A/N: Also of note is that apparently there have thankfully been significant advances in treating leukemia since I first started writing this almost twenty years ago, so the survival rate is much higher than it was back then. However, this story still takes place in 2004 (sorry, Seth).
Updated January 2024.
Chapter 4
Seth stared up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. Or trying not to cry too loudly, if he was fully honest with himself.
He had cancer.
It felt like one part of him was spiraling into a panic, knowing that this was true, and another split-off part of him continued to be wary and unsure of what they were saying to him.
He had cancer.
It was like a shirt he kept trying on, but he couldn't quite make it fit.
It wasn't so much fear that was freaking him out; he might have felt more normal and less unhinged if that were the case.
Instead it was the internal debate that was gnawing at him, one part of him arguing that he was obviously sick and it was obviously serious, while the other part screamed at him to find his real clothes and run screaming out the sliding doors of the hospital, because the doctors were obviously insane charlatans who had no idea what was going on with him.
He had cancer.
Except, of course, he obviously didn't.
He turned over in bed, hoping the rustling sheets masked the sound of him sniffling.
He needed his mom to think he was sleeping.
He also really needed her to think that he couldn't hear her sniffing and coughing and clearly crying herself.
Leukemia.
He felt a stab of nausea.
They all told him that he'd be okay, that it was treatable and beatable, but it wasn't like they were going to really level with him, and it wasn't like they all weren't clearly freaked out themselves, his mom and dad sporting matching shell-shocked looks when they told him.
Leukemia.
He should've figured it out sooner, that something was really wrong with him.
Things added up.
He'd been tired and achy all the time, and he'd been getting stomach cramps almost daily. Maybe if he'd told his dad sooner…
Fuck.
Seth swallowed a lump in his throat.
He didn't remember much from when Nana Nichol was sick, and it's not like anyone was really keeping a five-year-old in the loop, but he had vague memories of his parents and grandfather talking in front of him, saying things like if they'd caught it sooner, and then trailing off, like there was no point in thinking like that, but obviously no one could help thinking like that.
What if he was already fucked?
What if he was doomed to slowly decompose in a hospital bed while everyone shook their heads sadly and said if only they'd caught it sooner?
Seth was startled to feel a gentle touch on his forehead. He bit his lip to prevent from calling out to his mom as she ran her fingers through his hair. She kissed his forehead, and he closed his eyes.
"I love you," Kirsten whispered tenderly.
Seth's face scrunched up, trying not to cry suddenly even more difficult than it had been a moment ago.
ooooooooooooooooooooo
Kirsten closed her eyes, trying in vain to sleep.
She shifted in her chair, unable to get comfortable. Sighing, she reached out to grab a tissue from the nightstand. Too late, she remembered the glass vase on the bedside table.
She emitted a low frustrated growl at the loud crash followed by the sound of shards of glass skittering across the floor.
This was all she needed.
Kirsten crossed the room carefully, groping across the wall for the light switch.
The room filled with light, and Kirsten got a good look at the damage. She suppressed a groan. Glass was scattered across the ground in a small pool of water. Limp yellow flowers lay among the mess.
Why would anyone bring a glass vase to a hospital room?
Heaving a weary sigh, she approached the destruction, her eyes traveling up instinctively to check up on Seth.
"Seth?" She said his name quietly.
Though Seth's eyes were closed, she could see the tear tracks on his reddened cheeks and the slight tremor in his jaw.
"Seth, sweetie, I know you're awake." Kirsten sat on the edge of the bed. "Talk to me, please."
Seth's eyes peeked open.
"Hey, Mom," he croaked. "How's it hangin'?"
Kirsten snickered as she wiped a tear from his cheek with her thumb.
"You want to talk about this?" She asked quietly. "I'm awake, you're awake..."
"There's glass all over the floor.." Seth trailed off. "It's like right out of a sitcom."
"Seriously, Seth," Kirsten gently admonished him. "You don't have to hide the fact that you're scared. We can talk about this; make it a little less scary for all of us."
"I don't want to talk about it." Seth wiped his face with his hand.
"I'm here to listen if you do." Kirsten brushed the hair back off his forehead.
Seth was quiet for a minute, allowing Kirsten to gently card her fingers through his hair.
"Do you uh, do you think things'll be okay?" Seth asked. He coughed and looked away.
It was embarrassing, but he guessed he couldn't help that little kid impulse to ask, to hear his mom reassure him.
Yes, you have leukemia, but no, you're not going to die.
He wished she would say it now, just like that, in that same exasperated way she used to tell him things, like he was kind of an idiot for worrying about whatever it was that he was worrying about.
"I do," Kirsten said. "And I know you, Seth. You've always been stronger than you give yourself credit for." She smiled earnestly. "You'll get through this."
It wasn't exactly the level of certainty he'd been looking for.
He also wasn't sure of the science behind the healing power of his alleged strength, a quality he wasn't exactly known for before that day.
Some horrible part of him had the urge to ask if that was why Nana Nichol died, because she came up short in the toughness department.
"I know it's a lot to take in," Kirsten added softly. "A lot of things will be changing, and we'll figure it out and get through it together, okay? You and me and Daddy and Ryan." Her hand found his and she squeezed it gently. "Okay?"
Seth nodded.
"I'll clean up this mess and then let's try to get some sleep, huh?" Kirsten squeezed his hand again. "I think we could both use some rest."
"Yes, ma'am," Seth said, saluting weakly with his free hand.
The internal debate was still raging, but tempers had cooled a little bit, each side a little quieter.
He turned over and closed his eyes.
oooooooooooooooooooooooo
Ryan eased the French door closed behind him with a muted click. He couldn't sleep, and the pool house suddenly felt so small and stuffy that he could hardly breathe in there, let alone sleep.
God, he needed a smoke.
He was craving a cigarette so badly that his whole body itched.
Padding softly into the kitchen, he figured he'd look for some kind of nicotine substitute. He froze when he spotted Sandy digging through the freezer.
He hadn't been expecting or wanting company, but more than that, he didn't want to intrude.
Sandy turned, a container of ice cream in hand, spotting Ryan before he could flee.
"Hi Ryan." Sandy held up the ice cream carton. "Want some?" he offered. He didn't wait for Ryan's answer, pulling open a drawer and grabbing two spoons. He attempted a smile that seemed to leave before it even had a chance to make an impact on his features.
Ryan eyed Sandy, uncertain what the older man really wanted.
"Okay," he agreed.
Sandy got two bowls from the cabinet above the stove and started scooping and serving.
"Sit down," he ordered, gesturing to the kitchen island.
Ryan perched uneasily on his usual stool, having no idea what to do or say.
He wished Seth were there. He'd never really thought about what a relief it was, the way that Seth could and did fill a silence.
Seth's chatter could sometimes make an awkward moment exponentially more awkward, but it at least threw attention from Ryan's awkwardness, from the way he so often didn't know what to say or was clumsy or sparse with his words.
There were times when people could get pushy with him-Dr. Kim and his guidance counselor in Chino and Marissa sometimes and Kirsten to a small extent and Sandy to a much larger one-wanting him to explain himself and insisting he had the words somewhere within him, like he was just holding out on everyone out of willful defiance, but to him it just felt like he didn't have a lot to say.
And Seth tried to draw things out of him too sometimes, and he gently mocked him for his monosyllabic answers, but it felt different, more harmless curiosity than a frustrated or urgent demand for Ryan to turn himself inside out for his benefit.
"I'm glad we're catching each other," Sandy said, sliding a bowl and spoon over to Ryan. He replaced the ice cream in the fridge and stood in front of Ryan. "I tried to talk to you when we got home, but you kind of disappeared on me."
Ryan didn't respond.
"It's okay," Sandy affirmed quickly, mashing up the ice cream with his spoon. "I just figured it would be good if we talked a little bit." He paused. "I know you and Seth are close."
Ryan stared blankly at his ice cream.
"And I know that we're all going to need to adjust, and I want you to know you can talk to me about this." Sandy paused. "Well, about anything. But I know you're not going to want to upset Kirsten or Seth, so I just want to make sure that you know you can talk to me." He caught the look on Ryan's face. "Ah. I take it you don't want to upset me either."
Ryan shrugged impassively.
"It's not your job to take care of me, and Ryan, I'm not gonna let you." Sandy looked at him levelly. "I'm your da-" He coughed. "I'm the parent here, and I want you to come talk to me if you have questions, or if you're upset."
Sandy eyed Ryan, trying to gauge some kind of reaction from the younger boy. He wondered if Ryan had caught his verbal slip-up.
Ryan seemed to hold he and Kirsten at a stiff and cordial distance most of the time, making it hard to suss out if he was really in the market for replacement parents. He gave so little of himself away that it could be a kind of guessing game, finding and navigating the boundaries Ryan had erected around himself.
Sandy didn't want to be presumptuous and assume that Ryan thought of him as his dad, or assume that Ryan was okay or comfortable with it if Sandy thought of him as his son.
"Do you hear me on that, Ryan?" Sandy asked after an extended silence, feeling like he was floundering without any hint of a reaction from Ryan.
"Yeah," Ryan said, voice hoarse. He poked at his ice cream with his spoon. "Thanks, Sandy."
Ever the wordsmith.
Sandy felt just as lost with Ryan as he'd felt in the beginning of the conversation.
The two ate their ice cream in silence.
When they'd finished, Sandy grabbed their empty bowls and put them in the sink.
Sandy turned back towards Ryan.
"If you want, that guest bedroom is still open for you," he said, looking a little uneasy. "I mean, it's really your bedroom, if you want it," he added awkwardly, suddenly seeming to channel Seth and his habit of adding little disclaimers and addendums to everything he said. "I made up the bed, so everything should be all set." He looked at Ryan earnestly.
Ryan considered it for a moment, thinking that he understood what Sandy wanted from him. That made things easier, making it so that he didn't even have to think about what he wanted.
"Thanks. I uh, I appreciate that." Ryan rose from his chair. "I'll uh, grab my stuff."
Sandy and Ryan faced each other, Ryan worried about overstepping and Sandy unsure of how to bridge the distance between them and worried about spooking Ryan, who tended to turn tail and run at the first sign of someone trying to connect with him.
Sandy took a step toward Ryan, knowing he was taking a risk as he hugged the younger boy.
Ryan returned the hug weakly.
It was frustrating on one level, Sandy not just letting him blend into the wallpaper while they tended to their family crisis, but it also meant something to Ryan that they wouldn't let him pull a disappearing act.
"Goodnight, Ryan," Sandy said quietly, breaking off their hug. "Please let me know if you need anything, okay?"
"Good night." Ryan watched Sandy's retreating back as he walked towards his bedroom.
ooooooooooooooooooooooo
"Eat your breakfast," Kirsten ordered gently, poking Seth's plastic fork into his untouched home fries.
"I'm not hungry," Seth insisted, looking glum. "Besides, I refuse on principle to eat anything that looks like bat guano."
"Seth, honey, please. At least take a few bites, huh?" Kirsten begged wearily.
She realized she was probably being ridiculous, acting like breakfast was going to help Seth's situation in any real way, but it pained her to watch him pick at his food.
It was one day and one breakfast, but she couldn't help thinking of her mother and the way she'd gradually lost her appetite as her sickness had progressed.
Seth sighed. He glanced up at the television mounted to the wall. A Spanish soap opera was playing on mute.
His stomach rumbled and twisted. He was hungry, but he wasn't positive he could keep anything down at that point.
The prospect of going home excited him, even though there were sure to be more exhausting doctor's appointments and with them undoubtedly more exhausting and humiliating tests and procedures. But still, he couldn't seem to muster up any enthusiasm for anything at the moment.
He brought a forkful of the home fries up to his mouth and gagged as the smell of all that grease invaded his nostrils. He dropped the fork on his plate and gave a sputtering, choking, cough.
Kirsten snatched the tray away quickly, setting it down on another table.
"Sorry," she said, wincing.
"I'll eat the Jell-O," Seth offered weakly, after his coughs had tapered off. "Red, my favorite."
Kirsten handed him the tiny container of Jell-O, and rubbed his head affectionately.
"Guess I'll have to get used to the crappy food," Seth said. "But maybe they have some good-looking nurses around here." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Although I'm not sure how well the pity angle works in a hospital. I might have a lot of competition on that one."
"I can't help you with your strategy on that one," Kirsten said, with an amused lift of her eyebrows.
"Not ready to pimp out your own son; that's a shame." Seth put his empty Jell-O container on the nightstand. He stretched his arms over his head and yawned.
"Don't say 'pimp,' Seth."
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"You have to eat something."
Sandy and Ryan were sitting at the kitchen table, staring at each other, at an impasse.
"I will if you will," Ryan said, lifting his eyebrows.
"Not fair. I'm the parent; I get to make the double standards around here," Sandy replied. "But really, Ryan, you need to eat before we go see Seth."
"Look, if I grab a bagel and eat it on the way...is that okay?" Ryan offered.
Sandy nodded emphatically. "Grab two and let's get the hell out of here."
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"Is he sleeping?"
Seth popped an eye open. Part of him wanted to cling to what had turned out to be a particularly needed nap, but he recognized some of the murmuring voices in his room, and another part of him was drawn towards that, both their company and the desire to know what they were whispering about him. He stayed very still, hoping and dreading that they would keep talking.
"How was last night?"
He couldn't hear his mom's answer to that question, could only make out the cadence of her voice, and then his dad's rumbling response.
"Sandy...I'm just..."
"I know...me too."
"Did they tell you anything?"
"...bit..."
Frustrated that he was only getting a few snatches of phrases here and there and no real or helpful intel, Seth decided to announce his presence, scooting up to a sitting position and yawning loudly.
His parents' heads swiveled in comedic unison, each of them looking surprised and vaguely guilty, almost like he'd caught them talking about him.
"Hey, son," Sandy greeted him, plopping down on the edge of his bed. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay." Seth felt a little uneasy.
He couldn't yet make sense of who knew what, and how the information was flowing, and what his parents and the doctors were telling him and what they weren't. It loomed in his mind that they all might be holding back, trying not to worry him while sitting on important information about what was going on in his own body.
He hated it; it made him feel like a little kid again, like when he was twelve and everyone was whispering about his appendix.
Seth hadn't really thought about it in those terms before, but it was like he'd wrested ultimate control over himself from his parents at some point. This felt like ceding all that territory back to them, his parents now the intermediaries between him and his doctors. They got to know everything, and then they got to decide what and how and when to tell him.
"The doctor wants to meet with us in a few minutes to go over some things." Kirsten twisted her wedding ring around on her finger.
"Just you guys, or do I get to go too?" Seth's jaw twitched as he glanced between his parents cautiously.
His parents exchanged their own glances, clearly doing their silent marital communication thing that drove Seth mildly crazy under the best of circumstances.
"If you want to," Sandy said slowly, turning back towards Seth and resting a hand on his knee. "Do you want to?" He gave him another searching look. "You don't have to."
"I want to," Seth said. "Better than everyone talking behind my back, I guess."
"Why don't you get dressed and then we can all go across the hall?" Kirsten gestured to Sandy to give Seth the room.
"Okay." Seth felt his head go light. "So this is real." He bit his lip. "Wow. Well, all right. Let's do it." He ran a shaky hand through his hair.
"We'll be right there with you the whole time, okay?" Sandy gave Seth's knee a gentle squeeze.
Seth nodded. He'd been so focused on fighting to get into the room with the doctor that he hadn't put too much thought into how terrifying the prospect of actually going into that room was.
"We'll be in the hall if you need anything," Kirsten said. She took Sandy's hand and they left the room.
Seth shucked off the wretched hospital gown and started to put on his own human clothes, trying to remind himself that he could handle facing the doctor, trying to remind himself that he'd asked for this.
ooooooooooooooooooooooo
Ryan leaned back against the wall outside of Seth's room. He'd hung back when Sandy and Kirsten went in to see Seth, trying to give the Cohens their space despite wanting more than anything to get eyes on Seth, to see for himself that his friend was okay.
He jumped a little when the door opened.
Sandy and Kirsten slipped into the hall, hands clasped.
"You okay Ryan?" Sandy asked.
"I hate hospitals, but otherwise..." he shrugged.
Sandy nodded at that. "Guess we'll all be getting used to this place," he said, regretting the words as soon as they'd flown out of his mouth.
"Seth's just getting dressed," Kirsten said, always good with the recovery. "He should be out in a minute. We have to meet with the doctor before they officially discharge him." She smiled warmly at Ryan. "He'll be really happy to see you before he goes in."
Ryan nodded. He hugged his arms around his midsection, feeling nauseous.
Sandy took a good look at Ryan. He looked much younger than seventeen all of the sudden.
"Things'll be okay," Sandy said, placing a comforting hand on Ryan's shoulder.
Ryan nodded, knowing that Sandy couldn't promise a thing like that, but also knowing that it was no time to correct Sandy either.
And maybe it made him feel better to say it.
Seth exited his room, clad in jeans and a green T-shirt. He shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes darting around the hallway.
"Hey man," he said awkwardly, fist bumping Ryan and trying to ignore the combined weight of his parents' worried attention.
"Hey," Ryan said.
"How's the Cohen abode been without me?" Seth asked, mouth quirking into a little smile.
"Notably less bizarre," Ryan offered with a half-smile.
"That tracks." Seth snickered. "Hey, shouldn't you be at school?"
"I had uh, study hall first period." Ryan looked away. This wasn't, strictly speaking, true. "Your parents said I could go in late."
"Ah." Seth nodded. "Well, always happy to aid and abet in some truancy," he added.
"It's time to head in," Sandy announced. He put his arm around Seth's shoulders.
Seth's back stiffened, but he didn't pull away. He really didn't want comfort right then, feeling like he might start sobbing if all the love stuff kept up. Then they probably wouldn't let him anywhere near the conference room, would just come out later and pat him on the head and say everything was going to be just fine, champ/kiddo/sweetie/honey/baby/Setheleh.
"You ready?" Kirsten asked, grabbing the doorknob of the conference room.
Seth nodded.
Ready wasn't really the word he'd use, but he knew he needed to grit his teeth and get through whatever was next.
With a nod to Ryan, Seth followed his parents inside the conference room.