Thanks Vergina-spva and MyLadyDay for beta'ing
Chapter 4
Izo stared at Thatch's hand, now lying limply in his own. Was he going mad? Sleep deprived? It had only been a tiny squeeze, but it had felt so real.
He needed to know.
Reluctantly, he let go of Thatch's hand and walked into the hallway, yanking the first person he saw in scrubs into the room. It was a blond girl, an intern by the name of Kaya, if he recalled correctly. He had seen her before, though she didn't work in this part of the hospital.
For now though, he didn't care about that.
"What's the matter?" Kaya asked him, slightly worriedly. The whole hospital knew him by now, as he had barely left Thatch's side since he had gotten here, and he had befriended over half of the nurse staff.
"He squeezedmy hand! Is he waking up?!" Izo had trouble not to give her a shaking when she didn't reply instantly.
She must have noticed his anxiety, because she moved over to the bed, taking Thatch's chart and comparing the results with what she saw on the monitor keeping track of Thatch's bodily functions. After that, she put her stethoscope in her ears and listened to his chest.
Wringing his hands, Izo stood next to her, waiting for her opinion. Thatch was lying there like he had the days before, but Izo was sure he hadn't imagined the squeeze.
Or had he?
Kaya straightened finally, and Izo was ready to burst.
"I'm sorry, I don't see any change in his condition," she said apologetically. "Are you getting enough sleep?"
"I'm perfectly fine!" he snapped. "I'm not going mad!"
She smiled at him. "Of course not. This must be really tough on you. Here," she scribbled something down on a piece of paper, "this is my beeper number. Please page me if you see any change, okay?"
Izo nodded, but as soon as she had left the room, he let himself fall into his chair, defeated. She probably thought he was going mad. He was pretty sure he wasn't, but he still wouldn't tell his family about the squeeze. Even if it had been real, there was no need to give them false hope if it didn't mean Thatch was waking up.
Marco and Ace had left the hospital yesterday, as their injuries had healed enough to take care of it at home. Their insurance didn't cover a longer stay, though Izo knew that Marco hadn't wanted to leave him alone. Izo had assured him that it was fine and that he should take care of himself first.
In any case, Marco and Ace deserved to get a little rest from this place. Izo would be glad to leave the hospital as well and never return, but the only way he would do that was if he could leave with Thatch. A living, awake Thatch.
Izo rubbed his temples with his fingers and let them slide through his messy – and slightly greasy – hair. It was so unfair. Thatch had never hurt a fly in his life, not purposely anyway. That Izo pined for him wasn't his fault, nor was his coma.
Izo looked up at Thatch's motionless figure on the bed. He didn't want to remember Thatch like this, pale and helpless, with one arm still in a cast from the first murder attempt by Teach, who had pushed Thatch down the stairs. Thatch had laughed it off then, because that was who he was. He never saw anything bad in people, even if they took advantage of his kind-hearted nature. Izo would have gladly killed Teach himself if he had to.
This man, who was lying in a hospital bed motionless, wasn't the real Thatch. The real Thatch was laughing constantly, making stupid jokes only he – and secretly, Izo – thought were funny. Singing loudly as he was cooking the most incredible things.
It had always been Thatch's dream to open his own restaurant, and he was so much better than his mediocre salary as chef implied. He should have been promoted to sous-chef, or even head chef long ago.
It hurt Izo to think that Thatch might never fulfil his dream. To have his own restaurant was the least he deserved…
Izo felt something wet slide down his cheek, and he realised he was crying. He had thought he wouldn't have any tears left by now. It was almost a week since it happened, and while Izo knew people woke up from comas that had lasted much longer, he wondered how long he could go on like this.
It was tearing him apart, and he knew his family was worried about him. He didn't want to add to their pain, but he couldn't leave Thatch.
Thatch had always been there for him. He had introduced Izo to his family and given him a new home, where he was safe and happy. Thatch had saved his life, and it killed Izo that he could never pay him back for that.
Since primary school, Thatch had played a considerable role in his life, and that role had only increased since Izo started living with Pops.
Izo slowly started to get used to living in a house with many other people. It had been just him and his father until then; it was new to him that he had to wait in line to use the bathroom.
His new housemates were careful around him, he noticed, trying to include him as much as possible, but rarely touching him.
Izo knew he had to be grateful to Mr Newgate that he had taken Izo, such a useless child, in, so he tried to do as many chores as he could, to make himself useful, if only a little. To be told it wasn't necessary because someone else was doing it, however, was completely foreign to him.
One night, he had finally managed to be the first to start on the dishes, but in his eagerness, he had dropped a plate. He had cursed himself thoroughly, and looked up with big, scared eyes at Mr Newgate, who was making coffee. This was it. This was the moment he would snap and hit Izo, because he deserved it.
Instead, however, Mr Newgate smiled, as if it wasn't a big deal, and had handed Izo a dustpan and brush to clean up the shards. Something inside Izo broke, and he started crying. Mr Newgate had pulled him in his lap and waited until he had calmed down, before ruffling his hair and saying that accidents happen.
Slowly, it started to get through to Izo that his father hadn't had the right to hit him. Mr Newgate never lifted a hand at him.
Izo started to fall in love with his new family. Thatch was always there for him, and Marco had the task to uphold the peace in the house, which he did marvellously. They all viewed Izo as their newest brother, though it still wasn't certain how long he would stay with them.
Izo's father needed to go into rehab, but fell off the wagon several times. Izo could visit him on the weekends, but either Pops or Blenheim went with him to make sure Izo's father stayed in line. One time, when Blenheim had accompanied him, Izo's father had shown up drunk and tried to hit Izo. Izo's bruises had healed by now, but only physically, and he had flinched. Blenheim had come to his rescue and punched Izo's father right back, after which he had taken Izo back to Mr Newgate… no, Pops' house. It had never happened again.
Pops had asked if Izo wanted a haircut, and it had taken Izo a while to muster up the courage to confess to Thatch that he actually liked his hair long. Thatch had brought the message across to Pops, who had just laughed and told Izo he shouldn't be afraid to ask for things. Izo had gone to the hairdresser anyway, but only to have his hair trimmed slightly and to have it cut into model.
When he came back from the hairdresser, Thatch smiled at him. "You look great."
Izo flushed slightly and messed with his hair. "It's not that much different."
Thatch grinned again. "It's not, but you are. You look happy."
Time passed by, and before Izo knew it, he was living with Pops for a year. He was fully accepted into the family, had been ever since he set foot inside the house, but now, he could finally accept that he was wanted and loved as well.
Thatch and he became inseparable, and while Izo learned to make new friends on his own – mostly girls, they seemed more accepting of his long hair than boys – Thatch remained his best friend.
Thatch easily made friends, but still it was Izo whom he trusted with his secrets.
By now, Izo had a new wardrobe, consisting in part of clothes his older brothers – because that was what they were now – had grown out of, but he had also been allowed to pick out some of his own. His birthday was never forgotten anymore, except by his biological father.
Izo's visits to him became more and more infrequent, because his father barely bothered to be sober or to get Izo back. Izo was happy with his new family and he never liked the visits. Thatch had offered to come with him, but Izo had refused, because he knew Thatch would lose his temper. Blenheim had, that one time, but it had made Izo's father think twice about hitting Izo again with someone present.
Izo was going to secondary school by now. He and Thatch didn't share a class anymore, but they still hung out in school as often as possible, and at least every lunch.
Marco was sixteen when he discovered he was gay. When he announced that to the rest of the family, his coming out was celebrated, though Izo and Thatch were sent to bed on time.
Izo had been the youngest for a while, but then they gained their first female family member. Pops had come home with a baby girl named Haruta. It was funny to see his older brothers, and Pops himself, doting over her.
After Haruta, three more brothers came to live in the house, Atmos, Jiru and Fossa. Atmos and Fossa had already been nearly eighteen, but they were accepted just as easily as Izo had been.
One day, Pops knocked on the door of Izo's room. He had a serious look on his face that Izo didn't see often.
Izo was busy drawing at his desk – he would make his homework together with Thatch and everyone else who had schoolwork to do, later – but he turned around worriedly. "Is something wrong?"
Pops sat down on the bed, which creaked under his weight. "Come sit with me for a bit."
Izo put down his pencil and did as he was told. He was feeling nervous, though he knew he hadn't done anything wrong. If he had, Pops would have mentioned it already.
"Today, your father has had a traffic accident. He ignored a red light, driving into another car. He didn't survive the ride to the hospital. The other driver is hurt, but alive."
Izo stared at the wall opposite of him, blinking. Pops had talked in a calm, soft voice, but Izo's ears were ringing like he had been yelling. "He's… dead?" he asked.
Pops nodded.
"Oh." Izo didn't know what to say. It felt surreal. He hadn't lived with his father for five years, and had only seen him a couple of times a month, at best. His father… he wasn't Izo's father anymore, Pops was. He was just a man Izo had seen a lot while growing up.
He knew he should be sad, but he wasn't. Perhaps it needed time to sink in.
Pops seemed to sense that as well, as Izo continued to stare into space. He ruffled Izo's hair. "Take all the time you need."
Izo nodded numbly. His thoughts were still far away, so he barely even noticed how the bed sprang back into shape when Pops rose.
A while later – Izo had no idea of the time then, later he found out it was about two hours – Thatch entered his room. "Are you okay?" he asked, a worried frown on his face.
Izo blinked as if he just woke up and then turned to Thatch, smiling. "Yeah, I am."
Thatch sat next to him on the bed, in the spot Pops had previously occupied. "Pops said the funeral is this Saturday. Do you want to go?"
Izo pursed his lips. "I should, shouldn't I?"
"You don't owe that man anything!" Thatch spat, his cheeks flushed in anger.
Izo smiled again and wrapped his arms around Thatch's neck. "Will you come with me?"
He could feel Thatch relax, and he was pulled into a hug.
"Of course I will," he muttered.
Izo nodded and bit his lip. He wasn't sure if the realisation hit only now, or if it was because Thatch was there, but suddenly, Izo couldn't hold back his tears. His shoulders were shaking as Thatch held him close until he had calmed down.
"Pops will adopt you now," Thatch said when Izo had dried his tears. "You're already our brother, but now it's official."
