into the basement. And Sansa, so like her mother in looks and manner, felt that she had to choose.
She never had to feel too badly about it, because Robb and Jon got along famously, and Arya all but worshipped him when Jon did all the boyish things with her that Robb excluded her from, things Sansa had no interest in. Sansa and Jon just…coexisted. She was distant, to avoid that disapproving look from her mother, and Jon caught on quickly, keeping mostly away from the pair of them.
But the road is dark and deserted in the middle of the night, and Sansa has nothing but her thoughts to occupy her as the highway blurs beneath her.
She remembers the Christmases that she either got Jon meaningless gifts or no gift at all. She remembers her thirteenth birthday party, when Robin called him a bastard, remembers laughing along with the rest of her friends, and the flash of hurt on his face.
She remembers the time Jon picked her up from a keg party, after she'd been too afraid to call Robb, and that he's kept that secret all these years.
Her fingers are numb as she punches at the parking kiosk, from the cold, and from hours of gripping the steering wheel. Once the ticket has printed, she calls Robb, walking back to her car to stick the slip on top her dashboard.
"Hello?"
"It's me," she mumbles, lips already clumsy in the frigid Boston air. "I'm here. I'm outside the main entrance."
"Alright," her brother sounds exhausted, though she's unsurprised that he wasn't asleep. "I'll come out to meet you."
She drifts toward the doors, rubbing absently at her chest. It doesn't take long for Robb to appear, and she throws her arms around him, breathing in his familiar scent. No matter where he goes, Robb always smells like home. He hugs her so tightly it lifts her off the ground, the air rushing from her lungs, and she squeaks.
"Sorry." He sets her back down. "It's been a long night."
There are dark circles under his eyes, stubble across his chin. He looks unkempt in a way he rarely does, and she bites her lip.
"Is he…" she trails off. "What's happened?"
He grabs her hand, tugging her inside. Sansa hadn't realized how cold she was until the blast of warm air hits her, and she shivers as Robb leads her through the halls.
"He was on a call and they didn't pull out fast enough…I don't know much more than that. His squad was called out again few hours ago but I think they'll come back, we can ask them when they do."
"Is it-" she digs her heels in, suddenly nervous. "Is it bad?"
He turns to look at her, sighing.
"He's in surgery, still. I think…yeah. I think it's pretty bad."
Her grip on his hand tightens, and they resume their path to wherever they're headed. They round a corner to a waiting room filled with chairs and couches, and she spots Robb's coat draped across one of them. He sinks into it, tugging her down into the chair next to his.
"I'm sorry." She says. Jon is his brother, in a way he has never been Sansa's, and his best friend.
He forces a smile.
"I'm glad you're here. You didn't have to come."
"Of course I did," she says, crossing her ankles. "Have you called Dad? Arya?"
He drops her hand, scrubbing his own wearily across his face.
"Yeah, Dad didn't answer so I left him a voicemail. Arya's in the middle of finals, I didn't want to call until…" he gestures vaguely. "Until I knew more."
She hums thoughtfully.
"And how are you holding up?"
"I'm alright." He reaches over to ruffle her hair. He doesn't ask how she is.
"How long have you been here?"
"I dunno," he glances at his watch. "Since about eight."
A gurney rolls past, the woman on it letting out a scream that startles Sansa into a jump. When she turns back to Robb, she sees him stifle a yawn.
"You should get some sleep."
"I'm not leaving-" he begins heatedly, and she holds up a hand.
"I'm not saying you should leave, just try and sleep a little." Her voice is firm. "I'll wake you the second there's news, I promise."
He eyes her thoughtfully for a moment, then nods.
"The second someone comes out-"
"You have my word," she says, giving him a tired smile. He reaches out to give her arm a squeeze, then leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. It barely takes five minutes before he's snoring softly, and Sansa tugs his jacket off the back of his chair to drape it over his chest.
Thoughts of Jon begin to drift in again, without Robb to distract her, and she pulls out her phone. She sends a few quick e-mails, to her boss and the vendors she was scheduled to meet with this week, letting them know there's been a family emergency. Sleep pulls at her eyes, too, but she pushes it away, distracting herself with work as minutes turn to hours.
Just before four her phone gives a little beep, flashing a low battery warning.
"Oh," she groans, realizing she forgot to pack a charger. Her half-formed thought to dig around the waiting room to see if anyone's left one behind is interrupted by what sounds like an army marching heavily through the corridor. She looks up to see half a dozen filthy men flooding into the waiting area, still in their yellow firefighting gear. She jumps to her feet, and a few of them look at her in surprise.
"Are you here to see Jon?" She asks, another wave of guilt rolling through her as she fails to recognize any of them. She's never met the men from Jon's firehouse, doesn't even know their names. One of them, a wild looking man with a bush of a beard that she suspects might be red under all the soot, nods his head.
"Aye. And you are?" His voice is thick with an accent she doesn't recognize.
She doesn't get a chance to answer, as another fireman comes striding into the room, stopping short when he sees her.
"Sansa?"
"Theon." She loosens a little at the relief of finding a familiar face. Even if it is Theon's. "What happened?"
He turns to the other men, gesturing at her.
"This is Robb's sister, Sansa."
They mutter a greeting.
"We were on a call and the Chief said to pull out but Jon…he was sure he heard someone calling. He wouldn't leave. And when the ceiling started to cave in…"
Someone else pipes up, a blonde man with a slash across his forehead that's still seems to be bleeding.
"He got buried, the stubborn fuck."
Sansa's hands curl into fists.
"That sounds…" she says weakly.
"It's not good." The wild one says. "Sansa, was it?" She nods. "I'm Tormund. And these here are Ben, Greg, Aaron, Jamie and Edd."
She forces a smile in response, then turns to Theon.
"You should probably wake Robb," she says quietly. "He'll want to know."
Theon nods, walking over to her brother and shaking him by the shoulders. One of the men, Aaron, she thinks, clears his throat.
"So you're Jon's sister?"
She shifts uncomfortably on her feet.
"In a way." She used to say it to put distance between them. Now it would just feel like a false claim, one she doesn't deserve. "I'm Robb's sister."
"It's the same, isn't it?" Tormund says curiously. "If your brother is Jon's too?"
It should be, she thinks. Instead she shrugs.
"We've never been as close as he and Robb."
That seems to answer some unspoken question among the group, a look of understanding settling on the faces of most of them.
"So, no word?" Aaron asks. Sansa shakes her head. But no sooner has she opened her mouth to respond then a doctor pushes through the double doors, spotting the uniforms and making his way over.
"Family of Jon Snow?" He asks, and Sansa tries not to stare at the spatters of blood on his scrubs.
"Yes," she says, because Robb is still talking to Theon. "I'm his sister."
It feels like a lie, but this is not the time for clarification.
"He's going to be alright." She lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and hears the crowd behind her do the same. "He has some serious injuries, and the recovery will be a process, but he's going to pull through."
"He's out of surgery?" She asks, feeling an arm around her shoulder and glancing up to see Robb there.
"He is, but it will be a while before you can see him. I'd recommend you go home, get some rest…" his eyes drift over to the firemen, still covered in soot and sweat. "Maybe take a shower."
The men grumble, but Sansa can't help but agree. The filthy group look out of place against the sterility of the institution around them. A few of them begin to leave, but Tormund stays.
Sansa steps closer to the doctor, full of questions.
"You said he has serious injuries," she begins. "What are they?"
Robb tenses beside her.
"He has some third degree burns, though those are quite small, considering. He also has two broken ribs, a concussion, and a punctured lung."
"Is that all?" She murmurs drily, feeling a little lightheaded.
He smiles sympathetically.
"It sounds like a lot, and it is, but your brother was extraordinarily lucky. He'll have some scars, but with the proper rehabilitation he could come out of this with no permanent damage."
And that, Sansa realizes, is probably no small miracle.
"How long do you think it will be before we can see him?" Robb asks.
The doctor glances at his watch, frowning.
"He's going to be in a good bit of pain when he wakes up, so the nurses have given him some strong pain meds. Coupled with the anesthesia…he probably won't be awake for two hours or so."
"Alright." She looks up at the clock on the wall, her phone having died completely. It's almost four thirty in the morning.
"Once they've gotten him settled in PACU the two of you should be alright to go in. He'll be asleep, but as long as you're quiet you're welcome to wait in his room. The rest of your group will have to hold out a bit longer."
"Thank you." Robb reaches out, grasping his hand. The doctor smiles back, returning the shake.
"You're very welcome. A nurse will come let you know when you can go in."
He claps Robb on the back before disappearing back behind the doors. For a moment, Robb just stares after him.
"Robb," Sansa says gently, and he blinks, turning toward her. "Did you want to go home, have a shower?"
He shakes his head.
"I want to be here."
She sighs, but it's no more than she expected.
"Alright. I need to call Dad and Arya. And Bran." She adds as an afterthought. "But I forgot to bring a charger, I'll have to run out and get one."
He nods absently.
"Alright."
"Do you need anything?"
For a moment, he looks like he might laugh. It strikes her again how much different this is for him. She flashes back to the night Bran had his accident, how she could barely string a sentence together, and feels that now familiar burn of guilt as she recognizes how different that was. It's no different for Robb, but for her…
"Nah. 'm fine." He leans down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. He's not, but there's nothing she can do about that, aside from be here.
"Okay. I'll be back soon."
When she gets to her car, and pulls her keys from her purse, she notices for the first time that her hands are trembling.
