Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Crime, Non-Con, Incest, etc.
The silence that followed was overwhelming. I had a broken pelvis? It didn't exactly surprise me. With the way that Brock used to manhandle me, I'm surprised that I'm not a walking, talking hard-cast. But the doctor's words, for some reason, struck a chord deep within me. Fractured pelvis. Instability. Death. Was it wrong to hope that this would kill me? The door shut quietly, and the startling sound of my father's sobbing told me the answer. He took a seat on the hospital bed beside me, gently stroking a hand over my short brown locks. As he pressed our foreheads together, tears dripped down onto my face.
I had only ever seen my father cry once before - even if I couldn't technically see him now. And it was as I felt those salty tears drip down onto my face that I remembered Brock was dead. Dad had already lost one son, and now, was faced with the very-real reality of losing two. For the first time, I felt a painful twinge of guilt arise at the idea of so cruelly tearing Brock from this world. When we had planned it, we hadn't taken into account anyone's pain but my own. I had been selfish, not bothering to think of how it would destroy my father. I would even go so far as to say I just hadn't cared. And in the end, nothing had gone according to plan.
I wanted to tell him. I wanted to confess to everything. He would hate me for it, sure. He would yell and scream and curse, maybe even hit me. I didn't care. Not anymore. Randy was gone, somewhere far away. Possibly hurt, maybe not. But he was on a killing spree, getting revenge on anyone that dared lay a hand on me against my will. With the amount of blood that would soon be staining his hands, I knew that I would never get him back. So, what did that leave me with? The fractured life I had started with, minus a few unsightly details. And my father, crying over my soon-to-be demise. If only life came with a re-set button...
"I brought you some lunch from the cafeteria." The voice was strained and low, as if the owner was mentally debating his presence at the hospital at all. Immediately, I knew that it was Adam. "I figured that you'd be starving yourself by now." A low, dark chuckle. "Guess I was right."
There was a soft clack as he placed the plastic reusable tray on the table beside my father, and then went to take his leave. But Dad, realizing his intentions, finally spoke up. "Wait a minute, Adam. I think that we need to talk."
There was a pause, and for a second, I thought that Adam had left anyhow. But then, "Really? Because, from the way I see it, there's nothing to talk about."
"It was the anniversary of his death." Silence fell, and I felt my stomach roll. I had totally forgotten. "Shawn... he's been gone for a long time, but that doesn't make it easier." I could imagine the tears returning to Dad's eyes. "The alcohol was locked in my office, so the kids can't get it. I just wanted something to help me forget."
"Hunter..." Adam's breath hitched, and I imagined the younger blond to be on the verge of tears as well.
"And then you came along... looking as beautiful as ever. I've loved you since you first came to help with the boys, but you married Jeff. You had a daughter with him. I couldn't take that from you. Just because I lost it, doesn't give me the right to take it from someone else."
At Jeff's name, Adam really did start crying. "Jeff's gone now, Hunter."
"Time doesn't fix anything. It will always hurt." Hunter continued softly. "But at least you didn't hold him as he died, waiting for an ambulance you knew would never come."
It was always traumatic to hear how my Papa died. I, of course, had been in the house when the actual shooting had occurred, and had known the three boys responsible rather well. They'd laughed when I had started to cry, and, just as Brock had done, had claimed it was my fault that Papa was dying. Dad came rushing out of his office at the sound of gunfire, but by then, the gun had been hidden. The boy's looked shocked, maybe even a little scared, at the dying body in front of them. Papa was too overcome with pain to say anything, and I was too afraid that if I did, something bad would happen to me too.
Dad had immediately called an ambulance, and they had said that one would be dispatched shortly. We all knew, however, that that was a lie. The halfway house was build on a tract of land in the shitty district of town, where murder was a little too common and practically went by unnoticed. The ambulance, we all knew, would never come. That was when Dad had fallen to his knees and clutched the bloody frame of my Papa to his chest, slowly rocking back and forth and promising that it would all be okay. Less than ten minutes later, Papa had died, frightened and trembling, in Dad's arms.
It took a lot for my Dad to tell that story, and he was crying harder now. "It's horrible, being cursed to vividly remember him dying in my arms every year."
"I can only imagine." Adam said weakly, imagining holding Jeff as the last of his life slowly went out of him. "You don't have to go on, Hunter."
"Yes, I do. I need to make you understand. When I yelled at you back there, that was me being an asshole, blinded by grief at the idea of losing my baby boy. Shawn had always wanted a big family, but after Brock, had trouble conceiving. Johnny was our miracle baby, and Shawn adored him oh so much. I couldn't lose him."
Now, this was a piece of the story that I had not heard before. Before now, I had always believed Brock's claim that I had destroyed any future possibility of Dad and Papa ever having more children. But could it be possible that that was actually Brock? Could I really have been the 'miracle baby' that they so desired? It was difficult to wrap my brain around the idea of actually being wanted, after having convinced myself for so long that I was nothing more than an accident that had gone horribly, horribly wrong. Now, I silently cursed myself for ever wondering if he would care whether I lived or died.
"I know the feeling. You don't have to explain it to me." Adam said. "If it was my little girl in John's position, I would be tearing off heads."
The creaking of Dad's chair told me that he was standing up. Presumably, crossing the distance between himself and Adam. "Still, that gives me no right to treat you the way that I did. I hurt you, and I'm sorry. Even if I know that no amount of apologies will ever take back what I said -,"
Here, Adam cut him off. "But one heartfelt apology is as good a place as any to start."
"And when I called you Shawn -,"
Again, Adam cut him off. "Don't worry about it. It was a mistake. You were blinded by your grief and pain and you didn't know what you were saying."
The heavy sound of footfalls indicated that they were still moving closer. I had a feeling I knew what was coming, and was thankful that my eyes were still too heavy to open. Dad continued, "But what I said about... my feelings for you. My mind was perfectly clear. I knew what I was saying, and I meant it. I still do."
There was a pause, before Adam continued uncertainly, "You love me?"
"I always have." I could imagine my father brushing Adam's fluffy blond locks away from his face. "The question is, do you?"
A pregnant pause followed, and for a moment, I worried that the old man was about to be rejected. But then, the wet smack of lips attacking lips and the low moan of hands exploring all the right places told me all that I needed to know - and, perhaps, a little bit more than I wanted to. Dad's feelings were reciprocated after all. It was a pleasant conclusion to their story, especially after calling Adam and hearing him blubber on and on about the incident they had just discussed. I was almost thankful for Adam's arrival, considering that he was taking Dad's mind off of the situation at hand for a little while. They drew apart, gasping for air.
"Does that answer your question?" Adam asked breathlessly. And then they kissed again.
The next day, I was finally able to open my eyes. Dad was ecstatic, fawning over me as if I was a small child that had just successfully said his first word. And while I still could not talk - not by choice, mind you, but because of the pain that it caused in my chest - Dad would not stop lauding me. For the first time in a long time, I actually felt special and important in his eyes. I didn't feel like the son who had deigned to live while the favorite had to die... I felt like I stood on equal footing with my late brother. I might even have gone so far as to say that maybe I had been the favorite all along.
Dad didn't stay at my side for very long, though. The doctor's had to come in and take some tests, so he excused himself to the cafeteria. I had no doubt that Adam was down there waiting for him. The tests were easy and relatively painless - most just involved them taking some blood samples. The last one, however, hurt like a bitch. Dr. White, as I learned he was called, went feeling around my pelvis for signs of tenderness and bruising. Everywhere he touched lit on fire. Afterword, he dosed me with morphine and excused himself. The physician assistant, a pretty redhead with bright green eyes, announced that I had a visitor.
That's when Phil wheeled himself in. He looked a little worse for wear, with his eyes swollen and red-rimmed. A fat cast on his leg said that he was still far from healed, but his injury seemed to be the last thing on his mind. The PA clapped his back gently. "You two behave yourselves, you hear?"
She hovered around for a few seconds more, before leaving. Phil turned to me and asked, "Is she gone?" I nodded the affirmative. "Good." He sniffled, before furiously wiping his eyes. "I... I, uh, have some bad news to tell you, Johnny." I could not answer, so he simply continued. "Dad's dead."
