It had been a week. It had been the longest week of Chas's life.
It only took John a few hours to wake up, but instead of relief, this only brought frustration as John's temper got the best of him. Even drugged up on morphine, John could drive any sane person out of their mind.
Not that Chas blamed him. He had to be in excruciating pain. Unlike the nurses Chas took every verbal blow without backing down, staying at the hospital 24/7, calling in to work with a horrible flu.
Chas did everything he could, everything John would let him do. Soon Chas was more like a stay in nurse, since most of the actual nurses were scared to death of John. They joked that Chas was braver than all of them, even fighting John into letting him help with such things as getting to the bathroom and sponge baths.
Only those nurses seemed to notice Chas's deteriorating condition. He was completely broke, in fact behind in all his bills, but he couldn't leave the hospital for fear that John wouldn't let the nurses do anything for him. He was awake every time John was, only sleeping when he was sure John was asleep, and even then he only slept curled up in a chair in the room.
All in all, Chas was mentally and physically spent by the time the doctors said John could go home. He'd recovered from the surgery much faster than they thought he would, but his injuries were still too severe to be walking or any average amount of movement.
"Is there anyone else who can stay with him? I know you handle his temper amazingly well, but-"
Chas cut off Dr. Pfennigar. "No. He wouldn't want anyone else around right now. I'll be fine."
The doctor sighed, seemed disappointed. Then he fished around in John's file, pulling out a sheet of paper and handing it to Chas.
"There are instructions on that sheet, telling you exactly what medications he should take, how often, and how long. There's also a guide on changing the bandages and the various states of healing the wounds should go through. I've set up five follow-up appointments, they're down at the bottom."
"Thanks," Chas said, studying the page. Dr. Pfennigar hesitated, and then held out a business card to Chas.
"It's the domestic abuse hotline," he said simply as Chas stared in surprise at the card. Chas didn't take it- instead, his hands tightened on the sheet of paper in his hands.
"He wouldn't hurt me," he said to the doctor, his tone venomous. "He's not abusive."
"I wasn't suggesting that. I was simply worried about the way he's been speaking to you while he's been here-"
"He was fucking stabbed! You'd be a little damn moody if someone stabbed you and left you for dead in a back alley!" Chas shrieked, attracting the attention of nurses and visitors in the hallway.
"Just take the card, Chas…"
"You can take that card and shove it up your ass," Chas snapped, turning and storming away toward John's room. He stopped abruptly outside the room, gathering his wits and getting his emotions back under control; he couldn't afford to walk into John's room already ticked off.
"Hey John," he said with a cheery grin as he stepped back in the room. John glared at him, changing the channel.
"Where've you been?"
"Just talking with the doctors. I have good news," Chas answered, sitting down in the chair beside the bed.
"Better be damn good."
"You get to go home today."
John's expression actually brightened for once. "About time! These fuckin' doctors, they don't know what the hell they're doing," he said, scooting toward the edge of the bed, grimacing in pain.
"Let me get your wheelchair," Chas said, but John shot him a glare that could melt steel.
"I don't need to be fuckin' rolled around like an invalid."
"But your leg injuries-"
"I don't fuckin' need the chair, Chas!"
Chas fell silent, taking a couple steps back as John struggled to get to his feet, knowing when to just step aside and let John figure things out the hard way. And when John's legs predictably gave out on him, Chas was there to grab him and hold him up.
He fumbled to pull the chair over to them and helped John sit down in it, pretending not to notice the expression of shame on John's face.
"My cab's right outside the doors, I moved it a while ago. You ready?"
John snorted, glaring at the wall. "Let's just fuckin' go," he muttered. Chas closed his eyes for a few moments, taking a few deep breaths before wheeling John out of the room and down to the elevator. He ignored the pleading look that he got from Dr. Pfennigar; he didn't need any hotline card. He never would. John wasn't exactly a pleasant person, but he certainly wasn't abusive.
The ride down to the cab was silent. John obviously wasn't interested in conversation, and Chas didn't dare try to start one right now.
The cool evening air felt good after being inside a hospital for so many days, and Chas took a deep breath of the fresh air. He took John over to the cab and opened the back door, reaching out a hand to help John up and into the cab.
John glared. Chas didn't retract his hand.
Finally, John reached out and grabbed onto Chas, and together they maneuvered him painfully into the backseat. Chas closed the door and folded up the wheelchair, putting it in the trunk.
"At least you'll be allowed to smoke again," Chas offered as he got in and started to drive toward the apartment. John didn't answer.
"And a comfy bed. I mean, those hospital beds can't be comforta-"
"Chas, shut up."
"Right. Right. Shutting up," Chas said quietly, grabbing a piece of stale licorice from the bag by his seat. He didn't care how long he'd had that bag; he hadn't eaten hardly anything for the last week. In fact, stepping on a hospital scale just yesterday, he'd found that in six days he'd managed to lose 22 pounds. He was practically fasting.
They got to the apartment, and this time John didn't complain when Chas helped him out of the cab and into his wheelchair.
Luckily there was an elevator in the building. It wasn't very big or sturdy, but enough for a wheelchair and one other person. Soon enough John was back in his own apartment, and the first thing he did was grab at the cigarettes on the table.
"I'm gonna go get some stuff out of the car, okay? I'll be back in two minutes," Chas said, and John didn't respond, just lit up a cigarette. Chas hesitated, and then turned and walked out, heading for the car to get the box of bandages and medications he'd put in there earlier.
As he pulled the box from the car his cell phone rang, and he put the box down on the back of the car, flipping open his phone.
"Hello?"
"Chas? This is Linda."
The landlord. Chas's stomach dropped into his feet. "Listen, Linda, I know I'm a little bit behind…"
"You owe me 1300 dollars in back rent. I've asked for payments seven times. Where the hell have you been?"
"Well…a good friend of mine was in the hospital, and I-"
"Oh, priceless, Mr. Kramer, tryin' to lie to me like this? You know, anyone else I would've kicked out a month ago, but I thought you were a pretty smart kid…"
Chas's hand tightened on the phone. "Just give me another week or two. I swear, I can make a payment."
"A payment isn't enough. I want you out tonight. If your key isn't turned in by the time I close office tomorrow, I'll throw your stuff on the street."
"Linda…"
"Good night, Chas."
She hung up. Chas sighed heavily, leaning back against the cab as he closed his cell phone and picked the box up again. He trudged back up to John's apartment, where John had wheeled over to the window, smoking a cigarette straight down to the filter.
Chas gently touched his shoulder. "Do you need anything, John?"
"No."
Chas paused, not bothering to try and smile since John wasn't even looking. He unpacked the medications from the box and put them on the counter, and then set the bandages and creams next to them.
"I'm going to bed," John announced after a few moments, and Chas immediately moved to help him.
"And I don't need your help," John continued. Chas masked the disappointment and frustration with a weak smile and a shrug, watching carefully as John wheeled himself up to his bed.
Chas kept careful watch on John out of the corner of his eye, and as he knew would happen, John faltered and almost fell. Chas was immediately there, helping to steady him and pull down the sheets as John got into the bed with stifled grunts of pain.
"Hang on, you've got to take your medicine," Chas said, tripping over his own feet to get to the kitchen. He gathered the seven or so pills that John needed to take, taking those and a glass of water to him.
"You're as bad as a fuckin' nagging wife," John mumbled before taking the pills and shoving the glass back into Chas's hands.
Chas ignored the comment, instead tugging up at John's shirt a bit to make sure his bandages didn't need changing. Satisfied that John was okay and everything was done, Chas left the bedroom, hoping to hear some kind of a thank you but at the same time knowing he wouldn't.
He cleaned the apartment up a bit to keep himself from falling asleep, waiting until he was certain John was asleep before he decided to go gather his stuff from his apartment.
He crept out quietly and took the drive there as quickly as he dared, and he still almost fell asleep at the wheel twice. He got to his apartment and quickly gathered his things; that actually wasn't saying much, since all of his belongings could fit into three medium-sized boxes.
He stopped at the desk on the way out and slid his key under the door, and then checked his mail for the last time, taking it with him back to John's apartment. He fell asleep at the wheel twice on the way back, and he walked in only to find John on the floor halfway to the bathroom.
"John! Jesus Christ, why didn't you wait? I was gonna be right back!" Chas exclaimed, dropping the mail on the table and rushing to John's side.
"I didn't fuckin' know that," John growled. "I woke up and you were fuckin' gone, I thought you went home."
Chas shook his head. "I'm not gonna leave you here alone like that. If I leave, it's only for a few minutes," he insisted, helping John into his wheelchair and taking him into the bathroom. He held John up until he finished, and then they followed the same tiresome process to get him back into bed.
"You okay now? Need anything else?" Chas asked.
"More morphine."
Chas laughed, until he realized that John was serious, and then he sadly shook his head.
"I have strict directions on the medications to give you. You know that."
John muttered and practically growled, but soon he settled back, letting Chas check his bandages again. Satisfied that John hadn't done any further damage to himself in his hard spill to the floor, Chas went back to the kitchen and sat down at the table to go through his mail.
The first three envelopes were, predictably, bills. Two of them were already many months overdue and being turned in to a collection agency. But the fourth envelope made Chas's heart leap to his throat.
It was from UCLA. He'd turned in his application just a few weeks ago, very late, but it had been a kind of last minute decision to apply after he found out he'd be getting a grant if he went.
With shaking hands he tore open the envelope, pulling out the fat wad of folded papers and opening to the top one.
The first word was…congratulations. He'd been accepted to UCLA, with grants and scholarships paving his way.
Chas swallowed hard. August had just begun. If he were to do this, he'd have to leave in a week or two to go to the dorms, start preparing for the year…
He looked up at John's sleeping form, listening to the exorcist's soft breathing in the silent apartment. He looked back down at the letter, swallowing hard to fight back tears.
College wasn't an option right now. He had to be here for John. Like hell would John let Hennessey, Beeman, or Midnite see him in this state, let alone care for him.
He pushed the papers back in the envelope, scooted his chair back, and shoved it down into the trash can. He gathered up the bills, tears leaving wet tracks down his cheeks as he pushed them into his backpack and set it aside.
He looked around, running his hand through his hair, his breathing shaky. He had to be here for John, so that excluded sleeping in his cab, and John didn't have a couch or anything.
He scrounged around and found a couple blankets, then quietly stole a pillow from the bed. He laid one of the blankets down on the floor and settled down with his head on the pillow, pulling the other blanket up over him. He was already in pain from the hard flooring beside John's bed, but it was his only option.
He curled up, stifling his sobs into silence so he wouldn't wake John up. Eventually, he cried himself to sleep.