turps | The Trails That I Follow 3/3

Ray remembers everything about the rescue -- he wishes he didn't.

He remembers the distressed sound Frank made as he tried to sit and see Bob. The way he screamed at Bob that he couldn't die. Wasn't allowed to die.

He remembers praying, promising anything, his money, his guitars, his career, willing to bargain anything -- anything in return for Bob's life.

He remembers finally coming in to land and seeing the crowd. Figures standing on walls with cameras in hand, flashes blinding as Bob was rushed away, then Frank, looking back, appearing small and scared.

He remembers having to exit the helicopter, being helped into a wheelchair and never feeling so alone.

They're memories that won't leave, no matter what Ray tries.

"Good news, I've still got a... got a..." Brian frowns. He's being pushed in a wheelchair, his gown so short it's exposing his knees and he's wearing a pair of hospital issued slippers. He touches his head with his hand. "The thing that's in there."

"A brain," the nurse says, and efficiently helps Brian out of the wheelchair and into his bed. Taking off his slippers she sets them on the floor and pulls up the blankets. "The doctor will be round soon, you should relax for now."

"Easy for her to say," Frank says, scowling at the cage over his legs. "She doesn't have to lie here like a fucking cripple."

"You're not a cripple." Ray eases himself to the side of the bed, each movement tentative against the pull of stitches in his thigh and the pain in his chest, dulled by the painkillers but still there. The floor is cold against his bare feet and the patch of exposed skin on his back prickles as he slowly crosses the room, arms slightly outstretched for balance until he can sit on the chair next to Frank's bed. Security concerns mean they're all sharing the same ward, and Ray's thankful because right now he can't imagine staying alone. It's bad enough being with the others without Bob.

"Do you see me moving?" Frank demands. "I'm a fucking cripple."

Brian picks up an empty juice box from his over-bed table and throws it toward Frank. "You're a fucking whiny... person whose parents weren't married."

"Bastard," Mikey says, looking up from where he's looking in a small hand mirror that he's got propped up against a water jug. "Does that look better?"

Ray considers Mikey, trying to think of a tactful way of saying the shaved parts are still visible, no matter which way he tries to slick down his hair. "It's, erm...."

Frank presses the control of his bed, raising himself up so he can look over at Mikey. "I told you, just shave it all off."

Mikey rests his hand over the dressing that covers his ear and side of his face. "I'm not shaving off my hair!"

"You'd look bad-ass," Frank says with faint grin.

"He'd look stupid," Gerard puts in. He's sitting cross-legged on his bed, flicking through the channels on the TV. Not that there's much to see, just dubbed sit coms and documentaries that no one has the concentration to watch.

"I've been talking to Jonah."

Everyone looks up when Worm comes back into the room. Like them all he's wearing a hospital issued gown and slippers, and the slippers slap against the floor as he moves to sit next to Brian's bed. "He says the ICU is three floors up and you need a code to get in."

"Did he mention Bob?" Anxiety gnaws at Ray's stomach, because no matter how many times they ask all they get told is that Bob is stable after his operation to repair his liver and his parents are on their way. Which is better than nothing, but they need more. They need to see him, and each time they ask they're shot down within seconds.

Worm tugs at his gown. "They say he's still up there, but that's all. Sorry."

"Not your fault," Brian says, slowing his speech in the way that's familiar to them all now, as he allows himself time to think what to say. "I'm going up there; tonight."

A motor whirs as Frank sits himself up even further. "I'm going too."

Ray knows what he should do is say no, that Frank can't even walk, that none of them are well and sneaking into the ICU is insane, but the thing is, there's something missing. Bob is missing, and if they're being told nothing all that's left is to go on their own. "We'll need to get you a wheelchair."

"There's some in a storage room along the corridor," Mikey says. "I saw them when I was talking to Ben."

Gerard pushes his hair out of his face. "Ben?"

Mikey sets down the mirror, giving up on arranging his hair. "He's one of the night nurses. He likes Morrissey."

"Never mind what he likes," Frank says. "Can he get me a wheelchair?"

Mikey shrugs his shoulders. "Probably not, but I can. I saw the code."

"You'll need someone to distract the nurses," Worm adds.

"We could pay them off?" Frank suggests. "Or just go anyway, they can't stop us."

Ray slumps back in his chair, tired after his trip across the room. "A kitten could stop us right now, and my wallet's back on the island."

"Sneaking in it is," Gerard says, leaning against his mound of pillows. "We'll go tonight."

Ray nods, says, "Agreed."

~~~~

Worm pulls back the curtain on the door and looks outside. "Jonah's gone for his tea. I'll go talk to him now."

The lamps above the beds provide pools of light in the dark of the ward. Ray looks at each one, at his friends sitting on the edges of their beds, Frank barely able to lie still for impatience.

Worm puts his hand on the door handle, says, "Tell Bob I'm thinking about him."

Ray feels bad that they're leaving him behind, but they need a distraction, and Worm insisted. He opens the door and slips outside, his slippers slapping against the floor. The clock on the far wall ticks, one minute, two. When it reaches three Mikey stands and Gerard follows him to the door, says, "Be careful."

"I will," Mikey promises, and opens the door a little, looking along the corridor before going outside. The door shuts and Ray stands, heading for Frank's bed. He's not looking forward to getting him in the wheelchair but there's no chance Frank will stay behind. Ray wouldn't want him to.

Frank sits up as far as he can and leans forward, taking the blanket and cage off his legs. Ray swallows hard when he sees them, the white casts emphasizing the black bruising on Frank's swollen toes. Bracing his hands on the bed, Frank's face is grey as he inches across the bed. Ray steps close, but Frank looks up, hisses, "I can do it."

Knowing he needs this independence, Ray waits, close enough he can jump forward if needed, then turns when he hears the door open. It's Mikey, opening the door with his hip and pulling a wheelchair behind him.

"Did anyone see you?" Gerard asks, stepping away from the door.

Mikey shakes his head and positions the wheelchair next to Frank's bed. "I was stealthy like a spy."

Relieved, Ray looks between the wheelchair and Frank, trying to work out how to move him without pain. In the end Frank makes the decision for him and grabs hold of the far armrest of the wheelchair, about to slide off the bed.

"Whoa, hold on." Mikey and Ray step forward and Mikey hooks his arm under Frank's as Gerard climbs onto the bed. "You'll break something else."

Frank's hands are clenched and he's panting for breath. "Just do it."

Mikey looks over at Gerard and together they lift, easing Frank down. Teeth biting into his bottom lip his eyes are filmed with tears as he lifts his foot onto one of the rests. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are." Mikey crouches and gently lifts Frank's other leg, positioning it on the rest. When he's sure he's settled he stands and grabs hold of the handles and starts to push. "Let's do this."

Actually getting upstairs goes smoothly, Gerard takes the lead, peering around corners and ushering them on when they're clear. Still, all the time they're moving Ray feels nervous, not helped by how exhausted he is, having to lean against the wall when they wait for the elevator. When it comes they all step inside, looking forward and ignoring a young nurse who looks puzzled as she steps to the back, holding a box of files in her arms.

Ray watches the lighted numbers change. Floor seven, eight then nine. The doors open and they all exit, clustered together as they look at the signs.

Gerard points to the left. "That way."

It's quieter on this floor, no hushed sounds of TVs or people laughing as they talk. The waiting rooms they pass are all empty apart from one, a group of people looking up as they slowly walk past. Their eyes are dead, and their mouths turned down, empty cups littering a low table. Ray empathizes with their misery, and the closer they get to the ICU the worse he feels, cold like he hasn't been since they finally left the island. He trails his hand along the wall, needing the support.

They reach a set of double doors, an intercom and number pad set at the side. As one they stop, Frank verbalizing their thoughts. "Shit."

It sums it all up, they've got this far and can't get any further. Frustrated, Ray's thinking of excuses, reasons why they need to be inside when he hears footsteps from behind. He looks back, and sees the woman from the waiting room, head down and caught in her own emotions as she jabs in a code, opening the door. She goes inside, and Brian holds out his hand, stopping the door from closing.

He steps inside, says, "Come on."

Ray was a kid last time he was in an ICU, a relative was dying and he was left sitting outside the room, bored as he waited for his parents. He remembers it as a scary place, full of machines and solemn people, each room containing someone seemingly condemned to death. It doesn't feel much different now and he wraps his arm around his stomach as they peer into the first room.

It's an old woman, her hair spread over the pillow and surrounded by tubes and machines. It feels like he's seeing something he shouldn't and shivers run down Ray's spine as he mouths an apology and starts to walk past.

"Can I help you?"

Ray stops walking as a nurse steps from behind a desk. She's wearing blue scrubs, her hair pulled back, looking stern as she looks at them all.

Gerard steps forward and rests his hand on Frank's shoulder. "We're here to see Bob. Bob Bryar. We crashed, on an island, and he was brought here."

"I heard." She moves closer, as if she can physically stop them getting past. "You do realise it's family visiting only, and from the looks of you, you shouldn't even be out of your beds."

Brian steps to the front. "He is family. All we want to do is see him. Five minutes will do."

"The rules are clear..."

"Fuck the rules," Frank interrupts. Gerard squeezes his shoulder as Ray talks over the outburst.

"We understand that, we do. But he's our friend. He's family and no one will tell us if he's okay. All we want to do is see him, even for a minute."

"Please," Mikey says.

"This is highly irregular." She looks over her shoulder and then seems to make a decision. "I'm going to call your ward, no doubt you've been missed. I suppose you could wait here until then. Maybe in that room." She indicates a room on the left of the corridor then steps to the side. "I'm going to call now."

"Thank you," Frank says, and then they're moving as fast as they can, needing to see Bob.

It's Brian who gets there first, and Ray hears his gasp, and sees how he grabs for the door-frame for support. They're not good signs and Ray's feet are like lead the closer he gets, until finally he's in the room. It smells like antiseptic, the air cool, but all Ray can concentrate on is Bob. He's lying in bed, the blanket pulled up to mid chest, machines monitoring his heart-rate and tubes snaking from under the sheets. There's an oxygen mask over his mouth, drips attached to both arms, and he's lying so still, so deathly white that he looks more dead than alive.

"Oh god," Mikey pushes Frank close to the bed, taking care not to tangle his legs in the tube or wires. Brian takes the other side, slumping down in a chair, his head in his hands. Ray stands at the foot of the bed, next to Gerard and his knees are pressed against the metal frame.

Frank touches Bob's chest, the gentlest of touches, as if reassuring himself that he really is breathing. "You bastard. I can't believe we came all the way here and you're fucking asleep." Wiping his hand across his eyes, Frank takes in a deep breath and when he talks again his voice is thick. "You'd better wake up soon. I need you to push me in this thing, Mikey nearly pushed me into a wall."

"Don't listen to him," Mikey says, and leans across Frank so he can touch Bob's arm. "I'm an awesome driver, it wasn't my fault that the plant moved. Tell him, Gee."

Gerard nods, says seriously, "It did, I saw it."

Gripping the bed frame, Ray says, "See what happens when you slack off? They start seeing moving plants."

"It did move," Mikey protests, he looks at Bob. "When you wake up I'll show you."

Brian groans. "I can't believe you're sleeping. Moving plants. Jesus."

From outside there's the sound of footsteps, and Ray knows their time is nearly up. It's not enough, it can never be enough and all he wants to do is grab hold of Bob and hold on, but he knows he can't, not yet. He leans forward, touching Bob's foot. "You need to wake up soon, we're waiting for you."

"Yeah," Gerard agrees. "We need you. There's part of us missing."

Frank clears his throat, his hand still over Bob's heart. "I don't do that sappy shit, but yeah. Miss you."

"We all miss you," Mikey says. "Fuck this ICU shit, you need to be with us."

Bob opens his eyes.

Three Weeks Later.

"Put them in your hoodie pocket."

Gerard holds out the bag. Mikey shuts off his phone and makes for the main doors.

"No," Mikey says.

Gerard cradles the bag against his chest and gives Ray a look. Ray shrugs and starts to sidle away. "He's your brother."

"He's not listening to me," Gerard complains, looking after Mikey who's already inside. "Mikey's the one with a criminal past, he should be running the contraband."

Ray itches at his thigh through his jeans. "It's hardly contraband, they're not going to throw you in jail if you're caught."

"They'd take the food." Gerard crumples the paper bag, his fingers over a grease stain. "Then Bob and Frank would starve."

Ray shakes his head. "They do get fed, they're not actually starving, no matter what they say."

"They feed them hospital food," Gerard says and gives a visible shudder. "You can't have forgotten what it was like already."

"The lime jello was nice," Ray says, but he gets Gerard's point. Even though the food was prepared well, it was still hospital food, which by its very nature, sucks.

Gerard looks at Ray like he's insane. "The lime jello looked like Jabba the Hutt's snot."

"But tasted damn good," Ray says and grabs the bag, stuffing it under his hoodie as he goes inside. "Satisfied?"

Gerard grins. "Perfectly."

For the last two weeks Ray's walked through this same reception, into the same elevator and onto the same room. The only thing that changes are the people, the staff and other visitors, and, as soon as gifts were allowed, the contents of the ward. Catching up with Mikey, who's peering at his reflection in the polished elevator doors, Ray presses the button for their floor, says, "I say five today."

"Six," Mikey says immediately, pulling at a piece of gelled hair so it lies over the angry scar next to his ear.

"Ten," Gerard puts in. "It's a physical therapy day, Frank always gets extra frustrated."

Mikey frowns and drops his hand. "I forgot about that."

If he's honest so had Ray, but it's too late now, he's already claimed his number. The elevator arrives with a ping, and they all step inside, clustered together as it crowds with other visitors clutching flowers and soft toys. Ray rests his hands over his hoodie and hopes the smell of burgers and onions isn't too strong. Finally, after a minute where everyone stares ahead and no one speaks, they arrive at the right floor.

Getting from the elevator to Frank and Bob's room doesn't take long, especially now Ray can walk without less pain. That's still a new feeling and sometimes he finds himself with his arm across his chest, subconsciously protecting his ribs. He suspects it'll still happen for a while, yet another lingering side effect, in addition to the bad dreams that plague them all.

There's no guard outside the ward now, there's no need now the immediate press interest is gone. But what there is are gifts, multiple flower arrangements, balloons, plushies and fruit baskets, forwarded on by the record company as soon as they knew Bob was going to survive. Approaching the door, Ray can already smell the flowers and actually stepping inside is like entering a war zone, a one where rainbows battle legions of black.

"Oh my god, they're spreading," Mikey says, taking in the new flower arrangements that are crammed on the window sills and on the unused over bed tables. There's even one propped in a corner, black roses made to resemble a monster's face. Mikey points, "I like that one."

"You can take it, take them all." Bob's sitting up in his bed, a red plaid shirt over his gown and a bowl of fruit on his lap. Picking up a banana he throws it at the balloons that are clustered near the window, hitting a yellow smiley balloon dead centre. The banana bounces off and the balloon skitters across the ceiling, ending up over Mikey's old bed.

"You're losing your touch," Gerard says, and walks over to the window where he crouches over, picking up the glossy remains of balloons and hanging the strings over his arm.

Seeing Bob's hand over the fruit bowl Ray pulls out the bag from his hoodie before Gerard takes an apple to the head. "We brought you something."

Bob eyes the bag. "I hope it's a triple cheese burger and fries."

"You know it," Ray says, and puts the food on Bob's over bed table. "There's stuff for Frank, too."

"His therapist was running late." Bob grabs a handful of fries, looking blissful as he chews. "He'll be back soon."

"He's better hurry up or I'll eat his food, I'm hungry." In a bold move Mikey darts in and steals a fry from Bob before escaping to one of the empty beds. Sitting down, he eats, then grins when Bob snatches an orange out of the bowl and throws it, hard. "Thanks."

"What fucking ever," Bob says, giving Mikey a narrow-eyed look before going back to his food.

Holding the bag containing Frank's sandwich, Ray leaves it next to his bed and sits next to Mikey. The air is full of the scent of oranges and he holds out his hand, taking a segment when Mikey offers. Which is a mistake, Ray's mouth still isn't fully healed and he winces as he swallows.

"I never thought, sorry."

Ray waves off Mikey's apology, it's not a big deal and he's more interested in the sound of footsteps and then, Frank's giggle. It's something that's been missing for the last few weeks, when they all struggled to adapt, Frank and Bob more than the others. Ray knows it's been torture for both of them, trapped in bed with nowhere to go.

When Frank appears he's being pushed in a wheelchair by his physical therapist, Doctor Torture. Ray doesn't actually know her real name but she doesn't seem to mind the name, even the times Frank threw it out as a curse -- the days when he was bone weary and half crazy with pain.

"Watch this and be blown away, fuckers," Frank says, brandishing the crutches he's been holding. They're the long kind and he props them against his bed as Doctor Torture puts on the brakes and comes around to the front of the wheelchair.

"To your bed only, you've had a big day."

"Sure," Frank says, and takes hold of her hands, holding on as he's helped to his feet. It's the first time Ray's seen him stand in weeks and he can't help the worry as Frank wavers slightly before finally getting his balance. When he has he nods and Doctor Torture passes over the crutches, steadying Frank until he's got them settled under his arms.

She looks him up and down. "You ready?"

Frank grins. "I'm always ready."

It's only a matter of a few steps to get back to his bed, but it still takes Frank a while, his face screwed up in concentration as he slowly moves. Still, when he collapses down his sense of triumph is obvious, and Ray can't help his own grin.

"That's awesome!"

"I'm awesome," Frank says, beaming wide. "Now I just need to work out how to play guitar using crutches."

Gerard bundles up the balloon strings and drops them on top of a lurid yellow and pink flower arrangement. "We could push you on stage on a gurney, and just leave you on it."

Ray shakes his head. "We've already done that, we need something new. Like a modified wheelchair, we could disguise it as a dalek."

"Or a swamp monster," Mikey adds. "A gross green blob that slithers across the stage."

"Right, right." Gerard pushes his hands through his hair, pacing the ward. "We could do a classic monster movie concept show. I'm thinking old school Godzilla and swamp monsters."

Bob swallows the last of his burger. "I'm not wearing green make-up."

"What about a costume? You'd look awesome with scales."

Ray doesn't get to hear Bob's reply, it's probably just as well, Bob's face is already red and Brian walking into the ward is a timely distraction. He stops, looking pained.

"I thought you said no more concept albums?"

"I did," Gerard says. "This is for the concerts. They're different things."

"Right." Brian doesn't look reassured and he rubs at his temples, still suffering headaches that tend to linger. A few moments and he drops his hands, looking between Bob and Frank. "I hear they're finally kicking you out."

"What?" Gerard says, looking at Bob. "You never said."

"I was eating," Bob says, and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's not till next week anyway."

"You're getting out, too?" Mikey asks, wandering over to Frank's bed. He sits on the side, knee bent on the covers and pokes Frank hard in the chest. "You're supposed to tell me that shit."

Frank grabs Mikey's hand, trying to bite his finger. "I only found out this morning."

Mikey makes a dismissive noise, and Frank stops snapping his teeth, looking across at Bob. "You know, I think this calls for the big one."

Bob's mouth turns up at the corner. "I agree."

Mikey slides off the bed, his feet hitting the ground with a thump. Everyone watches as he walks to the cluster of balloons, pushing aside strings until he finds one right at the back. A purple string that's attached to a huge Barney balloon, complete with pop out eyes and a speech balloon saying. I love you!. It's hideously schmoopy and Ray's fingers itch as Mikey tows it to the center of the room.

Frank reaches out and grabs a fruit basket that's been set on the chair. Eying the contents he selects a red apple, and looks approving when Mikey does the same.

"I'm going for mass," Bob says, picking up a large orange. Debating weight verses size, Ray selects a pomegranate while Brian picks up a banana. Ignoring Bob's bowl Gerard plunders a fruit basket pushed half under the bed, standing up with a pineapple in his hand.

He smiles, says, "I'm thinking outside of the box."

It's a brave choice and Ray gives a thumbs up of approval before taking his place, fingers gripping the pomegranate as he pulls back his arm.

Barney floats to the side as if trying to escape.

Bob looks at them all, says, "On three. One. Two. Three."

They all throw, fruit flying through the air.

With a loud pop, Barney explodes.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

From:

hammerhead22.livejournal.com

:wild applause:

YES!!! This is absolutely everything I hoped for! The love and care and concern these guys have for each other is absolutely shining through. The descriptions of hurt are necessary without being gratuitous (although Ray's teeth really freaked me the fuck out) but the comfort is what the story is all about. ♥

I think that the Ray POV was perfect, he was able to participate and observe, giving him much more life and realism than most authors allow for poor Mr. Toro. And Bob! My beautiful Bob! Suffering in silence, trying to take care of everyone else and the Bob/Brian bits just about broke me into pieces. I was having serious OTP moments, like, whoa.

You absolutely nailed the Mikey and Gerard parts. Those two would be inseperable and Mikey carrying Gerard brought a bit of a tear to my eye. And poor Frank not being able to move! You even did a great job giving Worm a voice and making sure that he was part of the story.

In conclusion, FTMFW!!!! \o/ x 104856039764

From:

hammerhead22.livejournal.com

PS I'm now horribly late for work!

Meep!

(no subject)

From:

turps33.livejournal.com - Date: 2009-10-13 08:34 pm (UTC) - Expand

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The Trails That I Follow 3/3

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