4/3/2020

And I'm back! Only took me a little over a month, but here's the next chapter! Thank you guys for being so patient!

Also, I just watched Season 10 Episode 13 of the Walking Dead, "What We Become," and bruh it's SO GOOD AHHHHH! Angela Kang is literally rocking it with this season holy crow. I am shook. You guys should totally watch. Just sayin'.

Warnings: This chapter references the use of a particularly bad drug.

winterschild11: Yes, he actually was! I think Gustavo is a decent guy, he just has trouble showing it, lol.


She became gradually aware that someone was attempting to stab her in the crook of her arm, and despite her weakness she moved to yank the limb away quickly. A hand held it firmly in place.

"Hang on a sec, honey," a female voice soothed. "Stay still for me."

The stabbing pain came once more, and something sticky held what was presumably a needle in place. Macey fought to peel her eyes open, wincing as the light blinded her. She immediately realized that the majority of her face burned as if she were on fire. Her left eyelid stung particularly sharply, and she moved to lift a hand to it. The woman, who was still quite blurry as Macey realized she had no idea where her glasses were, grabbed her hand and set it back by her side. "Not yet, sweetie. Don't touch it."

Her vision cleared well enough that the blurriness dissipated, and she could make out what was going on around her. She was lying on something solid and soft but was obviously on the ground. She could hear people nearby speaking frantically, but her head throbbed when she attempted to turn it, and the lady kept telling her not to move. She could smell smoke and some other horrible substance she wasn't sure of, and suddenly her heart plunged to her stomach.

The car. She had been in the car with Gwen, and they were talking about. . . where was Gwen?

The nice EMT lady seemed to pick up on Macey's sudden mood change because she leaned forward to smile at her but kept working by Macey's side. "Can you tell me your name?"

It was a rarity for her to be in a situation like this. Every teacher at school knew about her, as well as every student. She was never called upon to answer questions or give her name. She hardly ever went out, either, and never by herself. She'd tagged along with James until he'd gotten older, and now was always accompanied by her parents or a few close friends, all of whom simply spoke for her. She ordered the same thing at every restaurant and fast food establishment; she used self-checkouts at stores. It was essentially foolproof. But in a situation where there was no one but her to answer, she was stuck.

Macey pointed to her mouth and shook her head, and the woman frowned. "Oh, are you deaf?" she asked quickly, then turned before Macey could shake her head "no" and called to a person out of sight, "Alec, do you know Sign Language?" The response must have been negative, because she turned back to Macey, speaking unnecessarily loudly and pointing to herself as she over-enunciated. "Can you understand me?"

Macey nodded, trying to squelch her irritation by reminding herself that this was a pretty normal reaction. There was no way for the woman to know her situation anyway, so she really didn't have a right to be angry.

"Oh, you can?"

She nodded again, mouthing, 'Where's my sister?'

The woman clearly didn't understand her and seemed unsure of how to continue. "Sweetie, you were in an accident, but-"

'I know,' Macey mouthed exaggeratedly, hoping the woman would get it. 'Where is my sister?'

The poor EMT looked terribly flustered, opening her mouth as if to speak but then shutting it again since she had no idea what to say. Macey quickly made the sign "to write" since it was pretty universal and could be easily understood. She usually carried a notepad, but she could feel nothing in her pockets and her backpack was out of sight. If the lady could just give her a pen and a piece of paper, there would be no issue. But again, the woman stared at her, unsure.

A shadow suddenly loomed over them, and Officer Garcia's face peered into her own. "Macey," he said quickly. He looked quite shaken, and it did nothing to help her nerves. "It's okay." He glanced at the EMT. "I know her family. Her name's Macey."

"Is she-"

"She's not deaf, she's mute," he responded, already knowing what she was going to ask. His eyes traveled back down to Macey as she signed "to write" once again. "Macey, it's okay," he said quickly. "You were in an accident, but-"

Her adrenaline surged with rising frustration, and suddenly she was halfway off the stretcher, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down so she could mouth something at the same time as she signed with her left hand (her non-dominant one, but her right was currently incapacitated with the IV).

Garcia shook his head. "Macey, slow down, sweetie. I can't understand you."

She pushed down her growing irritation and figured his lack of knowledge paired with her likely messy signing was the cause. She slowed down and signed, 'Where's Gwen?'

Officer Garcia was fluent in both English and Spanish, and he was currently enrolled in an evening French class at the local community college. He felt it was vital for him to be able to communicate with as many people as possible. He'd even supposedly downloaded an ASL app on his iPad, although he clearly didn't have much time for it because it took him several moments to realize that Macey was signing "where." But he understood her point almost immediately. "Gwen?" Macey nearly gave herself whiplash nodding. His face remained stoic, but she could see a change in his eyes. "They're taking care of her over there," he said in a slightly uneven tone. "Just worry about you right now, okay?"

Macey shook her head frantically, mouthing and signing, 'What's wrong with her?'

Mr. Garcia adopted a similar expression to that of the EMT, and his brow furrowed. "Macey, just relax, okay? They've got Gwen covered, so you just. . ." He trailed off, clearly unsure of what to say. "I'm gonna call your mom in a sec; everything's gonna be fine."

His tone did nothing to reassure her.


He didn't think he'd ever seen his mother so frantic.

Brooke Diamond was cool as a cucumber, almost always composed and ready with a comeback no matter what the situation. It was a skill James wished he'd inherited. Now, though, his mother was flying ahead of him through the entrance of the emergency room, brushing past others waiting in line and rushing up to a front desk reserved for families of incoming trauma patients.

"My daughters," Brooke said in a rush to the woman behind the desk. "They were brought in. . . I don't know, maybe half an hour ago?"

"Last name?" the woman asked.

"Diamond. Both of them."

The woman quickly clacked away on her keyboard, scanning her screen as it loaded gradually. She met Brooke's eyes again. "I'm afraid I don't have a record of them yet, but I can put your name in, so the doctors will come speak to you if you want."

James' mother nodded. "Yes, please."

She began to rattle off her information to the woman, and James took a nervous breath as he looked around. The waiting room wasn't too full; a few people were scattered here and there, aside from the small line waiting to check themselves in at the other counter. James sighed in relief; it was unlikely he would be mobbed by any fans in an emergency room anyway, but . . . still.

His mother must have finished at the desk, because she crossed in front of him and head into the nearest empty cubicle, just a few yards away from check-in. She tossed her purse onto a couch and dropped into the seat heavily. James took the place directly adjacent to her, picking nervously at his nails. He winced as he tore at a piece of skin on his thumb. "Are you gonna call Dad?" he asked quietly.

A pause. "When I feel like it," came his mother's short reply. She didn't bother to meet his gaze.

James shifted nervously in his chair. "I can call him if-"

"No."

"Mom. . ."

"Stay out of my marriage, James."

James' stomach did a rather painful flip, and he clenched his jaw. Stay out of their marriage? How could any of them, when Brooke and Andrew shouted as loudly as possible through the house! "If you wanted that, maybe you should've kept your voices down," James mumbled under his breath, hunkering down in his seat and turning away from her.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"What did you-"

"I didn't say anything!" James snapped.

"You raise your voice in public like that again, and-"

"Hey, man!" Kendall suddenly burst in, with miraculous timing as usual. He completely ignored Mrs. Diamond as he hurried into the cubicle and made for James' side. "Are you okay? You weren't in the car, were you?" He seemed to be scanning James for injuries, and the thought would've made him chuckle if he wasn't so worried.

"No, I wasn't. I'm fine, Ken."

"My mom told me," Kendall explained, gesturing to the parking lot where, James assumed, Mrs. Knight was probably struggling to find a parking spot. "Carlos went to get Logan. He's at the library, I think."

"You guys don't all have to come," James protested. He was promptly shut up.

"Uh, your family's our family too," he reasoned, still not even making eye contact with Brooke. He tugged at James' jacket sleeve as he pulled him to his feet. "I feel like a coffee, you?" He jerked his head towards the other end of the hallway, and James got the message.

He nodded quickly. "Yeah."

His mother looked as though she was about to protest, but Kendall was dragging James away before Brooke had a chance to speak. They headed down the hall to a small alcove that housed several vending machines, as well as a nice-looking coffee maker. James took residence in the corner, leaning against a snack machine as Kendall deposited several quarters into the coffee maker. The machine began to whir softly, and James crossed his arms over his chest, clearing his throat.

"Thank you. . . for breaking that up back there."

Kendall was silent for a moment, eyes fixated on the machine as it worked even though he knew the pattern by heart. They'd spent many a late night in this little snack oasis, courtesy of hockey injuries. "The only reason I haven't told her exactly what I think of her is because I don't want to tick you off." He turned to James, a stern but compassionate look in his eyes. "You've gotta stand up to her, James."

The taller boy sighed, moving his eyes to the floor, the walls. Anywhere they wouldn't meet Kendall's. "She's my mom."

"I get that," Kendall reasoned. "But you can't let her talk to you that way. You're a grown man, James! She needs to start treating you like it."

"And what am I supposed to say?" James countered. "This isn't the same as telling her no. That was about my happiness. This is about hers. She isn't happy unless everyone does exactly what she says."

"So stop," Kendall pleaded. "I listen to my mom, but I'm not afraid to disagree with her."

"Yeah, 'cause your mom's a reasonable human being. Have you met mine?"

Kendall sighed heavily, grabbing the now finished cup of coffee from the machine and carefully handing it to James. "Do you want me to talk to her?"

James nearly dropped the hot beverage. "No! Kendall, please don't. It'll make everything so much worse."

"How much worse can it get? We've been here for two weeks, and you like you're going to keel over. She does nothing but rag on you, Jamie, and it's driving me up a wall."

"How do you think I feel?" James muttered, stirring his drink aimlessly as Kendall paid the machine for a second coffee. The blond remained silent, waiting to speak until the machine had started up again.

"Have you heard anything?" he asked quietly. James shook his head. "I'm sure they're-"

"Oh, now you show up!" came Brooke's snapping remark from out in the waiting room.

James groaned and began to move as Kendall peered through the doorway. "It's Carlos' dad," he informed him, turning back to the coffee machine and willing it to hurry. "I'll be right there."

James gave a slight nod in acknowledgment, hurrying out of the cubbyhole to the cubicle where his mother, Mrs. Knight, and Mr. Garcia were now standing.

"And where have you been?" his mother asked. "You called me on the road; I thought you'd be here! And why on earth did I get a text about it from Macey before I got a call from you?!"

James didn't think he'd ever seen Carlos' father look so stressed. "I got called back to the station," he explained, breathless and seeming terribly flustered. He shot a glance in James' direction. "I need to talk to you," he said quietly. "Alone. When you can."

"About?"

Mr. Garcia looked uneasy. "Everything."

Well, that did absolutely nothing for James' nerves, especially coupled with the fact that Mr. Garcia, whose expression was normally unreadable, looked considerably uneasy, only worried James even more. Mrs. Knight seemed to take control of the situation at that point, suggesting they all sit while she and Kendall went to find something for them to eat, which Brooke adamantly refused. She would eat when she received news of the girls, she said.

Kendall eventually rejoined them, and the boys sat off to the side, avoiding the small huddle the adults seemed to form on the other side of the cubicle. They spoke in hushed, worried whispers, and the magazine that Kendall handed him did nothing to prevent James from straining to hear their conversation. He risked a glance at Kendall, and he caught the blonde staring down the adults as they spoke. He was clearly just as attentive to the discussion as James was, despite the magazine in his hand.

Andrew was refusing to speak with law enforcement at all and had requested a lawyer. That alone made James' stomach twist in a way that left him struggling to breathe evenly. Innocent people didn't ask for lawyers. Wasn't that what every police show on tv said? Why would his father need a lawyer if he hadn't done anything wrong?

Was that why Mr. Garcia looked so nervous? Maybe it really did look bad for his father to ask for a lawyer, but. . . James probably would too, if he was basically being framed for murder.

James' thoughts began to scatter, as they often did when he panicked. Why. . . why would his father ask for a lawyer? If he hadn't done anything wrong, why would he need a lawyer? Surely going to trial without requesting a defense team would show he was confident of his innocence.

If he was innocent.

He shook the thought from his head almost immediately, appalled with himself and shocked that he'd had the nerve to think such a thing. Of course his father was innocent. He'd raised them, for pity's sake. Murderers didn't buy their kids ridiculous animals as presents and work with their other kids almost every day the way Andrew did. They didn't send their sons a gift basket filled with nerf guns and hairspray and junk food and gift cards to celebrate their first live concert in a new band. Murderers didn't do stuff like that.

Did they?

James began nervously picking at his nails again, fighting to quell the growing unease inside of him. He struggled to catch the adults' conversation.

"Would you like me to call Andrew?"

"No."

"Have you?"

"I'll call him when I want to, Carlos."

James resisted the urge to scoff. He could feel his mother's eyes boring into his skull, but he refused to look at her, instead keeping his eyes trained on the window. He was sure something quite unforgivable would come out of his mouth if he did, and that was the last thing they needed.

If his parents could have gotten ahold of themselves, he was fairly sure they could have saved their marriage. Even if they hadn't, there would have been significantly less animosity between them. If only his dad hadn't gone and gotten Nikki pregnant. . . If only his mother hadn't felt the need to criticize every breath he took. . . Even if the divorce had still occurred, James was sure it could have been better. Gwen wouldn't have turned to drugs and fallen for them so hard. Macey wouldn't have folded in on herself and might have kept talking. Maybe James would've faired a bit better and wouldn't feel as though he were falling apart at the seams.

But that wasn't the way everything went. The divorce had been brutal and ugly and caused so much hate to enter James' heart, he was certain it must be rock solid by now. He squeezed and pressed and compacted nearly all the love he'd felt for his family into a pitiful little ball that now sat in a tense heap in the pit of his chest. Any love he was offered after the divorce had been rejected; he was terrified of disappointment, terrified of getting his hopes up as he had when he was a child.

Brooke and Andrew did nothing to help. James knew plenty of kids at school with divorced parents; only their parents tried to make things work. Even if they didn't love each other anymore, they cooperated for their children's' sake and worked together to ensure their kids' lives faced as little disruption as possible. Brooke and Andrew were the opposite. They refused to look at each other if they didn't have to, and neither had any qualms about slandering the other in the presence of their children. It was a horribly toxic environment to grow up in, and James supposed it had taken its toll on all of them.

But it was done now.

They hadn't been waiting that long, maybe half an hour at a maximum before soft footsteps sounded suddenly behind James. Macey appeared, face bruised with a bandage across what looked to be a nearly broken nose and glaring indignantly at their mother. 'Feel free to check your messages!' she snapped, slipping her backpack off of her shoulders and chucking it into an empty seat beside her brother.

Their mother was off her seat in a flash, grabbing Macey by the shoulders and peering at her as though expecting to find some gaping wound. "Are you all right?! Where's your sister? What happened?! Why didn't-"

Macey shrugged out of the uncomfortable grip, confused. 'I'm fine,' she signed. 'And Gwen's back there. If you'd have read your messages, you'd know!'

"You didn't send me anything besides the first one!"

'Oh my gosh, yes I did!'

"Okay, okay," Mrs. Knight said quickly, rising and taking a step forward as if to come between them. She only understood 50% of the conversation but could clearly see a fight was brewing. "Brooke-"

"You," Brooke countered, grabbing her purse and digging through it as she addressed her daughter. "Sent me one message that said, "We're going to the ER, we got in an accident."

'I didn't say we got in an accident!'

"Really?" Brooke scrolled through her phone, pulling up her messages. "'Gwen's hurt, we're going to the ER,'" she read before sending an expectant look to Macey.

'. . .Where do you see the word accident in that?'

"You said she was hurt. What else would that imply? And you did get in an accident! What happened?!"

'I didn't want you to freak out, and she's a terrible driver! That's what happened! She ran a red light, and some guy hit the back of the car and we spun out! I texted you everything while I was back there!'

"Oh, for the love of. . ." Brooke shuffled through the messages before huffing. "Well, my sound was off, Macey, how on earth was I to know that you sent me anything?"

'You're right, I should've used my telekinesis to turn your ringer on.'

"You could've called." An uncomfortable silence fell, and James resisted the urge to send his mother a look.

'Yeah, well. . .'

Brooke sighed, taking Macey's face in her hands and looking it over. "Is anything broken?"

'Just my glasses.'

"Where's your sister?"

Macey shrugged. 'I don't know. They won't let me see her."

Brooke sighed, moving back to her seat. Macey moved her bag and took the chair beside James, who tried to let himself relax a little. Macey didn't look too bad, although he was sure that nose would look ten times worse in the morning (she was also clad in a scrub shirt from the hospital staff, and he tried not to wonder how bloodied her uniform shirt must have been to warrant the change). If she was fine, then Gwen would be fine too, right? The accident couldn't have been that bad then. So. . . what was taking so long?

The nurse eventually came out and gave Macey's discharge paperwork to Brooke for her to fill out, and it was an additional forty-five minutes after that until an elderly doctor came hurrying up to them. He stopped in front of Brooke, asking, "Brooke Diamond?"

Brooke was on her feet instantly with a short, "Yes," wringing her hands as she spoke.

The man gave a slight nod. "I'm Dr. Robert Sully, and I've been taking care of your daughter Gwen." He glanced at the group and then back to Brooke. "Would you like to come speak with me in private?"

Brooke stiffened, immediately more concerned. "You can say what you need to say right here."

The man hesitated. "I'm only thinking of confidentiality, ma'am."

"And these are family and friends. You can say whatever you need to in front of them."

The man seemed uneasy but nodded, referring to his clipboard. "Your daughter came in with severe bleeding from the esophageal area. There was very little head trauma from the accident, so naturally, we were concerned. We ran several imaging tests-"

"I-It's not a tumor or anything, is it?" Brooke asked fearfully.

"No no," Dr. Sully said quickly, shaking his head. "No cancer. We concluded that it could've mostly been due to the blunt force trauma in the accident. However, her blood counts seemed very odd. We ran a few tests, and. . ." He looked uneasily at the group again, then turned back to Brooke and lowered his voice. "Did you know she was using methamphetamine?"


Yikes. I really hadn't intended to delve this far into addiction but it sort of just happened, so. . . If you or anyone you know is struggling with any kind of substance abuse, please call the hotline specific to your area. If any of you need to talk about anything, please reach out. I'm always here if any of you need anything.

God bless and much love and prayers,

-downtonabbey15