MEnAce (peterick)

18 - Pete

"I don't understand," I mutter, staring at Patrick's dormant body. He's got tubes sticking out of him every which way, and a machine that breathes for him, expanding and contracting and expanding and contracting. A heart monitor that beeps, slow and steady.

Slower.

"You're not alone," the nurse at my side announces, sighing, giving me very little sympathy. She's probably glad. They're all glad. No more psycho killer on the loose, hooray!  "I'm afraid we can't fix something when we don't even know how it became damaged in the first place."

Can't fix. Damaged.  "You haven't even tried."

"We've kept him on life support for two months; without it he has no chance. He has lost a huge amount of blood, which we have tried to replace with a transfusion, but no blood type has been successful. We've never seen anything quite like it. And the longer we keep him comatose, trying to fix him, we are simply continuing to experiment and torture him. Putting him out of his misery would be for his own good."

Better for the rest of us, too.   Of course, she doesn't have the nerve to say that part out loud. "We have no other options. I'm sorry."

No other options. I'm sorry.

But he's still breathing. His heart is still beating. All his wounds are closed. Abnormal blood type or not, surely the process of regenerating it should be as natural a process as it would be for anybody else.

Dallon is getting better. And through this grief, he copes. He'll probably get to go home soon. I'll be completely alone without him. I'm already lonely enough as it is. "Pete, she's right," he says, placing his hand on my shoulder. I know he's trying his best not to cry; I can hear his voice quivering as he speaks. "This is what Patrick would have wanted."

Slower.

"Patrick wouldn't have wanted to die," I argue. "He caused death. He killed other people. He wouldn't want to die for anybody."

"I bet he would die for you. For one, he tried to kill you, and somewhere inside he regrets that more than anything. He would die to keep you safe. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe he didn't enjoy killing people all the time? He might not have realized it, but he deserves peace. You should let him go."

"I don't care," I choke, shrugging Dallon's hand off of my shoulder. "I'm not ready to say goodbye."

"You can do that in your own time. But it's time for him to go now."

"No."

The hand returns to its place at my shoulder. "Pete-"

I whirl and throw him off. "No, I won't! I refuse to give up. Patrick is a fighter and he will live."

Slower.

"There's nothing we can do."

I whirl again, this time to face the doctor. "Nothing you can do," I hiss at her. "You don't know him!" I yell, pointing at Patrick. "You don't know how he works. I don't know, either, but I refuse to believe that he won't survive!"

And with that, I storm to Patrick's bedside, dropping down to my knees beside him and digging my fingernails into his forearm, shaking him as if that will wake him up. "You have to, Patty, for me," I beg, drenching his pillow with my tears. "I am so, so helpless without you. We are all helpless. But you were never. You were strong and powerful and brave-"

He wants to die. Why else would he have wanted to hurt himself? How can't you see that? He wants to die. Let him die.

"-but you care and you love and there is so much good in you, goddammit." I fear my hands are squeezing him far too violently, fingernails ripping into pale skin and drawing blood that won't surface. I let go of his arm, and I lift a hand to touch his cheek.

He's peaceful. He's safe. He's in a better place, as they say. He doesn't have to hurt anymore. He doesn't have to hurt.

"There's something about you that only you can understand. Whatever it is that makes you unique, inhuman, it's something that nobody else in the world could even begin to comprehend. I don't see you how they see you. I see you as you, just you."

He loves you. He's letting you go. You should do the same.

"I don't care. I won't. But you have to live. You will live. Please..."

"Pete, stop," I hear Dallon whisper, squeezing my shoulder. Reluctantly, I allow him to pull me to my feet, and my fingers ache and tremble as I unwind them from Patrick's dead limbs. "He has to go, I'm sorry."

I look at Patrick and will his eyes to open. I will his long eyelashes to flutter. I will the smallest twitch of his little finger. Not nothing.

But nothing is all I get.

Slower.

I force myself to look away. "I don't want to watch."

"You don't have to. If you want me to, when it's done... I'll come and find you."

I look down at my feet and click my heels together. "Tell him I was here. Hold his hand. Just... hold him for me, so he knows he's not alone. Let him know how much I love him."

Dallon smiles sadly. "Sure, I can do all that for you."

Don't come and find me. Don't even try. "I'll be... around."

He nods. Then he turns back to Patrick and kneels by his bed, holds his hand and clutches it tight.

Patrick doesn't squeeze back.

As I turn my back, I half expect Patrick to wake with a start, suck in a breath and call out my name. I exit the room, taking my time, delaying myself on purpose, just hoping, just praying, that it will happen. But it won't.

It won't.

It won't.

Slower.

It won't.

I'll be around. Living, breathing. Maybe. Maybe not.

I'll be around.