Without a Clue {Diall}

Chapter Twenty-One: The Strong Boy

It's weirdly light outside when I wake up. Niall is laying on my chest, his face still sporting an uncomfortable expression. I know his sleep hasn't been very restful, if he's even gotten that much. He was only asleep for about an hour, maybe a bit more, when he had his terror last night. It was a bad one, one of the worst I've seen him experience so far. It took about an hour from the point where he was terrified to the extent of waking for me to calm him down, his tears eventually silencing.

He didn't go to sleep for at least four hours after that. I'm not really sure when he fell asleep, though, because at that four hour mark I just couldn't keep my eyes open. I tried so hard to stay awake, to keep scratching Niall's back and tangling my fingers in his messy curls, but I was just so exhausted. I feel a bit guilty about it now, with Niall snoozing lightly against my shoulder. Niall was tired too, and it wasn't fair of me to go to sleep to leave him to think all by himself.

I look at the clock up on my wall curiously, instantly wondering if it's off by some off chance. It says it's nearly eleven thirty in the morning. Well, it's nearly the afternoon. That just doesn't make sense. Grayson should have woken us both up hours ago. That's when I get very, very nervous. Grayson should have woken us up hours ago. I get out of my bed as quickly as I can after that, still being careful enough not to wake Niall. There's no telling how little he may have slept last night.

I walk into Grayson's room with a frown on my face, my heartbeat picking up instantly when I find it empty. I'd put Grayson in his crib once Niall had settled from his terror. It was best that Grayson would be able to sleep in his quiet room when Niall became reassured that his baby was alright. It's like that often now, we'll put Grayson in his crib until Niall has calmed down enough to not disturb the sleeping child. Then, if we're both still awake, one of us will bring him back to bed.

However, last night I fell asleep before that happened, and now Grayson isn't where I left him the night before. The curtains in his room are drawn, and it's dark, the nightlight not even shining like it had been last night. I've never gone down my stairs faster in my life, looking desperately for the child. When I reach the bottom of the stairs I instantly notice the noise from my living room, the easily recognizable Mickey Mouse voice echoing down the hall.

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding in when I walk into the room to see Grayson standing behind the coffee table in front of my main couch, a few of his toys laid out on the surface, but his favorite, Leo the ankylosaurus, clutched tightly in his hands. I'm even more relieved when I hear Ollie's voice, knowing that he's been watching my kid. Niall's kid. I've caught myself thinking like that a lot recently, and I feel guiltier about it every time. Grayson is not my son, and I've got to start correcting myself when I accidentally say or think otherwise.

I walk further into the room to find Ollie laying on the couch, no shirt on but a thin throw blanket thrown over his chest, just high enough to cover his scars, but low enough to not bother his dialysis port near his neck, or the incision on his side. He's got two pillows behind him as he lays nearly flat, his feet just barely fitting on the couch. It's obvious that someone's set him up like that, making sure he was comfortable before leaving him there, most likely Elliot.

"Morning." I mention lightly as I walk closer to the couch, Ollie smiling up at me as he finally notices my presence. Grayson immediately looks up at my voice as well, and comes running to me the second he registers my voice. I lift him up into my arms as soon as he reaches me, pressing little kisses all over his face as he giggles. I love him so much.

"I told you they'd be up soon." Ollie says quietly towards the small boy in my arms, him quickly wiggling down to the floor and back to his toys, evidently right in the middle of a battle between Leo and the three little triceratops that Grayson has so cleverly named the evil dinosaurs. I feel bad for those little triceratops plushies; they don't look particularly evil to me.