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Eddie would like to go on record as saying that this is most definitely the worst month of his entire life. Or at least, the worst of the year so far.
It’s a pretty big deal considering six months ago his blood was being sprayed all over Hollywood Boulevard like a Jackson Pollock painting.
Still, Christopher’s pain takes priority over his own. Well, Christopher takes priority in general, but especially when he’s hurt, Eddie can’t even entertain the thought of anything else.
Luckily it’s not his first rodeo when it comes to the pain that his son’s cerebral palsy can inflict. When Christopher was younger and growing constantly, the pain was inescapable. His muscles and joints never seemed to get the memo about growing accordingly. There were years and years of sleepless nights spent listening to his son crying out in pain that Eddie couldn’t do a damn thing to fix.
He supposed he should’ve been used to it now that Chris was almost thirteen, but to no one’s surprise, Chris’ strength far surpassed just about anyone.
The problem with having a preteen son with CP was that it was one of the most distressing parts of growing up even for an able-bodied kid. He was overdue for a growth spurt and, with puberty right around the corner, Eddie and all of Chris’ doctors were hoping and praying that the two milestones wouldn’t strike all at once.
They probably should’ve seen it coming that Chris wouldn’t get to be so lucky.
The abject refusal to spare his son from pain and suffering was arguably the real reason why Eddie refused to believe in any higher consciousness of the universe. Any omniscient force surely wouldn’t be able to look at his son and decide to inflict a lifetime worth of trauma upon him. He just refused to believe it.
And so, when Chris came to him complaining of aches and pains in his joints, Eddie knew his fears had come true. Chris was a trooper when it came to his CP. He never complained, never strived for pity, and so if he was outright asking his father for help because the pain had intensified so much that he couldn’t pretend any longer, Eddie knew it had to be worse than he could ever imagine.
Sure, he wished that Chris would come to him to be taken care of for every cramp or bruise, but he knew it was just as important for him to make sure that Chris knew that Eddie trusted him to understand his own body. His own parents had always done the opposite, ignoring when Christopher insisted he had abilities beyond what they were willing to see, and Eddie was determined to break that cycle even if it meant his son wouldn’t always come to him for help with his pain right away.
Besides, Eddie would take all of his son’s pain without a single second of hesitation if he could. He’d pay any price if it’d free his son from a life of pain. Chris didn’t need to be fixed, he was perfectly loved just the way he was, but that didn’t mean Eddie didn’t wish his CP didn’t come with so many miserable days along with the good ones.
He’d known even before Chris’ doctor confirmed with hours of x-rays, what they were in for.
Surgery—always more surgeries. A never-ending slate of operations, of strangers taking blades to his baby’s skin.
Something about the ligaments in his joints being unable to keep up with his growth, making it increasingly painful to even stand, let alone walk.
Eddie couldn’t care less what their explanation was as long as there was a way to fix it. He’d pay any price to take care of his little boy—there was no length he wouldn’t go to, no effort too much.
The day of Chris’ surgery couldn’t have come soon enough. With every day that passed between his doctor’s evaluation and the soonest operation date possible, Eddie became more and more desperate.
His family knew the broad strokes of what was going on. Buck spent the night on the couch more often than not, Bobby delivered home-cooked meals as often as he could, and Denny was given blanket permission to visit whenever Chris could use some cheering up.
And every night without fail, Chris would curl up in bed beside his father—Eddie’s king bed allowing for him to stretch out his arms and legs with no limitations like his twin bed—and Eddie would just hold him close and pray, pray to any god who would listen, to just let him be the one to bear the burden.
“You ready, mijo?” Eddie spoke, sitting on the edge of Chris’ hospital bed as he stroked the boy’s hair.
Christopher was nothing short of miserable, not having been able to eat before his surgery and, at that point, he was in so much pain that even while laying down, the pain from walking still lingered.
“How much longer?” He groaned, brows pinched in aching misery. With the number of surgeries Chris had under his belt at that point, the fear of hospitals had long-since been replaced by frustrated inconvenience.
Eddie glanced at the clock above the door.
“Not much longer. You’re next in line, they’re probably getting set up right now,” he sighed. “It’ll be over before you know it, kid. Come on, you could at least pretend you don’t mind hanging out with me.”
It was yet another unwelcome reminder of just how quickly the years were passing by, his son growing up right in front of his eyes.
Christopher just leaned into the hand in his hair, eyes falling shut with exhaustion.
“Thanks, dad,” he mumbled, a faint smile creeping onto his face as Eddie’s palm held the weight of his head. “Love you.”
Eddie nearly choked, his eyes welling up with tears as he bent down to press his lips to his son’s forehead.
“I love you too,” Eddie whispered, barely holding himself together. “So much, mijo. More than anything in the world.”
It was a surprise to no one that Eddie was more distressed about the surgery than Chris himself.
In the end, the surgery went off without a hitch, but had only solved part of the problem. They opted to start with his legs, saving the surgery on his arms for a couple weeks later in order to make the healing process a bit smoother.
While, of course, having surgery on his knees and hips meant Chris wouldn’t be walking for at least a few weeks anyway, but apparently the surgery had already led to noticeable improvements.
After almost three weeks of Chris going stir-crazy in a wheelchair, Eddie gave in to his requests to start going to physical therapy again so that he could get back to using his crutches as quickly as possible. Even if it’d only be for a short while before his second surgery would make them impossible to use, Eddie figured it wouldn’t hurt.
Oh how wrong he turned out to be.
Seeing a hospital physical therapist was never Chris’ preference. The crisp gray walls were so clinical and uninspiring. Nothing like his usual pediatric physical therapist whose office was filled with comfort and color. Still, there was nothing he or his father could do. If anything were to go wrong, if he needed emergency surgery, it was better to already be at the hospital.
For what was far from the first time, Eddie found himself cursing the ways in which the pandemic had attempted to separate him from his son when it mattered most.
He’d been told by one of the hospital security guards that he was only allowed to wait and watch the session if he promised not to interfere. The physical therapy gym was apparently shared by multiple patients at a time, not that Eddie cared one bit about them when his son was in the room.
It should’ve been easy enough, watching from the window in the hallway. As long as Chris knew he was there, it would be enough. If he couldn’t be right there by his side, holding Chris’ hand, then at least his son would know he wasn’t alone. That his father would always he there to have his back, no matter what.
It started off easy. The stretches weren’t much different than the ones the pair would do together in their living room every morning. Chris appeared to be in a bit of discomfort as he moved in ways that he hadn’t for weeks, but it was nothing compared to the levels of pain he’d been in before the surgery.
And all the while, Eddie just stood there, fidgeting absentmindedly with the medallion around his neck as he watched. The physical therapist seemed nice enough, a young kid probably either fresh out of med school or still in his residency.
Still, Eddie couldn’t help but squirm under the gaze of the guard at the end of the hallway, as if the man expected Eddie to break his rules and was just waiting for the moment he did it. Every time Eddie glanced over, the man seemed to already be watching him.
Soon enough, the stretches turned to hip rotations and a noticeable shift occurred. Chris started to request breaks, pausing to press heating pads to his aching muscles and sending Eddie into a tailspin every single time. He’d stand there, weak in the knees as he clutched the window frame in a white-knuckled grip, as the security guard stared him down with daggers.
He couldn’t help but curse the fact that the room was soundproofed. Considering it was for privacy reasons, it was great that people who were going through a painful recovery could have their privacy and not have to worry about strangers overhearing their pained struggles, but he would’ve given anything for Chris to be able to hear him. To know that Eddie was still there, still proud of him.
Eddie might’ve gone a bit misty-eyed watching Chris go through things he should’ve never had to, but that was nobody’s business.
He’d been so focused on his son that, once the physical therapist seemed to decide it was time to change their game plan. Only, Eddie wasn’t the only one blindsided by it.
The man approached Chris, sitting on the floor, and held out his hands for the boy to take. Not having any obvious reason not to, Chris accepted the gesture only to be dragged to his feet in one fell swoop, crying out as he tried to steady himself on unstable legs. This, of course, was an impossible task, one that sent him right back to the floor as his knees buckled underneath him and he landed in a heap on the padded floor.
And Eddie saw red.
He watched on in horror as the man held out his hand again, seemingly to try the same trick again, only to circle behind him and lift Chris up by his underarms when the boy tried to scoot away from him. The man deposited him in front of a long horizontal bar in the middle of the room, letting go with no warning as Chris immediately flailed to catch himself, trembling arms wrapped around the bar. He watched with terrified, watering eyes as the man approached him again.
God, Eddie was gonna’ be sick.
Chris kept his eyes locked on the physical therapist, only to flinch and jump back as far away as he could with limited strength. The man held up his hands in mock defense as if it had all been some sort of accident. As if he hadn’t made maybe one mistake, and then continued to repeat it again and again.
Absolutely not.
No one was allowed to touch his son like that. Even under the context of physical therapy, Christopher was always supposed to be the one in control. He was the one who knew his own limits. He was the one who got to set the pace. Even if this man meant well, he clearly didn’t understand that the most important part of physical therapy was listening to the patient and going at their pace, even if it was slower than “protocol.”
Eddie was heading for the door before he even knew what he would say when he opened it.
“Sir?” Someone called out behind him, but Eddie didn’t pay them any mind, not even when the sound of rapid footfall followed him down the hallway. He yanked on the door and as soon as he was in the doorway, eyes locked on Chris’ tear-streaked cheeks, he felt something firm against his stomach, holding him in place. “Sir! You can’t go in there—sir!”
Rough hands wrapped around his biceps and pulled him away, but he wasn’t giving up that easily.
“Get your fucking hands off—“ he yanked himself away, holding onto the doorframe as Chris watched on in horror. “That’s my son—let me go!”
Sitting on the floor, his legs splayed out, Chris cried out for him and shattered Eddie’s heart with every syllable.
“Dad!” Christopher sobbed, reaching out for him as if Eddie was just past his grasp. “Daddy—!”
God, Chris hadn’t called him that in years.
It was clear from the panicked look on his face, that the physical therapist looked like he was about ready to hand over whatever medical license he had, clearly terrified and out of his depth with the mistake he’d made.
“Chris—“ he choked out, ears ringing and heart pounding in his skull. “Get the fuck off of me!”
Eddie was thrashing at that point, a death grip on the door jamb, as the security guard struggled to keep him out.
“Sir, if you don’t calm down, I will have you removed!” The guard grunted, clearly having met his match in stage-five Eddie Diaz. “This is your last chance!”
All of his bite vanished in the face of his son’s pain. Chris just sat there in tears, rubbing at his cheeks with his fist the way he’d done ever since he was a baby.
All Eddie wanted was his son. All he wanted was his son.
He didn’t want a fight, he didn’t want to curse out the hospital staff, he just wanted to hold his baby.
“Please—“ he begged with his last chance. “Please just let me go, he’s my son.” A blow came to the backs of his knees, not exactly hard but unexpected enough to bring him to the ground, the guard quickly pinning his arms behind his back. “They’re—they’re hurting him, please—“
His own sobs came without warning, desperation spilling out of him in waves as he begged with every molecule of oxygen in his lungs.
“Todo va a estar bien, mijo. Siento mucho lo que te pasó—“ he rambled out as quickly as he could, chest heaving as he knelt there so close yet so far from the only thing he wanted. “Te amo más que a nada.”
As his father continued to speak, Chris just cried harder and harder, curling up into a ball as if trying to hide from everything going on around him, or maybe even to protect himself.
Eddie was being dragged so hard he had to shuffle backwards on his knees until, before he knew it, the door was being slammed shut into his face.
The next thing he knew, he was being pushed into a big empty room. He pivoted his head around as soon as there were no more hands on him, ready to take off and find his way back to his son, before yet again, he was met with a door to the face.
That room was decidedly not soundproof.
“See? I fuckin’ knew this guy was gonna’ be trouble,” the guard huffed with a hearty chuckle, apparently talking to someone else outside. “Nah, I mean, he looks like the type that proll’y would’ve given me a mean right hook, but he went down like a fuckin’ puppet or something. Just kept cryin’.”
“C’mon, you know how it is, man. The goddamn hospital board doesn’t know shit ‘bout what we do here. They spout all this bullshit ‘bout try’na help these people when they’re seconds away from takin’ swings at us. Nah, not like that, I mean…well he was, but they talk big talk about all that discrimination lawsuit shit. Nobody’s dumb enough to waste their money lettin’ a hospital like this take ‘em to court and bleed ‘em dry with legal fees.”
“I dunno’, didn’t ask. Somethin’ about a kid, I think. You’ve seen the types of people that show up here, one bit of bad news away from going psycho. Freaked the new PT kid out real bad too. Yeah.”
“Nah, the one that just transferred from geriatrics. I know, right? I mean, he’ll figure it out eventually, but it’s still kinda’ funny watching ’im make all these kids cry ‘cause he can’t do a damn thing right.”
“Eh, kid’ll be fine. Kids are tough like that. He proll’y broke his leg playin’ peewee soccer or somethin’—ha! Man, you know enough by now. These kids make a big fuss for attention and forget all about it once mom and dad take ‘em out for ice cream on the way home. You send some first year med nurse to deliver a Jell-o cup and they forget you ever fucked up. If mom ’n dad are already payin’ thousands, they’re not paying for a lawsuit on top a’ that. Heh.”
He…he didn’t…he didn’t know what to do.
He’d nearly died so many times, but all of those times there was protocol to follow. Even in the most helpless moments of his life, he could do something.
Now he was just…just stuck.
Stuck with his wrists cuffed behind his back, all alone in an room, somehow too big and too small and too bright and too dark and too loud and too quiet—all of it all at once.
He was too afraid to speak. Too afraid to cry, to sob, to let out everything that was left in his throat, cut off before he was ready.
Too afraid to breathe too loudly.
His knees bent slowly and then all at once, hitting the cold linoleum floors with a hollow thump, the sound bouncing off the walls around him. He couldn’t get far enough away from the door, but he could do the best he could. His feet pushed him backwards, keeping his gaze trained on the door as if the guard would burst right back in.
The walls were cold against his back, his henley damp with sweat, as he pressed himself into the corner as small as he could manage.
A soliloquy echoed in his ears.
Christopher.
Christopher.
He hurt Christopher.
That man.
That man hurt my baby.
He hurt my baby.
That man hurt my little boy and made him cry.
He cried.
Christopher.
Where…
Why isn’t he here?
I’m…
I…left him?
I left him.
My baby’s all alone.
You fucking left him again.
He’s supposed to be everything.
He’s the only thing.
The only thing that matters.
You failed him again.
You failed him again.
You failed him again.
You failed him ag—
Someone was coming. He could hear the footsteps, he could hear them.
“No, I don’t wanna’ hear it, where the hell is he?”
A new voice.
Still yelling.
“You’re lucky I’m passing you off to my friend here, I’ll tell you that. I don’t even want to know what the hell you were thinkin’, but you’d better have a good explanation ready by the time I take your ass to court. I’ve got multiple witnesses tellin’ me this isn’t even the first time you’ve gotten’ a little too grab-happy with people who aren’t doing a damn thing wrong.”
They were so close. So close to the door.
He dug his boots into the floor, pushing himself as far back as he could, his arms aching from their position, before pressing his forehead into his bent knees, hiding from view the only way he could.
“Nuh-uh, you’re gonna’ give me the damn keys unless you want Lou here puttin’ his hands on you just like you did to all those completely harmless visitors.”
Oh god, not the keys. Not the keys, they’re coming in.
He held his breath, curling his shaking hands into the closest thing he could make to fists.
“Lou, I don’t wanna’ hear another word, go stick ‘im in the backseat and see how he feels about being cuffed and left to w—“
The door opened without fanfare, the bright fluorescent light from the hallway bleeding into the room.
“Eddie?”
Huh?
His head snapped up, eyes wide and petrified as he squinted at the light, blinking until he could make out the petite figure in the doorway.
Athena.
God, he should’ve—how did he not recognize—
“Oh, honey,” Athena cooed, devastation and horror written all over her face as she rushed across the room, dropping to her knees and reaching for him instinctively. Eddie flinched before he even had a chance to remind himself he knew she was safe. “It’s okay. It’s okay, you’re safe. I’m here to get you out of here, I promise?”
She…she was gonna’ let him out?
God, of course she was. Athena…Athena always protected her family. Even if it took some mental reminders from time to time, he knew he was included in that group.
He didn’t have to deny himself that love in his life anymore.
“Mama—“ he choked out before he could think better of it, tears collecting in his lashes as he stared up at her as if she were some beacon of safety and love and family.
Any other time, he would’ve kicked himself and promptly fled the state for saying something like that, but he just didn’t have it in him to realize why it might’ve been the wrong title. Athena, on the other hand, didn’t seem to think it was at all.
“Oh my poor baby,” she murmured, a soft, small thing just for him. “C’mere, I got you. Mama’s got you.”
She held his face in her hands like it was something precious. She…she held him the way he held Chris.
“Can you tell me what happened, sweetheart? I only got an outside perspective from the receptionist that saw it all, but I had no idea it was you,” she asked, not accusatory, just worried. Her perfectly manicured nails combed through his hair, making him melt instantly. “Lou will handle the guards, this…” she trailed off shaking her head. “He can book them at the station, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
Completely out of his own control, Eddie made a soft little sound, putty in the older woman’s hands as he cried.
“My baby,” he blubbered through tears. “Mama, he hurt my baby.”
The absolute mortification that would come with the knowledge that those words would eventually end up on an official police statement was a problem for future-Eddie.
“You…” Athena reared back, shocked. “Christopher’s here?”
He nodded desperately, tilting forward towards her touch, desperate for it even moments after it was temporarily taken away out of surprise. Athena replaced her hands on his cheeks in a heartbeat, shifting to stand bent over instead.
“Then we’re gonna’ get you back to him, honey, I promise,” she swore, holding eye contact and searing the words right into his soul. “C’mon, you’re coming with me. Just stay close, my love. I’m sure we—“
Her words cut off abruptly as they both stood, before she turned and looked the younger man up and down.
“Baby, you’ve been cuffed this whole time?” She asked, horrified, hands flying up to his arms as if she could see the ache in his shoulders. “Hold on—let’s hope these are universal keys. Just hold still, honey.”
She pulled the keys to her own set of cuffs out of her pocket, jostling his cuffs a few times before finally—finally—his arms swung away from their position, waves of ache crawling from his shoulders to his wrists like flames licking at his skin.
“Better?” Athena asked gently, reaching up to knead her fingers into his shoulders, soothing just enough of the ache for him to nod gratefully. “Good. Now come on, I wanna’ see my grandbaby.”
As if he’d somehow lost himself in the soothing affection so much that he forgot what was happening, Eddie quickly flinched, snapping out of it as he stumbled for the door, Athena’s hand on his arm ready to catch him as if she’d seen it coming.
“Alright, alright, slow down. Some of us have shorter legs than you do, you know,” she chastised fondly, following behind at a faster pace anyway. “You know how to get there, right?”
He nodded, pulling her into an elevator and pressing the button for the right floor a few extra times just for good measure. Athena curled up at his side, one hand on his arm and the other pressed flat between his shoulder blades, making him feel so much smaller than he was.
The elevator ride was somehow an eternity despite taking only about thirty seconds, and as soon as the doors began to open, Eddie was squeezing through the opening without hesitation.
Athena followed behind quickly, careful not to lose her way, and just barely caught up long enough to come across the physical therapy ward, a long window showing the big room full of padded mats and exercise equipment and, following the frantic yank of a door handle, also Eddie Diaz. She watched from the window for a moment as Eddie drew her attention to the small boy sitting in the corner of the room, rubbing his eyes and sniffling.
She watched Eddie call out to him, breathless and awed as Chris’ head snapped up and he did everything he could to shuffle closer and closer to his dad, tears flowing freely as Eddie swiftly scooped his son up into his arms, sinking his knees into the cushioned floor as he rocked the boy back and forth in his arms, shaking in sync as they both finally returned back to where they belonged.