AN: Okay as much as I know you guys like it, I didn't want this story to become solely fluffiness, so here's a chapter with a little more angst and darkness to it. Hopefully you guys still like it, but if you are gonna slushie me, please let it be cherry!

Chapter 10

I decide to spend another night in the hospital, after arguing with the Abrams about it again. They only back off when I promise that I'll go home in the morning for a while, which I really need to do anyway. I've been wearing these clothes for two days now and I could definitely use a shower. Not to mention a meal that didn't come from a vending machine or the hospital cafeteria.

Artie's still fast asleep when his parents leave for the night, so I promise them I'll let him know they said goodnight and that they'll be back tomorrow too. Apparently having company wiped him out. I sit off to the side for a while, grudgingly reading my science book by the bedside lamp, but before I can even finish the chapter I'm practically falling asleep. Of course I have also been awake since three this morning.

Peeling off my jacket, since it's studded and really uncomfortable to sleep in, I climb up onto the bed with Artie. Once I've got the bed reclined almost flat, I curl up next to him like I've spent most of the last forty-eight hours. As I stare at his profile in the light from the hallway, it's kind of hard to believe everything that's happened. Artie was hospitalized, I thought I'd never see him again, and now we're sleeping together in a hospital bed, a couple. I can't stop myself from smiling at that last part.

If you had asked me at the start of the week if I thought Artie and I would be getting together anytime soon, I'd have told you a very confident no. I wanted to, of course, but I didn't want to risk hurting Artie again. That betrayed look on his face when I told him I'd been lying to him for years, that face still haunts my nightmares. I figured it would take us a long time, months and months maybe, for us to build back up to that trust and connection we'd had.

I guess this is one of those situations where you really don't realize what it is you really want until you think it's gone completely.

Resting one hand on Artie's torso, just below the stitches, I can faintly feel his heartbeat against my fingers. I nuzzle my face into his upper arm, smiling. I hear him hum contentedly before I fall asleep.

My dreams are weird and don't make much sense. I can't really follow them, since they seem to be flitting from one thing to another. One minute it's something to do with an airport, and the next I'm alone in the dark, and then suddenly I'm in an empty choir room at McKinley, and then there's a pair of strong arms around me, making me feel warm and safe, and then I'm in the middle of a field with a lightning storm splitting the air around me. My brain can't seem to settle on one scene for long, so I'm going through this emotional whirlwind of confusion, happiness, and panic. Suddenly the whole world pitches to the side like a boat on a wave, and I wake up with a groan.

Except it wasn't me groaning.

Still trying to get my brain caught up after the randomness of my dreams, I blink a few times in the dark. I feel that same pitching feeling and I realize it's because what I've got my head resting on just twitched violently. There's another low moan and I finally figure out where it's coming from.

"Artie?" I ask sleepily. He's frowning and he moans again, but his eyes are still closed so I know he's asleep. His upper body twitches like he'd been poked with a cattle prod. Distantly I notice that the heart monitor over the bed is going faster than normal. "Artie, wake up," I say gently, touching his cheek . He flinches away from my hand with a strangled noise. Under his lids, I can see his eyes moving fast and frantically.

I watch in horrified fascination for a second, trying to figure out what to do. I've never actually seen someone having a nightmare before, since I'm pretty sure that's what's going on, and I don't know how you're supposed to handle the situation.

Carefully, I reach for his hand. When my fingers brush against his palm, his hand closes instantly around mine and I wince at the grip (Artie has really strong hands, and a death grip from him is pretty intense.) I begin rubbing my thumb over the back of his hand in small, slow circles. "It's okay, Artie," I say quietly, moving a little closer so I can whisper to him.

He makes a really sharp, abrupt moan and a second later I realize it's actually a sob. A tear escapes from beneath his lashes and rolls over his cheek. "Hey, Artie, listen to me," I say in as soothing a voice as I can manage in my nerves. "Artie, you're okay. It's just a dream." Artie just winces in his sleep and as his lips part he moans louder.

I tentatively move my other hand up and cup his cheek in my palm. In an instant, his eyes fly open and his other hand jumps up to latch onto my forearm, almost crushing it in his grip. I want to look away but I'm fixed in his stare, which is wide-eyed and panicked, and his breathing is coming out in fast, staccato bursts.

"It's okay, Artie, it's just me," I say, trying to keep my fear out of my voice. The terrified way he's looking at me is honestly one of the scariest things I've ever seen. He doesn't blink, just stares at me, and I vaguely wonder if it's because he can't see me clearly with his glasses, even though I'm only a half-foot from his face. And finally, after what feels like an hour, I see recognition light in his gaze.

"Tee?" he asks breathlessly.

"Yeah, Artie, it's me," I say in relief. His grip loosens slightly and my fingers start tingling as the blood flows back into them. "Are you okay?"

I can actually see the walls go up behind Artie's eyes and he completely releases me, rolling onto his side facing away from me as best as he can. "Yeah, I'm fine," he says blankly, closing his eyes and burying his face in the curves of his arms.

The dismissal has me more than a little surprised and for a moment all I can do is stare at his back. The soft light coming in from the hall reveals that with the open hospital gown, the skin of his back is actually showing above the blanket at his waist, and in horror I see something I had never expected before; white scars tracing across most of his lower back. The sight of them makes my stomach churn uncomfortably.

Shaking my head, I come back to reality and I place a hand on Artie's arm. He flinches like I'd hit him. "Artie, what's the matter?" I ask quietly.

"Nothing," he says in that same emotionless tone. "It was just a bad dream. It's nothing."

I grunt in frustration, and pull my hand away to cross my arms over my chest. For a moment Artie's body tilts like he's going to follow my hand, but then he stiffens and stays on his side. "Why are you pushing me away?" I ask, working really hard to keep the hurt out of my voice.

Artie tenses again and the shudder that rolls up his back is actually visible. I wonder for a moment if he's cold, but then I hear his shaky breathing and my heart drops into my stomach. "Artie," I say softly and I reach out for his arm again. A second later his hand slips up over mine.

"The accident," he says so quietly I almost miss it. It takes a moment before it clicks. "It was the accident – the one that…" He trails off but I know what he was going to say; the one that paralyzed him. "I'm okay, it just – hurts to remember."

I lay down behind him, slipping my arm down around his chest and tucking my chin into the hollow where his neck meets his shoulders. It surprises me a little when Artie relaxes back against me and pulls my arm more securely around him, since I had expected him to try and pull away from me again, but I suppose that maybe he's realized he needs the comfort more than he cares about his pride right now.

"It hurt," he says in a low voice. "A lot." I want to look up at his face but I don't dare move in case it breaks what's happening. Knowing Artie, I have a feeling this is something he's never actually talked about before. "I don't really remember a lot of it. One minute everything was normal, I was turned to talk to my mom, and then she screamed. After that it was just a lot of pain. I felt my back getting cut up and then I couldn't feel anything except the cuts on my arms and face."

He takes a slow breath and tightens his grip on my hand. "In my dreams, everything is slow motion," he whispers. "It takes a lot longer for the pain to start going away. And I can feel the break, even though I'm pretty sure I didn't really feel it when it happened."

"The scars on your back?" I ask quietly and I feel Artie tense again. "That's where they're from?"

Artie nods. "The accident, and the surgeries." He is running his index finger over my hand, tracing all the lines of it like it's the most interesting thing in the world. "I'm okay," he says suddenly and this time I can't help but glance up at his profile curiously. I see the corner of his mouth curl. "Really, I am. The dreams, they just don't come back much anymore and when they do it feels like they sneak up when I'm not expecting it. But I am okay."

"You sure?" I ask cautiously.

I can see Artie smile. "Yeah," he says and squeezes my hand reassuringly. "It's just being in this place again." I feel my heart seize a little; it hadn't even occurred to me that this must be the very same hospital he was brought to after the accident. "But I'm okay now."

"Okay," I say, recognizing the tone of his voice to say he's done talking about it.

Artie turns his head back to look at me and I can see that soft smile is back again. "Thanks for listening," he says.

"No problem."

I watch Artie toying with something in his other hand for a minute, although I can't actually make out what it is in the dark. I want to ask, but the silence between us is so comfortable I don't want to break it. Finally he presses the thing into my palm and I suddenly recognize what it is, because I've held it before.

"Tee, can you do it? I can't," he says and I nod, pressing down on the morphine button. Artie watches my hand like he's transfixed, and after a minute I feel his body starting to relax. I move back so he can roll onto his back again, because I know that's more comfortable for him, and when he holds out the arm closest to me I take it as an invitation and slip into his embrace. He wraps his arm around my back and I lay my head on his chest, checking for stitches before putting my head down.

"G'night, Tee," he mubmles quietly. I think he's actually asleep before I get my response out.

"Night, Artie."