Chapter Text
Sarah Nelson never turned off her ringer. It was something that sometimes frustrated others around her, but she had two sons who were old enough to get into their own brands of trouble and she always wanted to be available when they needed her. With David in uni and having had several years’ worth of experience with his behaviour, Sarah never went to sleep without checking that her ringer was on and turned up enough that she knew she’d hear it.
That was why she woke so easily that night. Or, morning, she supposed. It was roughly 2 AM, and Sarah was jerked out of sleep by the particular ringtone she picked out for her phone. Heart racing, she scrambled for her phone to answer.
Julio Spring , her phone read. Her heart dropped to her stomach. With shaky fingers, she answered, saying, “Hello?”
She could hear Julio’s sigh over the phone. Even that sounded so stressed. “Sarah, hi. Sorry to wake you.”
“It’s fine, Julio, what’s going on?” She needed to know if Charlie was okay. She needed to know what to do, how to fix it. After everything that happened since Charlie came into their lives with a soft disposition and sweet exterior and so much love for her baby boy, she’d taken to him like a third child. She loved him. Just knowing that she was getting this phone call was enough to make her want to cry.
When would Charlie get a break? He was such a young boy, so kind and considerate and loving. He didn’t deserve all the bad things he’d gotten so early in life.
As her thoughts swirled in her head—did Charlie relapse, did he hurt himself again?—she heard Julio’s sigh again, this time sounding so much more exhausted.
“Did Nick tell you Charlie was sick?”
Now that he mentioned it, Sarah knew her son had told her. He’d been disappointed that Charlie would be staying home tomorrow, though he understood, and he’d mentioned at dinner maybe popping round to the Springs’ home to pay him a visit after school. Probably the flu, he told her at dinner. Nothing some soup and cuddles won’t fix.
“Yes,” she finally said, voice trembling.
Julio sighed a third time, and Sarah’s heart twisted uncomfortably.
“I don’t know what happened,” he said. “Last night—he wasn’t fine , he was still sick, but it wasn’t… like this.” She could picture him running his hand through his hair; she ached for her friend and for the sweet boy who deserved a break. “His fever spiked. I woke to go check on him and he was… having a seizure. And afterwards, he was completely unresponsive and hot to the touch. We took him to A&E—Sarah, god his fever was over forty degrees.”
Sarah gasped. “Good God,” she muttered.
“Yeah,” Julio agreed. “They’ve been pushing fluids and he woke maybe an hour and a half ago, but he’s delirious with the fever, and they can’t get it down. He’s so confused and scared. But he’s asking for Nick, he won’t stop, he’s just—“ Julio took a shaky breath like he was near tears. Sarah got up and turned on her bedside lamp, wincing at the sudden light.
Already she was searching for some clothes when Julio spoke again, “Sarah, I—I know it’s a big ask, but—“
“We’ll be there soon,” she promised him. “Just let me know where he is. I know Nick’ll be happy to be there for him.”
Julio sighed, this time in relief, and Sarah pretended she didn’t hear how wet the sound was. “Thank you. God, he’ll be so relieved.”
They hung up and Sarah took a brief moment to let herself feel. She was so scared—for Nick, for Charlie. When did these boys get a break? Did they not deserve it? Did Charlie not deserve to be happy?
After she’d allowed herself to shed a few tears, she finished getting dressed and headed to Nick’s room. She knocked lightly despite knowing Nick had to be asleep. Still, she was slow as she pushed open the door, the sight of her boy making more tears well in her eyes. Nick looked so young, so peaceful as he slept, oblivious to his loved one’s pain. She wished she could let him sleep. But then she had a flash of a vision, of sweet Charlie crying out for her son in a haze of delirium.
Sarah pressed forward and sat at the edge of Nick’s bed. He shifted in his sleep in response to the movement, but otherwise didn’t stir. With great sadness, she rested a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him awake.
“Nicky,” she said softly. He grunted in response, so she tried again, louder, “Nicky, baby, wake up.”
“Mm?” He grunted again. His eyes fluttered open and he raised himself up on his elbow, rubbing a fist into one eye as he squinted at Sarah with his other. “Mum?”
She tried to give him a smile, but she knew it was shaky at best and it only served to alarm him. He blinked the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes and raised himself up further. “What’s gon’ on?” He mumbled.
Sarah took a steadying breath before she explained calmly, “I got a call from Julio Spring.” Just those words were enough to have Nick tensing, wide awake now. “Charlie’s fever spiked at night,” she continued, “and they took him to A&E.”
Nick’s breaths were coming rapid and trembling as he looked up at his mother with wide eyes. He was fearful, looking to his mum for help, for guidance. Sarah wished she had the answers. She wished she could take away Charlie’s pain. He deserved to live the rest of his life without pain.
“Mum…” Nick’s voice was scratchy. He stopped talking and squeezed his eyes shut, breaths coming quicker, harsher.
“Calm down, baby,” Sarah said uselessly. She rested a hand on her son’s back, guiding him through some slowing breaths. Eventually, when she thought Nick was far enough from the edge, she spoke again. “Everything will be alright. He’s in good hands, darling. But he’s not entirely aware right now, and he’s pretty stressed out. Julio thinks it might help if you were there.” She didn’t tell him all of what Julio told her; he didn’t need the same pictures in his head, of his boyfriend, uncomfortable and confused and afraid, calling out for Nick with desperation. Nick would hate to know he wasn’t there when his boyfriend needed him.
Nick nodded. “Okay. I—okay.”
“Get ready to go, love,” Sarah told him. “We’ll head out once you’re ready.”
Sarah was going to make them some cups of tea for the road, but Nick had gotten ready in record time with a bag packed to the gills of whatever he’d deemed important enough to take with him. He had a pair of jumpers in his arms alongside the one on his back, and he was already anxious to go, his shoes untied where he’d shoved them onto his feet. Sarah thought they may have been from two different pairs. She decided not to mention it and to forgo the tea; they could get some from the hospital cafe.
***
2:30 A.M.
***
The car ride was tense. Nick was a ball of anxiety and he knew his mum was feeding off of it, an uncomfortable loop of anxiety running back and forth between them, but he couldn’t help it. His boyfriend needed him, and Nick wasn’t there. His boyfriend was sick, so much sicker than Nick had thought, and fuck, Nick didn’t know. He was at A&E, hurting, and Nick still wasn’t there with him.
It took what seemed an eternity to get there, and the only thing keeping Nick from running blindly through the halls until he found his boyfriend was the knowledge that he would very much be forcibly removed from the premises. As it was, his mum had the room number, so he walked beside her, practically dragging her along as they made their way to Charlie’s room.
(Charlie already had a room in the hospital, in a wing, instead of a little emergency cubicle downstairs.)
Sarah opened the door, allowing Nick through. Charlie looked… awful. He was sweaty and pale, face bright red, almost purple in his cheeks, curls a big, fluffy (adorable) mess against the pillow case. There were wires and electrodes everywhere, attached to his arms and chest and head—why his head ?—and several IVs pumping fluids into his veins. He was writhing with discomfort, shivering, with big, fat tears slipping consistently down his face as he cried and begged, begged whoever was listening to make it better, to help. He begged for relief, he begged for assistance, he begged for—for Nick .
Nick crossed the floor in two strides and took the space beside Charlie’s dad where Julio had been doing his best to soothe his son. Julio easily stepped aside and allowed Nick to take his place. Nick could appreciate the gesture later; all that mattered now was taking the hurt look off his lover’s face.
“Charlie,” he said softly.
Charlie’s glazed eyes searched without seeing, glassy with tears and fever. He sobbed lightly. It sounded like he wanted to really cry out, sob and scream and wail, but his body had no energy left for anything more than the desperate hiccough he managed.
Nick took a deep breath and rested a hand against Charlie’s too warm cheek. He gently guided his face to look at Nick, who stood closer. “Charlie,” he repeated in a whisper. “Char, love, it’s me.”
“Nick,” he mewled, glassy eyes struggling to stay on his face.
“I’m here,” Nick told him. It felt like a cheap platitude, but he could tell his voice was soothing to the boy.
His skin was like an oven, burning warmer and warmer. Nick wished he could hold him, but if Charlie’s fever was high enough to look like this, Nick knew he would only hurt him. Still, Nick found a compromise. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hip pressed to Charlie’s thigh. He reached for the things he’d thrown on the abandoned chair in his haste to get to his boyfriend. Nick pulled the chair closer and took one of the spare jumpers in his lap. Without thinking much, he took off the jumper he’d been wearing and tucked it into Charlie’s side before sliding into the first spare he’d brought. Charlie, in his haze, brought the jumper closer to himself, whinging softly and crying, but it lessened as he pressed his warm face into Nick’s jumper.
Next, Nick pulled out a book he’d brought. Charlie had mentioned loving it when he was a kid, bringing him so much comfort whenever he thought about it that Nick had gone out and bought it for times when Charlie just wanted comfort or wanted to listen to Nick’s voice. Times like these, really.
It took a few tries to really start, anxious as he was, but Charlie didn’t seem to mind, or notice, really. He was responding to his voice, though, soothed as Nick continued to read to him, their thighs pressed together where Nick sat on the bed, his jumper pressed into Charlie’s arms, his spare hand rubbing gentle circles into Charlie’s chest. His sobs receded into sad whimpers that struck Nick in the chest; eventually, even those diminished into soft huffs of breath. It took nearly a full hour, but Charlie eventually fell into a fitful sleep.
Nick finished the chapter he was reading and waited to see if Charlie would stir if he stopped. The boy stayed asleep, thankfully. Nick set the book aside without bothering to hold his place; he’d been much too preoccupied with Charlie to recall the story and he knew the boy wasn’t lucid enough to remember anything. That, at least, brough Nick a strange amount of comfort; maybe Charlie was in pain now, but eventually he wouldn’t be, and he wouldn’t remember the pain when it was gone.
***
4:30 A.M.
***
Thank God for Nicholas Nelson.
It wasn’t the first time he’d had the thought and, judging by the rate they were going, it wouldn’t be the last. Julio had been thinking it for years, since they started getting together after school. He couldn’t put into words how grateful he was for this boy who’d taken to his son so quickly, who loved him so deeply. Nick treasured Charlie in the way he deserved. He showed up, always, simply because Charlie was there. No one needed to ask Nick to be there; he wanted to be there for him. He always, always, always wanted to be there for Charlie.
Julio didn’t know how the night had spun so far out of control. One second, he was falling asleep, the next, he heard a strange noise come from Charlie’s room. When he’d gone in, his son, his baby boy, was having a seizure. It was barely a minute long, but it was the longest minute of Julio’s life. He’d screamed, and Jane and Tori had come in. Jane had called 999 while Tori kept Olly away from the room.
The doctor had immediately sent for tests, so many tests, to determine what was wrong with Julio’s little boy. Someone had explained at some point that seizures could result from high fevers like the one Charlie had. Julio couldn’t tell if that calmed him down or not.
Either way, he didn’t like how quickly they’d cleared a room for him with the urgency of madmen.
He’d sat with Charlie while Jane went in search of coffee. Charlie was hooked up to cool fluids and fever reducers with wires and electrodes attached to his entire body. He didn’t have another seizure, thank God, but he didn’t wake until some point past midnight.
Julio would never forget it. He’d never forget that cursed night in October, he’d never forget the way Charlie broke down when he came out to them and told them that the whole school knew, he’d never forget when Olly had screamed when he’d broken his arm when he was four, he’d never forget how Tori had wailed when she’d lost her favourite blanket as a child, he’d never forget the way his children cried for him, cried on him, ached and screamed. He’d never forget it. He’d never forget this.
Charlie had finally, finally woken up, but he wasn’t all there. His eyes were bright, glazed over. The normal beautiful blue in his eyes now looked unnatural, too bright, like it was glowing. His gaze was tracking all over the ceiling, roving and roaming for something onto which it could latch. It skipped right over Julio, not even seeing him. Charlie didn’t see him.
He’d begun to cry, big tears full of fear and pain and confusion. Julio had done his best to calm him, but Charlie barely registered his presence. He’d turned to his voice every so often, straining toward his dad in desperation. But Julio was already holding onto him, he was already just inches from his son, so close he could feel the warmth from his skin, too hot, still too hot, but trembling. Charlie couldn’t get any closer to him.
He’d begun to cry in earnest after that. He was so clearly confused, and so terrified. He was in so much pain and discomfort, in a place he couldn’t recognise without any real sources of relief. He’d cried, and cried, and he’d called out for his dad, even though Julio was right there. He’d called out for each of his siblings, who were both home taking comfort in each other. And then, in a gut-wrenching voice, he’d called for Nick.
He chanted the boy’s name, over and over. His hands scrambled over his own body like he could find the source of his discomfort and tear it off. His nails raked over his skin and Julio had to hold both of his hands to keep him from hurting himself. It just made Charlie so much more upset.
The doctors were still trying to find something to put him back to sleep, but with so many question marks, they were reluctant to give him any tranquilizers. So, Charlie kept calling, calling for relief, calling for an end, calling for Nick. He kept begging for him, needing him.
Honestly, it was a miracle that Julio had lasted as long as he did. But eventually, he gave in and, despite Jane’s protests, he rang Sarah Nelson and explained the situation.
Charlie had tired himself out, sweating and sweating and still too warm, still without reprieve, but the second Nick had come into the room, it was like Charlie could sense him. He could sense the very essence of the boy he loved, and he calmed just slightly. He said his name and it was barely a second before Nick was there, at Charlie’s side. Finally, Charlie’s gaze latched onto something, latched onto Nick. To his credit, the boy seemed to have a sixth sense for how to calm Charlie down. He’d established bodily contact and whipped off his own sweatshirt to give it to Charlie and just started talking. He’d pulled out a book Julio remembered deeply from Charlie’s childhood and began to read. Charlie eventually fell asleep, fitful, but sleeping. For the first time since Julio had been dragged out from his near-sleep, Julio was almost at ease.
When Sarah asked if he wanted to join her for a cuppa, he was reluctant to leave. But one look into the room told him that his son was in good hands. Nick would never let anything happen to Charlie, not without a fight. He’d defend Charlie as fiercely as Julio would, with as much grit and tenacity as any one man ever could.
Still with great reluctance, Julio agreed. His son was in good hands. He had Nick.