A room with white walls was the first thing he saw when he woke up. He could not remember painting his bedroom that colour...It was much too bright in the room and he associated this with the fact that the curtains were open, allowing the sun to torture his eyes by lighting the bright walls to unnatural glow. There were bouquets of flowers to his left side and his son lay asleep to his right. He wondered for a moment how Dexter had gotten into his bedroom-And where is my wife?-without permission. However, this confusion only lasted for a moment before it all clicked. His eyes narrowed.

He tried to reprimand his son about forcing him to be here and not being at school in the first place, but something was blocking his throat.

Tubes.

The blasted doctors had stuck tubes down his throat. His arm was supposed to be too weak to move, but he still attempted to raise it just enough to grab the tubes. Almost there...

"Mr. McPherson, you're awake!" A cheerful voice called from the doorway. It had to be an volunteer. A doctor had seen too much death to be joyous and the volunteers had seen just enough to keep them motivated about saving others.

Sure enough, a young girl stood in the doorway, a bright smile glued on her plastic cheeks. She looked to be in her mid to late teens and had dyed bleach blonde hair paired with orange skin and wore tight fitting scrubs over her hourglass shape. Mr. McPherson could not help but wrinkle his nose in digust as he thought she was not there to get a date, she was there to help people. Not that he needed any help. As she approached the bed, her voice took on an almost cooing quality Mr. McPherson did not appreciate.

"How are we doing today? Is your arm treating you any better?"

'If it was don't you think I'd be out the front doors and back home?' The bitter thought crossed his mind in synchronisation with the dark shadow over his face. He did not feel any sympathy for her shocked and slightly hurt reaction. All she wanted was a slice of the money the staff would pick out of his back pocket. The scoundrels.

"Now Mr. McPherson, don't give me that look. You had your family worried sick the past couple of days. You wouldn't wake up for anybody." Full days without waking up? They must have been really worried. He gripped at the tubes and cast his gaze to Dexter. He wanted to speak to his son.

As if understanding his unspoken desire, the nurse-her name tag read "Mandy Russo"-smiled softly. "I'm sorry Mr. McPherson, but I can't let you talk to anyone until I know for sure if that's what Dr. James wants. After all, we would have to remove your breathing tubes in order for you do so." She made sure all the equipment was functioning properly-'I wonder how much that's going to cost me'-before shuffling off to another victimised wallet in a hospital bed.

Mr. McPherson looked at his son who appeared to be in the middle of a bad dream. He kept his gaze on him as he drifted back to sleep, wondering why he was there, why he was so weak, and why this was shaping up to be such a bad day.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

Mandark woke up with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He felt like he needed to talk to Dexter, but he did not want to seek Dexter out at the hospital nor did he want to admit that there could be softer feelings than hatred for his redheaded counterpart. He went through his morning routine, desperate to concern himself with more normal things. Things that would put him in a Dexter-hating mood. It did not matter that last night he thought he felt sorry for the redhead and nearly felt bad that Dexter was in pain. It did not matter that he told the other boy he would be at the hospital that afternoon and acted like he was his friend and he cared about him. They were not friends. They both knew this and Mandark had only been concerned about Dee Dee when he talked to Dexter last night. (1) He was sure of it-partly because he would not accept any other reason.

He walked to the bathroom and looked into the mirror over the sink. The boy who met his gaze had dishevelled black hair that had lost its lustre over the course of the night; (2) pale, sickly looking skin that had weaved pillow lines into his cheek fat as he tossed and turned over Dexter's phone call; and dead and hateful forest green eyes accented by nearly black bags. In short, he looked like a mess. He sighed and ran the water, preparing himself mentally and physically for extra time in the bathroom.

When he finally got downstairs, he quickly bypassed his annoying parents and his pest of a sister by grabbing a granola bar and heading out the door. He ran to school that morning, anxious to see if Dexter was going to be there that day. He knew why the boy would not be, but he hoped beyond the notion of a miracle that whatever was wrong with Dexter's father had been fixed since the night before.

The first class of the day was Chemistry. Miss Lawson watched the class file in like normal before she turned back to the board and began to write down the bellwork for that day. (3) Mandark was just beginning to wonder if he was the only one who was not all there when the young woman finally turned around with a somber expression in place.

"Class," she waited patiently for everyone to give her their full attention. "I want you all to know that Dexter is not here today because he is having family issues. I would rather that no one call or text to talk to him about it because this is a time he needs to spend in private with his family in the hospital." At her last sentence, the class erupted into a roaring sea of gossip but Mandark was not included.

Hearing what she had said made the boy's blood boil. How dare she assume that was what Dexter needed at the moment? She probably had not even talked to Dexter herself, only heard from the principal after Mrs. McPherson called in for her son or something. What an idiotic woman! Mandark wanted to call Dexter all the more now, if only to spite Miss Lawson and show her that the redheaded genius needed comfort. He could not help but glance at the only other person who someone could ever think of as Dexter's friend. Douglas Mordecai-Mandark thankfully did not talk much to him-looked at the teacher in alarm.

"Is he okay?"

Miss Lawson sighed. Mandark could tell this woman did not want to deal with any questions about this-she only wanted to get back to her lesson. She was a disgrace to all teachers who tried to hold themselves to a higher standard. "Mr. Mordecai, please don't ask me anything about him. I can't give you a lot of answers. The only thing I can tell you is that Dexter is fine. He's...fine.

"You know what?" She added after some thought. "If you are a geniune friend of his, you can probably call and offer support, but don't talk to him just because you're in the same class. It should be a bit more personal than that."

Mandark calmed down a little when he heard that. At least she was no longer trying to dictate who could and could not talk to Dexter today. He settled back in the chair and drifted away from the lecture, thinking about Dexter and how he was supposed to get a ride to the hospital since he was not allowed to drive-it was bad enough "we as your parents have to drive an environmentally homocidal vehicle."

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

To Mandark, the rest of day was a blur of teachers trying desperately to feign sympathy for Dexter. The only other thing he really noticed was Douglas on his cell phone the entire day, most likely trying to get through to Dexter to make sure he was okay. Mandark's eyes narrowed as he recalled each incident. What a wimp. Mandark made it home eventually, with no recollection of how he got there. He did not know whether he took the bus or walked...although, judging by the look of the open passenger door in his hand, he probably got a ride from his mother. (4) Speaking of...

"Mom! I need a ride to the hospital."

She looked at him in alarm, reminding him of Douglas's earlier expression toward Miss Lawson, but with burnt orange hair. "Are you okay?"

He gave her a confused look. "What...? Yeah Mom, I'm fine, it's Dexter. He-"

"Dexter? That McPherson boy? Is he okay?"

Mandark sighed, trying hard not to smack his own forehead in frustration. "He's fine...his father is in the hospital and Dexter wants me to be there with him this afternoon."

Her face softened. "Oh Susan, I'm sorry. Your father needs the car this afternoon. You're going to have to ask him."

"Well, is he in the house?"

"Yeah, he's in the living room, working on-" The front door's slam cut off the rest of her sentence. She gazed in dismay at the barrier between her and her children.

Mandark quickly found his dad brow deep in paperwork for his new "job." The boy had no idea what his father did for a living and he did not really care. He did not want to know what unsavoury things his father did when he left for "work." He doubted his father had the skills to get a job doing anything else.

"Dad, I need a ride to the hospital." Mandark said stiffly.

Without looking up, Windbear asked, "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm fine...Dexter's there and he-"

"That McPherson kid? Is he okay?"

"Yes Dad, he's fine!" Mandark all but screamed, dragging one hand through his bowl cut. "His dad is the one who's hurt and Dexter needs me to be there with him. Please Dad, just take me."

"You have your English and History homework done?"

"What...? Not yet, but he needs me!" Honestly, what did his parents not understand about that simple statement?

Mr. Astronominov finally looked at his son. "I understand you wanting to support your friend." He gave the issue some more thought. "Let me think about it and I'll probably take you when I'm going off to church rehearsal." That was the thing about Mandark's parents. Realising the world around them was changing into something horrible, they both got off the hippie drugs, found religion, and started to pay attention to their kids. They had yet to realise the way their children had that the gap between them and their kids was just too great to put a simple band-aid over and call it a bridge.

"Yeah, I guess that's okay." Mandark sighed. "What time would you be leaving?"

His father turned back to his work and did not look up again. "Within the next two hours, so at the very latest I'll leave at six."

Mandark nodded even though he knew his father could not see the gesture. Then he gathered his school things again and headed up to his room to wait on the head of the house's decision.

~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~?~

Bleary grey eyes slowly opened to the woman shaking his shoulder lightly.

"Wake up Dexter," her soft, motherly voice whispered tenderly. He peered up at her sleepily and felt sick from his mother's drastic change in appearance. She had bags under her dead, defeated army green eyes and her red hair was frazzled. She looked nothing like the woman who had raised him. Dexter could only wonder what his own face must look like.

His mother smiled tiredly. "Hey sweetie."

"Hello Mother," his voice cracked, sounding a lot like his old Russian accent. He was not surprised though. He had been really upset lately. "How is he? Did he wake up yet?"

Her lips collapsed into a tighter smile, pursed with repressed tears. "Well, he woke up earlier and we talked for a bit. We both agreed we wouldn't wake you. You need your sleep." Then, as if just remembering, she added, "He never took his eyes off you."

"Mom!" Dexter half-yelled, half-whined. His mother held up a silent hand that reprimand her son for her.

"Now Dexter, it's a scientific fact that teenagers need more sleep than children. (5) You of all people should be able to appreciate that."

"But Mom-"

"No buts, Dexter!" Her expression gradually bled into something resembling her old self. She embodied a strong maternal figure that would not accept her son's rude behaviour. "And what did I tell you about whining?"

"Sorry Mom," Dexter mumbled. His sigh was the last sound the white world heard for a few minutes as the pair only looked at their ailing family member, hoping that somehow their love might make him jump out the bed and scream at them for keeping him cooped in the hospital room in the first place. After a while, Dexter peered at his mother though slightly crooked glasses-I really need to learn to not sleep in my glasses. "Have you seen Mandark around here today? Has he arrived yet?" Judging by his mother's expression, she had forgotten Mandark was even supposed to show up.

"I'm sorry, Dexter. I completely forgot that I was supposed to be keeping an eye out for him. Though I haven't seen him around since I've been awake and I think if he likes you as much as Dee Dee leads me to believe, then he should have made himself known, right?" Almost as if she remembered after saying so, her smile reappeared, this time with geniune joy behind it. "That's right! You and Mandark are going out now!" She began to talk to no one in particular, or perhaps she was talking to the walls. "My Dexy and Mandark...true love."

Dexter seriously doubted it, but he did not want to burst the first happy thought his mother had allowed in a while. Besides, he could not stop the blush that spread across his cheeks. Maybe he did like Mandark. It definitely was not true love, though. Things like that, if they happened at all, (6) took time and care and did not stem from years of dislike. So...if Mandark asked him out again, what would he say?

Dexter did not know the answer, and he doubted this was the time to be asking the question.

The silence was broken once again as the heart rate monitor Mr. McPherson was strapped down to suddenly went crazy. Dexter and his mom perked in fear. Hundreds of doctors and nurses stampeded into the room, shouting out orders and standing between the three family members. Dexter's mom began keening, only pausing every so often to moan, "Oh God. Oh my God!"

Dexter tried to move through the crowd, desperate to get his father. "Wait, what's happening to my dad? Dad! Dad!" He did not have the time to notice his Russian accent coming back full force through his distress. One of the cold monsters turned and firmly pushed the boy away.

"You need to stay out of the way. We're trying to save your dad." Dexter blanched. He figured his dad was dying when he flatlined, but thinking it and actually hearing the clinical, robotic way it was said were two totally different things.

"What's wrong with him?" He screamed, hoping one of the robots would finally answer his question or at least offer a sympathetic smile, but his only response was the very walls repeating his cry.

"What's wrong with him?"

A/N: Okay, I got lazy with this chapter as well. My bad! XD Well that isn't entirely true, but I DID have AP homework to devote my time to, so...DON'T THINK I FORGOT YOU GUYS! To make it up to you, I'll explain myself AND leave you with a preview of the next chapter! XD

(1) You know, because Dee Dee hadn't faded into the back of his mind the night before...

(2) Okay, Mandark is seriously a weirdo if he thinks his hair has ANY kind of lustre to it... Hehe

(3) I really based this scene and Miss Lawson off my Choir teacher when she found out my friend's dad was in the hospital. Don't hate her, but...whatever, do what you want because I hate Miss Lawson myself. XD

(4) He didn't even notice his mom giving him a ride home. That's a majorly f***ed up relationship...

(5) I forgot if this was actually scientifically proven, but I decided to leave it. If you guys want to tell me if I'm wrong or not, go ahead. I really don't mind constructive flames or criticism.

(6) That's a shoutout to my twin's love logic! XD

Preview!

Mandark saw Dexter at school the next day and he tried to ignore the way his chest clenched while simultaneously lifting in...joy? He smiled when he reached the smaller redhead.

"Dexter! How are you doing? I couldn't help but notice you were back and-"

The words choked Mandark as Dexter looked up into the taller boy's eyes. The image of sorrow mixed in with an angry and overall vulnerable expression in those framed grey orbs would stay with Mandark for weeks afterward.

So there you go! I hope this makes up for my horrible procrastination and please don't forget to review! Please! ^_~

~theflawintheplan