Buddy sat by himself in that God forsaken waiting room.

His mom told him that 'God forsaken' is a horrible word, only used by heathens that didn't know how to pray.

At the moment, he kind of felt like a heathen.

Whenever he opened his mouth to say something to God about Paul or George, it just stayed open and his mind went blank.

He couldn't think of one thing he should say without making a scene in front of all the strangers in the room.

But it was weird, being on this side of the doors and not on the other, lying on the operating table with people trying to save his life.

"Charles?" a nurse asked the crowd. The only people in the room with him were women, so he was pretty sure he knew who they were talking to.

"I said call me Buddy about five times now! But okay . . ."

He walked over to her, trying to read her body language before she said a word. At the moment, she was totally unreadable.

"Charles, George is finally out of surgery."

At that, Buddy cheered and smiled for the first time that day. It's been a long and scary process with George. He'd been in survey an hour or two before he'd gotten to the hospital and finally, he got out, six hours after Buddy came in.

"But Paul—"

"What about him? What's wrong?"

"The doctors found new bleeding that was found in his abdomen. It couldn't have been caused by his . . . incident when he woke up, so we're trying the best we can to stop that and the reopened wounds."

Buddy sucked in a small breath and looked around. The ladies in the room were staring at him, practically daring him to make a scene. Maybe he was overthinking it, getting paranoid. His old psychiatrist did say that was a thing that he kept doing, get paranoid and freak out. What were those steps again . . . ?

He nodded, sucking in a deeper breath this time and loosened up his hands. Think about the beach, and he'll be as calm as the waves. Or whatever nonsense that man was severely overpaid for.

The doctor squinted a little at him but ran back to the OR.

Buddy laughed to himself. She must be an intern not to know him. Being the sole survivor of a nasty plane crash and being helicoptered to this hospital with a leg badly messed up, an injury to his spine and a brain practically open for the world to see was not something a person forgot so easily.

●

George looked like a machine connected to other machines.

But a tinier machine. And much, much thinner than you'd want a person to be.

"You said his surgery was a success, right?" Buddy asked the surgeon in the room. It took a moment for the man to really say anything, he was too focused on Buddy's brace to think about it. "It's okay, you can ask about it. Y'know, if you want to."

The surgeon laughed a little, moving toward him to sit in the chair next to him.

"You do know there are better braces out there in the world for you?"

Buddy thought about it for a quick moment. After the accident, he felt like he might never walk again without breaking a sweat and having to use all his energy just to think about going somewhere with the practically dead left leg. Amputation was on the table. So using a cane felt like a miracle, albeit a long and painful one. And getting this brace now, it felt like his life was finally getting back on track. Funny that it all happened because of a job offer.

"I know, but I've hardly broken this one in and this was really expensive. I'll just wait until it gives or I scrounge up enough money. Thanks for the worry."

The man hummed, looking at the brace one more time, giving what looked like deep thought on the subject.

"Our orthopaedic surgeon is currently working on a trial with a world class brace, that's why I asked. I think you'd be a perfect candidate to be a part of it. And it will be free of charge."

Buddy gawked for a moment, just thinking over what this man said. A brace, free of charge, and the best of the best. He couldn't believe his ears. But he also couldn't leave his friends behind.

"That sounds awesome, but I've got two friends that are really going to need my help and they helped me through all my medical stuff. So I have to help them through theirs. Anyways, let's talk about George."

"The surgery was a success, you were right," the other responded. "We just don't know when he'll wake up. The trauma that he went through was great. He landed on the hood of the car, which, yes, is not as bad as your friend who hit the tree. But some pieces of glass pierced his back, which puts us in a worried state that he may have an injured spine. He also had major swelling in his brain, a dislocated shoulder, a gash—"

"You can stop now," Buddy murmured. It sounded grim, what was happening now. He just wanted George to wake up and give him a lopsided grin, telling him that he'd be just fine and that they didn't need to stay in the hospital anymore because he felt great. Instead, George just let the machines breathe and pump blood for him. 

"We'll be monitoring him every hour for brain activity, but it's not looking great for him right now."

"You mean he'll die?" 

The surgeon frowned, wringing his hands a bit as he travelled to his quiet place. Maybe there George wasn't hooked up to machines and he'd be singing along to his new favourite band at this very moment.

"No," the man said. "It's just that right now, these are the critical hours after surgery and even though it was a success, he didn't do that well on the table. Have you called his parents?"

Changing the subject, he saw. Anyroad . . .

"They've been held up, something about bad weather at the resort they're staying at that's holding them up. For the best, I think."

The doctor hummed and got up, leaving the room so he could probably check on other patients. He stopped once he got to the door, rummaging through his pocket with a sense of urgency. 

"If you ever need anything," he said, still rummaging. "Call the number when you have time to take care of yourself." Finally, he pulled out a small blue card and gave it to the young Texan. 

Buddy looked over for a moment and tried to give a quick thank you to this helpful as well as understanding surgeon . . . only for said surgeon not to be there. He sighed, looking back at the card, trying now avidly to avoid George and his forced breaths. 

Dr Alexander Sheppard, the chief of neurosurgery and definitely a part of the trial that he was talking to Buddy about, from what the card explained.  

Buddy flipped the card over once, twice, three times over. The idea was still very tempting. Even with the limited feeling in his left leg, he could feel the numb discomfort from the somewhat subpar brace that he had on it. 

He fiddled with it, looking over the material. What would this new one be made of, stainless steel? Unheard of kind of metals that can give super strength? 

"What do you think it'd be George?" 

There was obviously no response, but he already knew what the younger's response would be. He would be excited about the mere thought of a new one, just like he was with the one he was wearing now. Then he'd research about it until he forgot what day it was and eventually became a greater expert than some of the experts. That check up with his therapist sure was eventful. 

A young man walked into the room, peering into the room as if he was afraid something would come and grab him so that he'd never see the light of day again. He regained his confidence when he saw it was only Buddy, who didn't even acknowledge that he existed. It was better that way, the young resident thought as he went to grab his stethoscope. 

"Heart sounds good," the surgeon in training mumbled to himself. "But then again, we paid a lot of money for the machines to make that happen." He went through the rest of the check up like that, pulling out another piece of medical equipment, checking something off a list and mumbling to himself. If it bothered Buddy, he didn't try to make it seem that way at all. 

The resident turned around, tapping away on his tablet about what he saw, which wasn't much. Buddy was still in the same position that he was in minutes ago, still as lost and thought and still as empty looking. He bit his lip anxiously, looking around once again with the same look he came in with. Maybe he needed a bit of therapy.

"Okay, I shouldn't be telling you this."

Buddy still didn't act as if there was another person other than George and himself in the room. 

"Well, I just thought that you should know that your friend is down the hall. I doubt that he's woken up, but he's there."

With that, the resident practically ran out of the room and left Buddy with his thoughts.

He was sure that George wouldn't mind being alone for a while.

A/N: I love how I said, "Hey! It's coming out soon!" Nope. "Hey! It's coming out later today!" If later today is 12 AM to you. Either way, whoops, sorry for the short chapter. I promise the next one shall be better. Or, at least I hope it is. Hope you liked this and if you had any problem with the 96 reference in the first chapter, tell me and I'll take it down. Thanks for reading, loves!