arklaycounty | but who's gonna push my wheelchair around when i get sick?

[ Two officers shot in local standoff following raid on drug compound. That had been the headline, nonspecific. And yet—"someone just walked over my grave" was how superstitious idiots would probably phrase the feeling of cold dread that had washed over William as he watched the words scroll across the bottom of the screen, as the footage cut to a reporter standing in front of police tape and a mess of red and blue light. Ambulances, police cars. He knew. He didn't know how, but he knew.

His hands ached with the tension of his grip on the Volvo's hard steering wheel as he made the drive to the place—taken to Robert Fleitcher Memorial Hospital, the news had said, God only knew how long ago. There was a short argument with the bitch at the front desk before the protected information he already knew was finally disclosed.

Albert had been shot. In the side and the thigh, and the uneducated receptionist wasn't able to give him the crucial specifics that might give him an idea as to whether or not he would be attending a funeral or a hospital visit. Still in surgery. Another two hours, added to the four he'd already been on the table long before William knew.

His name was listed as next of kin, as he expected. Not like there was anyone else. It took him another hour after the conclusion of the operation to come into consciousness, an hour in which all William could do was stare at the IV line and the bloody drain tubing and the readings on the screen behind him while trying to assemble his mind into something coherent.

At last Albert opened his eyes, lifted his head. All at once the fear gave way to fury—how dare he? William had told him this was a horrid idea. ]

You fucking idiot.

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[ As sure as he was that it was true, Wesker's gaze remained fixed on William. His friend was the only comfort he had, and if he was going to die, at least someone he cared about would be with him.

Most of his vital signs were improving, gradually, but from his perspective, nothing was getting any better. It felt like his heart was beating so fast that it would just give out at any time. Surely it couldn't continue like that forever. ]

[ Wesker didn't say anything, just stared at him—it brought forth a new wave of anxiety, but William continued to meet his eyes, gently stroked his shin back and forth atop the blankets with his thumb. It was all he could really do, even as he began to stabilize; the frantic pace of the nurses' activities gradually became less so.

He wasn't well, not at all. He was still pale, sweating, bits of hair hanging in front of his brow. At least some of the nurses left, finally, while two of them stayed behind to monitor his response. ]

You're doing better. Just rest, Al. Your vitals are looking a lot better.

No. Have to stay awake.

[ He was worried that if he slept, he would never wake up again. But he wanted to sleep. Albert felt completely drained, mentally and physically. At least some of the staff had gone now. He wasn't surrounded by people persistently touching him. ]

And it's cold.

[ But he knew he wouldn't be getting more blankets, so he didn't bother to ask. The cold would keep him awake anyway. ]

I know. You have chills.

[ And there wasn't a damn thing he could do to help him, to expedite his arrival into the realm of stable. All he could do was stand there at the foot of the bed, an accessory to the situation, invisible to the nurses. ]

You'll start feeling better when the antibiotics begin to have more of an effect.

Will I?

[ Wesker wasn't convinced, but at least he was starting to calm a little. His heart rate was going down, the sheer panic he had felt just a short while ago dwindling to something easier to cope with. He blinked sleepily but kept his focus on William. Having him there talking and touching helped. ]

Yes. Just needs time.

[ He needed to hear it as much as Wesker did, as though he'd suddenly lost all knowledge of how pharmaceuticals worked. It was strange, how irrational and outright unscientific fear had made him—it was unlike anything William had ever experienced in his life. Even when his mother— There had been a teenager's fear and denial and delusional hope against all known information on what metastasis was, yes, but nothing like this.

Pale blue irises flicked upwards toward the heart monitor on the wall behind his head. The tachycardia was milder now. Good. ]

Just keep breathing.

[ Some part of Wesker still understood how all this worked and knew that sometimes people die anyway, but he didn't want to work himself into a panic again. Instead, he did as William said, focused on taking deep, calming breaths. The need to sleep was weighing heavier on him, but he tried to resist it. ]

Are you staying?

[ Right now he didn't want to be alone, even for a moment. ]

Of course. Where else would I go?

[ Asked in earnest. Going home, sleeping in his own bed while Wesker was trapped here, alone, was unthinkable. Annette could hold down the lab and watch Sherry, and sleeping in a chair had never killed anyone. There was always paperwork to do, recordkeeping, brainstorming. There were plenty of ways he could continue to make forward progress with G without leaving the room, and even if there weren't...

Wesker was his only friend, aside from Annette. He'd been the closest person in his life for the majority of his lifetime. That counted for something. ]

[ He nodded slightly in response. While he hadn't expected a different response, it helped to hear William say it. He was calming down, but there was still fear nagging at him in the back of his mind.

This wasn't something William likely wanted to hear, but he felt the need to say it anyway. ]

I don't want to die alone.

[ They had shared things that were deeply personal in nature, of course, but this felt different. This was the sort of fear that lay at the very core of one's being, something that only a situation like this could truly bring to the fore. Albert wouldn't have told even him that if he didn't sincerely believe it to be a strong likelihood.

And it was, a fact William felt sick even thinking about. There was still a decent chance that this could be fatal, that his condition might plummet just as suddenly again. ]

You're not going to die. And if you did, I'm here. You won't die alone.

[ The nurses had started to step away—one of them interrupted to brief him in a quiet, low tone, the gist of their message being Keep an eye on him. As though there was any hope at all of sleep after the past hour.

William finally removed his hand from Wesker's shin, albeit only to get the chair from the foot of the bed and move it as to sit beside the bedrail. The door shut behind the two nurses who had remained, leaving them alone in the half-silence of the monitors' low, rhythmic beeps. He reached out, gave Wesker's hand a squeeze he hoped was grounding. ]

[ It wasn't something that he would have admitted to anyone else. Wesker would sooner die alone and terrified than say such a thing to anyone other than William. Fear was a terrible, powerful emotion, and Albert had never felt it the way he had just now.

They both knew that his condition could deteriorate. Optimism was one thing, but denial was quite another. Having one of the very few people he cared about there with him made all the difference.

The nurses left them alone after saying something to William in hushed tones. Albert couldn't hear it, and it didn't really matter much.

When William took his hand, Albert squeezed his in return. He was grateful for the gesture. ]

I don't think I can stay awake.

[ He was still cold and shivering, but not as badly as before. At this point, his exhaustion outweighed his discomfort. ]

That's okay.

[ There was still strength to his grasp—the gesture was probably as comforting to William as it was to him. ]

Anyone would be tired after what just happened. [ Except for him. ] Sleep, Albert. You need it.

I don't have much of a choice.

[ He couldn't keep fighting it. His body was going to get its rest whether he liked it or not. But as he closed his eyes, Albert squeezed William's hand once more—a gesture of thanks for all his friend had done.

Hopefully, he would wake to see his friend again. ]

but who's gonna push my wheelchair around when i get sick?

It's adorable! I feel like Albert calls him Will on occasion for the same reason.

god that's so cute... love that for them

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