Ghoul sat cross legged atop a small square table, his legs dangling off the edge and his knee shaking in nervous anticipation. The chairs which had once surrounded it were now across the room, moved to make room for Poison the day before. With his head in his hands, Ghoul rubbed his face and let out a slow, shaky breath. Leaning on the doorframe, Pete watched as he startled at every sound, his eyes darting to the closed door. Not being able to take it, Pete made his way over to him and hopped up beside him on the cold metal table. Their knees touched, Pete's brace clicking as it bent. Ghoul watched as he matched his own sitting position and ventured a small smile, although sad.

"He'll be okay," Pete tried to comfort.

Ghoul replied instantly. "You don't know that." His voice was as frail and shaky as his legs behind the sternness he was determined to present. "You don't know that."

Gulping, Pete nodded. "Maybe. But I do know that Kobra's kind of amazing and Poison's strong. And stubborn." He pressed his shoulder into Ghoul's, who didn't argue further.

Clearing his throat, Ghoul picked at his cuticles. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"For what?"

Ghoul shrugged. Just as Pete opened his mouth to insist there was absolutely nothing he should be apologizing for, Jet emerged from the door from which he had disappeared behind however long ago it was, and Ghoul leaped off the table.

"What is it? Is he okay? Oh god, please let him be okay. Tell me Mi--Kobra helped him. He'll live. Right? Right, Jet? He will?"

The corners of his lips curling down to hell, Jet put his hand on Ghoul's shoulder. Simultaneously, Pete's heart plummeted into his stomach.

"He's, um... Kobra did the best he could, but there was so much int--" His voice faded behind Ghoul's tears, which he'd been holding back all this time. Pete felt light headed. In the short time he'd known Poison, he'd grown to respect, and maybe even like, him. With a spike to the chest, he realized how Kobra must be feeling. He always spoke of his comrade with such admiration, such love. The love he felt for his brother was clear.

"What?" Ghoul pushed out between sobs. "He's what?" Ghoul didn't wait for a response. He barreled right past Jet and into the back room Poison had been taken into (nobody was allowed in while he worked other than Jet, per Kobra's orders), whipping the heavy door open. Pete let his legs dangle from the edge of the counter as he leaned forward as if to see better.

"What happened?" He finally asked Jet, who hadn't moved since Ghoul ran off.

"Poison, he's, um." He licked his lips but the wet shimmer never came. "He's alive. Barely, but..."

Taking in and letting out a breath, Pete steadied himself against the cool metal. He nodded, trying to stifle the surprise and relief. Alive. "Good, that's good."

"Lots of injuries, though. He probably won't wake for a while. It's something, though. That's what we're hoping for — that he does. Kobra says that these next 24 hours matter the most. He needs to wake up, or at least show some sort of a sign of recovery. If not..." A gulp caught in his throat and he turned away, ashamed. "He's strong." Nodding, Pete mindlessly swung his heels against the table legs below him. The tables were mismatched — a few were bolted to the floor by a single leg protruding from the center, a few had four legs and were able to be moved. This one had four rickety legs that were too thin to stay steady against Pete's nervous tick.

"And, uh, Kobra? How's he?"

"Kobra? Honestly, he seems so shaken. It took a lot out of him to do that."

Pete realized these were possibly the most words Jet had ever said to him at once, and the hint of a small smile found its way onto his lips; however, it was quickly wiped away. "I'm sure."

Behind the door, Pete heard low voices, muffled through the thick metal. As it creaked open, a quiet sob passed through the crack before Kobra slipped out, head down, and shut it as quickly as he had opened it. He froze when he saw Pete and Jet gaping at him, his throat bobbing with a gulp. "He's, uh, Ghoul's in there. Though, you knew that. I just, uh, we should--"

It was Jet who silenced his scrambling. "Yeah." Nobody moved.

Pete's eyes were glued to Kobra's face, although barely visible with his head down as it was. His eyes were red, although he was certain he hadn't cried. There was a smear of half dried blood across his cheek, apron, and all over his gloved hands.

"Hey," said Pete, taking an unsure half-step forward. Kobra flinced. "Come here." He held his hand out but dared not come closer. His gaze travelling between his own bloodied hands and Pete's outstretched ones, Kobra tried to steady himself with a few deep breaths.

His face was blank and pale as a ghost as he took a step -- only one, enough for Pete to take his hands and lead him away from the back room where...

They walked to the sink first, through the heavy kitchen door. Pete peeled off the red plastic gloves (though originally, they were clear), careful to let them flip inside out so the blood pooled in the finger slots rather than on the floor. A puddle of blood had already marked its place in the other room, and they would have to scrub extra hard later to clean it.

The water and warm on Pete's hands and little droplets bounced off and wet his shirt as he took Kobra's hands and ran them under, cradling them to try to still the shaking. Despite the gloves, blood had found its way through the seams and ran all up his arms to his elbows. After he lathered soapy water over Kobra's hands, Pete worked his way up, cupping his hands under the water and opening them above Kobra's arms where the steady stream of water wouldn't reach. Nobody spoke. When Pete glanced to the door which lead to where he had seen the rest of the men earlier, it was empty. Jet was probably with Ghoul and Poison.

Hesitantly, Pete dropped Kobra's hands, switched the faucet off, and spoke: "Your shirt is all bloody, I'll get you a new one, just wait here." But he didn't move to bring a change of clothing. Staring blankly at the sink where blood pooled and mixed with water to slide down the drain, Kobra hid his face behind a veil of hair. It was getting long.

Pete took a step back and Kobra shuddered, halting Pete's motions. "Do you--" A single sob racked through the room. Almost instinctively, Pete reached out for his shoulder. "Kobra?" The man in question turned away. "Kobra? Mikey? Sorry, Michael. Er, Kobra. Sorry."

Shaking his head, Kobra said, "no, it's okay. He always called me that." Not knowing what to say in response, Pete just nodded and waited to see if he would continue. With a one-shouldered shrug, he didn't and Pete decided to step up and take action.

Heart pounding in his neck, Pete's mouth worked for a moment before saying, "I'll go get that shirt for you." But before he could take another step, Kobra's hand was wrapped around his elbow. Uncomfortable with his foot held in mid-air, Pete spun around and set it down. Although he wasn't looking directly at him, Pete felt Kobra's sad gaze on their feet.

"I'm scared." His voice was barely audible. The freezer kicked on, whirring to life and drowning out Kobra's heavy breathing.

Pete hesitated. "I know."

Just as Kobra began to shake his head, a sob escaped his lips and his knees gave out under him, the force pulling both of them down to the cold tiled floor.

Pete wrapped his arms around Kobra and rested his chin atop his damp hair. "Shhh, it'll be okay. He's strong. You did the best you could. We all did."

~~~

Ghoul was kneeling down on the floor beside a covered body, blood seeping into his jeans and undoubtedly leaving stains on the knees and shins. His hands were up, grasping onto a white hand that peeked out of the sheet, but his eyes were down. He didn't even flinch when Pete stepped into the dimly lit room.

The white sheet which was draped over Poison's body from the collar down was rumpled, white folds casting short shadows beside upright folds. With bloody fingerprints of the edge, it had clearly been hastily draped on the unconscious body.

Nevertheless, the alive body.

The artificial fluorescent lights shone down on Pete. He dared not look up at them -- too bright. However, the pristine white blankets seemed to reflect its brightness. No escape.

The interior of the room was decorated with dozens upon dozens of vases filled with the most beautiful flowers. Week old purple lilies cascaded out from a blue vase by the foot of the bed, next to a slim vase with a single sunflower, picked right from Pete's front lawn. His mother had loved to garden and he wanted to give her a taste of home. When he had brought the flower in, his mother had given him a thankful look and kissed his forehead, but he could see disappointment behind her eyes. 'When you picked this flower,' she had explained, 'you uprooted its life and ended it. These flowers are meant to blossom and grow -- where they were born.'

The sunflower's once bright and lively petals, now papery and thin, were beginning to show their first signs of decay; the edges darkened and curled down, the delicate flower bowing down as if weeping. Too weak to hold itself up. Pete knew the feeling.

A nurse was standing beside the occupied bed, folding the thicker of the two blankets by the patient's feet and smoothing the thinner over her body. Admiring her work with a slight smile, she brushed her red locks off her shoulder and clasped her hands together. But when Pete cleared his throat beside her, the smile fell, replaced by a frown and worried eyes. Someone beckoned for her from the hall and she left, swift and quiet save for the hushed rustling of pant legs against each other. The rest of the sounds of the hospital had filtered out of Pete's ears, disregarded; unimportant.

Thankfully, the annoying beeping and flat tone had stopped, switched off by the nurse. The monitor had been pushed away, the wires disconnected from the body.

His mother's body.

His mother's dead body.

His hands shook at the thought and he had to pry his eyes away from her. It had been only five minutes. Five minutes since she had left -- died. Five minutes since the steady beating that represented her heart stopped. Five minutes since the doctors had rushed in and pushed Pete aside so they could tend to her. Five minutes since it was too late.

Not much had changed in those five minutes. Pete's tears hadn't stopped flowing, his mother was still dead, still nobody dared to approach the boy who had just lost everything. Everyone else had left the room and him. His weeping hadn't paused, only calmed a little bit -- probably from dehydration or lack of energy. But every time his eyes met his mom's pale face, the sobbing came back with even more force than the last.

Her face was never pale. Her cheeks were always rosy and her lips were always painted with a natural pink. She didn't need makeup — she was already so beautiful. But that was before. Now, the white lights of the hospital washed out her face and the blood had stopped flowing through to give her that lively look.

Red nosed, Pete rubbed his still damp eyes with the backs of his knuckles. Half dried tears stuck to them when he pulled back.

"Peter," someone breathed out behind him. Of course, he heard it, but nothing was really registering, especially not some woman just saying his name. "Peter." A hand fell on his shoulder, at first soothing and kind but quickly turned to forceful. He spun around, partly of his own accord and partly from the woman tugging on his arm. Staring up to meet her eyes through dewy eyelashes, Pete took in a breath and opened his mouth to speak, although nothing came out but a croak. Sighing, the woman grabbed his hand and gave one look to her sister lying limp on the bed before them before walking out and tugging Pete with her to live a dreadful next few years.

"Pete, hey." Ghoul was staring up at Pete, who was now on the opposite side of the table, his hands hovering not an inch above the sheet. A tear had formed in his eye but he blinked it away before it could fall and willed no more to come.

"Hey, man. How's he doing?"

Shuffling around on his knees, Ghoul stroked the back of Poison's hand with his thumb. "I don't know. Okay, I guess? He's alive, but b-bare—" Like his mother's body all those years before, Ghoul's head hung limp as he stared at the ground. The difference: Ghoul was alive.

Then, again, silence. 

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2,250 words
January 1, 2019
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