Leaning over the bed slightly, Joey attempted to muster a smile for the boy. He needed to be reassuring. "Hey, there, kiddo. Long time no see."
"Yeah." The teen drug out the word, allowing it to briefly linger before rambling on. "I'm really sorry, Joey. I never meant to do this."
"Meant to do this?" The man looked down at him, startled by the unexpected apology. "Meant to do what? Get sick?"
"I tried to tell Mr." Craig began to explain, only to be interrupted by an ill-timed fit of coughs. "Mr. Simpson I didn't want this. That I needed to pick up Ang."
"Craig, that isn't" The salesman let the sentence hang; unsure of which of a half-dozen replies would be most appropriate. Should he tell the boy it wasn't his fault? That he shouldn't feel guilty? Or that everything was taken care of? How sorry he was he hadn't taken better care of him?
His stepson's soft, tired voice broke into his contemplations, though. "I'm sorry you had to come out here, Joey. I know you didn't need this now."
Staring, stunned, at the boy, Joey was physically winded as the sickening meaning of his stepson's words consumed him.
"Ang's okay, right? Emma went and got her, didn't she?" Craig questioned hesitantly, following the questions up with yet another bout of coughs.
The display snapped Joey's attention back to the boy. "Your sister's fine, Craig. She's not the one I'm worried about."
Relaxing somewhat at the reassurance, Craig responded calmly. "I'm okay."
"Of course you are. You're going to be fine. That's not what has me worried." His stepfather told him.
The response peaked the teen's curiosity. Pained and exhausted, he expressed that curiosity in the most thought-out and well-formed manner he could muster. "Huh?"
"That you could be this sick without me knowing scares me, Craig." Joey informed him.
"Joey." Craig attempted to protest, somewhat incoherently.
Only to be quickly interrupted. "And that you actually feel guilty because you think you're inconveniencing me is horrifying."
"It's not." The teen once again attempted to break in.
And his protestations were once again interrupted. "Craig, this is not your fault. There is NOTHING that you should feel guilty about. I'm the one who should be apologizing here, not you."
"What did you do to be sorry for?" The boy questioned.
His stepfather actually laughed at the question. He had to. It was either that or cry. And crying was not an option. "For this, Craig. For letting things get so out of control."
"My stress level isn't your problem. It's my job to worry about you, not the other way around." Joey told him firmly.
"You don't have to worry about me, Joey." The teen told him evenly.
The steady tone struck the man more than the words themselves. How could he have been so negligent? How could this boy have become so comfortable with the idea of not being cared for right under his nose? How had he not seen how alone Craig was feeling? The tremendous amount of damage needing undone was becoming clearer with each passing moment.
Settling onto the edge of the bed to his stepson's right, the salesman cautiously leaned his weight onto the hand resting to the left of Craig's arm. The teen's now-apparent feeling of isolation drove the man to instinctually move in closer to him. "You don't get it, do you? You really don't get it."
"Get what?" The teen questioned, not following the conversation in the least.
Joey, though, had finally worked out what he wanted to say and he wasn't stopping now. "Craig, not some unwanted kid I took in. Not some great act of charity. Not even my wife's kid. You're my kid. You've got to understand that."
"But I'm not" Craig stopped, chocked up. Literally. As he battled yet another fit of coughs he found himself wondering what the point was for his being there at all. It wasn't like he was feeling any better. If he had to be in a hospital, with tubes running through him and Joey calling him his kid, he should at least get to feel better. Is that really asking that much?
Leaning back slowly, squeezing his eyes shut as he waited for the particularly harsh bout to pass, the teen was completely thrown by the hand that landed gently on his chest. Opening his eyes slowly, he stared up at his stepfather in awe.
Meeting the boy's watery eyes, Joey attempted a reassuring smile. "It's all right, Craig. It'll pass soon. We're going to get you feeling better in no time."
"I'm good." The teen replied quietly.
His stepfather ignored the simple response. "Why don't you try and get some sleep, kiddo? We can talk more later."
"You better get Ang." The teen replied, beginning to close his eyes. They had obviously given him something. There was no way he should be this tired.
Joey sighed heavily at the teen's response. When had the boy had gained such a sense of responsibility towards his sister? Watching the boy doze, he realized that trying to talk things out with his stepson wasn't practical. Craig was sick, tired and drugged up. He was going to have to face the fact that this situation wasn't going to be resolved overnight.
Watching another bout of coughs consume the teen, Joey was somewhat relieved to see this display did not bring him to a full state of consciousness. With the medication apparently beginning to take some effect, it wouldn't be too long before Craig would be well enough to have a serious conversation. He would just have to be patient.