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Author: UC
Rating: M
Disclaimer: None of this happened, I made it up with my mind.
Paul unfolded his paper and looked at it. It was good, he was never afraid to admit when he was proud of his work, but he would never brag. Was not the kind of person to show it off, and expect praise. But within his heart and his mind, he knew it was good. Because he only ever did his best.
He continued.
He had to, he couldn’t face his own mind right now, couldn’t allow it to break through the wall he was trying to build, because he did not want to think about why he was here, about what had happened.
About those eyes in that head. That head that should never have been torn from that man’s body.
The doctor came back in, checking his charts, his vitals, and smiling. “Looks good.” It was then that Paul realised he hadn’t hidden his drawing, the sketch of a sleeping Tim, a profile, perfectly done, almost finished now. He blushed. “He’s...he’s just outside.”
The doctor smiled again. “He sat with you so patiently, I heard...from the other doctors and nurses.”
“He’s my best friend, he should. It’s his job,” Paul said simply, expertly hiding the delight in hearing someone say something like that to him, about Tim, in that tone of voice.
The doctor nodded. Getting involved in a patient’s private life was not his job, in fact it was not allowed. “All your observations are really good. One more night and then I’ll let you go home, if you can keep up the good work.”
“I have to sleep here?”
“Well, you have done for the last couple of days... you just didn’t know it.”
“Alone?” Paul wondered aloud. He would never be able to sleep, with the bright lights and the constant bustle of people around him. With his thoughts. They would be louder than anything, and if he fell asleep...that would be worse. So much worse.
“Yes.”
“Can...can someone stay?”
“Afraid not. We just don’t have the facilities, unless it’s...well, unless it’s life or death,” The doctor replied apologetically.
“Oh, of course,” Paul answered quietly, feeling like a child all of a sudden afraid to stay in hospital by himself, what was he, five years old? Of course he could stay here for one night. He might not sleep, but if they gave him some more art supplies, some newspapers, he would manage. He didn’t want to sleep anyway, knew he would have nightmares about that man’s head, toppling over the back of the seat, the sound of the crunch of metal on metal, the sight of blood and entrails marking his freshly bought canvasses, the ones he was trying to keep clean and the complete absurdity of that made him shudder again.
Trying to protect his fresh, white canvasses saved his life, and they ended up ruined anyway.
He lowered his eyelids for a minute, but snapped them open again, when he saw those eyes, fear-filled and wide open, staring up at him, from the back seat.
Yes, nightmares would come.
------------------
“Tim says Paul will have to stay one more night,” Richie explained, as he hung up the phone.
“He’ll have bad dreams...” His father commented.
“If he sleeps at all,” his mother reminded him.
They nodded together. “He’ll stay awake, on purpose.”
“His sheets are all clean,” Richie said quietly, following Paul’s mum around the flat as she made sure everything was okay, for when he came home the next day. They could not stay any longer, had to get home, back to work and their lives, and they knew Paul would be more than adequately cared for, with the boys.
“Lovely. Thank you.”
“He’ll be okay, but you’re welcome to visit any time, or call.”
She smiled her gratitude, before kissing Richie warmly on the cheek, and followed her husband out the door, on their way to the hospital for one more visit, before bringing Tim home for the night.
It had been a bad few days, but it seemed to be coming to an end, at least.
--------------------
“Thanks for coming,” Paul smiled weakly, as his parents both kissed him goodbye.
“We’ll keep in touch, but try not to smother you. Looks like you’ll be well attended to...with Richie and...Tim.” The way she paused, before saying his name, made Paul’s heart thud. He thought, for an insane moment, that she knew. But...he hadn’t told a soul.
He frowned at her. Tried to make it look like he had no idea what she was talking about, but she smiled sweetly, innocently, as the door opened again and Tim walked back in, carrying some more paper, pencils, pens, to keep Paul occupied for the night.
“Here...this should help. I tried to get you some paint or something, but they wouldn’t give it to me. I think if you sneak into the psych ward in the middle of the night, you could charm one of the night nurses.”
Paul smiled. “Thanks Timmy. This is great...really.”
Their eyes locked for just a few seconds longer than necessary, before they realised they were not the only ones in the room and Tim cleared his throat, turning away, hoping Paul would not see his face flush pink.
“I’ll umm, give you some privacy,” he stammered, stepping back out to let his parents say goodbye again, and waited by the door. His heart thumped inside his chest and told him to get back in there, closer to Paul, to hide somewhere within the hospital and come out later, when it was dark and quiet and Paul needed some company, because he knew it would happen.
Paul would hate to be alone with his thoughts all night, after what he had been through.
“We’ll wait outside...take your time,” Paul’s dad said quietly, giving Tim’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.
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It's good to kow they trust Tim and Rich
