(( TW! There is some description of gore in this chapter! I tried not to make it too bad, because I understand some of you are younger smols, and I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, but if you're faint-hearted: skip anything in italics.))

"And remember, don't eat for the next 6 hours. Don't drive, try to concentrate on too many things, or engage in any kind of physical activity," The nurse said, unclipping Scott from the gurney.

"Yeah, yeah, I know..." Scott hopped out of the hospital bed, wobbling a little as he found his feet. He grabbed onto Vincent's arm to steady himself, and Vincent pulled him into his body, his back to Vincent's chest, draping an arm over his shoulder protectively. 

The nurse looked up at Vincent, "Make sure he sleeps whenever he needs it, and keep his water intake up. No alcohol. Give him a paracetamol tonight, and if he complains of a headache, dizziness or nausea, or his speech starts slurring, let us know." 

Vincent smiled, "Oh, don't worry. I'm not letting him leave my sight. Not for the next 24 hours, at least." 

"Good. Oh, and..." the nurse blushed, her eyes flicking downwards, "Sorry, again, for the mixup before... I didn't mean to come off as so..."

"Homophobic?" Vincent suggested, raising his eyebrows.

"Heteronormative?" Scott proposed.

"Yeah," she nodded, staring at her feet, "Both of those." 

"It's fine," Scott smiled, his eyes tired and his smile forced, "I guess in this day and age, it's not something you'd expect. Unfortunately, we've still got a long way to go for equality. Just, next time... don't assume two close friends of the same gender are straight." 

Both of the nurses nodded fervently. Scott almost laughed, still remembering the looks on their faces after he and Vincent had kissed on the gurney. The male nurse had looked frightfully pale, his eyes wide, and the female nurse had her hand clapped over her mouth. Then they'd both broken into profuse apologies.

"Anyway," Vincent said, "We better get back out there. The police want to talk to you, Scott. I know... you've suffered some memory loss, but..." Vincent bit his lip, letting go of Scott, and ruffling his hair, "It's not going to be easy. I'm sorry." 

"What do you mean?" Scott asked innocently, turning around to jump off the end of the ambulance, "Nobody was hurt, right? Otherwise I wouldn't have been in the ambulance; they would have been. Right?" 

"Oh gawd, you really don't remember, do you?" Vincent asked, following behind him. "Geez, Scott... you poor thing." 

Scott turned to face him, his brows knitted in concern, "Vincent? What do you mean by that?" He paused, his face paling, "Wait a minute... Is somebody dea-"

"Oh God... Oh, God..." 

Scott slumped against the door, feeling sick to the stomach. He wanted to look away, wanted to look away so badly, but he couldn't.

Foxy stood in the middle of the room, poised low and head tilted. His maw was soaked in blood, bits of skull between his teeth and lying shattered on the floor. His hook... Oh, God, his hook... it, too, was covered in blood, but not just blood. Worse than blood. 

Scott leaned over, throwing up, the image of Boss's body dissected and scattered across the room burnt into the back of his eyelids. Blood splattered the walls, and Scott knew Foxy had picked him up by the head, ripping out his stomach through his back with his hook and then shaking the body like a dog with a toy.

"Scott! Scott!" 

Scott opened his eyes to find himself in Vincent's arms, crowded by the faces of his colleagues and the nurses from before. He wiped at his face, and found tears there. He supposed he should have felt surprised. As such, he only looked up at Vincent's face in a state of numb shock. Time seemed to slow, all the faces around him blurring, and he whispered, "He's dead." 

Vincent sighed, pulling Scott up into his arms, hugging him close almost like a parent with a child, "I'm sorry, Scott. I'm so sorry." 

Scott shuddered, grabbing tightly onto the back of Vincent's shirt as his shoulders heaved and the tears fell much more freely, "Oh, God, Vincent, he's dead!" 

"I know, I know..." Vincent rubbed his back, ignoring the other people surrounding them. "I know, Scott. I'm sorry. There's nothing we could have done."

"Oh, God... It was such a painful death, Vincent... N-Nobody dese-rves t-to die l-like that... God, n-not U-Uncle W-William. W-Who's gonna t-tell Dad?"

"It's okay, Scott..." Vincent soothed, "We'll work that all out. We just need to focus on you for a little bit, Scott. You have to understand, we didn't want you to know just yet, not until your concussion is better..." 

"I-I-I j-just wish... I just w-wish h-he could have l-let us know... we c-could have saved-" 

Scott pulled away from Vincent's shoulder all of a sudden, the colour drained out of his face so much he wasn't even pale, he was ashen grey. "Vincent..." 

"What?" Vincent suddenly looked concerned. He reached up to brush Scott's fringe out of his eyes, "Scott, come on, stay with me. No more flashbacks, right?"

"Vincent... What have we done?" Scott's voice came out in ragged breaths, "Oh, Vincent... I... It's all my fault." 

"Scott," Mike snapped from beside Vincent, "Don't go telling yourself stuff rubbish like that. It's not your bloody fault Boss died. You're upset, I'm upset - we're all upset, Scott. That doesn't mean we should play the blame game."

"No..." Scott whispered, "You don't understand. Vincent, last night... Last night..." Scott clapped his hand over his mouth, a feeling of sickness washing over him so strong that he knew he'd never be able to shake it off again for the rest of his life. Tears sprung to his eyes once again, and he slipped his hand into his back pocket, pulling out his phone.

With shaking fingers, he dialled 121.

"You have one new voice message."