09/6/2023: If it seems like there are weird stylistic differences between early chapters and later ones, as if someone started writing it when they were 16 and is-for some reason-rewriting and expanding upon it in their mid-thirties, it's probably because that's exactly what's happening.
This isn't exactly the way I'd write this same story in my thirties, and it's not the way I'd write it at 16, but I feel like I'm collaborating with my teenage self in a way that feels fun. I've left intact what I could bear to leave intact, but I'm going heavy red pen in other spots. I'm saving the original versions of each chapter. I'm also going chapter-by-chapter and updating it as I go, which helps explain the current disjointed-ness.
It's all a long story, but after a pandemic rewatch, I felt compelled to write more OC fanfiction. I couldn't figure out how to crack into my f account, so I started writing under another name, FlannelMafioso, but I never forgot this particular unfinished story I'd been working on. I randomly decided to give hacking into my old account another go, and so here I am.
I was also going to just quietly go about all this, but then I saw that I've gotten visitors to this story. It's wild because it feels so ancient to me, but because someone might be confused, thought I'd give out a little exposition.
Anyway, without further ado...
Chapter 2
The waiting room was eerily quiet; apparently it was a slow Tuesday morning for emergencies.
Seth sat slumped in one of the waiting room chairs, his arms crossed, face set in a scowl. He maintained that he was fine and that Sandy was overreacting and that they were squandering one of his few days off with a pointless hospital visit, but his arguments weren't really gaining any traction.
So sulking seemed like the more productive option, all things considered.
Sandy signed the last page in the packet of admittance forms.
"Are you still dizzy?" he asked.
Dizzy?
Could his dad make him sound any more like a wuss?
"I was never dizzy," Seth replied crossly. "I'm fine."
"You've been saying that since yesterday and, funny, I don't really buy it." Sandy stood up and handed the clipboard back to the receptionist.
"By the way," he said as he sat down, "if anyone asks, your last tetanus shot was two years ago."
"I'm pretty sure I'll buckle under the intensity of that interrogation," Seth muttered.
Sandy grabbed the nearest magazine and started to flick through it, barely aware of what he was reading.
There seemed to be no conceivable way for Seth to get comfortable on the plastic-coated chair. He tried slouching and straightening up a few times, trying to find the right-or at least the least wrong-way to angle his body. He heaved a frustrated breath, finding no tolerable configuration for his gangly frame.
On top of everything else, his headache from yesterday had resurfaced with a vengeance, the fluorescent lighting blurring his vision. He wasn't sure his head could maintain much of an upright position for much longer.
Seeing nowhere else to go with it, and after looking around to confirm that the waiting room was all but empty, he gently leaned his head on his father's shoulder and closed his eyes, thoroughly exhausted.
This didn't make him feel like less of a wuss, but with his eyes closed, he could at least pretend it wasn't happening.
Sandy was surprised at the sudden weight that plopped onto his shoulder. He smiled faintly.
There had only been so much that Mario Kart could do to bring father and son together, creating an uneasy bond where Sandy still had to tiptoe and couldn't push too hard. It was really Ryan joining the family that had started to really heal the rift and the distance between them.
Sandy could feel some of his worry slowly start to drain away as he got caught up in the moment, reflecting upon how their relationship had been changing in the past few months, how he knew more about his son's life than he had in many years now.
"Seth?" A nurse called a few minutes later.
There was that worry again.
Seth stood up, notably slowly, and started to stagger ungainly steps towards the nurse.
Sandy followed a step behind, ready to catch Seth if needed, and somehow resisting the paternal urge to grab Seth's arm to help steady him.
"Where are you going?" Seth demanded, half-turning towards Sandy and sounding mildly alarmed.
"I'm going in there with you," Sandy explained.
"No way," Seth hissed, eyeing the nurse. "I'm not a little kid. You don't need to go in there with me."
"Why, so you can tell the doctor you're doing just fine too?" Sandy asked pointedly.
"But-"
"No arguments."
Sandy and Seth followed the nurse to the exam room, Seth muttering choice words under his breath.
oooooooooooooooo
"So Seth, what seems to be going on for you today?" the doctor asked. Dr. Pearson was a tall, good-looking guy with a British accent.
Sandy answered for him. "He's been looking pretty run-down for the past few days. He fainted this morning, so I brought him here."
Fainted?
Again, Sandy Cohen was doing nothing to help Seth's campaign to project a more masculine image.
"Okay. Seth?"
"I dunno." Seth fidgeted and looked at the ground. "I've been a little more tired lately, I guess."
"How long has that been going on?" Dr. Pearson asked as he gently pressed at a few spots on Seth's neck. Seeing Seth's shrug, he added, "Like a couple days? A couple weeks? Longer?"
"Maybe a couple weeks," Seth admitted, looking abashed.
"Seth, why didn't you te-" Sandy started.
"Tell you what? That I was a little sleepy?" Seth protested. "Do you want me to tell you every time I go to the ba-"
"It can kind of creep up on you, huh?" Dr. Pearson cut in. He smiled sympathetically at Seth. "We don't always realize that kind of thing has been going on so long until we're asked to think back." He shot Sandy an imploring smile.
Message received, Sandy thought. The scolding dad thing was perhaps not the most helpful approach at the moment. The doctor was trying to get Seth to open up, not get more defensive.
"I see here you went down a few pounds," the doctor said, glancing down at Seth's chart. "Ten pounds lighter than what we have here from your last physical with Dr. Kilbride. Have you been trying to lose weight?"
Seth shook his head. "I am wearing very light clothing though. That could be an important consideration."
"Noted." Dr. Pearson was unfazed. "Seth, can you take your shirt off please?"
Sandy could practically see Seth exercising restraint in not responding with a flippant remark. As Seth reluctantly peeled off his t-shirt, Sandy was silently thankful that his son was controlling his mouth, to the degree that he was.
Goosebumps instantly popped up on Seth's skin, and he shivered.
"You've got a pretty big bruise on your shoulder there," Dr. Pearson noted. "How long have you had it?"
Seth glanced over at it. "I dunno." He shrugged. "Never even knew I had it."
The doctor asked about family history and Sandy took over, detailing the heart issues on Kirsten's side, his grandfather's death from colon cancer and Kirsten's mother from ovarian cancer.
Dr. Pearson then ran through a list of different symptoms as he continued his exam on Seth. He nodded at times, added supplemental questions based on Seth's answers, and chuckled gamely at Seth's jokes.
Sandy had to admit that he was good.
And it seemed like Seth was answering the doctor's questions honestly. He guessed there was something to the whole 'good cop' routine.
It was a little unnerving though, how many questions Seth answered in the affirmative. Stomach pains, headaches, decreased appetite.
There was also something about Dr. Pearson's demeanor that nagged at Sandy. The doctor's posture and tone of voice were almost studiously casual as he asked questions and poked at different parts of Seth's body, but Sandy sensed an underlying focus, some way that he was tuned in at that moment.
He's building a case, Sandy thought, watching Dr. Pearson as he placed his stethoscope on different parts of Seth's chest and back and asked him to take deep breaths.
Though the thought felt a little melodramatic, once it crossed his mind, he couldn't shake it. Each question seemed to build upon the last one, seemed to be leading the doctor somewhere specific.
Dr. Pearson drew back, pulling the stethoscope from his ears.
"I'd like to order some tests," he announced, again with that studiously casual tone. "Seth, you can put your shirt on for now."
"Tests?" Seth asked, grabbing his t-shirt. "-Wait...for now?"
"There are a lot of different things that might cause some of the symptoms you've been having, many of which are easily treatable. A few tests will hopefully give us a clear idea of what's going on for you." Dr. Pearson gave them a reassuring smile, but Sandy noted that he hadn't said anything that was all that reassuring.
That there were many things that were easily treatable didn't mean that there weren't those things he'd declined to name that weren't so easily treatable.
Sandy knew that you didn't come right out the gate and tell a scared kid in juvie that he was facing adult charges and a lengthy prison sentence. There was no reason to make them worry before they knew more, before it was actually time to worry.
Of course, that was far easier said on the other side of the table, as the lawyer or the doctor.
Dr. Pearson kept talking, explaining the tests and where to go for them as he typed into his computer: blood tests, a chest x-ray, a bone marrow biopsy and aspiration.
Sandy swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.
It was hard for even Dr. Pearson to make a biopsy sound casual.
"When can I go home?" Seth asked.
"I'm afraid not today," Dr. Pearson said. "I'd like to get you checked in. It's just a precautionary measure, but given the tests I'm ordering and the fainting this morning, I'd like to keep you here for at least tonight." Dr. Pearson paused, again with that reassuring smile. "If there are no other questions, I can finish getting the tests ordered."
Seth said he didn't have any questions, and Sandy couldn't think of any he felt comfortable asking in front of Seth, so the doctor walked them out into the waiting room and pointed them in the direction of the main registration desk.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Sandy studied Seth from the corner of his eye as they walked.
Seth was still pale and looked unsteady on his feet, but he'd flatly refused the wheelchair offered to him by Dr. Pearson. He had his hands jammed into the pockets of his track jacket and kept his head low as he trudged along. More than fear, his face seemed to betray irritation.
Sandy couldn't tell how much the doctor's breezy references to bone marrow and biopsies had registered with Seth, if his brain was making that connection between biopsies and cancer.
"Can they really make me stay here all night?" Seth grumbled. "This sucks."
It was hard for Sandy to select the right words to console Seth, not being totally sure if his son was more scared or more annoyed by their present circumstances.
It also occurred to him that reassuring Seth that he'd be okay might make Seth more worried that he wasn't okay.
"They just want to make sure everything's okay," Sandy said carefully.
"Obviously," Seth muttered, rolling his eyes.
"I mean it's just a precautionary thing," Sandy added, attempting his own casual tone. "Are you okay?" He placed a hand on Seth's shoulder as they walked. "I know it's a lot, but they're just being careful. I'm sure it's nothing big."
"I know." Seth shrugged Sandy's hand off his shoulder. His lips twitched.
oooooooooooooooooooooooo
"I'm going to go give Ryan a call," Sandy announced.
"Hmm?" Seth looked up from the People magazine he'd been thumbing through.
Man, he wished he'd thought to bring the latest issue of Legion.
He was exhausted.
The tests had been annoying and mildly painful at best, terrifying and humiliating at worst.
They'd made him put on a hospital gown and lie in the fetal position while they jabbed a giant needle into his back, then followed up that star treatment with yet another needle.
He only hoped that his dad would never tell anyone that he'd held his hand the whole time.
He'd tried to play it off like it was for his dad's benefit-Okay fine, if this makes you feel better, I'll allow it-but he wasn't sure the stoic act held up.
He also hoped that his dad would never tell anyone about the sound and/or face he made when he was hit with a sudden sharp burst of pain when they'd stolen his actual bone marrow.
It was like the worst heist movie ever.
After the tests, they'd made him lie flat on the bed for twenty minutes for...some reason he couldn't remember, and it was mortifying to think that he'd let his dad hold his hand through most of that time too.
The spot where he'd been stuck throbbed, but his pride was really taking a beating too.
Admittedly, it was easier to focus on mourning his dignity than speculating about what all the giant needles were about.
"I said I'm going to call Ryan," Sandy repeated, holding up his cell phone. "Just to let him know where we are."
Seth shut his magazine. He bit his lip and picked at the thin blanket covering his legs.
He felt sort of stupid, just lying in a hospital bed, but the other seating options in the room weren't exactly choice either.
"Are you gonna call Mom too? Is this like, a serious thing?" Seth looked down at his hands.
"They're working on ruling out the serious things, and I'm sure they will," Sandy assured him. "I will give your mom a call too, just because she'd kill me if I didn't."
Seth nodded, now fiddling with the plastic bracelet looped loosely around his wrist.
"You're okay if I leave for a few minutes?" Sandy asked, still trying to gauge Seth's mood and stress level.
"I'm sure I'll survive," Seth drolled, grabbing the People magazine and flipping to a random page.
oooooooooooooooooooooooo
Sandy walked through the sliding doors and out into the sunshine.
He stared down at the cell phone in his hand, wondering how to do what he needed to do next.
All things considered, they hadn't been at the hospital for that long, but he was fairly certain that Kirsten would be livid with him for not calling her sooner.
It was just easier to pretend this wasn't happening when it was just him.
Something about passing the information and the worry along, and figuring out how best to communicate the appropriate level of worry to Kirsten was overwhelming.
Calling Kirsten felt like officially declaring it An Emergency and a decidedly high level of worry, like escalating the situation from a routine doctor's appointment for a banal problem to something Sandy wasn't comfortable touching.
Although perhaps not escalating it any more so than watching a doctor reach into his son's body to extract a piece of his bone marrow.
He'd tried not to think too much about what was happening as it was happening, had tried to focus on maintaining eye contact with Seth as the needles went in, imagining that his eye contact and his hand clutching Seth's were grounding forces that would help his son to feel less scared.
When Seth was twelve, his appendix had burst. It had been terrifying and stressful, but something about the pace of it had felt much more tolerable. There wasn't that much time to think or to speculate, to talk himself in and out of the idea that something was wrong.
Something was just wrong and the doctors seemed to immediately know what that was and what to do, and they communicated it with Sandy and Kirsten and then they did what they had to do.
This slow burn thing, the tests and the evasive non-answers and the not letting them worry until it was time to worry, and the acting confident and unbothered for Seth's sake and then questioning whether it was the right approach, questioning whether it was making Seth feel more confident and more unbothered or just making Seth feel more alone, made Sandy's knees feel like they might buckle underneath him.
Maybe they'd give him a hospital bed next to Seth's.
ooooooooooooooooooo
He called Ryan first. He was sure that would make Kirsten more livid, but calling him first made it feel less like An Emergency.
Ryan would come home and wonder where they were.
Sandy needed to tell him where they were.
There was nothing in there that indicated any kind of heightened threat level.
It was just logistical.
"Hello?" Ryan picked up on the first ring.
"Hey, Ryan, it's Sandy." Sandy closed his eyes.
"Hey, where are you? Is everything okay?" Ryan sounded concerned. "I, uh, didn't see a note or anything," he added.
Sandy almost smiled at the hint of hesitant reproach in Ryan's voice.
It had been ingrained in Sandy since childhood to leave a note so nobody had to worry about where you were, and he'd in turn ingrained that in his family with an admittedly high level of intensity.
It had seemed to confuse Ryan and then drive him mildly crazy, people needing to know where he was and when he'd be back, but then he seemed to get used to it, to get into the habit himself.
Sandy can close his eyes and still see his own mother's scrawl on a piece of notebook paper, affixed to the fridge with a fruit-shaped magnet. Working late-dinner's in the fridge. Sandy had joked that she could've just reused the same piece of paper over and over again; the message was generally the same.
"Sandy?" Ryan's voice snapped Sandy out of his daze.
"Yeah, sorry about that. The note, I mean." Sandy cleared his throat. "We're at the hospital."
There was dead silence on the other end of the phone.
"It's no big deal, but Seth fainted this morning, and they're running some tests, just making sure everything's okay. You know how doctors can be with that kind of thing." Sandy winced, shaking his head at his own verbal clumsiness.
Did Ryan know how doctors could be? He wasn't sure the kid had seen a primary care doctor for years before Kirsten had dragged him and Seth to their physicals just a few months prior.
Dead silence again.
"Ryan?"
"Yeah uh, can I come down there?"
"Of course, yeah." Sandy ran a hand through his hair. "You don't have to, but I'm sure Seth would appreciate it." He paused. "I can come pick you up, maybe grab some comics for Seth. I think he's pretty bored. There's only so many times a guy can reread the same People magazine."
"I'll get a ride." Ryan cleared his throat. "I can uh, I can grab some stuff for Seth too."
Sandy told Ryan how to find them when he arrived, and they traded good-byes before hanging up.
Sandy heaved a sigh.
He wished he had a cigarette.
He wished Kirsten were there.
Kirsten.
He did and he didn't want her there.
Or, he wanted her there, but he wasn't sure he was ready for what that meant.
Sandy dialed the number Kirsten had written down for him.
"Jamison and Associates, how may I help you?" A cheerful voice asked.
"Uh yes, hi. May I speak with Kirsten Cohen? This is her husband, Sandy."
"I'm sorry, she's in a meeting right now," the receptionist answered. "I can give her a message when she's out though."
Sandy took a deep breath, weighing his options. He could respect the boundary the receptionist set and buy himself a few more hours before bringing Kirsten into this.
It wasn't just Kirsten's feelings that concerned him, but the way that she could see through him. He felt like he was managing to keep his own anxiety somewhat at bay, and he worried that he might break open at the sound of her voice.
"I need to speak with her now," Sandy said finally, firmly. "It's urgent." He frowned.
Was it urgent?
Was it an emergency?
His brain was playing both sides of those particular arguments.
There was a pause on the line. "One moment, please. I'll get her."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Kristy, the overly perky receptionist, walked into the boardroom, a tight-lipped embarrassed smile plastered onto her face.
The room fell silent.
Radiating discomfort, Kirsty approached Kirsten.
"Kirsten Cohen?" she asked in a low voice.
"Yes," Kirsten replied, feeling her heart catch in her throat, conscious that interruptions to meetings like these weren't made lightly, and equally conscious that her father, sitting beside her, was listening to the whole exchange.
"Your husband's on the phone." Kirsty paused, eyes darting away from Kirsten's face. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but he says it's urgent."
Kirsten opened her mouth to speak, to at least thank the harried receptionist or ask where the phone was, but she found her mouth wasn't forming any words.
Her head swam, trying to process what was happening.
"Please excuse us, James," Caleb said to their host. "We need to take a phone call from back home."
Caleb put a hand on Kirsten's shoulder as they made their way to the phone. "I'm sure everything's fine," he whispered into her ear, giving her shoulder an affectionate squeeze.
The smile never quite reached Kirsten's face. She picked up the receiver, taking a deep breath.
"Sandy? What's wrong?"
There was a long pause on the other end.
"Hey, honey." Sandy's voice sounded tired and strained.
"Sandy, what's wrong?" Kirsten closed her eyes, fearing the worst.
"We-we don't know for sure yet," Sandy replied. "It might not be anything. Probably it isn't and I'm worrying you for nothing-"
"Sandy," Kirsten cut him off.
"I'm at the hospital with Seth."
"What's wrong? What happened to Seth?"
Caleb placed a comforting hand on Kirsten's shoulder.
"He's been feeling pretty run-down the past few days and he fainted this morning." Sandy coughed. "There's really nothing to worry about at this point; they're just running some tests right now to make sure everything's okay."
"What kind of tests?" Kirsten's brow furrowed.
"Different things," Sandy replied vaguely.
"Sandy, you're not helping me by not telling me," Kirsten replied sharply.
She couldn't keep the edge out of her voice, needing for Sandy to keep it together. Her mind kept spinning the worst of possible scenarios and she just needed to know what was actually happening in order to deal with what was actually happening.
"I'm sorry, you're right." Sandy blew out a long breath. "They're doing some blood tests and they took a chest x-ray and a bone marrow biopsy." He paused. "Just to rule out..." he trailed off.
Kirsten closed her eyes, flashing to her mother on a hospital bed, starched white sheets.
"We're coming home," she said firmly.
"You-you don't have to," Sandy said.
"Sandy, are you worried?"
"Kirsten, I-"
"Don't lie to me, Sandy." Her voice dropped. "Please."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm worried." Sandy's voice cracked a little. "I'm sure he's fine. I-"
"How's Seth holding up?"
"He's okay, I think," Sandy said. "It's a lot, but I'm just trying to keep his mind off things."
"That's good." Kirsten replied. "We'll be there as soon as we can."
oooooooooooooooooo
Ryan caught sight of Sandy across the waiting room, staring off into space. His hair was rumpled and he looked about ten years older than he had that morning.
He spotted Ryan and his face split into a big smile, whatever he was actually feeling disappearing under the Sandy Cohen mask, as he beckoned Ryan over.
"Hey kid," he greeted him. "Last time I was in there, he was napping, but we can go see him. I just came out to wait for you."
Ryan nodded, not knowing what to say.
It continued to be unsettling, having adults trying to insulate him from their problems and how they were feeling.
With his mom, she tended to telegraph it pretty clearly when she'd reached her limit with him or with Trey, when she was on the verge of dumping or being dumped by her boyfriend, when his dad was hitting her up for money from prison, when the bills were past due and when they were past past due, when the electricity or the hot water might be shut off.
He understood that it wasn't supposed to be ideal, the way that his mom could be about things, but it was also easier to know where things stood, to know how worried he should be, to know when he should stay close or make himself scarce.
With Sandy and Kirsten and their careful, polite way of wording things, there was too much to have to guess: when and how and if he was intruding on their family moments, when and how and if they'd hit a limit with him, when and how and if they wanted him around, from moment-to-moment.
If Sandy wanted company and conversation in the hospital waiting room, or if he wanted to be left alone to focus on Seth.
If Sandy wanted him there at all, or if he just said Ryan could come because Ryan overstepped and asked if he could be there.
If this was all no big deal, or if he should be worrying about Seth.
And of course, it was harder still to interpret Sandy and Kirsten without Seth there to help decode their communications.
"Did you get a ride from Marissa?" Sandy asked, standing up.
Ryan shook his head. "Theresa."
"Your friend from Chino?"
"I figured I wouldn't really have to explain anything," Ryan said with a shrug.
"It's good to have a friend like that, huh?" Sandy clapped a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Ready to go?"
Ryan nodded and mutely followed Sandy into Seth's room.
oooooooooooooooooo
Seth was sleeping, his lips parted slightly and his hair matted down on his head, looking much more like ten than sixteen.
Sandy shook Seth's shoulder gently. "Hey Seth. Ryan's here to see you." Sandy glanced up at Ryan. "He refused to take a nap until I promised to wake him up when you came."
Ryan managed a wan smile.
"Hey man," Seth squinted at Ryan and slowly blinked the sleep from his eyes.
"Hey man," Ryan said, trying not to let his discomfort show through.
Sandy announced that he was going to run for a cup of coffee and left the two boys alone.
"I uh, brought you a few things," Ryan said. He reached into his bag and pulled out a copy of the newest Legion and a few other comics from Seth's nightstand. He dropped them on Seth's lap. "And uh, one horse." Ryan smirked and produced Captain Oats from the same bag.
Seth's face melted at the sight of his equine friend. "Thanks man." He yawned. "I made some grave miscalculations. I wasn't expecting to be in here for a long haul, so I really failed with bringing the needed provisions.." He picked up Legion and held it to his chest. "This will sustain me, Ryan." He yawned again, loudly. "How was school? Did you see Summer?"
"At lunch, yeah," Ryan replied. "She asked about you."
"Yeah?" Seth asked, eager for details. "Tell me everything."
"She said she hopes you feel better."
"Excellent." Seth took that in. "Wishing for my general well-being feels like a good sign." He paused, frowning. "Right?"
"Right."
"So, uh, how you doing?" Ryan asked. It felt sort of stupid to ask, but also like it was the thing he was supposed to ask.
"Funny, I'm in a hospital and everybody just starts asking me how I'm feeling," Seth said, brow furrowed in exaggerated puzzlement. "I'm good. I'll be outta here and creating mayhem and merriment in no time."
"I don't doubt it."
"So have you read it already?" Seth gestured to Legion. "I'm on my second read-through."
"Just the first for me," Ryan admitted. Seth had a strict two read-through policy when it came to Legion. Ryan mostly stuck with the program. It was both easier that way and, admittedly, he actually did invariably pick up on details he'd missed in the first go-round.
He smiled as Seth launched into his in-depth analysis of Legion. He let Seth's rambling wash over him, grateful that he wouldn't have to do much conversationally, and comforted that some things were the same as they always were.