Note: I pretty much write for my own entertainment/amusement. Things that sound like they're incorrect probably are, because I do not bother to correct my imagination. Chapters may or may not run long, or be boring, but it won't stop me from updating for one day someone might actually find my stories being entertaining. I may or may not have been under the influence of something while writing, therefore, it may or may not have been done for comedic effect. I am an un-funny person trying to be funny.

Thank you ahead of time just for opening my story.

I was the one waiting patiently. It was my dad that was freaking out. "Raul will do anything to get his hands on a lawsuit," he'd said on the way over. Twister, although his knee was the size of a basketball and he was getting paler by the second, had agreed.

The hospital was cold, the walls were white besides a single red line running through the middle. I could see dried paint drips that never made their way down. The area where the chairs were was carpeted, a dark blue type deal which matched the fabrics on the seats. The tiles in the walkway areas were white with splattered dots that matched the carpet, and all the of the wooden furniture was made of the same wood - oak.

The mud tracks that ran all over the hospital were from my dad. The drool on the floor was from Sam, who'd fallen asleep in the chair he'd sat in three hours ago when we first got there. And the crumbs were from Tito and Reggie who had not stopped making trips to the snack machine since Sam fell asleep. We were the only people in sight, besides the workers and occasional injured or ill who was finally released.

What had happened was, Raul and Sandy, Twist's parents, took Lars, Twist's older brother, to some convention that Twister wasn't invited to. So he was staying with us for the week. Towards the middle of said week, Twister had a complete and total wipeout and his knee fucked up. He couldn't walk, he couldn't stand, and when he tried he'd passed out from the pain. We piled into the station wagon and brought him to the hospital, where Raymundo turned into a nervous wreck and Reggie gained ten pounds.

"This is so excruciating," Reggie said. "I hate not knowing what's going on." She shoved another ho-ho into her mouth.

"He'll be fine," I said.

"How do you know?" My father asked, joining the conversation. "Have you been back there?"

"Well, obviously not, bu-"

"Then zip it."

I rolled my eyes and swung my feet in my chair. I was too short for them to reach the ground.

"I am going to go crazy," dad said, sitting down next to me.

"Relax, bro," Tito said. "Remember New Zeeland?"

"Yeah, I do. And that's why I'm so damn worried now."

Twister's doctor, now in a white coat with his nametag dangling, came out from the swinging doors with another doctor in scrubs right in tow. I saw my dad's chest fall, a sigh of relief. I stood up along with him, and we approached the doctors together.

"We have a problem," Dr. Porter said.

My dad's eyes widened. "What's the problem?"

The doctor simply told Ray and I to follow, politely excusing us from Reggie, Tito, and Sam, who had stopped drooling and started snoring. Again. It took about ten minutes just to get to the damn spot they kept Twister in.

Twister was sleeping, an IV line in his arm, oxygen mask on his face, his knee wrapped and relaxing on a pillow, in a hospital gown, no blankets, and his hat was on the chair, near his folded clothes. I took the hat and stuck it on his head.

The doctor held the x-rays up to the light and showed my dad. "After the New Zeeland incident, I assume this is what happened, this tear here went unnoticed, but Maurice had been so used to pain in his knee he himself hadn't noticed either. When he had the accident today, his knee bent this way," he showed my dad using the x-ray. "His ligaments are destroyed and his kneecap is fractured. The problem is, the ligaments need to be repaired immediately, but we can't fix them without surgery, and we can't perform the surgery without the fracture being healed."

I knew my dad was analyzing what the doctor was saying. "How long does the fracture…"

The doctor took in a deep breath. "The fracture will take between six months and a year to heal completely. But by that time the nerves in the ligaments will be completely dead. The chances of Twister even walking, let alone doing any kind of sport, are slim."

"All because of his wipeout today?" I asked.

"No," the doctor said. "The incident today was just the icing on the cake. Small injuries he'd acquired throughout the year, roughhousing with you, with his brother…it just built up."

I looked at my best friend. "Does he know?"

After Dr. Porter informed me that Twister had no idea he would probably never be able to walk again, he announced that he'd already elected me to do the job.

"You're his best friend. I'm just a stranger, technically," he said. "You have to tell him. It's life

changing news."

"Exactly. I don't want to be the one to change his life!"

"But you are the one, Otto," my dad said. "You sit here. I'll bring Tito, Reggie and Sam home, and I'll come back and bring you stuff. You can stay the night with him while I try to find Sandy and Raul's emergency number that's been misplaced since forever."

"Ok."

"Otto," he said, "no mischief. Not today, not now. I'm not kidding."

"No, don't worry dad. This is not even a cool place to make mischief."

He nodded and scratched my head. "I'll be back soon. I love you."

I gave him a look. "Uh. You too."

My dad had rarely told me he loved me. Most common times is "I love you kids" directed towards Reggie and I both, but rarely he said it straight to my face like that. He was not affectionate in any which way, especially when it came to saying I love you. It was hard for him.

He turned and left, and with Dr. Porter being long gone after kindly excusing himself, Twister and I were in this room alone. "Twister," I said his name aloud.

His eyes opened and he looked at me.

I grinned. "I knew you weren't sleeping." He had taken his oxygen mask off quickly and silently, and I was the only one who noticed. But he didn't know that.

"Kind of," he said slyly. "Woke up after Porter left."

"Oh," I said.

"I missed all the good stuff, huh?" he grinned.

"I'll catch you up later."

"That bad, huh?"

I nodded.

"Okay," he said, shrugging a shoulder coolly. "Let's wait. It's probably better if I don't know for now. I don't want to ruin the first few moments." He said the last bit sarcastically.

I smirked. "Always a Twist in this crazy life," I said under my breath.

"Here, here. I hope your dad doesn't get too, too worried about my dad."

"Here, here," I emphasized for the repetition. "Will your dad really sue my dad?"

"No," he said. "My dad just worries about me, I guess, so he has this badass rep. But he's not going to sue you over me getting hurt. It was my fault. I fucked up because I wiped out."

"Yes, you fucked up. But you are also in his care. It's a case waiting to happen if your dad really is money hungry."

"He's not even money hungry. He's not even money hungry! I don't know what he's hungry for but it's not money. I don't want to talk about this. Where the hell are my clothes and whythe fuck is it so cold in here?"

"Well, my dad's bringing back stuff," I said. "And it's cold because it's a sterilized hospital and-"

"Otto?"

"Yeah, man?"

"Get me some blankets. Now. Please. Before my ass freezes right off and goes to Antarctica."

I shrugged, and got up. I went over to the door and went to the receptionist desk that was nearby. We were still in the emergency ward. Eventually, they'd take Twister to a more comfortable, stable room. The receptionist looked up. "Can we have some blankets? My friend literally thinks his ass is going to freeze." I exaggerated a bit.

The lady smiled. "Extra blankets and pillows are located in Closet B, which is right around the corner. Feel free to help yourself."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

When I went to find Closet B, 'right around the corner' turned into right around the wrong corner, and then getting lost, and taking twenty minutes, literally, to find blankets. "Found them!" I said to the receptionist as I made my way back to Twist's room nearly a half hour after I initially asked.

The lady gave me a thumbs up, and when I went back into the room, my Dad was in there. "Hey, there you are," he said.

I neatly, and gently laid three blankets at the end of Twister's bed, knowing that with my dad here now, he'd definitely get himself changed into regular pajamas. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem."

"Really?" he asked. "Or was there really a problem? You were gone for an hour."

"It was only half an hour," I corrected. "And, really, it was no problem."

He shook his head, clearly not believing me.

"I brought pajamas and clothes…snacks." He handed me the bag. I took it and dug out Twister's pajamas and tossed them over to him. He asked me to close the curtain, so I did. He took off the gown right there and put the white t-shirt over his head. He leaned forward and took the bottoms, managing roughly to get his good leg through the wrong leg hole.

"Damn, damn," he said, ripping them off and switching them around, repeating the step.

"Do you need help?" I asked, grinning.

"Otto," my dad said my name in a warning tone.

"No," Twister said, "I can do it myself." I watched him struggle and agonize for ten minutes. I really doubted he could do it alone, and he kept making these faces, I knew he was hurting himself.

"Twister…" I said softly. "Let me help you."

He stayed sitting in the spot, seemingly ignoring me, wincing slightly. My dad obviously felt awkward, as we both watched him struggle. And he was really struggling. But he didn't give up. My dad sat down in the chair, and I sat on the heater in front of the window sill, and that's where we stayed for thirty more minutes, just watching Twist. He refused to give up, and an hour after he put his shirt on, his pants were on, too.

"I told you I could do it," he'd said after he accomplished his task. "And I did."

I nodded, staying quiet.

My dad stood up, and took out his wallet, handing me twenty bucks. "For food," he said. I nodded and took the money, stuck it in my pocket, knowing at any second Dr. Porter would be coming back to move Twister to a different room. "Text me with the new room number." My dad had said before he left.

I sat in the chair, and looked at Twister.

"I am so tired," he said. "And I'm pretty sure the spinal tap wore off. That's why it hurt so bad to put those jammies on."

"Spinal tap?"

"Like, lumbar puncture," he said, getting a little excited. "They took this huge, and I mean huge needle, and stuck it in my back, and, oh my god, it hurt so bad. You know that feeling you get, when you chew aluminum and you have fillings or caps in your teeth?"

"Yeah," I said, shivering slightly at the thought of it.

"That's what it feels like, except, instead of your teeth, it circulates through your spine, and then all of your bones feel like it, and then, after like, five minutes of that torture, it ends, and you can't feel your legs at all. I mean, I can feel them now. I could feel them an hour ago. They tingled like crazy."

"Is that why your knee hurts now?"

Dr. Porter came from around the curtain. "We can make it stop hurting the second we get you settled in your room on the other side of the hospital. We need to get you out of the emergency wing and into a regular room. You ready?"

"Sure."

Nurses came from around the curtain, and unhooked the needle from the IV line. "We have one set up in the other room, dear," the older nurse said. They wheeled his bed, I grabbed all of our stuff, and followed them to the other side of the hospital. Twister's room was room 464, and it was one hall away from the Maternity Ward. That's how I remembered, when you see and hear the babies, go left. If you go right, you'll be seeing a lot more babies, or if you go straight, you've gone too far.

They hooked him up to another IV in this other room, and told me blankets were in the closet, which was actually in the room this time. There was a television, and a bigger bed, and on the bed were a bunch of buttons that controlled the tv, and called nurses and doctors in.

They put him on morphine, and they took off. Within ten minutes, Twister was running a little loopy.

"Dude, dude, what are you talking about?" he said, laughing. "The Giant Squid could totally annihilate the whale."

"Twist. It's a sperm whale. That's got to count for something."

"Well, maybe, but," he said, "have you seen the jaw on that thing? I swear, GS could use his awesome ink fighting power and put his eye out. Spermy doesn't see anything now. GS now has the ability to either swim away like a pansy, or Spermy does, whichever, I don't know, or GS takes him out. That's how it works."

"GS?"

"Uh, obviously, the abbreviation of Giant Squid."

"Twister, you are delusional."

He shrugged. "That doesn't change the facts. I swear."

"Well, whatever. You're losing your mind, I think, though."

"I think my mind is not lost. It's just broken."

"Broken?"

"Yep."

"Okay, then."

I announced my need for the restroom, and I took my pajamas and went into the bathroom that was located in his room. I went pee, and then turned the shower on. All there was, was a shower. It wasn't a tub. This was because patients in the hospital aren't expected to have to climb over the tub wall. There was simply a shower curtain wrapped around a specific place on the floor, and then there was a drain for the water to go down.

I had to use little sample shampoos because my father didn't bring any. When I got out of the shower, and went to the bag to find my toothbrush (which was also neglected to be brought), Twister was asleep. I turned the television on and kept the volume low. I unfolded the chair-into-a-bed thing that was kept there for over-night visitors. I went in the closet and pulled out a few blankets and pillows and I quietly set up my chair-into-a-bed.

I couldn't sleep. Not even after I turned the television off. Or after the nurse came in to check on Twister at two. I just couldn't sleep with Twist not knowing, and I knew. I guess it was a compulsive thing of mine. It was three in the morning when I got up and shook Twister awake.

I closed the curtain, even though the door was closed. I turned the lamp on.

"What's wrong?" Twister asked.

"I have to tell you what's wrong with you," I announced, not looking at him, but at the wall behind him. "Twister, you have no idea what's wrong, and it's you. I mean, you should know what's going on with your own body, right?"

"Well, yeah, I guess. But, I mean, it's not really a big deal, right?"

I looked at him. He was so naïve to everything, and for once I wished he wasn't. I wished he just automatically knew. But nothing can ever be that simple. "You tore up all your shit, Twist," I said. "Really bad. And you fractured your knee."

"Well, I've hurt it before -"

"That's where the problem is."

"Uh-oh," he said.

"Yeah," I said. "Twister, they can't operate to fix your tendon shit until the fracture is healed. But the tears in the ligaments…Twister, your ligaments are destroyed. That's why you had such a hard time with your pajamas earlier. You can't bend your knee. You can't move it. And because the operation has to wait so long…by the time they get to it…"

He looked away, looking out the window, even though all you could see was your own reflection because it was so dark outside.

"Your nerves will be completely shot. Completely dead, and unable to be fixed."

For a long time, he didn't move. He just looked out the window, and I stayed sitting at the edge of the bed, looking at the wall. I didn't expect him to cry or anything, I knew he wouldn't, especially in front of me. Twister and I were best friends, had been since he moved here when we were seven. He would never cry in front me. I would never cry in front of him.

"I probably won't be able to walk again, huh?" he asked, though it sounded more like a statement.

I was surprised to hear him speak, however. Especially this. I didn't think he knew what any of what I said meant.

Then he looked to me.

"That's what it means," I said, gulping, taking in a deep breath, "yeah."

He stuck his hand under his had and scratched his head. "Uh… that…that sucks," he said finally.

I nodded. "Yeah. It fucking sucks."

He turned his attention back to the window. I positioned myself so I would be able to look out the window, too. My eyes burned because I was so tired but I couldn't just go to sleep now, with Twister being awake. We ended up watching the sun rise right from where we were sitting.

When the clock struck seven o'clock, Twister announced his hatred for catheters.

I stood up, and laid on my chair-into-a-bed. I looked up at the ceiling. "How do you think everyone is going to react? Like, your parents, and Lars."

"Uh, well, I'm sure Lars will find a way to make the situation worse than what it is already," he said. "As for my parents…I think my mom will cry. She'll definitely cry. Dad's a little different. You never know with him. You never really know with anyone though. You think you know someone, something, and then the outcome is completely different." He shook his head and laughed. "That's the drugs talking," he said. "I honestly can't remember what I just said."

"You said you never really know how people react to bad news."

"Oh, oh, right," he said, snapping his fingers. When he snapped his fingers, his smile disappeared, and his body trembled. "Otto," he said, "If I can't ever walk again…I can't ever…I can't ever skateboard, or roller blade, or surf, or snowboard, or anything ever again."

I nodded. "Yeah. I know."

"But, Otto," he said. "Don't… Otto…don't leave me behind."

"What do you mean?"

His eyes watered, and for a second I thought he might actually cry. But he collected himself, and said, "You can still do everything I can't, and…if I can't do it with you…Otto, I can't do it with you anymore." He realized how wrong that sounded, and started to think. "I can't…I can't…" he was losing his train of thought, and he was getting aggravated with himself. This happened a lot after puberty, and Twister managed to hate himself for it. "I fucking can't skateboard with you," he said finally. "And I can't do anything. I'm stuck, and you're not, and you can move on with your life and I can't."

"You can, though," I said. "Just because you're…just because you have…"

"Say it," he spat, and I'd never heard him so mean sounding before in my life.

"Just because you're crippled, or disabled, or fucked, or whatever you want to call it," I said, just as harsh, "doesn't mean you have to sit on your ass and sulk about it. There's always something you can do." I knew he'd want me to be as harsh as I would be if he weren't in this situation, and that's what I did.

He smirked. "I knew you'd say that," he said. "And I'm glad you did."

I shifted my eyes from my spot on my chair-into-a-bed. "Just because I said it doesn't mean it changes what you said."

He started laughing, confusing me instantly. "Otto," he said, "Do you honestly think that something like this would stop me from doing my shit?"

I thought about it. "I think that what you do is shit, no matter what it is."

"Exactly."

"Ha!"

"Asshole. But, seriously."

I thought again. This time seriously. The least I could do is acquiesce his request. "I think that you'll end up doing something that is so unbelievably stupid, it'll turn brilliant. I think whatever you put your mind to, nothing can stand in your way. Just like it's been for nine years."

He nodded, accepting the answer.

My dad came in suddenly, and he looked at me, angrily. "You didn't text me," he said.

"Oops," I said. "It's only seven in the morning. We didn't even sleep yet."

"I slept a little," Twister announced.

"Uh, well, okay," he said. "I don't really care how much sleep you guys got, because I'm here now, and I need to speak to you. So, last night, I found the number to the place your parents were staying at, and I called, and your dad answered, and I told him what's up, and he got mad."

"Figures," Twister said.

I looked over and smiled, secretly so my dad wouldn't notice. He smirked back.

"So, I tried to calmly explain to him that what happened was just a complete accident and that, you know, it wasn't really anybody's fault. He ignored me. They left last night. They should be here any minute."

Twister's eyebrows scrunched. "I don't want them to come," he said.

"They're you're parents," my dad said.

He shrugged. "I guess."

I looked at him. "I won't leave you behind," I said, winking. He tried not to laugh.

Twister looked at my dad. "Please tell me they left Lars at the college."

"College?"

"That's where they were," Twister said, "College fare, I guess. S'not like anybody wants Lars at their college anyway. He's a total menace."

The door opened and we looked over. Twister's mother, looking like an emotion wreck, was standing there, with Raul and Lars in tow. Twister grinned upon seeing his family. "Hi-uh, mom," he said, cheerfully.

Sandy burst into tears and ran over to him, engulfing him into this big giant woman-bear hug. She let go almost as quickly as she entered and pointed her finger at him. "¡¿Cuántas veces te he dicho que tengas cuidado?!" Translation: 'How many times have I told you to be careful?' Sandy and Raul had a tendency to start conversations in Spanish. Especially when it came to yelling at their kids.

"Um…well, how many times have I been in the hospital?"

"Like, eighty," Lars butted in.

Twister looked at his mother and grinned. "Like, eighty," he said.

"Maurice, this is not a joke," Sandy said, in English this time. "You could have seriously injured yourself!"

Twister's eyebrows scrunched, and he looked at my Dad, who pressed his lips together. "I may or may not have left out some details," he said. "But, to my defense, really, you should tell them anyway."

"What the hell, Ray? Thanks a lot."

"Sorry!" My dad said. "I just…I'm not good at being the bearer of bad news."

"Will someone tell us what's going on!?" Raul shouted.

My dad started, "Maybe we should go-"

But Twister stopped him mid-sentence. "No," he said. "I think you two are both just fine sitting in here. If I can handle it, they can, and you two can be the flies on the wall."

"More like the protectors when Raul blows his top," I said to Raymundo under my breath.

"I heard that," Twister said. I looked down, and shifted my eyes towards Raul. He hadn't seemed to noticed. He was staring intently at his son, waiting for an explanation.

Silence took over the room, and for a minute, I swear I heard hell freeze over.

"Well?" Raul said. "We're waiting."

"I'm thinking!" Twister shouted.

"About what?" Lars asked.

"About how to say this. I don't know if I should ease into it and explain it all, or just say the biggie and save the rest for later. Hell, I don't even want to say any of it."

"Do whatever you're more comfortable with," Sandy urged.

"Or, you could just go talk to Dr. Porter," Twister said, hopefully.

"Dr. Porter's shift doesn't start till ten," Dad pointed out.

"Okay, then…mom, actually, you should sit."

Without hesitation Sandy sat at the edge of my chair-into-a-bed.

"Um, well, okay," Twister said. "So. My knee, this knee…it's pretty banged up. Actually, it's destroyed. It's completely dead. Well, not yet. But it will be."

They waited for him to go on, but he didn't. He didn't look at anyone, he just looked down, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

"Maurice?" Sandy said, "I don't understand what you're trying to tell us."

He didn't look up. For a minute, I believed he didn't even hear her, that he was just blocking us all out. Twister always had problems controlling his brain, as odd as that sounds. When it came to most things, he spaced out and couldn't focus.

"Twister," Lars said, "Don't shut down. Don't block us out." I found it odd that it was Lars who said it. Lars never really showed genuine brotherhood towards Twist.

Twister looked up, but didn't exactly look at anyone. He looked past us. I saw it in his face. Him having to say it brought it to reality for him. He knew I knew, too. "I'm never going to be able to walk again."

I don't have three heads, and I couldn't see all of their initial reactions at once. Lars just stood there; he seemed bewildered, like this was something that was impossible to happen. Sandy breathed heavily. I think she didn't know how to react. She looked scared, and confused, and she looked like all she wanted to do was take his place. Raul was harder to read. He always had a solemn expression, and at this point it was no different. He looked at Twister.

For a long time, nobody said anything. For a long time, all we heard was Twister breathing, and Sandy trying not to cry. Then Lars said, "But you're alive. And if anybody can get through this, it's you. I'd be crying like a bitch if it were me."

"Me too," I said, even though I probably wouldn't have cried like a bitch. I just said it to emphasize, to help Twister's ego.

"Maurice," Sandy said.

Twister looked at his mom. She looked at him sympathetically. It occurred to me then that I'd never seen anybody in Twister's family give him any kind of sympathy for anything. When we were thirteen, and him and Lars were wrestling, Lars nailed him pretty good. He ended up needing stitches, and was sent to the hospital. Lars got in trouble, but Sandy and Raul didn't feel bad about his injury. Whenever he complained of a headache, whenever he didn't feel well, I mean, it was all rare, Twister always kept how he felt to himself, but when he did talk about it, they never seemed to care. This was the first time I'd seen any kind of care coming from his parents.

"Mom, I'm okay," Twister said finally. I didn't believe him, and I'd scared myself by not believing him. "I'm just tired," he looked at me. "And Otto's tired. And I bet you guys are tired. So, go home, sleep, wash up. Come back later."

Sandy looked a little apprehensive.

"Ma'dere," he spoke softly, compassionately, and I saw his mother become more comfortable as he spoke. "Please. The day I get out of this hospital is going to start this long, long difficult road that none of us are ready for. So for now, lets just rest, because we'll need our strength."

Sandy nodded, and forced her tears back. "Maurice," she said. "I've only ever wanted the best for you. I love you." She stood up and quietly exited, leaving Lars and Raul behind to bid their ado's.

Raul sighed. "Always like a twister, right?" he said. "You were never easy to take care of, Maurice. Lo siento que he fallado de protgerle."

"Usted no tiene. He fallado de protegerme." I didn't understand what either of them said, but Twister's dad looked like he was about to burst into tears. He quickly collected himself and nodded, exiting.

Lars looked at my dad and me, contemplating whether or not he was going to kick us out to have a heart-to-heart moment in private. He did something that surprised me, though. He nodded at us. Once. But it was gratitude. He was actually thanking us. What for? I have no idea, probably for taking Twist to the hospital and staying with him, but I'll never know for sure.

He turned to Twister.

"Before you say anything," Twister said. "I want you to know that I have never been in any more pain in my life, and if you don't whomp me, or insult me I'd really appreciate it."

"I'm not going to whomp you or insult you. I don't know how this is going to work. I don't know how we'll manage to get through this. I'm sorry this happened to you. But, like I said, if anyone can handle it, you can. Do what you've always wanted to do and use it to your advantage, Twist. Inspire. And I can't believe I'm going to say this, but, I love you and I hope you feel better soon." He turned and headed towards the door.

"Lars."

Lars turned around to look at him.

"Te quiero, tambien."

Lars smiled slightly and left, closing the door behind him.

Twister looked at us. "Well, that was eventful."

I nodded. "What did your dad say?"

"It's none of your business," dad said.

"It's fine," Twister said. "He was in here. I'd be curious, too. He said he was sorry he failed to protect me. I told him he hadn't. I told him I failed to protect myself."