Why Don't We One Shots

One In A Million - Dorbyn

DANIEL'S POV

It all started with Corbyn. Corbyn's hunger for ice cream. Corbyn wanting to drive. Corbyn's joke that caused him to laugh, closing his eyes for a split second at a yellow light, slowing down, but not in time.

It didn't start with the car blasting music at 11 PM. It didn't start with a man in a suit, drunk after a day at the office. It didn't start with that same drunk man hitting the front of the car, pinning Corbyn back and knocking him unconscious.

Me? I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't get to him. I sat there, and watched it happen, all in slow motion. It was like I wasn't there. It was like I knew it was going to happen, and yet I didn't do anything to stop it.

So now I'm sitting in a hospital. Corbyn's in emergency surgery, unable to breathe without a tube. I called the boys, but they're all stuck in traffic. The drunk was arrested, knowing nothing of the world he just destroyed. My world.

"Mr. Seavey?" A nurse calls softly. I stand and walk to her, each step heavier with the weight of Corbyn's future hanging in the balance.

"I'm Daniel Seavey," I say, tears filling my eyes. "How is he?" I'm desperate to know, desperate for her to say that my baby will be fine.

The nurse, young and sympathetic, says, "I think you should follow me."

Giving no other information, she leads me down the hallway. I hate hospitals. The blank, empty walls only know one color, one emotion. I wish I could breathe life into them. Corbyn would be able to.

"Mr. Corbyn Besson. Room 1125." The nurse opens the doors to reveal a broken boy, purple lips, pale face, and a broken nose. "His rib cage was fractured," the nurse continues, reading from a clipboard.

"How did the surgery go?" I ask, once again, desperate for news.

She bites her lip before looking at me and saying, "The doctor says it's unlikely he'll wake up. Says it's unlikely he'll make it through the night. I'll give you some time to say your goodbyes. I'm so sorry."

No. No, no, no. This isn't happening. Sobbing, I watch her close the door, and I throw myself on the end of Corbyn's hospital bed.

"Why would you do this?" I ask him. "Why would you leave me when you knew I couldn't handle it on my own? You and your dumb jokes I always laugh at. You and your beautiful smile. You and your love, greater and more wonderful than anything else. Gone. All of it. Why - how - could you do this to me? Why Corbyn?"

I reach for his hand, which is pale and cold. "Please...please just don't leave me. Please. I can't do this alone, and you know that. I was a mess without you. I can't be without you. I can't..."

"You can," a whisper comes from the most beautiful voice on earth. "You could do anything you wanted to, with or without me."

"Corbyn?" I ask, lifting my head to see eyes open lazily, like it was a huge effort for him to look at me. But when he did, the same sparkle was always there.

"I'm right here," he says. "I'm not leaving. Death can kiss my ass."

I laugh lightly, still wiping away at tears. "But the doctor said it was unlikely you'd wake up..."

"I guess maybe you were my good luck charm," he says. "My wildcard. Maybe God knew we needed to stay together. Maybe he knew we were one in a million."

"One in a million..." I murmur, cuddling up close to Corbyn, who has gotten some color back to his face, "I could get used to that."

Maybe it all did start with ice cream, a joke, and a drunk driver on the wrong target. But it ended with us - still together. Always will be.

~