A/N:

Chapter updated on 12/29/23

A/N: It turns out my research in high school was not super thorough, and getting a diagnosis like this would take considerably more time. I considered wildly overhauling this whole thing, but as this is kind of a side project, instead I just humbly request that you all pretend this is like an episode of House M.D. and all the complicated diagnostic tests come back super quickly for the sake of pacing. Thanks!

Chapter 3

Sandy sat by Seth's bedside as he slept, feeling the seconds ticking by at a glacial pace.

He remembered this from Nana Nichol's time in the cancer ward and Seth's appendix, the way that time seemed to move backwards in a hospital.

A day could feel like a week, and the hours to wait for a test result, or for surgery to be over, or for a moment with the only doctor who seemed to know what was going on could stretch into an eternity.

He thumbed through one of Seth's comic books, idly wondering how and when his son started reading such dark stuff.

Ryan couldn't have grabbed an Archie and Jughead?

Sandy ditched the comic book and leaned toward Seth, needing contact with his son. He ran a hand through Seth's hair, smiling faintly.

It probably wasn't anything big. Seth was just under a lot of stress, and who could blame him? He had a heavy course load, a new brother, and a sort of girlfriend. He'd had only one out of those three last year.

Most of it was good, but Seth's life before Ryan and before Summer had been slower, quieter. He went to school and he came home. Sometimes he went to the comic book store. That was about it.

Stress, that was it. Seth was pushing himself too hard; he just needed to find a balance with all of the new things in his life, all the new demands on his time and energy.

Sandy sat back in his seat and crossed his arms, waiting.

oooooooooooooooooo

Ryan sat slouched on one of the waiting room chairs, biting at a hangnail.

Seth had dozed off again and Ryan had made his escape to the waiting room, saying he'd keep an eye out for Kirsten.

He figured that might be helpful, but also, Sandy was making him antsy. He kept trying to talk to him, whispering to him about school and soccer and Marissa and Ryan didn't even know what, as if Seth weren't lying in a hospital bed four feet from where they sat.

And it was that discomfort still, not knowing how to interpret the intense gleam in Sandy's eye or the way that he carefully avoided saying anything about Seth or what might be wrong with him or about the events of that day.

Ryan wasn't sure if Sandy needed him there as a welcome distraction, or if his presence was a nuisance, making him feel like he had to entertain Ryan when he had much more important things to focus on.

"Ryan?"

Ryan looked up to see Kirsten striding towards him. He stood up and stepped into her hug.

"How are you?" Kirsten asked as she broke off their hug.

"I'm okay." Ryan cleared his throat, feeling awkward with the exchange, with Kirsten pulling out those Newport social skills, stopping to ask him how he was when she must've been anxious to see Seth.

He was the pleasantries to get through before Kirsten could go where she really wanted and needed to be.

"Have you been in to see him? How's he doing?"

Ryan nodded. "Sandy's with him now. He's lookin' pretty good." He forced a small smile, wanting to be comforting but afraid to be at the same time, as if Kirsten would be more upset if something were really wrong with Seth because he'd tried to reassure her.

"I'm sure everything's fine," Kirsten said. "You know Seth, just trying to keep things exciting." She managed a thin-lipped smile. "When he was little, he used to spike the worst fevers every time I'd leave on a business trip." She shook her head. "You can imagine how fun that was for Sandy."

"That does sound like him." Ryan ducked his head a little. "The uh, keeping things exciting part," he added awkwardly. "Um, is your dad here?" Seeing Kirsten's puzzled expression, Ryan explained. "Sandy said he might be coming...I could uh, show him to the room when he gets here."

"He had to stay behind to finish some things up. He'll be here as soon as he can." Kirsten's eyes honed in on Ryan in an appraising look. Her expression shifted into one of her subtle smiles, barely there unless you were looking for every little movement in someone's face and in their mood.

Kirsten reached into her purse.

Ryan shifted on his feet.

"It's been a really long day and I haven't had anything to eat since breakfast." Kirsten addressed the inside of her bag as she dug through it. "I hate to ask, but would you mind running to the cafeteria and grabbing me something? The greasier the better."

Ryan almost smiled. He had a task to perform, some direction to go in.

He could play waiter and then fade into the background.

"Of course. That's probably asking for trouble with hospital food, though," Ryan offered. "The uh, the greasier the better thing."

"Use your best judgment then." Kirsten handed him a small wad of cash and then squeezed Ryan's arm warmly. "And get something for yourself, okay?"

"I don't need anything," Ryan said quickly.

Kirsten gave him a gently stern look. "I need to make sure both my boys are being taken care of. Don't let me worry that you're going hungry, huh?"

"Okay." Ryan ducked his head again shyly and tucked the money into his jeans pocket.

"Thank you." Kirsten kissed Ryan's cheek and gave his arm another squeeze before making her way to Seth's room.

ooooooooooooooooo

"Sandy."

Sandy looked up, a weary smile falling over his face.

Kirsten was a sight for sore eyes, and never had she looked more beautiful than she did right then, in her wrinkled business suit, her long blonde hair just subtly disheveled.

"Hey baby," he said, voice tired. He wrapped her in his arms and closed his eyes.

"How is he?" Kirsten whispered into Sandy's shoulder, eyes darting towards the hospital bed, where Seth was snoring quietly.

"He's doing okay," Sandy replied, pulling back and kissing her on the head. "I think today really took it out of him."

"That might be for the best," Kirsten considered. "Less time to worry." Her fingers brushed gently over Sandy's stubble. He hadn't shaved that morning. Somehow, her mind latched onto that unimportant fact, and for a few seconds that was all she could think about. She blinked. Sandy was staring at her, concerned. She cleared her throat. "Does he seem worried?" she asked.

In a way, it would be easier if Seth was anxious, if there was mothering and soothing to focus on, if there was a need to project unwavering confidence, rather than being left to grapple with the pit of anxiety and uncertainty blooming in her own stomach.

Sandy considered the question. "It's hard to say," he whispered, eyeing Seth to make sure he was still sleeping. "I think he's mostly channeling it into complaining."

"About what?"

"Not being able to go home, having to wear a hospital gown, the food..." Sandy trailed off with a shrug.

Listing it out like that, it occurred to him that Seth's kvetching had focused on the mundane, that he hadn't really touched the giant needles or the physical pain or the invasiveness of the tests, all subjects that would be ripe for a kvetch.

He's not sure why he didn't see that before.

"Mom?" Seth's voice was soft, confused, harkening back to Seth as a little boy, when he'd fall asleep somewhere strange and wake up disoriented and grumpy.

"Hey sweetie." Kirsten swooped to Seth's bedside and perched herself on the edge. She reached out and brushed a few errant curls off of his forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay." Seth shrugged. "Clearly not at the top of my game, but there's only so long a man can maintain peak performance." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I hate to be the one to break this to you though, but your husband is a bit of a drama queen."

"Oh yeah?" Kirsten leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Seth's forehead. "I've always suspected."

"A guy trips on a loose rug one time and the man makes a whole federal case of it." Seth frowned. "Did you know that I will never again contain a complete set of bone marrow, Mom?"

Kirsten's smile wavered.

Sandy winced. He guessed Seth had been saving his bone marrow quips for his mother, for some unimaginable reason.

"Actually, I'm not sure if that's true," Seth added. "But it definitely feels true, which is basically the same thing, if you think about it."

"Why don't we let your dad run and get some dinner, and you can tell me all about it?"

oooooooooooooooo

It was only an hour or two later that Dr. Pearson returned to Seth's room, but it felt like much longer.

It was its own kind of terrifying, a doctor knowing more about their son than they did, Sandy mused, as the doctor pulled them aside and into the hallway, as he greeted Kirsten with a smile and an outstretched hand. He watched his wife perform the usual social niceties, though he could see her chafing at the process, could see the undercurrent of impatience as she crisply noted the length of her drive to get there.

His heart clenched as the doctor invited them into a conference room across the hall to talk, unless they wanted to go back into Seth's room and let Seth be a part of the conversation.

You probably didn't get invited across the hall to hear that everything was okay.

He and Kirsten exchanged glances, silently debating whether or not to include Seth in the conversation.

It was his body and his health, and they could give him the choice on whether or not he wanted to be there, but he was also sixteen years old. It might have been unfair to even present him with a choice like that. How could he be expected to even know what he wanted?

And Seth probably didn't need to see how they would react if it turned out to be bad news.

They could have time to react and ask questions they wouldn't want to ask in front of him, and then time to pull themselves together, to figure out together how to package it to Seth, how to soften it for him.

Kirsten gave him a little nod.

"Let's talk in the other room." Sandy squeezed Kirsten's hand, and they followed Dr. Pearson into the conference room.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dr. Pearson sat across from them at a large wooden conference table, his hands folded and resting on a manila file folder.

Sandy couldn't stop staring at the file folder. He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to reassure himself that Seth was okay, but everything happening around him suggested otherwise.

They didn't need a manila folder and a conference room to tell you you had a healthy teenage boy.

"Mr. and Mrs. Cohen," Dr. Pearson began, clearing his throat. He smiled at them, too gently, too sympathetically.

Kirsten closed her eyes, heart sinking.

"Seth has leukemia."

Sandy let out the breath he'd been holding in.

"C-cancer?" Sandy wasn't aware if the raspy, choked voice coming out of his mouth was his or not.

"You'll want a second opinion of course, and we can provide referrals to help you navigate that process. I don't want to assail you with too much information right now; I can only imagine how you're feeling..."

The doctor kept talking, seeming to strike the perfect doctorly balance of information-giving and assuring them that leukemia was treatable and beatable and that Seth seemed like a strong kid, but Sandy couldn't grasp many of the particulars of what he was saying, not over the buzzing in his ears.

There were questions, and Sandy and Kirsten answered them somehow, as best they could.

Who did they want to tell Seth? How did they want to tell Seth?

They would do it, Sandy decided, looking to Kirsten and seeing her nod of agreement. It would be better from them, not from a veritable stranger who wouldn't know how to talk to Seth, who wouldn't understand how to comfort him and how to answer his questions before he even asked them, how to answer the questions they knew he'd have but that he'd be too afraid to ask.

There was more talk of logistics, discharging Seth the following morning and more appointments and tests and procedures, with the likely course being Seth checking back into the hospital the following week.

"He'll have to stay at the hospital?" Kirsten's voice was soft and strained. "He won't get to be home with us?"

Dr. Pearson nodded somberly, explaining that, if the tests confirmed Dr. Pearson's diagnosis, Seth's form of leukemia was considered more aggressive, and better served by at least an initial period of inpatient hospitalization.

Aggressive.

Dr. Pearson hadn't thrown around the word aggressive when he'd been assuring them of leukemia's treatability and beat-ability.

The doctor left after another expression of sympathy and reassurance that Sandy couldn't hear.

ooooooooooooooooooo

Alone in the conference room, Sandy glanced over at Kirsten. He squeezed her hand gently.

Kirsten rubbed her smooth hand over Sandy's, her fingers lightly tracing over his gold wedding band.

Sandy stood up and pulled Kirsten up and into his arms. He inhaled deeply.

Kirsten returned her husband's hug, resting her head against his chest.

Neither of them said a word as they clung to each other.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Ten minutes later they emerged from the conference room, their eyes red-rimmed, but they each felt steadier, in control. They didn't leave the room until they were certain they could keep their emotions in check, until they were certain they were ready to face Seth.

There was no real sense of readiness, but it did help somewhat to be able to plan out next steps, identify concrete tasks that needed to happen. Referrals followed up on, appointments planned, school and work notified, networking to explore, who in their various circles might know which cancer expert.

And Seth needed to know.

Kirsten grabbed Sandy's arm as he reached for the doorknob to Seth's room. Sandy turned to face her, putting a hand on her waist.

"Are you okay?" He asked gently, running his free hand through Kirsten's hair.

Kirsten nodded. "We'll be okay, Sandy. All of us. We'll get through this."

Sandy pulled back a little and nodded.

"Who's going to stay with him tonight?" Kirsten rubbed his arm lightly.

"Do you want to?" Sandy asked. "I mean, you could, but you've been traveling most of the day. You could go home, change out of the business gear and take a bubble bath. I could stay."

The idea that she could go home and enjoy a bubble bath was fairly ludicrous, but Kirsten tried to appreciate the intent.

"No, sweetie, you've been here all day. You must be exhausted. I'll be fine here with Seth." She paused. "And somebody has to take Ryan home." She rubbed at her forehead. "And explain all of this to him. You're better at talking to him than I am."

Sandy wasn't so sure about that, but he also knew that Kirsten was tentative with Ryan at times, underestimating her ability to connect with and understand him.

And underestimating their similarities, their quiet and restrained ways of expressing themselves contrasted the verbose and boisterous style of Seth and Sandy. Sandy wanted to jump in and talk everything out, but it often felt like Kirsten was better at reading between the lines, at interpreting Ryan's unblinking stares or his extended silences.

But it also wasn't lost on Sandy that Kirsten was also a mother wanting to be with her sick little boy.

"You're probably right." Sandy sighed, leaning against the door. "So, we tell Seth now, and then I tell Ryan at home?"

It didn't feel quite right. Sandy couldn't have previously conceived of a time when he'd have left Seth overnight in the hospital, even if Kirsten was with him.

It was different since Ryan moved in with them, navigating another point of focus, having to divide and conquer the parenting duties: one kid going home, one kid staying in the hospital.

"Right." Kirsten kissed him gently on the lips. "I'm scared, Sandy." She sighed. "I know he'll be okay, but this is going to be so much for him. He's still a baby to me."

"I know," Sandy replied quietly. "I'm scared too. But you're right. We'll all get through this, and Seth will be okay, and then we'll kill him for putting us through this."

Kirsten mustered up a smile at the bad joke and squeezed Sandy's hand.

Sandy opened the door.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Seth looked up as the door opened.

A nurse had kicked Ryan out when visitor's hours had ended a few hours earlier, so he'd been on his landmark fourth read-through of Legion when his parents had left to talk to the doctor.

That they'd been gone for twenty minutes wasn't exactly comforting, but it took all of one look at his parents' puffy eyes and ashen faces to confirm that something was wrong. He felt his heart start to pound in his chest and he instinctively reached for Captain Oats, a hand closing around the plastic horse's midsection.

Sandy saw a brief flicker of fear on Seth's face, which quickly melted into a neutral expression.

"So what's the verdict?" Seth tried to sound casual, but he heard his own voice falter just a little.

Sandy and Kirsten approached his bed, and Sandy sat himself on the edge.

"Seth," he began slowly, resting a hand on Seth's leg. "The doctor said you have leukemia." There was no easy way to say it, so he'd just said it. "It's a kind of cancer, but it's very treatable; the doctor said that too."

Seth nodded, the blank expression on his face never wavering. He stared intently at Captain Oats' mane.

Dr. Pearson's earlier attempt to casually slide cancer into the conversation hadn't gone over Seth's head, and so of course he'd spent the whole time in his stupid hospital bed convinced that he had cancer, but at the same time, he'd been equally convinced that he didn't have it.

He'd been an anxious person for as long as he could remember. His parents had made him see a shrink when he was seven or eight, and all he really remembers was the guy telling his parents that he tended to assume the worst was going to happen, and that he was unfortunately blessed with an extremely robust imagination, so the worst possible scenario in Seth's mind was often far afield of what anyone else might think or imagine.

Seth had been hoping that that was all this was, more of his robust imagination and his tendency to catastrophize, his brain churning out things that his exasperated parents would reassure him wasn't going to happen.

No, the ceiling fan isn't going to fall on you and sever your head while you're sleeping, so you need to stop trying to sleep in the bathtub.

No, the children's librarian isn't a witch with a taste for little kid eyeballs.

Yes, it is okay to go to sleep because we will not be abducted by aliens or replaced by evil body doubles before you wake up.

Yes, your stomach hurts, but no you aren't dying.

But now it's maybe you are dying.

Seeing Seth's glazed over expression, Sandy tried to angle his head to meet his eyes, but Seth wouldn't look at him.

"Your father has to take Ryan home tonight, but I'll be spending the night here with you," Kirsten said, her voice tight. "Dr. Pearson says you can go home tomorrow."

They'd decided not to tell Seth about having to return for an inpatient hospitalization until they were sure that would be part of the course of treatment.

"Okay," Seth said quietly.

"Do you have any questions for us?" Sandy asked gently. "I know it's a lot to take in."

"No." Seth cleared his throat. "No questions." He fiddled with the plastic medical bracelet around his wrist, continuing to focus his gaze on Captain Oats.

"Setheleh, can you look at me please?" Sandy asked.

Seth finally met his gaze, looking wary.

Sandy gave him a little smile. "I'll be here tomorrow when you check out, okay?"

"Okay." Seth's voice was dull.

Sandy lowered his voice. "And I know this is scary, son, but everything will be okay. You're going to be okay. And through everything, you have your mom and me, and you have Ryan. No matter what. I promise." Sandy paused. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"It'll be okay," Sandy repeated, patting Seth's knee gently. "Do you want me to stay for awhile, before I take Ryan home? I'm happy to stay."

"You can take Ryan home. I'm probably just going to sleep anyway." Seth shrugged. "Only thing to do around here, really."

Sandy hesitated.

He and Kirsten hadn't been sure what to prepare for in terms of Seth's response. He'd steeled himself for a barrage of questions and nervous energy, but he hadn't expected a total emotional shutdown from his son.

It felt a bit like talking to Ryan all of the sudden, and it left Sandy a little off-balance, unsure of how to leave him, not knowing what might have been churning under the surface of Seth's blank expression and his short terse answers and his shrugging shoulders.

Sandy leaned forward and wrapped Seth in a tentative hug, which Seth returned weakly. He pulled back a little, and pressed a kiss to Seth's forehead.

"I love you, Seth," Sandy whispered.

"Love you too," Seth mumbled.

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Seth nodded.

ooooooooooooooooooo

Sandy leaned against the wall outside of Seth's room, closing his eyes and swallowing heavily.

His kid had cancer.

He shook his head. He was the adult, the dad. He wasn't allowed to have a breakdown.

His stomach rumbled suddenly, a reminder that he'd barely eaten since breakfast, having only picked at the sandwich that Ryan had brought him from the cafeteria. He wasn't entirely sure his stomach could handle much in the way of food, but, on the other hand, maybe it could help stop the sudden shaking in his hand. He spied a candy machine a few feet away, and shuffled over, pulling a few coins out of his pocket.

There was a Snickers bar calling his name. He liked Snickers.

Maybe he needed chocolate. There was some chemical or other in it that was supposed to make a person feel better.

Did it make your son's cancer go away?

Whatever it did, Sandy needed it. He slid the coins into the slot, and hit E3. Nothing happened.

A jolt of anger surged through Sandy's body. His son was sick, he couldn't do a damn thing about it, and he couldn't even get a fucking candy bar. An angry growl escaped his lips. He reared back and kicked the stupid vending machine, channeling every pent-up emotion from the past day into it.

Sandy straightened up and looked around, suddenly aware of what he was doing, aware of his throbbing foot and his heavy breathing and the heavier pit in his chest.

His eyes continued to dart around, grateful that there had been no witnesses to his vending machine assault. He'd imagine hospital security had seen their fair share of overwhelmed parents going toe-to-toe with the vending machine, but Ryan didn't need to see him losing control like that.

He took a long slow breath, reminding himself of his responsibility, of his next dad job, of the need to put one solid foot in front of the next as he found Ryan and took them both home.

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ryan was hunkered down in a blue plastic chair, arms folded, fast asleep. While Seth looked vulnerable and young when he was sleeping, Ryan looked angry and tense, his face scrunched up like a bulldog.

Sandy jostled his arm lightly.

"Hey Ryan, wake up. We've gotta go home."

"Mmmmm," Ryan groaned. "Sandy?" He sat up a little and looked around. "What about Seth? I thought you were gonna stay with him." He yawned. "Are they letting him go home?" He asked hopefully.

"Kirsten's with him tonight," Sandy explained in a soothing voice. He helped Ryan out of his chair. "He'll be home in the morning. C'mon, kiddo."

"Is he okay?" Ryan asked, as they walked out of the hospital's sliding doors, Sandy's arm around his shoulders.

Sandy was quiet. He had wanted to tell Ryan when they were at home, maybe over a bowl of ice cream or something, as if that would somehow soften the blow. But mostly he'd wanted to put some distance between them and the hospital before he had to explain everything.

Now though, he knew he really couldn't lie to Ryan, or prolong telling him the truth.

"Sandy?" Ryan asked, concern and fear sparking in his eyes, suddenly fully awake. "Sandy, what's wrong?"

They were in the parking lot now, right in front of the Range Rover.

Sandy scratched the back of his neck, feeling the full weight of exhaustion from the day catching up to him.

"Seth uh...Seth has leukemia," he said quietly, hating the word.

Ryan closed his eyes. Fatigue, and the shock of the news hit him, and he sank back against the side of the Range Rover.

"I'm sorry," Ryan whispered. "Is there-is there anything I can do?" He looked back toward the hospital. "Can I see him?" His tone held an intensity that Sandy hadn't heard in awhile.

"There's nothing we can do right now, okay? He's probably sleeping. Just come home with me. You need a good night's rest. We both do. We're checking him out tomorrow," Sandy said, hoping his voice sounded confident, definitive, whatever it would take to get the job done, get Ryan home without much in the way of incident. "Okay?"

Ryan didn't say anything, but his eyes kept darting back and forth from Sandy's shoes to the hospital.

"Okay, Ryan? Please, son." Sandy squeezed his shoulder.

Ryan nodded finally, not wanting to make any more trouble for Sandy. "Is there anything I can do?" He asked.

"He'll probably be back in the hospital within a week or so, but I'd like it if we could all make his time at home worthwhile…you know? I'd really appreciate it." Sandy smiled gently at Ryan.

Ryan nodded. His blue eyes finally flicked up to meet Sandy's, and Sandy almost took a step back at the intensity of his gaze.

And there was that anger in his eyes. That severe, intense, practically paralyzing anger, the emotion with which Sandy was the most familiar, the kind that crippled you until you finally found a release for it.

Kids Ryan's age shouldn't have that much anger.

"Seth's doing okay, you know," Sandy said. "It's a lot to take in, but the doctor's very optimistic."

Ryan nodded. He reached out to open the car door.

Sandy put his hand on Ryan's shoulder. Ryan turned to look at him, but couldn't quite meet his eye.

"Look, if you need to talk about this, you know where to find me, yeah?"

Ryan looked down at Sandy's hand on his shoulder, then looked away.

"Yeah, okay." Ryan blinked, his jaw clenching.

Sandy lifted his hand from Ryan's shoulder and watched as the younger boy slid into the passenger seat and slouched down, everything in his body language communicating clearly enough that the conversation was over.

Sandy walked around to the other side of the car, his shaking hands fumbling with the keys.

They drove home in silence.