(A/Ns: asfakdhfghakgjh 3 weeks eh? ok so firstly, for those who aren't a british lil fucker like me, fag = cigarette. also, how'd you like my first attempt at a parallel narrative? xD Vincent marking Oz's essays is 100% my lit teacher when she marked my essays. haha, sorry miss. i was a terrible student anYWAY. i wont be posting chapter 14 until the beginning of January bc ch14 is a really depressing one and i just don't think it's right to post it at Christmas.

please drop a review afterwards if you can!

content warnings: drug withdrawal, vomiting, diarrhea, it's not pretty, smoking, cigarette withdrawal, swearing, violence, mentions of death, references to eating disorders, homophobia, drug addiction.

disclaimer: i do not own Pandora Hearts)

Chapter 13

When Elliot woke up the next morning, it was precisely 9am.

But not for a single second did he stop to question where he was. He was a little groggy, sure, and his back was in agony after having slept upright in a chair the entire night, but in terms of questioning where he was or why he was there, the thought didn't even cross his mind.

It was attempt number two. And he was determined they'd succeed this time.

Once his vision was no longer hazy from just waking up, he stretched, and glanced over to Leo.

Leo was still asleep, buried in a mountain of blankets. A mountain of blankets which appeared to be trembling already – discreetly, but noticeably.

The overdose had occurred at approximately 1pm the previous day, he guessed, and so the methadone was likely beginning to wear off now. How irritable Leo would be when he woke up, he was unsure. And Elliot was also unsure of whether he actually wanted to find out.

For now, however, he opted to stand up, and find the bathroom in this place. Waiting for Leo to wake up may have been a good idea, but ultimately, the fullness of his bladder took priority.

Sure enough, by the time he returned, Leo was awake.

He didn't say anything when Elliot walked straight back into the room, either. He didn't even flinch. Rather, he seemed distracted by something, his focus devoted entirely to one single thought, which left his awareness of his external environment restricted to a single gaze, locked on the floor, so it appeared.

"Good morning," Elliot said, partially sarcastically, but also in a genuine attempt to save the other from his trance.

Leo didn't move a single muscle, as he grunted. "What?"

"Nothing from me…" Elliot murmured idly, standing at the window; his back hurt too much for him to sit back down in that godforsaken chair. "Tch, what are you looking at?"

"Nothing," Leo replied, his tone hostile. Eyebrows furrowing, his gaze didn't avert from the floor, but instead sharpened. "Shit. I don't have any cigarettes."

Of course, Elliot deadpanned mentally, biting back the urge to speak his inner voice. "Well… ok?"

With an irritated huff, Leo collapsed back in the bed, inhaling deeply through pursed lips, before his gaze turned towards Elliot – his gaze, which was now noticeably sheepish. "If I send you back to my house, and asked you to bring the cigarettes, would you say yes?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Well first of all, I imagine I need a key to get into your house," Elliot said bluntly. "Secondly, I don't know where your cigarettes are, or what to pick up. And thirdly, you can't smoke anywhere in this hospital anyway, and I wouldn't be surprised if my father changed all the passwords and formally removed me as his child on this hospitals' files. So, no, I would not."

"They're on my desk…" Leo sulked. "Everything is in my room. Apart from to buy drugs and shower like, once, I didn't leave my room for two weeks. And I just smoked in there."

Elliot blinked at him, trying not to seem judgemental but ultimately coming off as just that. "You didn't leave at all? Not even to eat or use the bathroom?"

The fleeting glance which Leo responded with told Elliot he should not be questioning that. "You heard me."

"… right…" he said, slightly at loss for words. "Well… I don't really know what else to suggest…"

"Think of something. I will go crazy in this shithole if I can't smoke one way or another," Leo grumbled under his breath, exaggeratingly rolling his eyes when the door opened. "Great, they're back."

Internally, Elliot sighed, bracing himself for whatever verbal abuse Leo would deliver to the nurses this time.

"Good morning Leo," one of them greeted, smiling at him.

"Why does everyone keep saying that to me?" Leo said in disgust, turning over, leaving his back to the two nurses. "There is absolutely nothing good about this morning."

The two nurses exchanged concerned glances. "Are there any symptoms yet?"

"Not really," Leo answered reluctantly. "Just congestion. And my head hurts like shit."

"Oh… well, is there another issue?"

For some reason, Leo didn't respond to that. Rather, sulkily, he eyed Elliot, conveying a very brief message. A message which the other got, somehow.

Rolling his eyes, Elliot replied for him. He couldn't believe he was having to do this. "He needs to smoke. Is there any possible way you can help?"

"Um, well…" Another uneasy glance. "We encourage all patients to quit whilst they're here, and do give out e-cigarettes, but um... this is the paediatric unit, and since you're under 18, we can't give you anything, unfortunately."

"Well I'm not going to quit, am I?" Leo grunted. "Fine. Now get out."

Hastily, the two nurses shuffled out the room. Elliot felt genuinely bad for them; they had a job to do, and that was to help Leo. And Leo seemed to be going out of his way to ensure they did everything but help him.

"Shit," Leo hissed once again, flipping onto his back and instantly wincing. "I'm going to die in this place."

"I hardly think you'll die because you can't have a fag," Elliot deadpanned, earning him a bitter glare. "Fine. What do you want?"

"Hm… buy me cigarettes."

"Not happening."

"Fine, just…" He groaned. "Get something to stop me from dying. I don't care what."

Against his will, Elliot obliged, grabbing his belongings and storming out the door without another word.

And on the way out, he really had to stop and question if he was even ready to do this all again.

Unsure of where else to go, Elliot simply decided to go to their college.

Because of the prestige of the academy, all teachers were required to work six days a week, from around 10 or 11am to 5pm. And given everything he'd learnt recently, the only person Elliot could think of who give him reliable advice was their Chemistry teacher, Break. Plus, he might as well give him an update whilst he was there.

And, hopefully, he'd find out how Break had even heard about the overdose yesterday.

Sure enough, by the time he'd reached the school, Break was already there, seated on the chair of his desk with his legs kicked up beside the computer, and marking a considerably large pile of test papers. Along with him was Reim, Elliot's tutor, who taught History.

It was well-known among the students that Break and Reim were good friends, so it didn't surprise him all that much that they spent their Saturdays together.

Still, though, when Elliot had serious, confidential matters to attend, Reim's presence was a little inconvenient.

Tentatively, he approached his classroom, but before he could even knock on the open door, Break spotted him. "Ah, Elliot~! What brings you here today, hm~?"

"I had some things to ask about, um, regarding yesterday…" Elliot started diffidently, making his way into the room. When Reim spotted him, he smiled, and Elliot felt mean trying to get rid of him. "Uh, good morning, sir…"

Wordlessly, Reim nodded. An awkward silence then proceeded to hang over them for at least thirty seconds, before he finally got the hint. "Oh! T-This is confidential?"

"My, my, maybe you aren't so clueless~" Break snickered teasingly, placing the pen down. "But, ah, I'm afraid it is. Why don't you run down to the staff room and grab a refill of tea for me, hm?"

Irritated, the brunette rolled his eyes, but nevertheless still stood up, grabbed the empty cup from the fellow teacher's hand, and stormed off out the classroom.

Once they were alone, just to be sure, Elliot spun on his heel, and closed to the door. "So, he's uh… he's alive."

"A good start indeed~" Break chuckled. But the sincerity from yesterday, and the time before that, quickly returned. "How is he doing?"

"A little shaken, but he's… he's doing okay, so far…" Elliot said, unsure in his own words. "But he um… he sent me away to find something to help him with the… the nicotine withdrawal. Do you have any idea what I can get?"

"Hm…" Break hummed in thought, and then leant forward, and opened his drawer. Inside the drawer was a mass of contents, with no organisation to any of it. Shuffling everything around for a few moments, he pulled out a black cylindrical object, along with a few extra pieces, and a screwdriver. "If I can fix this, he can have it."

Elliot stared blankly at him. "What even is it?"

"I shouldn't reaaaally be giving it to you, but it's an e-cigarette. I'd imagine I have a vape juice with nicotine somewhere amongst that mess," Break chuckled, his gaze flitting between Elliot and the drawer. "It's a little guilty pleasure, I must confess, but I do still vape once or twice a week. Ah, but you mustn't tell your brother that~"

"Oh… ok…" Elliot said unsurely. "Well… thanks, I guess?"

Break simply nodded, fiddling with the pieces. Silence intercepted their conversation, as he continued attempting to fix it, before asking rather ambiguously, "Is there anything else you wished to tell me?"

"Well… I found out about his history with the… the medication…" Elliot started hesitantly. "He was in a car crash when he was 12, I think, and then he was… prescribed them for back injuries. And, yeah, it just… went from there. He kept… moving the dose up."

"Interesting…" Break hummed, his attention seemingly stolen by the task at hand. Right when Elliot thought that, however, he turned around to him, initiating eye contact. "Did he tell you anything else?"

"Not really…" Elliot answered. Then, the one question he had resting on his tongue since yesterday came straight back to his consciousness, and he had to ask it. "H-How did you know about the… the overdose yesterday? Who… told you, fully?"

"Ah, I assumed you'd ask that," Break said. Satisfied with himself, he quickly fitting a new receptacle of vape juice in the e-cigarette, before handing it to Elliot, and continuing. "Levi."

"… what?"

Break, leaning his elbows on his desk, glanced up at Elliot. "He was there, remember? I know I shouldn't mention this, but when it happened, I had a long discussion with him about your deputy head." He paused, a very suspicious smile donning his lips. "Do you recognise his surname?"

For a few seconds, Elliot stared blankly into space, searching through his memories. He'd never asked Leo, but surely he'd seen his work folders or something at some point.

Yes. Yes he had. "His surname is… Baskerville, right?"

Only then did it click.

"That's… the deputy's surname as well?" The look on Elliot's face returned to clueless. "Um… are they…?"

"Not blood related, no," Break answered. "Levi explained how Oswald was Leo's father's brother, so his uncle. He doesn't see him much, particularly after Leo's father died. They don't get along at all. Leo's mother often looks to him for help, but alas, there's little Oswald will do. He's so disapproving of his attitude towards his mother than he barely acknowledges Leo as his nephew. A sad case, really. But when Leo's mother told Oswald and Oswald told Levi, Levi decided to come to me and ask about you and Leo's relationship."

"Wait… you knew about his father's death?!"

"Yes, but rest assured, I did not know about the prescription," Break said, attempting to calm the other down. "His uncle was the one who suspected he was doing drugs. It's a surprise he even let him into the school knowing what he's like."

"Oh…" Elliot murmured. "I can't believe I didn't notice they had… the same surname."

"Mhm, yes. I'll admit I did think it was strange~" Break chimed. "Is that all?"

"Um, yeah…" Elliot turned towards the door, opened it, and pocketed the e-cigarette. "Thanks for the vape, and… everything, I guess. I'll… give you an update on Monday."

"Take care~" Break waved him off.

Those were the words of a true blessing, Elliot noted. A blessing which, unfortunately, was easier said that done, when the last time Elliot tried to take care of himself ended in a relapse and their entire relationship almost being ruined forever.

Hastily, he stormed back down the English corridor, figuring it was an easier way of getting out of the school than through the main entrance again.

When the echo of two very familiar voices reverberated through the corridor, however, from only a few classrooms up, Elliot immediately halted in his tracks. And his blood ran cold.

"Ah, well that essay was terrible. Who's next… ah! Oz's. Hm… he's a bit of hit-and-miss, really."

"Vince, I'm… really not sure you should saying those sorts of things about your students…"

Those voices being the ones which belonged to Gilbert and Vincent, his older adoptive brothers, and his Maths and Literature teachers respectively.

Did they know about anything which was going on? Had their father told them? Or did they have absolutely no clue about any of it?

Instead of risking walking past the classroom and being seen, Elliot simply stayed where he was, listening in on their conversation despite knowing he had no right to be hearing any of it.

"Ah… this doesn't make much sense. His paragraph structuring is very impressive, but his analysis is lacklustre. His views on things are too idealistic. See here, he's attempted to compare the symbolism of flowers to the character's speech connotations, however it is overly romanticised. A fair argument, but terribly written."

"Vince, I'm sure he tried his best-"

"Their first exams are in a few months. Gil, please understand that I wish for all my students to do the best they possibly can. Ah, not all, at least, but most."

"… right."

"But here, you see, he's done it again. He's attempted to make a link between context and language choice but with no real reference to the author's intentions."

Elliot frowned; Vincent had always been a harsh marker, but he wouldn't dream of hearing what he had to say about his work.

Snapping himself out of his trance, he forced his legs to carry himself down the rest of the corridor. He really shouldn't have been listening to their conversation. His head kept down, he hastily headed towards the door, praying he wouldn't be-

"Elliot? What are you…?"

Shit.

Of course. Of course Gilbert had see him. The door was wide open. How could he have not seen him?

"Huh?" Elliot feigned cluelessness, stepping a little closer to the classroom and leaning on the door frame.

"Elliot, I think Gil is asking why you're at school on a Saturday," Vincent said, shooting Elliot a questioning expression. Questioning, and unreadable.

"In a way, yeah…" Gilbert muttered, a little put off by his brother's interjection, it seemed. "And… you're in your uniform?"

"Um, y-yeah…" Elliot stammered. No. There was no way he could tell Gilbert and Vincent about last night. They didn't live with their family anymore. They deserved no part of this drama.

Besides, even thinking about the events of yesterday to form a coherent recall made his chest hurt.

A lie. Yes. He'd just have to make something up.

"Elliot? Is… everything okay?" Gilbert asked, hesitantly placing the pen down. "You just seem… really distant."

"I-I'm fine, really," he stammered, his voice cracking. His chest tightened. He had to leave, or otherwise he would break down, right then and there. He hated feeling so wretched, but the fact was he did. That was how he felt and there was clearly no way of getting around that, no matter how pathetic he was. "I, uh, just… got into an argument with my- our father last night, and I… was thrown out?"

"Holy crap, Elliot, what happened?" Gilbert seemed unable to say anything else, his mouth dropping open.

"I-It doesn't matter!" Elliot yelled, losing his temper. Clenching his fits, he turned on his heel, and stormed down the corridor.

Gilbert attempted to call after him, but failed. Then, clueless, he turned to Vincent for an explanation. "W-What do you think happened?"

Vincent's eyebrows furrowed, a frown forming across his face. The sinister, unsettling smile which usually donned his lips had totally disappeared, the glare narrowing at the floor being even more disconcerting.

"I don't know. But that scum he calls a father must be at fault."

Since they'd been taken into the Nightray family, Vincent had always hated their father. He hated his guts. He hated every part of him and his beliefs, including how he'd treated Gilbert and him, and none of that had ever changed.

"For Elliot's sake," Vincent continued, his tone teetering on the edge of aggressive. "We should confront him."

"Vince, I really don't think that will help."

"Of course it will," the blonde countered, dropping the pen and standing up, kicking the chair aside and striding out of the room.

Gilbert facepalmed, before reluctantly, he stood up, logged off the computer, and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. Ultimately, he didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

If Vincent wanted this confrontation, then nothing – absolutely nothing – was going to get in his way.

By the time Elliot returned to the hospital, it was almost half past 11.

He was still panicking over the encounter with his brothers. His hands trembled and this heart thumped within his chest every time the thought made its way back into his mind. What if Gilbert and Vincent had been told something? What if they were just tasked with finding out where he was?

No. Vincent vocally hated their father. He wouldn't be working with him.

But what if they asked Break? Would Break tell them what happened with Leo? Or had they already been told?

Elliot sighed, and forced his thoughts to a halt. He was already getting another headache, and he still had another two days of withdrawals to go through with Leo after this.

Great.

But after this, where would he even go? He didn't exactly have a home which he was welcome in.

… perhaps he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

Leo's mood hadn't improved much over the last hour, evidently. When Elliot returned, he found him propped up in the bed, hooked up to the IV, with a bowl of cereal. He wasn't eating it, though. Instead, he was idly stirring it with the spoon.

"What took you so long?" he grunted, glancing up at Elliot, blatantly unimpressed and slightly pissed off.

"I went to the school…" Elliot answered tentatively, wandering over and standing at the side of his bed. "I had to get the train. Is that a problem?"

"Yes," Leo said bluntly, screwing his face up in utter disgust at a mere bowl of cereal. The hand which held the spoon shook, but he seemed unwillingly to acknowledge that. "The nurses keep hooking me up to random shit."

"Well… did they tell you what?"

"Aspirin, and something else," he answered, dumping the cereal on the small table beside the bed. "This is disgusting. I can't eat right now without making myself sick afterwards."

For a brief moment, Elliot had to stop and consider whether the other had developed a minor eating disorder in the process of his addiction as well. For one, he refused to eat if he wasn't able to throw it up at some point, but hopefully that was just a physical thing. He couldn't be dealing with that as well.

"What did you get?"

"The best I could," Elliot said, handing Leo the vape pen and avoiding his perplexed and somewhat irritated gaze. "I got it from Break. At least you can use it here. Just… be quick. You shouldn't have it."

"Hardly the best you could do…" Leo muttered under his breath as he took the e-cigarette nonetheless, inspecting it with great attention to detail. "But thanks anyway."

"Cheers for the gratitude," Elliot deadpanned. "Just… open a window."

"Alright, alright." Leo threw his arms up, fiddling with the IV for a few moments, before unhooking himself from it, and staggering over to the window. His movements were strained, and Elliot didn't miss how he winced whenever his back arched.

Without a second of hesitation, he cracked the window open, just slightly, before attempting to use the vape. Elliot couldn't see his face, but the smoky-coloured vapour was enough to mesmerise him, capturing his attention as it drifted out of the window.

The way he shook, however, continued to send a shudder through him, stimulating a stirring sensation of dread in the pit of his stomach. He was struggling; Elliot could just tell. Why wasn't he saying so?

Why did he ask for help when it was right in front of him?

Regardless, in a few hours, they would be starting everything all over again, and yet, really, neither of them was ready in the slightest.

"Ah, Gil. It's been a while since we came here, hasn't it?"

Gilbert swallowed thickly, nodding in agreement with his brother as they pulled up to the Nightray estate. Of course, the automatic gate recognised his number plate, granting them entry to the house, but it seemed so much bigger than when they last came.

Beside him, Vincent sat in more or less total silence, speaking the odd, out of context few words occasionally, but saying nothing else. His expression totally indecipherable, and Gilbert couldn't even begin to decode his intentions.

"Please watch what you say, Vince," Gilbert warned, as he parked the car in front of the porch; they wouldn't be there long. Vincent's arguments were always volatile, sure, but concise as well. This would be a nasty encounter – Vincent would, for some reason, defend Elliot almost as much as he'd defend Gilbert – but it would thankfully be over quite quickly. He hoped, at least.

"Do not worry about me, Gil. I know what I have to say," Vincent smiled at him. However, that particular smile was forced. He knew that. "Depending on the severity of what he did, that is."

Inhaling a deep breath, Gilbert followed Vincent out of the car and up towards the porch. It was better to get this over and done with, he thought. Hoped.

The servants recognised them instantly, to no surprise. Vincent, however, had always hated them, giving them blunt looks of contempt before summoning Bernard. He was always home on Saturdays, unless they were at a fundraiser.

Within five minutes, he arrived, locking a suspicious gaze on Gilbert and Vincent. Gilbert stared at him nonchalantly, but his façade was admittedly breaking; they'd never considered him very close as a father, but he did intimidate them. Well, not Vincent. Vincent was, once again, smiling at him, but forcefully. Threateningly.

Bernard definitely saw through it, but in response, nonetheless, he still proceeded to smile at the two. "Gilbert, Vincent. It has been a while since you last showed you face here."

"It has, hasn't it, father?" Vincent said, his words teetering on passive aggressive.

"I would invite you for a drink, however I do believe you ought to be at work right now."

"That is okay. This was not a social event," Vincent said, the disturbing smile spread across his lips still. "I believe we ought to take this to somewhere more private."

Eyes narrowed suspiciously at the blonde, Bernard reluctantly obliged, dismissing the offers of help from the servants and leading the two into his office. Books covered the walls, untouched, but practically flaunting his knowledge and status.

"What brings you here?" he said, quietly, as he closed the door behind him and proceeded to sit at his desk.

"We came to ask about your son," Vincent spat, but despite the biting edge of clear and blatant disgust and disdain in his words, he still wore a smile. "Elliot. Why did you throw him out?"

With a heavy, lethargic sigh, Bernard gestured to the two seats in front of him. "I expected you to ask about this sooner or later. Sit."

Gilbert edged forward to obey, but Vincent halted him, grabbing his arm and squeezing. Then, with his smile directed at Bernard, the disapproving bitterness radiating from his presence, he spoke. "I think we'll stand."

"Very well," Bernard sighed. With his hands cupped together on the table, he avoided Vincent's interrogative glare, as he aimed his focus at the floor, and spoke with unreadable intonation. "It is only temporary, until he come to terms with himself."

"Well…" Gilbert spoke this time, cautious in his words. "What happened?"

"Yesterday, Vanessa and I caught him having stayed after school without permission, at the hospital. The public hospital. He was with a student – one of your students – in a prohibited area, having homosexual relations. And according to him, he is 'gay'. Hence, he has been told not to set foot in this house until he realises how immature he is being."

Silence lingered.

The two, utterly mystified, shot confused and puzzled glances at each other, unable to produce any words. That smile, however, still stretched across Vincent's lips, made Gilbert's stomach turn, to the point where he didn't want to reply.

"You are joking, correct?" Vincent snarled, derisively. "I do apologise, but if you have thrown your son out of your home for being gay, I'm afraid my respect for you may have just disappeared in an instant."

"Watch your tongue, boy. You have no right to tell me how to parent my own children. You are my child," he said sternly, glaring solidly at Vincent. "Elliot will come to terms with himself eventually. This phase means nothing in his life."

"You are disgusting." Vincent's smile promptly died, being replaced by a nasty, repulsed expression of disrespect. "Tell me, father, how can someone so esteemed as yourself be so ignorant, and naive towards your own son?"

"My son is not gay. That is simply fact. I did not raise him to conform to such an absurd social construct."

"Ah, so you think it's a choice?" Narrowing his eyes at him, Vincent continued, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. "How about I tell you something? Do you remember that business man, a few months ago, who you considered your rival? Ah, and you tasked me with obtaining information, correct?"

"Where are you going with this?" Bernard interrogated, transparently unimpressed.

"Well, you always wanted to know how I got that information. Do you want to know?" Vincent's words shifted to nothing short of disturbing. "I slept with him. There. Am I no longer your son? Or would disowning the adopted kid hurt your reputation?"

From beside him, Gilbert cocked an eyebrow, trying to find the relevance in his revelation. He felt constricted to silence, unable to speak his opinion, and voice how wrong all of this was.

"That is different! You have no clue what you are talking about!"

"Oh, really? I don't see how this is different. Your perception is equally as fucked up, regardless of context," Vincent spat. "You're ill-informed. Elliot deserves better than you as a father! You don't even get to call yourself a father, and by no means are you my father."

"You will watch what you're saying this instant! Keep in mind who you are speaking to! Are those drugs you're taking messing with your rationality? Learn your place, boy."

"Disgusting. Repulsive. You're nothing but scum," Vincent snarled again, spinning on his heel. He wouldn't show it, but Gilbert could tell that last comment had crossed the line. He'd taken it personally. Storming towards the door, Vincent didn't turn back to face Bernard until delicately trembling fingers wrapped around the glass of water at the door, and then launched it at him. The glass shattered against the table, their so-called father visibly fuming. Vincent, however, wasn't done. "You should be ashamed of yourself. Your son is struggling with something you're too privileged to know anything about. He'll be better off away from this place anyway."

With that, he left, slamming the door behind him so hard that the room shook.

"Sir, I-I don't want to cause trouble for you," Gilbert stammered, but shot a weak glare at him nonetheless. "But you shouldn't have brought the medication into this. This is about Elliot, not Vince."

"Do not tell me what to do, young man," Bernard said firmly. "I think you as well need to learn your place within this household. Leave at once."

Willingly, without another word, Gilbert left. His heart physically hurt. He couldn't stand to be in there for another second.

When he got out, he spotted Vincent straight away, already in the car. His gaze was terrifying, to be blunt. His attention appeared to be isolated to nothing but hate, and Gilbert didn't dare to utter a single word as he climbed into the car, rolled down the windows, and lit a cigarette.

"So… what are we going to do?" Gilbert questioned cautiously, pulling out of the driveway as fast as he could. "He can't just stay at the hospital."

"Ah, Gil. There's only one thing we can do," Vincent said. A shudder surged through the other when he spoke, his tone downright concerning. "We have to take him in."

"Yeah, a-alright…" Gilbert nodded. Evidently, he was not as confident in his own words as he would've liked to be. "We… we can make this work."

With yet another miracle and a half, Leo made it to 24 hours.

However, around 1pm, neither him or Elliot having spoken to each other since his earlier endeavour, he was really reaching his limit.

Not saying a word about it, he'd spent the last hour tossing and turning; sweating and shaking. Elliot, reading the textbook at the side of the room also in silence, couldn't tear his eyes away from him, worry stirring at the pit of his stomach. Why couldn't he just ask for help?

His eyes averting to Leo once again, Elliot lost all concentration on the textbook, watching the other breath in sharply, lay completely motionless for a few moments, and then turn onto his back. With his eyes screwed shut behind the glasses he had refused to take off, he placed an arm over his forehead, exhaling deeply.

Elliot held his breath until Leo spoke. "Elliot?"

"Hm?" He pretended to be surprised, but really, he was certain he knew what would be asked.

"What… exactly am I supposed to use as a bathroom in this place?"

Hastily, Elliot placed the textbook down, scanning the room whilst trying not to panic. Sure, he'd expected that question, but found he had no suitable answer once confronted with it. To no surprise, the nurses still had Leo hooked up to the IV, feeding him a constant stream of painkillers to supposedly help the back pain, and fluids to prevent dehydration. None of it was helping, obviously. "Well… w-what kind of, um, bathroom do you need?"

"I'm not sure yet," Leo said uneasily, visibly grimacing. Then, with another panicked, shaky exhale, he added, "Please get someone quickly."

"O-Ok," Elliot stuttered, shooting out of the chair and hurriedly proceeding out the room. Fortunately, two of the nurses he'd assumed were on shift were standing directly outside the corridor, chatting idly.

The moment he rushed over, however, they instantly turned their attention to him, exchanging worried glances. "Is there a problem?"

"Yeah, the uh, the patient feels sick, I think?" he said, unsure. "I don't know."

"Okay, w-we'll speak to him," they said, shuffling into the room. "Would you mind waiting outside, please? For privacy."

"Oh, of course…" Elliot reluctantly obliged. Briefly, however, it did cross his mind that there probably wasn't anything he hadn't seen, and that Leo most likely would've preferred him there. But he respected the nurses, and didn't feel like he was really in the position to protest.

He couldn't decipher what they were saying once the door had closed, but it sounded distinctly frantic. Then, about a minute later, they slipped out the door, leaving Leo alone, for privacy.

Elliot wanted to ask what was wrong, despite knowing he wasn't in the place to ask. The way the nurses likely saw it, this was a matter of privacy, and therefore would stay confidential.

"Excuse me," One of them spoke up, snatching Elliot's attention from his thoughts. "I don't mean to sound rude, but I feel like I recognise you from somewhere."

Are you joking? Elliot mentally facepalmed. I am never setting foot in a hospital ever again. "Uh, well, my father is the, er, head of the Nightrays?" he answered, unwillingly to speak much of his father. The father who had sort of disowned him. 'Father'.

"Ah, that must be it," they smiled, respectfully leaving him to himself.

It took at least five minutes before the two nurses' idle, quiet, whispered conversation came to its natural end, at which point they hesitantly knocked on the door again, and re-entered after receiving no response. Elliot was, sure enough, not allowed back in until they wandered back into the corridor, carrying what seemed to be a cleaning bag.

When he returned, Leo was already back in the bed, shaking under the covers as if nothing had just happened.

"What was it?" Elliot asked, awkwardly sitting back down on the chair.

"Well it wasn't puking, let's just say that," Leo grunted, his back pointedly to Elliot. "That was undoubtably the most humiliating thing I have ever had to do."

"What happens next time?" he said, unquestionably under the assumption that there would be a next time.

"There's disposable buckets over there," Leo murmured, his face pressed to the pillow. "And they've hooked me up to something, I don't remember. Probably Imodium."

Elliot chose to remain silent, picking the textbook back up and 'revising'.

"Fuck," Leo cursed audibly, tossing and turning and trembling repeatedly. "I can't even sleep this time."

"How… um, how is your back?"

"This is not the worst stage, but it already feels like someone took a hammer to it." Leo sighed out loud, and rotated himself once again. "This shithole reminds me of when we first came here…"

As usual, Elliot couldn't think of a suitable response, simply lowering his head to the floor out of pity for the other, whilst trying not to remember or think about what the "worst stage" was really like.

Nights were, like last time, always going to be the hardest.

Elliot, like last time, hadn't gotten a wink of sleep, and it was now 2am. He knew his patience and tolerance would be wearing very thin, but for Leo's sake, this time, he had to push through.

It helped that, after earlier, Leo was finally asleep. Somehow, they'd persuaded him to eat dinner, which he was capable of keeping in him for about 5 minutes, before once again, the nurses were rushing back in there, and Elliot was escorted out.

And as Leo continuously repeated to himself, this was not the worst stage.

Elliot was trying desperately to sleep, exhausted from catering to Leo all day, and listening to his pointless complaints. But sleeping upright in the chair was easier said than done, and it didn't matter that he wanted to sleep, because Leo had been stirring repeatedly for the last 10 minutes or so, sending Elliot straight back into the endless cycle of incessant worrying.

His breathing was strained, and Elliot couldn't help but think he was having a nightmare of some sorts. His father's death, perhaps?

Before he could contemplate anymore, Leo shot up, so abruptly that it made Elliot physically jolt.

He was panicked, to say the least, hastily scanning his surroundings with widened eyes and wracked breaths. And despite his vision panning to Elliot multiple times, he didn't register his presence, evidently unable to comprehend where he was or what was happening.

There were tears, streams of them, pouring down his face, but once again, he didn't appear to have acknowledged that either.

Speechless, Elliot did nothing except stand by his side, waiting for him to regain his composure, and remember why he was shaking and sweating and crying so much. Before he was able to, however, he froze, retched, and Elliot had approximately half a second to hand him one of the disposable buckets, and turn away and shut his ears.

Leo, now coming to, seemingly sobered-up by the nausea, also turned away from Elliot, placing the bucket by the side of the pillow and dry heaving endlessly.

In that time, one of the nurses arrived as well, attempting to be of help but instead being pushed away.

"Shit," Leo spat, freely allowing the nurse to dispose of his puke as he collapsed back against the mattress.

"We'll give the next dose of Imodium, as well as more fluids," she explained, attempting to send a smile his way but sure enough, her attempts at kindness were totally dismissed. Methodically, almost, she switched the IV drips, Leo not daring to move a muscle, spare the visible shaking. "Is there anything else you need?"

"60mg of Oxy," Leo said, turning back over to face Elliot.

"Wait," Elliot cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you were on 40?"

"I was." The noirette shrugged. "But, you know. Tolerance. Oh, and heroin."

"… right."

"I'm afraid we can't do that," she said.

"It was sarcasm," Leo said, his words on the edge of biting, but not quite there. His voice cracked, too, and Elliot could tell he was reaching his emotional limit at this point. "You can go now."

A tad intimidated, the nurse hurriedly shuffled out the room.

"So…" Elliot started hesitantly, wondering if he was even in the position to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. "What was… your nightmare about?"

At the mere mention of it, the stream of tears which had only temporarily halted immediately continued. Leo sniffed, shielding his face with a trembling hand and averting his gaze to the adjacent wall. Then, with a slight pause, but with tears still leaking from his eyes, he retched again, gesturing to the buckets.

Elliot promptly handed him one, but he didn't use it, instead placing it beside his head, waiting for the wave of nausea to wash over him, and then giving his response. "My father's death. A-All of it."

"Ah…" Elliot stammered. It was a rubbish reply, but what else was he even supposed to say, when Leo had yet to finish crying his eyes out over it? "Does… does that happen a lot?"

Brusquely, Leo shook his head. "That… vague sense of being high meant I sort of just… ignored it."

"Oh…"

Once again, it was a pathetic response, but Elliot honestly could not think of anything better. Particularly when Leo resumed sobbing almost straight after, choking back a gag and continuing to cry.

Then, his words strained, and barely noticeable, he confessed something which Elliot had not been expected. "I miss him. Everything just… went to shit, when he died. And I… never thought any of that would happen to me."

"Well…" Elliot, overcome by a strange sense of nostalgia and lost for words, tripped over his tongue, and was left internally pondering whether he should voice the next question at the forefront of his mind. "What was… your father like?"

Leo seemed to contemplate on the question for a little while; at least a minute. His focus was stolen by the wall, on the opposite side of the room to where Elliot was, a child-like was pout stretched across his lips, remaining there until the tears finally came to an end, and he spoke. "Kind, and strong, I guess. He took me out to the restaurant he ran a lot." Behind the nonchalant intonation of his words and the expression of melancholy on his face, Elliot could tell that, really, this meant a lot to him. "There was this one time, when I was really sick, for several days; norovirus, or something. And I was a frail child, so I got ill a lot. And he… stuck by my side, for the entire week."

"That's… nice, I guess."

"Yeah…" Leo muttered, wiping the tears away, but found himself still unable to crack a smile. "He used to smoke, as well. Until I was 10, at least. It was a habit he was never proud of. My mother used to explain to me that it was something I should never do, because I'd never be able to stop it. Then... he was really grumpy one day, and I asked my mother why, and she said he'd finally quit the 'bad habit' and that he'd done it for me. And… he probably had, now that I think about it."

"That's… impressive," Elliot said vaguely. What else was he to say? All these stories were so overwhelming to him.

Sure enough, a moment later, Leo began crying again, tears trailing down his face each time he sniffed. The image of his father was one he simply could not erase. "I can't even… imagine what he'd say, i-if he saw me like this."

"Well…" Elliot started cautiously, dragging a finger over the edge of the bed, with his head turned towards the floor. "How about… you answer that question? What… would he do, if he saw you right now?"

Still sobbing to himself, his voice cracking, Leo gave a response eventually. "Tell me to man up, probably. And then… sit with me throughout all of this, until this hell is over, repeating to me over and over t-that… it's not my fault." Then, for the first time in 24 hours, Leo smiled. "I wish he was here right now."

"Yeah…" Elliot found himself smiling too. "I… wish I could've met him."

Leo's smile faded within the next few seconds, as he froze, sat up, and hastily grabbed the bucket. He gagged harshly, leaning over the bucket to the side of him and bringing up nothing but water.

Hesitantly, Elliot began rubbing comforting circles on his back, waiting for him to stop throwing up. And, fortunately, after about a minute or so, he did, collapsing backwards with a heavy, disgusted sigh.

He panted for another few seconds, the stream of tears slowly coming to an end. Then, without prompting, he continued to answer Elliot's question. "When… this was over, he'd take me out to his restaurant, and then... try everything he could to get me to stop smoking. Just like he did." Another pause, and an exasperated, slightly irritated sigh. "Oh my god, I need a cigarette, so badly."

Wordlessly, Elliot pulled the e-cigarette out from inside his pocket, handing it to the other, who proceeded to use it just once, before handing it back to him. He exhaled the vapour incredibly slowly, closing his eyes. "I need to apologise to my mother. She... this was completely out of her depth. And I... I just made everything worse."

"You never asked for this to happen to you."

"I know that. I just... wish I told her. And then maybe things would've... gone a bit better."

Elliot couldn't help but agree. But internally. Only internally.

As he drifted off to sleep, Leo felt compelled to mutter one last thing: "That's what... my father would've wanted me to do, at least."

Satisfied, a slight smile tugged at Elliot's lips, as he ran his fingers through Leo's hair, and tried to seek comfort in knowing that at least one of them had a good relationship with their father.

And this time, it was him who was at loss.