Lofty stayed in hospital for four days afterwards, resting while his chest healed a little, though he'd been informed between dropping in and out of anaesthesia-induced sleep that it could take between six and eight weeks to heal completely.

Still no mention or sight of Max had been made and, had it not been for the numbing of his body and mind, Lofty would have expressed his anxiety far more than was possible at the moment.

Dylan had stayed dutifully by Lofty's side the entire time he'd been conscious or not, while David had been the one to ensure his husband was eating enough and getting what little sleep he could on a mattress beside his son's bed.

By Friday however, Dylan was getting a little worried. Maybe it was because Lofty was underweight, but the intermittened consciousness provided by painkillers should have been wearing off by now.

Ben winced as he opened his eyes into the blinding light; if there was one thing he could never get used to, it was the sheer whiteness that attacked your eyes as you awoke.

"Hey Dad" he whispered, his voice strained, "You look bad…" He reached his arms up to rub his eyes, but let them drop again when the pain became too much. "Ugh" he groaned, turning his head slightly.

"Woah, how're you feeling Ben?" David entered the cubicle, "Wait… were you talking to someone?"

"Dylan…"

"Dylan's buying coffee…"

"N' he's right there…" Lofty's words were slurred and he dropped his head back down slightly, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. He blinked and realised the space beside him was empty after all.

"Ben – I'm a little worried, I'm just going to take your temperature and do a few checks…"

David placed the duffel bag he'd brought for Dylan by the end of the bed. He'd passed Dylan in the corridor, who after four long days of waiting had decided to leave his son for a few minutes to buy coffee, although David wasn't there – David remembered the grateful expression on Dylan's face when he'd announced he'd brought him clean clothes, a new toothbrush, and food that varied from the same-y cafeteria sandwiches he'd been living off for the past four days.

Now though, David's shoulders tensed as he reached for the stethoscope left beside the bed, leaning over and listening for faint pulse. Lofty pulled away slightly as David's hand brushed his chest, and David pulled back so that he was standing straight again.

Hastily, he checked Ben's temperature and began to panic more when he cried out, grabbing at his chest, the sweat running down his face.

"Nurse!" David's shouts echoed across the ward and Dr Fairhead and a nurse came crashing into the cubicle.

"What happened?" Charlie asked, trying to remain calm as he lowered the top of the bed, where Ben's head was.

"I don't know… H-he said he saw Dylan, and then he got hot, and Dylan h-hadn't been there!" The volume of David's voice rose in his panic and Charlie checked the boy's vitals again, slamming the brakes up and beginning to wheel the bed as Lofty gasped for air, hands dragging lazily at his throat, despite the hazed anxiety of his mind.

"What's happening?!" All nurse-training flew away from David as his son was wheeled into a different corridor, the hospital becoming a maze beneath his feet as his head got louder. Charlie's shouted instructions became a messy slur of figures and David only felt himself falling when Dylan, coming back with coffee, caught him.

It took a while for David to realise he pulled up against one side of the walkway, his head resting on his husband's chest, and even longer for him to tune his hearing back in on the voice that spoke gently. It was Dylan's.

"That's it, breathe with me, breathe with me, you panicked, but you're okay…" His words came evenly, and David curled into his embrace, his breaths slowly steadying he could feel his muscles loosen and he pushed a sob back down upon noticing his face was already tearstained.

"Ben?" His voice came as a whimper.

"Shh…" Dylan ran a hand soothingly through David's hair, "They've taken him elsewhere… His chest was infected…"

"B-but you…"

"There was the rush in getting him sewn back up, and the aseptic conditions would have been disturbed by the break-in. I'm so-"

"No no no" David's voice was also hushed as they whispered as though they were in a chapel, as opposed to being pressed up against a wall in a busy hospital corridor. "It wasn't your fault Dylan"

Dylan nodded gratefully and placed his hands on his husband's forearms, gently standing with him, but supporting him in case there was a repeat, as unlikely as it was. "Thank you" David whispered, smiling nervously back at Dylan.

"Let's go to reception and find out where they've taken him"

"Okay" David took Dylan's hand and squeezed it gently for support.

It felt like there was some unknown creature clawing at the inside of Lofty's skull as he opened his eyes weakly; his head pounded in the same way he imagined it might had he a hangover (not that he'd ever drink). He felt sick, yet motionless as he became aware of his surroundings.

Harsh beeps and whirs from machines, clear plastic tubing and a sack of cloudy liquid were in his peripheral vision, and it occurred to him how little fog was sitting on his mind.

There had to be something wrong… He remembered before surgery, with the little girl, and Max's texts and the fairies, but he knew what he was feeling now wasn't right.

He was supposed to wake up in a recovery room once it was all over, not a crowded ward partnered with a wild jumble of noise, screeching and whistling and crowing.

Ben took a deep breath to clear his head, and tried to imagine himself elsewhere – on a beach, he pictured himself, coral waves and an array of pebbles stretching out for miles to his left and right-

It wasn't working.

He closed his eyes desperately against the noise and lay that way until he fell back into a deep sleep.

The next time Lofty awoke was different. His head was completely clear, and the sounds of the various machines surrounding hi didn't bother him now, with their soft bleeping sounds, a gentle reminder he was still breathing.

"Ben?" A familiar voice came from his left and he turned slightly, noting no thudding sensation as he did so; he just felt like normal.

Lofty jumped slightly when he saw a boy lying in the bed beside him, his face pallid and his fringe messed up. A breathing tube hung from his nose and the skin beneath his eyes was dark with sleep deprivation.

"Max…" He whispered, scared to speak too loudly, "What happened to you?"

"Alex stabbed me" Max's voice faltered a little with the strain of speaking as it took a toll on his tired body.

"Are you gonna be okay?"

"I'm not letting Alex decide my fate" Max gasped, "I won't die in ICU"

"ICU?"

"I heard the doctors…" Max trailed off as his eyes flickered gently shut, exhaustion taking over. Lofty was glad his boyfriend was resting, but the worry sat, ever firmly embedded in his stomach.

What had happened to him?