"Hospital coffee," Tucker muttered from his plastic sofa, "is shit."
Sam sat across from him in a single chair with hard armrests and little to no back support. Her knees were pressed firmly together, and her ankles were crossed; her combat boots squeaked when she moved, so she had stopped moving entirely an hour ago.
"Tastes like the beans were ground in the mouth of a man with rotting teeth," Tucker continued.
Sam knew he really didn't care about the coffee; that he was just trying to make sounds. The empty waiting room at three in the morning was silent as the grave, and the two of them were the only ones left sitting there. Each Fenton was standing around the hospital bed of their best friend, being told by the doctor the results of about fifty tests.
"It tastes like cafeteria food blended up and boiled."
Sam only nodded. She continued to chip away at the black nail polish on her last finger. The rest were all polish-free. It was her left pinky, and it was giving her trouble. The polish was of good quality, and so chipping it was like trying to chisel concrete with a toothpick.
"What else does it taste like?" she murmured back. She wasn't even sure that he heard her, but he took another sip and continued.
"It tastes like-"
"Tucker? Sam?" Jazz's voice echoed in the room. It startled them both, and Sam's thumb slipped, and her nail cut into the top of her pinky finger, flaying a small shred of skin. It immediately started to bleed.
Tucker stood before Sam could register that Jazz was even standing there, not crying, and in fact, the color in her face was finally back; a half-smile sitting there where horror had been.
"He's… alright now," she finally told them. "He's okay, you guys he's…"
Then she cried, but it was different.
Relief.
Sam and Tucker ran to her and they wrapped her in a hug, sobbing loudly in her ear. It didn't matter that they didn't know her like that – that she wasn't too much more to them than Danny's older sister – but the truth was that they were family in a way, and it just seemed right.
Sam couldn't apologize yet; admitting it might somehow jinx everything, she thought. Except Jazz didn't ask for apologies. Even the Fentons on the ride to the hospital hadn't blamed them. They were furious, of course, and said many things the two didn't understand about interdimensional portals and their dangers, but they never blamed them.
They might have known how much Sam and Tucker were already blaming themselves.
Once Jazz had stopped crying, holding the two friends in her arms, she continued.
"He's okay, but he's not going to wake up for a while."
"What do you mean?" Tucker demanded weakly.
"They've medically induced him. He's comatose."
Sam rubbed her face with both hands, but the tears wouldn't stop flowing even as she wiped them away.
"How long?"
"Until they're sure he's not…" but Jazz couldn't say it.
"Brain-dead?" Tucker gasped. "But you said he was-"
"He's alive, he's stable… but they just want to be sure."
Sam only nodded, her knees suddenly shaking again. She slowly sank down onto one of the plastic sofas in the hospital waiting room, and Tucker joined her. His hand found hers again quickly, both cold to the touch, and Jazz sat cross-legged on the floor in front of them, her eyes stern.
"What happened?"
Sam shook her head, but Jazz wouldn't have any of it.
"You told my parents that he went in, but I want to know why."
"He said…" Tucker closed his eyes. "He said something about all the crazy, amazing worlds that might be on the other side. We never, ever, thought it would actually…"
"Work," Sam finished. "It's all my-"
"Sam, it's not!" Tucker interrupted.
"But it is, you know it is. I'm the one who pressured him to go in!"
Silence fell heavy over the three of them and Sam put her free hand to her mouth, shocked that anything came out at all.
"It was all of us," Tucker told Jazz. "All three of us were… we were just curious. It's not like we could've known."
Jazz shook her head. "No, you couldn't have. Listen to me, both of you."
She took their free hands while they clutched one another, terrified for what they'd done.
"My parents are different. Our family, our home, and the things within it are different. All those weird, crazy ghost hunting things are not toys, but how could you know that, the way my dad plays with them? It's not your fault. The portal was put there, unguarded and untested, before any of you decided to mess with it. Maybe you were reckless, and you didn't think," she added for emphasis, "but this isn't your fault. None of you."
Sam and Tucker couldn't help but look at one another, disbelieving Jazz's words.
"Not your fault," she said, standing and wrapping them up in one last hug. "Not your fault."