A/N - Forgot to put that this should be seven chapters (maybe eight though)!
Al reached the street name Roy had given him on the phone, driving as fast as his little car could corner. He still wasn't entirely sure what was going on - Roy hadn't seemed to have that much information either, but he had sounded terrified when he'd called, probably the worst Al had ever heard him.
Thankfully, Al had been at home. May was gone, visiting her parents, and Al had stayed behind at their home in Xing to continue his research on alkahestry. He'd only been about two hours away from the location Havoc had given Roy, much closer than Roy's excruciating ten-hour drive across the desert. And that was a good thing, because Roy had seemed to think that Havoc wasn't going to make it ten hours.
Al took the first parking place he could find on the cramped street, looking around the ramshackle houses with growing concern. The familiar ball of tight, humming fear was growing in his chest, the one he'd carried so often for Ed. Al hadn't felt it in a while, but he still remembered what to do. Breathe, control it, and keep it small enough to use as a source of strength instead of weakness.
Al got out of the car, looking for the house that matched the description Roy had given him. It was supposed to be the one behind a phone booth, about halfway down the street. He'd found a phone booth, but the house directly behind it was little more than a shack, with holes in the roof and windows, odd pieces of shattered lumber and other trash littering the lawn. That…that couldn't be right. Surely Havoc had found somewhere safer (and a little more sanitary) to hole up?
But as Al approached the shack, he spotted a small smear of blood across the doorknob, and the door was hanging slightly open. Al never would have noticed these things if he hadn't been examining the house, but once he had seen them, he was sure Havoc was there.
"Jean?" Al called softly, opening the door. "Jean, are you in here?"
The door opened into a dirty living room. No sign of Havoc. There weren't many places to hide, assuming Havoc wasn't up for shifting piles of wood or contorting behind a sofa, so Al moved on. There was a door at the back of the living room, leading into a dim space, and Al made his way back.
Al's heart was hammering by this point. He had a horrible fear that Havoc wouldn't be here. And if Havoc wasn't here, how was Al supposed to find him? There were so many houses, and who knew how much time….
But Al needn't have worried. As soon as he pushed the door open, the search was over. Havoc was lying sprawled on the ground, curved slightly inwards and looking very young. There was blood on the ground, on his shirt, on his hands and face. One hand was curled loosely around a syringe, and the sight made Al's body tense in an unexpected way.
Al knelt down beside him. "Jean?" he whispered. "Jean, can you hear me?"
No response, and no wonder. Up close, Havoc looked horrible. His face was pale, his skin dull and unhealthy looking. Al couldn't see much of Havoc's body - he was hidden by clothes that were tattered and way too big - but based on his face, it looked like he'd lost weight. There were hollows in his cheeks, and his eyes were sunken. It looked like he hadn't had a proper meal in weeks, not to mention a proper shower. If Al hadn't been able to see the rise and fall of Havoc's chest, he would have thought that he was dead.
"Oh Jean," Al whispered. "What happened to you?"
Al put a hand on Havoc's shoulder, meaning to roll him slightly so he could get a look at the stab wound. But to Al's surprise, as soon as his hand made contact, Havoc's eyes shot open.
"Hey, don't worry, it's just me," Al said, immediately moving in to comfort him. But Havoc didn't seem to recognize Al. Al wasn't even sure he knew that someone was there. His eyes bounced dizzily around the room, and he made a small whining sound, tucking himself in tighter around the wound in his stomach.
"I know that hurts," Al said gently. "But I need to take a look. I may be able to help you."
Havoc whimpered, and Al would like to think that was some sort of a response. Al gently took Havoc's shoulder again and guided him onto his back, trying to ignore the painful rasping sound his breath made when it caught in his throat. Al noticed that a little blood had leaked out of the side of Havoc's mouth. That didn't seem good at all, and Al decided not to think too much about that.
Gently, Al reached out and pulled at Havoc's tattered t-shirt. As soon as he touched the fabric, he found it sticky and stiff with blood, and Havoc inhaled sharply.
"I'm sorry," Al whispered, putting his other hand on Havoc's shoulder. It was partially to keep him still, and partially to let him know that someone else was here with him. He pulled at the t-shirt again, and it peeled away from his skin with an awful sort of ripping sound.
Havoc gasped, reaching out for Al's arm to stop him. Al braced himself, hoping that Jean wouldn't exert himself too much and lose even more of his strength, but Havoc's fingers barely closed around his wrist. There was no strength left in him to lose.
"Please, try to stay still," Al told him, letting go of his shoulder for a minute to take his hand and guide it back down by his side. Havoc's fingers twitched in his, and his hand felt bony and wrong. Al let go of him, and his fingers curled loosely by his side. He didn't seem to notice, instead watching Al with half-closed, frightened eyes.
It was difficult, but Al tore his attention away from Jean's face and returned to examining his wound. Now that the fabric was gone, he could see the full extent of the stab wound, and it was bad. The jagged wound itself wasn't that large, but it looked nasty, as if someone had plunged a knife into Jean's stomach and twisted. It looked very difficult to close, and more than that, it looked deep. It was impossible for Al to tell exactly how deep it was without actually getting his hands inside the wound, because blood was still gently welling out of the opening and joining the growing pool beneath Havoc.
Carefully, Al reached out, probing the edges of the wound and trying to determine exactly where it ended. There was a choking noise from Havoc, and he automatically recoiled beneath Al's hands.
"Jean-" Al looked up and froze as Havoc choked on a mouthful of blood that trickled down his chin and the sides of his face, staining his lips a rusty red. His eyes had lost most of the awareness they'd had when they first opened, now just a dull glaze of pain. He opened his mouth again, possibly trying to say something, but whatever words he'd had in mind were drowned by another small trickle of blood.
If Al didn't do something soon, Jean was going to die right here in front of him. He'd been hoping that he could move Havoc to the bed and begin bandaging his wound there, but now, he didn't even think that he could risk that. Havoc was losing more and more blood at every one of Al's attempts to touch the wound, and now, Al didn't think that just a simple first aid job was enough. Clearly, Havoc had suffered some kind of internal damage.
May was better at alkahestry than Al was. She'd been learning it since she was just a child, and Al had seen her close wounds so that not even a scar was left. Al knew he wasn't nearly so good at alkahestry. He'd never even tried to heal anything more than a small cut or bruise. That had always gone fine but…he knew that was nothing compared to this. This…he thought closing the wound in Havoc's stomach might be beyond even May.
But May wasn't here, and Al was. And the wound needed to be closed. If Al wanted to save Havoc, he was out of other options - he had to use alkahestry to stop the bleeding.
And it had to work.
Havoc hadn't been sure whether or not he was still high. He had laid on the floor for hours, feeling distant and limp, until the pain had started to come back. He wasn't keeping track of time very well, but he would have assumed he had a few more hours left of his high. Either it was wearing off faster and faster, or it wasn't enough to keep the pain at bay, and he wasn't sure which was worse.
It was around that time that Havoc had heard footsteps. That made him think that perhaps he'd just lost some time somewhere in there - there was no way Roy was less than a ten-hour journey from Havoc.
Havoc tried to open his eyes, arrange himself into a more comfortable position. It didn't really work. But Havoc just didn't want to look quite so bad when Roy first saw him. He didn't want Roy to be too worried.
And then, Havoc figured he must have been high the whole time, because he had clearly started hallucinating. Because instead of Roy entering the room, it was Alphonse.
That was impossible. No one but Roy knew where he was. So it must be…was it Roy in disguise? Had Havoc hallucinated that there was a person there, and he was alone after all? Was he dreaming?
This whole situation was impossible for Havoc to wrap his head around, but once Al started touching him, all of those thoughts were driven out of his head by a wash of pain. Havoc's skin was so sensitive that even just the gentlest touch felt raw and sharp. When Al turned him over to get a better look at the stab wound, the pain was so intense it nearly made Havoc black out. Havoc was almost glad he was so weak. If he'd had more strength, he was pretty sure he would have been screaming. As it was, all he could do was whimper.
"Jean?" Al asked gently. "Are you with me?"
Was Havoc with him? He wasn't sure. But he nodded slightly, trying to ignore the way that made his head seem to slosh. By the time he nodded, he'd already forgotten the question, but that seemed to be the right answer anyway. Al looked relieved.
"I need to try to close your wound. Otherwise, I'm worried you're going to bleed out. It…it might be kind of painful. But I'm just trying to help you, okay?"
Painful. Havoc was pretty sure that whatever Al was going to do to him, it couldn't be that much worse than what he was feeling now. His insides felt sort of slippery, and Havoc couldn't shake the feeling that if he moved wrong they might just all come sliding out. If whatever Al was going to do would stop that, Havoc didn't care how much it hurt.
"I'm sorry," Al said quietly, and Havoc braced himself as much as he could.
It was nowhere near enough. The first wave of pain hit him hard enough to blur his vision, and he found that he did have enough strength to scream as a ragged, horrifying sound tore its way out of his throat. The pain was unimaginable, worse than when Lust had stabbed him and Roy had burned the wounds shut.
His insides burned with white-hot pain, and Havoc screamed again, this time feeling blood come with it. He could feel pressure and searing pain against his organs, and it almost felt like Al had stuck his hands inside the wound and was doing something horrible inside his body.
When Havoc's vision blinked back into focus, that was exactly what was happening. Al's forearms were covered in blood (Havoc's blood), and one of his hands had disappeared into Havoc's stomach. And then the pain was mounting again and Jean was almost glad when it sent his vision into blackness.
Havoc had no idea how long Al worked on him. He didn't even know what exactly Al was doing. He could feel the blood pouring out of his mouth as he screamed himself hoarse. The screaming faded to whimpers as Al continued, and eventually even the whimpers gave way to silence. It was taking all his energy just to keep breathing, and he wanted to pass out but he was afraid that if he did, he wasn't going to wake up.
There was a final, mind-blowing blast of pain that left Havoc almost numb, and then he could hear Al saying something.
"Okay. Okay, I'm…I'm done. I'm sorry."
Whatever Al had wanted to tell him, Havoc wasn't going to be able to understand it, let alone respond. He was just too exhausted, and he could feel every nerve in his body vibrating with the pain of whatever Al had done. Al began to say something else as Havoc finally lost the battle and his mind went blank.
Al sat back, trying to ignore the sticky sound of his pants against the blood-soaked floor. Carefully, he wiped his hands, trying to aim for fabric that wasn't already covered in blood. He didn't have much luck, and mostly just smeared around the blood caked on his hands and fingers.
That had been…awful. Al was no stranger to blood and gore, but he'd never had to plunge his hands into a friend's abdominal cavity before either. Havoc had, horrifyingly enough, stayed conscious the entire time that Al was working on him, but he'd finally passed out right as Al had finished.
It had been horrible, but Al was pretty sure he'd just saved Havoc's life. May could usually close wounds without even a scar, or sometimes just a thin red line to mark where the injury had been. Al wasn't quite up to par with that. He was pretty sure he'd repaired most of the damage to Havoc's insides, but the wound itself looked less like a healed scar and more like a stab wound that was a few days old instead of a few hours old. And there was of course nothing Al could do about the amount of blood Havoc had lost, which was even worse considering how weak he was.
But if Al hadn't done anything, Havoc would have bled out, and if he hadn't bled out, he surely would have died of sepsis or something. Looking down at Havoc's pale, still body, it was hard to believe he'd done something good, but he knew he had at the very least bought them some time.
Now for the next part. Al wasn't intending to leave his friend lying on the floor, wearing filthy clothes and covered in his own blood. He needed to get Havoc bandaged, cleaned up, and taken care of. Ideally before Roy got there, so the General wouldn't worry too much.
First step - get Havoc on the bed. The bed was probably cleaner than the floor, and it would be more comfortable for Havoc. Al could work on him more easily too.
Al expected lifting Havoc to be more of a challenge. Al was strong, but not that strong, and while he had been pretty confident he could lift Havoc for the fraction of a second it took to get him on the bed, he hadn't expected it to be this easy. Havoc was a few inches taller than him, and broader as well. But now that he was really looking, Al didn't think he'd ever seen his friend this skinny. His fingers were bony, wrists thin, and when Al lifted him, he could feel the knobs of his ribs and spine even through his shirt.
Havoc didn't wake up at all when Al moved him, which was almost equally as concerning.
Once Havoc was lying on the bed, Al got to work cleaning and bandaging the wound. Havoc was so covered in blood that Al couldn't even be entirely sure the bleeding had stopped until he'd cleaned it off, but he was relieved to see that it had. The wound was easy enough to wash out and bandage, and once that was done everything looked much more manageable.
Al gave him a quick check, and aside from the stab wound, and the mass of scabs in the crook of Havoc's elbow, Havoc seemed mercifully uninjured. Al banadaged the track marks too - he was a little worried about how hot and swollen some of the marks seemed, and thought they might be getting infected. But he didn't think he had it in him to do another round of healing right now.
Havoc's head moved a little on the pillow, eyelashes fluttering against too-pale cheeks. Al noticed a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks that he hadn't seen before. Ordinarily, they must be too light to show up, but right now, it looked as though Havoc hadn't seen the sun in weeks.
Havoc shifted again with a small, wordless sigh, but his eyes didn't open. Al wasn't sure if he was waking up quite yet, or if he was just restless and in pain, but he began talking to him anyway.
"It's okay, Jean," Al said, trying to sound both tender and cheerful. It was hard. It was okay, or at least it would be, but Havoc just looked so small and broken lying there, and Al hardly believed his own words. "I'm just finishing up, trying to make you a little more comfortable for when you wake up."
As he talked, he removed the torn and bloody t-shirt that he'd found Havoc wearing. It was stiff with old blood, and so tattered that at this point, it was more hole than shirt. He managed to maneuver Havoc into a zip-up hoodie, so if Al needed to rebandage his wound, he wouldn't have to tear open another shirt. He switched out Havoc's too-large jeans for sweatpants as well. Al had brought a few changes of clothes with him, and although he'd expected them to be a bit too small on Havoc, they fit alarmingly well.
Al had pretty much finished everything he could think of and was fussing around with the unsatisfactory mattress when Havoc's eyes opened. Pinprick pupils swimming in a sea of blue locked onto Al, and it was immediately obvious that Jean was still high.
That was probably for the best. Al had done the best that he could, but he knew it hadn't exactly been gentle. Havoc had to be in a lot of pain, and the withdrawal would only make that worse. The longer that he could go without starting to feel like that, the better.
"Hey," Al said, smiling softly. "I'm glad to see you're awake. I'm sorry if you're in pain, but try not to worry too much. I fixed the internal damage from the stab wound, and I closed the wound itself as well as I could."
Havoc blinked at him a few times, and Al couldn't really tell whether or not he'd understood. Then, his gaze drifted down to his arm, and the neat bandages covering up the crook of his elbow.
Immediately, Jean's eyes snapped back to Al, and now the haze of pain was joined by something that Al recognized as guilt. Al winced. Should he have left the track marks alone? That wouldn't have helped, would it? At some point, Havoc would have realized that Al knew that he'd gotten addicted to Zydrate, and the longer Al tried to hide it, the worse that realization would have been.
Al didn't know what to say. He had no idea what had happened to Jean, but he'd clearly gone through hell. Al didn't want him to feel guilty, or embarrassed, or anything like that. All he wanted was for Jean to feel safe.
Havoc opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed to be having trouble forming words. Al waited patiently - he was pretty sure talking over Havoc wouldn't help at this point. He wanted to offer water, but he doubted Havoc would be able to take anything by mouth anyways.
"I'm…sorry," Havoc finally managed. It looked like the words hurt him.
"Oh, Jean, no," Al said. If it were Ed sounding like that, he probably would have smoothed down his hair. As it was, he just took a step closer to the bed. "We just want to help you get through this, the rest doesn't matter…."
"I wasn't sure what else to do," Havoc whispered, as if he hadn't even heard Al. The words were defensive, but his tone was horrifyingly flat. "They said they would kill me if I didn't try it. It woulda blown my cover. And I know they would have killed me."
Al swallowed hard, but tried not to let his reaction show on his face. Jean hadn't wanted to try the Zydrate? He'd been forced into it?
"They made you try it?" Al said. He thought he sounded strangled, but he was pretty sure Havoc was too high to notice. "And it hooked you?"
"Yeah, yeah," Havoc whispered, eyes bouncing dizzily around the room. "Didn't want to. But if my cover had been blown…they woulda killed me." He paused. "Hooked me right away."
Havoc was still high, and he was surely in enormous amounts of pain, and Al wasn't really sure how well he was following the conversation. But even when he was this out of it, it was still clear how much guilt he carried over what had happened to him.
Al couldn't believe he'd assumed Havoc had tried Zydrate of his own free will, on a job no less. He felt sick.
"It wasn't your fault, Jean," Al said gently. "It's really dangerous stuff. That's why we were trying to stop them in the first place."
"I know." Havoc's voice was getting somehow even quieter now, and his eyes had drifted closed. "I just should have…I don't know. I should have…."
"Jean-"
"I did it all wrong."
Havoc was getting the uncomfortable feeling that came right at the tailend of a high. He knew he wasn't withdrawing quite yet - he was familiar enough with all the stages of a dose to be sure. But he felt worn out, vaguely nauseous, and his skin felt itchy and too tight.
Those feelings took a backseat to the enormous guilt, so big he could hardly stand to think about it. Al was watching Havoc start to withdraw, and there was nothing Havoc could do. He hadn't meant for this when he'd called. He should have been able to do this on his own, and he hated himself for dragging Roy and Al into it.
Except that wasn't exactly true, because Havoc knew that there was no way he could have survived without Al's help, and he really didn't want to die. Mostly, he hated himself for getting into this situation in the first place.
He didn't really want to look at Al. Havoc knew that he'd fucked up, and he knew that he was asking Al for an insane amount without offering anything in return, and he didn't want to see the judgement (or worse, anger), on Al's face. But not knowing was worse, and Havoc had never been very good at self control. He chanced a glance up towards Al's face, his breath catching in his throat with a hiss. Al's eyes were wide and horrified, his hands shaking, and Havoc figured he probably deserved that but it was very, very hard to see.
Suddenly, it felt like the guilt might choke him. This was bad enough, but the knowledge that Roy was still coming and he would have to face the same look in Roy's eyes was making it much, much worse.
"I'm sorry, god, I'm so sorry," Havoc choked out, wondering if he was going to cry. He didn't want to, since that would be beyond mortifying, but he didn't think he had much control over that sort of thing right now. Either he would, or he wouldn't.
Al swallowed hard, then shook his head violently. "Don't apologize," Al forced out, sounding almost as upset as Havoc felt. "Please, don't apologize. You didn't have a choice. I'm…I'm so sorry this happened to you."
Now, Havoc was pretty sure that the look in Al's eyes was pity. Havoc didn't like that much either, but anything was better than the judgement he'd feared. At least pity meant that Al would probably still talk to him after this.
With a heavy sigh, Al dropped into a chair that had appeared beside the bed. Havoc tried to turn his head to follow him, but the Zydrate was still sapping his strength, and the blood he'd lost made it impossible to overcome it. Al must have realized that, because there was a scraping sound, and Al appeared in his field of view.
"Please don't talk like that," Al whispered, so soft that Havoc could hardly hear him. "I'm your friend, Jean. I'm here because I want to help you, no matter what. You don't need to…feel bad, or to pay me back, or anything like that."
Al's hand appeared on Havoc's wrist, and Havoc blinked at it in mild confusion. Al's words were kind, and it was nice of him to try, but they were just words. At this point, Havoc was asking for something that went way beyond the bonds of friendship.
"I-"
"It's okay, Jean," Al whispered. "Please just relax now. It's okay."
When Roy had been driving through the city, it hadn't been so bad. He'd had to concentrate on where to turn and keep pedestrians safe and not miss any signs. The country had been a little worse, but at least there were things to look at - little towns like the one where Edward had grown up, farms, trains.
But now, a little over four hours since Roy had left his bed, he was driving through the desert. And everything was so much worse.
There was nothing to look at this far from Amestris. The heat was too brutal for most plants or animals, and all Roy could really see was the road and a flat expanse of sand. There were no other cars. There was nothing at all to distract Roy, nothing to keep his mind off Havoc. And things were getting hard to manage.
Since Roy didn't have a phone in his car, he had already escaped his worst nightmare - having Jean call him and die while he was on the phone. He was pretty sure he couldn't survive that a second time - he would simply never pick up a phone again.
But it would be nearly as bad to drive all the way to Xing only to discover that Havoc had died. Assuming Al had made it, he at least wouldn't be the one to find Havoc's dead body. But that would mean that Al had been the one to find it, and Roy wouldn't wish that on anyone….
Roy realized he was shaking. When had that started? He couldn't have been shaking this whole time, right? He would have noticed.
Had his breathing sped up? Maybe he should stop for a second, calm down, get some air. But he was pretty sure the hot, stagnant air from the desert wasn't going to help any. He had water, but it wasn't for him, it was for Jean. He didn't want to drink it.
And worst, if he stopped, that put him that much farther away from Jean. That much more likely that he was never going to see his friend again. He…he couldn't do it.
Roy's breathing was coming in harsh gasps now, and the desert had started to blur in front of him. Roy had had enough panic attacks to recognize the signs, and if he didn't calm himself down now, he was less than a minute from hyperventilating. But that was easier said then done, especially without Riza here, and he couldn't remember what he was supposed to do.
He had to keep driving. He had to keep driving.
Havoc wouldn't be like Hughes. He wouldn't see his crumpled and bleeding body in the phone booth he'd used to call Roy. Havoc would be fine. Roy just couldn't stop. If he didn't stop, this time, he would be in time to save his friend.
Roy slammed on the brakes as his breathing caught in his chest and his head started swimming. The car skidded to a stop, and the smell of burning rubber wafted through the windows and ruined any chance Roy had at regaining some semblance of control.
Fumbling at the door, Roy wrenched it open and half-climbed, half-fell onto the scorching asphalt. Bits of gravel bit into the heels of his hands and his knees, and ordinarily something like that might have grounded him, but this time it didn't help at all.
Harsh gasps shuddered in and out of his chest, delivering little oxygen, and Roy threw up onto the side of the road. His stomach spasmed and seized, and he saw Havoc's frightened eyes dimming as he lay in a pool of blood and the image was that much worse for having seen it before. He closed his eyes, but Havoc just gave way to a lonely phone booth streaked with dried blood and all of a sudden Roy was throwing up again.
Bile seared its way into his nose and mouth, and Roy still couldn't catch enough breath to think straight. He was getting dizzy, and the hot air wasn't helping, and he didn't know if he could pull himself together.
Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop- Except he had stopped, and now he couldn't get back up, and Jean was going to die and it was all because Roy had failed again.
An unfamiliar sound filled his ears, and it took him a moment, but Roy eventually realized he was crying. Hot tears fell on the backs of his hands, and each heavy exhale was accompanied by a sob, and none of this was helping him get up and keep going. He should be stronger than this, he knew that. He should never have let this happen again, and it had, and Roy couldn't fucking breathe.
Roy reached a hand out, trying to grab the side of the car. Maybe if he could get himself upright, the rest would sort itself out from there, and he could keep going. But as he raised himself onto his knees, the world dipped around him, and for a moment he was sure he was going to pass out.
If he fainted here, in the desert, there was no way he would make it to Havoc in time.
Gracelessly, Roy fell back into a sitting position, leaning against the wheel of his car. He opened his eyes, forcing them to focus on the white lines of the road, and did his best to simply breathe.
He didn't know how long it took - too long, certainly - but eventually, Roy's breathing slowed into something manageable and his vision cleared. He'd fallen badly behind, but if he stopped to think about that, it would probably trigger another panic attack.
Roy hadn't turned the car off, so he didn't have to start it back up. He just guided it off the shoulder and back onto the road, wishing he could drive faster, wishing this drive could be over.
He told himself he would make it in time. Over and over, he told himself he would make it on time. Even when he stopped believing it.
Havoc didn't think he was high anymore. It could be a little hard to tell, sometimes, where one state of being ended and the next began. But he was pretty confident he was in that liminal space between being high and starting to withdraw, and with every second it was slipping through his fingers.
He'd noticed the pain in his gut first - less immediate than he'd expected, but still sharp and horrible. But that wasn't all. He could feel the first prickles of withdrawal starting - a vague itchiness, a slight nausea. Havoc knew that would just get worse and worse, until he wanted to crawl out of himself and leave this world behind.
He sighed, even though it hurt. He was in for a long few days. If he survived, it would be awfully painful. If the stab wound and the withdrawal killed him…well, that would be painful too.
But he was alive for now. And he didn't have to take Zydrate, not ever again. He had escaped, and he was with Al, and soon he would be with Roy too.
"Can I get you anything?" Al asked. "Maybe something to eat?"
Havoc shook his head reflexively.
"Come on, it's been days since you've had a real meal."
Havoc considered. Honestly, "days" probably didn't quite cover it - it's not like he'd been fed well while he was infiltrating the drug ring, and the Zydrate had kind of killed his appetite anyways. But he didn't think he could bring himself to eat right now, so he shook his head again.
"Sorry, Al," he said. His voice was alarmingly weak still, but at least he could form complete sentences. "Not hungry yet."
"What about some water?"
"Um-" Havoc's mouth was dry, and water did sound good. But he was pretty sure drinking would involve sitting up, and that sounded untenable at the moment. "I don't think so. Sorry."
A small furrow appeared in Al's brow. "Well, is there anything else you need? Anything I can get you?"
Havoc shook his head again, letting his eyes drift closed. He wondered if he could fall asleep now, and stay asleep through the worst of the withdrawal.
"Are you sure?" Al asked again, and he sounded disappointed. Havoc wrenched his eyes back open, and Al was frowning. "I just want to make sure you're comfortable…."
The last thing Havoc wanted to do was to make Al upset. He knew that Al was just trying to help him, and probably, if Al wanted him to eat, then Havoc should be eating. He clearly had no idea what was good for him anymore, and he trusted Al.
More than that, he owed Al, and he didn't want to make this whole nightmare any harder for his friends than it was already guaranteed to be. Havoc grimaced, trying to decide if he could stomach anything. Unfortunately, even the thought of using enough muscles to drink water made him feel physically ill. He was nauseous - he could tell that even through the pain. If he put anything in his stomach, he was going to throw up, and that would tear his wound open again, and then he'd be putting more work on Al anyway.
Besides, it might very well kill him. As much as he wanted to, Havoc couldn't risk it. Mournfully, he shook his head.
"I'm real sorry, Al. I wish I could, it's just, I feel really sick and I don't think I'm gonna be able to keep anything down…."
"No, no, that's okay," Al said, patting the air with his hands in a calming sort of gesture. "I'm just worried about you, that's all."
Havoc blinked at him. Al was worried, that was nice, he supposed. Still, he was so scattered right now that he couldn't decide if that was good or bad, if he should be ashamed, or grateful, or guilty. Maybe all of them at the same time?
"I'll try again later," Havoc offered tentatively, trying for a smile. He didn't think it worked very well, but hopefully the thought would count.
"That's okay," Al said again, sounding even more upset than before. "Just…wait until you're ready, okay?"
"Okay," Havoc said softly, cursing his empty stomach and his tattered abdomen. He closed his eyes, hoping once again for sleep.
