#multiple povs

6:30pm

As time ticks on, second by second, minute by minute. Frankie can’t help but worry. The uncomfortable plastic of the cheap hospital cafeteria chair digging into her thighs served as a reminder. A reminder of what she had experienced. Pitt Fest had been an incalculable disaster. The whistle of flying bullets had been hard to shut out, as she continued to relive each decision and choice she made. With each passing moment, more found their way here. Family members, friends and the like always with the same burning questions; Are their loved one’s safe? Are they counted amongst the wounded or had they been the unlucky ones?

Frankie couldn’t leave, not yet. She couldn’t return to House 42 empty-handed and without the small sliver of information on the whereabouts of her missing friend and colleague. Guilt gnawed away at her. No-one gets left behind but in less than a second, someone did. The click of heels against the linoleum tiles caught her attention, dragging her out of her depressive thoughts; Frankie lifted her gaze to see two figures approaching where they all waited.

The sight of two staff members had been enough to silence the chatter; all eyes had fallen upon these two women ready to listen as a younger woman approached them. Frankie wasn’t close enough to hear her words but still watched on, noting the pile of papers in their hands. The interaction was brief, but the young woman’s body language spoke volumes, worry and panic overpowering all other emotions, as she was the same boat as all the rest that gathered all around. 

Her eyes tracked them as they crossed into the centre of the cafeteria, where they could be heard easily by everyone.

“Hello? Can I have your attention, please? My name is Kiara Alfaro. I’m an emergency-department social worker.” Frankie was almost certain that she had seen her before; she had never found an opportunity to meet the resident day shift social worker. She only really knew her night shift colleague; he was a right scream but had spoken highly of Kiara praising her calm nature and how she could get almost anyone to open up to her. 

“This is Lupe Perez, one of our ward clerks.” As she continued to speak, Kiara introduced her colleague, the ward clerks were all hardworking, taking the brunt of the frustration of the waiting patients. Each word was loudly and clearly projected to ensure that they were understood by all who listened on.

“I know you all want information about your friends and family. In order to help you, we have a QR Code you can scan for our patient-identification website.” This was the beginning of the next stage with handling the mass casualty. 

“Cell phones are down, but you can log onto the hospital guest WI-FI. That information is on these papers we’ll distribute around the room.” It was understandable that phone lines would be jammed up, with the sheer number of people trying to reach out to their loved ones. Frankie’s phone had already logged into the Wi-Fi network as soon as she had entered the hospital grounds. This was a good sign; it would give people something to focus on.

“Once you log on, send us the name and birth date of whomever you’re concerned about.” She quickly tried to recall the necessary information; did she know her friend’s exact date of birth? The day and month were easy, but the year that might take a moment. As she thought back to her friend’s last birthday, how old had she been? With access to the Internet, she could shoot a message to Captain Valentino, who had direct access to the personnel files, but that would be a last resort.

“If you could tell us what they were wearing, upload photos, pictures of tattoos, piercings, anything to help identify would be useful.” Frankie had been the unofficial photographer of the tent; she had been the one to step up and take more than a few photographs and selfies through the day. Mostly for Instagram and her own personal collection, but a few for the Department to show their involvement as part of the PR and the monthly newsletter; not that many people actually opened that email when it dropped into their inbox. The next one might be an exception.

Frankie had been the one to take her to her first tattoo appointment, so she had photos of it. It had been a special moment since she knew the meaning behind the chosen design. Jake had been the one to help her shape into reality. He had drawn it for her, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to be there as he had class on the date that had been chosen. Frankie couldn’t help but wonder at the sweet relationship that her friend had with the young man. She had wished that she had something when she had grown up.

“If we get a match, we’ll let you know. We’re setting up phone chargers, water, snacks. And if anyone needs to change clothes, we’ve got paper scrubs coming.” Her hands had been covered in blood, that had long since dried, but it didn’t seem overly important to find a bathroom and wash it away as she made her way to the Cafeteria.

“Give us some time. We’re doing everything we can to help get you the information you need.”  Frankie took a second before moving, as a crowd formed around the two tables where the papers had been placed. As she took a seat once more, with the newly acquired document, she began to follow the instructions. Her fingers danced across her phone keyboard as a WhatsApp message popped up on her screen. Another swiftly followed; House 42 was reaching out.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------7pm

“Fuck” The very word was stuck on repeat; Dana could not let Robby see this. Not now, when his attention needed to remain focused. The house of cards could not fall apart at this most crucial of junctions. As more patients flooded into the department, as much as worry was seeping through the cracks in her armour, Dana could not let Robby see the bloodied garment.

The split second decision had to be made, as she placed the jacket and thoughts of its owner aside. Using the moment of a patient being transferred up to surgery as a barrier to try to hide how shameful she felt. She watched where it landed, in the corner of an empty bay. Not that it won’t be unoccupied for long. Her tricky mind conjured countless scenarios, imagining the almost listless ways a mass casualty event could injure someone. Hope was a thin thread that she placed her bets on; Dana knew her. They punched, kicked and spit at her on the job, but still she had kept coming back for more.

She couldn’t say the same anymore; it was getting harder to reflect on the good times, without the awful moments overpowering the rest. Today was the latest in a long line of violence that had pushed over the edge into thoughts of if she was going to come back. If this was all really worth it. There wasn’t even enough time to take a breath between incoming patients. Once the panic subsided, Dana could ponder what came next only after they had attended to all critically unwell patients.

With the stream of gurneys and wheelchairs, the patients had blurred without the coloured wristbands to identify them. Dana wandered would she had missed Robby’s ex-wife in the crush? She had been a close friend in another life. She couldn’t recall the last time that she had met up for coffee and a catch up. Aside from a few brief moments at Central, before another call come in over the airwaves, summoning back to work.

Dana tried to think back to the last time that they had been in the same room. Silence had reigned for months. Robby might not have shouted from the rooftops, but Dana had seen the more subtle signs. Firstly, it had been the ring protector falling by the wayside, then his wedding band vanished from his golden chain, but finally it had been the growing closeness between himself and Heather. It might have a brief few months, but a bond had formed. It had its share of ups and downs, but the damage wasn’t as visible.

The tether had fizzled away; it had been what they both had needed in the moment. Passing affection and physical attraction hadn’t been enough to develop into a more permanent and lasting connection. Princess and Perlah had noted the changes. Quick gossip followed, its impact lessened only by awareness that one relationship ended to begin another.

Black lines that hadn’t been there before floated up to the surface of Dana’s thoughts. A tattoo? She had never questioned the fresh addition, wondering which design had you chosen? Robby had a few, but you had been a blank canvas. 

With her thoughts misaligned, Dana needed to stay calm in the storm’s eye. This was what the department required her to be, even in the hours past the end of her shift. The one who led them through the push, over the edge, straight into no-man’s-land. As the mask slipped back into place, she couldn’t help but frown at the sight of the few heavily armed SWAT teams roaming around the halls. They hadn’t been there a few minutes ago?

This abrupt development put her further on guard. This was far from good news.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------The department was rushed off its feet as soon as one patient would be taken up to surgery or the ICU floor, two additional patients had taken their place. It was never ending; Frank Langdon and Cassie McKay were working in a familiar rhythm formed in the past two years that they had worked solidly side by side. In that time, they had gotten used to the speed that each other worked at, but they had also gotten to know one another on a more professional basis, but tidbits of their personal lives would slip through the gaps now and then. McKay’s centred more around her son Harrison, whereas Langdon tended to ebb and flow with the emotional state of his marriage.

Frank was more aware of the fallout of Robby’s marriage, but Cassie had only met the ex-wife in passing. The connection to Dr Robinavitch fell at the wayside; to McKay, she was just another paramedic who preferred to work nights. On the rare occasion that Cassie was rotated in to cover a night shift, this had been where they crossed paths for the first time. She had seemed nice enough, quiet, but there had been an underlying playfulness that came to the surface whenever Dr Abbot was around. 

There was a story, a history between the pair of them, not that anyone dared to comment on the exact nature of their connection when she had brought it up. It wasn’t worth antagonising Abbot, so Cassie let it go. Never given it much thought, as it had been nearly eight months since her last night shift, Frank hadn’t been as lucky. His last night was less than a week prior; it had been far from an easy shift to boot.

Cassie watched as the next patient was wheeled in, an unconscious female, dressed in what looked like the standard issue trousers worn by paramedics, topped with a once white shirt coated in dirt and blood. Paramedics had been at the Festival in an official capacity, yet her patient seemed familiar, but many crew passed through those doors on a nearly hourly basis. 

“Shit, you know who that is, right?” The sound of Langdon’s voice floated in as he made his way over whilst McKay was midway through her assessment. Cassie shook her head as she continued on, focused on carrying out the basic steps of a complete neurological exam considering her presentation. “Should I?”

“That’s Robby’s ex-wife” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

7:30pm

Frustration was bubbling up within Trinity swiftly returned to the yellow zone. With no attending trailing behind, they were on their own. This was not the outcome that she had been hoping for when she had gone searching for an attending.

“I tried. No attendings available,” she announced as she approached Dr Mel King, who remained at the patient’s bedside, still working on the unconscious man. Trinity moved through, trying to find her next interesting case, whilst keeping an eye out for any available attending. 

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, as she surveyed each patient that she passed by; nothing immediately stood out. One gurney caught her eye; as she made her approach, Trinity slipped on a fresh pair of sterile gloves ready to make her assessment.

“All right” As Trinity slipped effortlessly into doctor mode, as her gaze dropped to the open wounds upon the young man’s legs that Nurse Donnie was cleaning with large pieces of gauze. 

“Okay, those look pretty superficial.” Santos commented as she took in what she could see; the wounds on his leg might be large but were shallow. 

“Might’ve been fragments from a ricochet off the ground.” Donnie replied, as he had been the one tending to the wounds; she listened to his assessment as her mind turned over the information as she worked out the possible next steps.

“Lost a lot of blood, but you’re gonna be okay, bro.” As she carefully lifted up the heavily stained remains of what once had been a trouser leg to inspect the wound for herself. The ease of his interaction spoke of a familiarity with her patient that she had not noticed until this point. Did Donnie know this young man? Trinity was left wondering the possibilities as her mind raced.

“It’s not bad. Just put me back in the wheelchair.” The young man answered; this was not even an option as Santos knew what the outcome might be if they allowed their patient to get out of the bed before his legs were bandaged up. She could not risk his wounds opening further and him bleeding out.

“No, no, stay in bed with your leg up.” She said, before continuing on speaking as she cautioned him bluntly. “We don’t want you oozing to death.” As she left the bedside to see what the other doctors had landed as Javedi helped move another gurney through the department into the yellow zone.

“Samira, what you got?” Trinity loudly asked; waiting patiently for Dr Mohan to answer.

“Opiate OD needs observation after Narcan.” For Santos, that was far too pedestrian, too ordinary and, to put it plainly, boring. Not for her. This was what came with festivals; drugs and overdoses were a dime a dozen but there were more interesting patients than this. There was nothing to learn, no interesting procedures to practise or carry out solo. “Ugh, boring. No, thank you.” Trinity swiftly replied before moving on as she turned her back and walked back toward Mel.

“Mel, how’s Ganja Grayson?” She called out, inquiring about the status of the patient with a newly christened nickname. The man was a true hippie as she walked the few meters back over to the bay. 

“Um, we can put him in pink whilst he waits for ICU.” She listened to the words of her senior doctor, as the man’s condition had continued to worsen since falling unconscious; without the typical methods of investigations available, there was little they could actually do in the here and now. He needed a CT scan, but it would be hours before he could be sent up for one.

“Okay. One second.” Santos curiously watched on as Whitaker moved closer to the patient with a probe that had been plugged into his phone. Yet Samira beat her to the punch, speaking first. “What are you doing?”

“I’m checking the retina.” Trinity patiently watched the back-and-forth exchange, as it seemed that Huckleberry was chasing a cause. He was thinking creatively to find a solution to help Mr Grayson.

“For detachment?” Samira continued on, adding a potential diagnosis to the pile, but Whitaker responded with his own reasoning. As he used the phone screen to measure the distance from one end of the optic nerve to the other. With the swipe of a finger on a touchscreen. “For Intracranial pressure by measuring the optic nerve sheath, which is—holy shit—10 millimeters”  He quickly pulled away with the news of this recent development.

What Huckleberry had uncovered was wild. As Victoria Javedi spoke up, running through the encyclopaedic amount of medical knowledge that was rushing through her mind, much like they all did with each fresh case.

 “What’s normal? 5?” She asked, knowing the answer from the countless neurology seminar and skills labs that they had all attended whilst studying. As they memorised a plethora of textbooks with case studies and long lists of symptoms and treatments outlined in great detail.

“Yeah, 5” Whitaker replied, as the answer unfolded, as Mel was the one to offer up what was the most likely conclusion. “It’s an Intracranial bleed. ”One had they all had swiftly come to with the discovery of the expansion of his optic nerve, it was practically doubled in size! This was becoming a wildly more interesting case than the OD.

“The pressure’s been building up.” Trinity had turned her to listen as Mel continued on with her explanation of Mr Grayson’s condition. “There’s no blown pupil.”

“Yeah, not yet. Trinity replied, knowing that as soon as the pressure reached a critical level, then his pupil would likely blow. But if he keeps bleeding in his skull, he’s going to die.” This was not the moment to sugar coat what was going to occur if they just stood around and did nothing. This man was inching closer and closer to the edge with every passing second.

“Yeah, he needs a one-inch, uh, burr hole in his—with a cranial drill.” Mel spoke through what was needed, stuttering over words as she started to move away from the patient. “I’m just gonna see if neurosurgery’s here.”

“We don’t have time to wait for Neuro.” Trinity watched as Dr Samira Mohan stepped up to the plate, taking over the case. Santos might have a rough around the edge approach to medicine, her bedside manner might need tweaking, but she did not wish to risk her internship on her very first day. For intern to attempt burr holes without the supervision of an attending that was a Grey’s Anatomy level of madness that would quickly hand a one-way ticket to the psych ward. No, thank you. However, she was more than happy to assist if Mohan was taking the lead.

Mohan had rushed off to collect the supplies that she needed, returning the bay once she had what was required to start the procedure. “I got Betadine and a 10cc syringe.” Announcing each step as she continued on. Whitaker had been the one to speak up, asking a basic but necessary question. His tone wavering as he worked through his jumbled up thoughts. “Should we intubate, hyperventilate?”

“Mannitol decreases ICP.” Victoria answered; Trinity was still mentally referring to her as Crash. The nickname was not going anywhere fast. Once she had handed one, she rarely would change it unless continually pushed too. She would count on one hand the number of times that she had altered one of her famous nicknames. Javedi’s reply was factually accurate, as Trinity recalled the effects of Mannitol on the intercranial pressure and the outcome of this situation if the drug was delivered.

However, before anyone could blink; Samira had picked up an IO drill and made her first burr hole, drilling into the side of Mr Grayson’s head to relieve the pressure.

“Holy shit! What the hell?” All at once, the three of them responded in tandem in equal parts shock and horror at what they had just witnessed. An unconventional use of an IO drill to carry out a neurological procedure to administer burr holes and reduce the built up intercranial pressure. This day couldn’t get any wilder. Samira had proven to be more resourceful and more impressive than Trinity’s earlier impression; she wasn’t as stiff as she had initially appeared to be.

“Relieving Intracranial pressure so he doesn’t die.” Samira replied as used the first 10cc syringe, drawing back as Whitaker cut in with his next question. “With an IO drill?” Samira shrugged back, this was the best option that was to hand. Trinity chose this moment to speak up; now that she wouldn’t the first one to attempt such a out of left field procedure, there was no way that she wouldn’t let the opportunity slid by. “That’s sick. I get the next one.”

“Long as it’s not on me.” Trinity wanted to burst out laughing at the patient in the next bay’s words, as normally there wouldn’t be the chance for this kind of interaction. His words might still be more slurred as he slowly recovered from the effects of the overdose, but the meaning was crystal clear.

“What the fuck?” Dr Emery Walsh exclaimed as she leaned over to see Dr Mohan seated at the patient’s side, already performing the procedure. Mohan had caught her gaze briefly before returning to continuing to drain blood. “Draining the ICH with an EZ-IO.” The atmosphere grew tense in the presence of Dr Walsh, the no nonsense trauma surgeon.

“40 cc’s out so far.” Confused by the sight of the unsupervised unconventional procedure being carried out, night shift charge nurse Bridget approached Mohan for an explanation. “Like she said, what the fuck?”

“There was a case report in the 2022 Journal of Emergency Medicine.” Trinity focused on her task of preparing for the intubation, still heard most of Mohan’s explanation. “Patient survive?” The back and forth was not important as she continued on as Samira confidentially spoke through her reasoning for her actions. “Went home neurologically intact.”

Whitaker squeezed his way, with the screen showing the most recent data from the scan. “The optic sheath is back to normal.” 

This was all good news as Victoria noticed that Mr Grayson had began to move. “Starting purposely movements.” Santos slid up with the intubation tube, prepared, ready to step in.

“Ready to intubate.” She announced as Mel then added in her orders as they proceeded forward. “Propofol, Rock, and Mannitol.” There was a rush that came when completing a successful procedure for the first time; she might’ve had a minor role, but still it was still such a head rush.

“I’ll let neurosurgery know. We’ll get him up ASAP.” Emery Walsh was clearly unimpressed with their reckless abandon with the rules, with the standard of care, but she would inform neurosurgery of this latest development as this patient moved further up the list. As she began to walk away, Walsh reach her walkie talkie ready to reach out to Neurosurgery primary lead.

“Incredible save.” Those words, as soon as they were spoken, caused her to turn her head and mutter in response.. “If he lives.” Trinity had made quick of work of inserting the intubation tube and working it past the vocal cords in the moments that followed as they got Mr Grayson ready to head up for surgery.

“I’m in.” She declared, as Whitaker bagged the end and check to see if everything was in the right place. “Uh, end-tidal looks good.” Everything was coming up as a success, as a win. The nursing staff stepped in, ready to get the last jobs ticked off; this was where they stepped off the case.

“Okay, OR team can take it from here.” Bridget said as she effortlessly moved around the head of the bed, mentally running through the checklist that was required before any patient headed up to the OR.

“We need to check on the others.” Mel added as she moved away; Trinity added her two cents in the mix, never missing a beat, as she used a nickname before heading back towards her patient with the leg wound. Knowing the effect that it had on Victoria, knowing that it rubbed her up the wrong way. “I should get back to Pink. Stay Strong Crash.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------Trinity turned her head, noting Mel across the way, standing in front of where some supplies sat on top of a movable station. As she checked with Mel on her thoughts as her patient’s bandage was now sodden, heavy as he had bled through the layers that Donnie had wrapped tightly round. “He bled through his Kerlix.”

It was almost as if she could see the cog turning as Mel shuttered over the words as she considered, then rejected, the possibilities until she landed the right option. “Um…elastic—elastic pressure dressing-yep.” 

“Okay, got it.” She nodded and got to work retrieving her correct type of bandage from the tray with the bandages that sat neatly on top of the station. Plucking exactly what was required to re-bandage the small holes on his lower leg.

“All right. Got a better bandage, and we’re gonna elevate your leg.” Trinity announced as she made her way back over to where her patient was still laying. She places the supplies on the bed, picking up the scissors and begins cutting off the blood soaked old one.

“Do you know what’s happening with my girlfriend? Her name is Leah. She was shot in the chest.” She can understand the worry in his voice, as it trembles when he mentions her name. However, all incoming patients had been assigned a number. Names were not a necessity during a mass casualty event and his girlfriend would have been rushed off to the Red zone if she sustained a gunshot wound to the chest. 

“I’m sorry. We have a ton of patients, and they are only marked by numbers.” Santos tried her best to be as sympathetic as possible as she continued on with her explanation. Her eyes darting between his and the wound as she worked on.

“Robby and Dana were working on her—they were doing CPR.” Now this piece of information that he had freely offered caught her attention. Much like the bloody paramedic jacket had, her mind still would wander back to the name stitched into the fabric. She wanted to chase that hypothetic thread till it was completely unravelled.

“How do you know Robby and Dana?” Santos was curious to find out as she asked, to know more about the people that she would be working alongside for the duration of this rotation.

“Robby and my mom were together for a couple of years, and I would—I would come, and I’d hang out here.” This was the definition of a juicy gossip; Dr Robinavitch seemed like a closed book. With no way to breakthrough that thick protective shell, that doubled as his professional mask. There was more to the man than just the doctor. She noticed his face twist as pain washed over him, as she disinfected and cleaned the wound site.

“Well, I’m sure if they’re helping her, then she’s in great hands.” Her words only meant to reassure his deepening worry. Even with the knowledge gained from this single shift, their combined strength was evident, a force to be reckoned with. “Can you check for me, please?” It was hard not to feel sorry for him; considering all that he had in this one day. “Sure, Of course. Just after I finish this.” She nodded as she agreed to help him out with one small task.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

8pm

The florescent lights, albeit harsh under normal conditions, were a drop in the ocean on his list of concerns. Dr Jack Abbot, sharp-eyed, thrived in these conditions. A mass casualty was similar enough to working under the threat of a war zone.

This was where he did his best work, where his skills were truly put to the test. He could not ignore the call to action that came over the airwaves, as he listened to his police scanner that sat at his side as he had wound down for the day. All in the knowledge of what this day meant to Robby, an anniversary that no-one who worked through the heights of the pandemic would ever simply put aside. It was locked away, compartmentalised with all the other bad days. Each under lock and key, he was chipping away one at a time with his therapist.

Holding true to his promise to her, his wife and the memory of their life together. The ring on his finger was well-loved, but time had worn away the last restoration. A trip to the jeweller would be scheduled tomorrow, in between shifts. Each wave of new patients, of scared victims, drew him further into his element. With a cool and level head, Jack worked seamlessly with the tight team within the Red zone. Each was a cog in a machine fighting to save each patient from the jaws of death. Mourning each loss in the few seconds between that patient and the next being wheeled in.

Each would be remembered long after this voluntary shift had concluded. His gaze was trained upon his next patient; despite that, it would wander over to Robby now and then. His demeanour had shifted, there was anger that usually lingered far beneath the surface bubbling up. He was burst soon rather than later, but Jake and his fatally injured girlfriend had become the linchpin.

As soon as he had noticed that gurney being pushed through the doors, Jack had clocked the heartbreak upon the kid’s face, knowing that it would be mirrored on Robby’s. He had fought tooth and nail to keep her alive; it was a fruitless, uphill battle. One that he could never get in front of, as the wound to heart was just too severe. He had seen many in the heart of battle, presenting much the same way Jack knew what the outcome would be.

With all the time in the world, there still would be slim chances of coming back from a shot to the heart. Each new unit of blood was a cause of concern; two had been the agreed upon limit, but Robby had quickly reached for another and then the next. That limit had been reached and doubled. He could glean the depths of desperation as clear as day as Robby clutched at every available straw. Holding on the vaguest string of hope, fighting for Leah, for Jake.

There was no happy ending, not this go around. No last-minute miracle solution would be found, this was bare bones reality, not some half-baked medical dramas that his wife had loved, the ones which he sat through season after season for each smile, the laughter and tears that she had circled through. Whilst he pointed out the medical mistakes and inaccuracies. She had once joked that she could turn into a drinking game and be easily under the table by the halfway mark of a single episode. God, he missed her.

His mind would wander in the moments between the screams, but never for long enough for Jack to vanish into the what-ifs. He needed to be in the here and now as the darkness crept closer. It was where he felt most comfortable, out of the light of day. Away from his most painful memories, as they always returned.

The same could be said about Robby; had his own heartbreak manifested as he tirelessly worked on Leah? Had he envisioned his ex-wife beneath his blooded gloved finger tips as he fought to get the girl’s heart to beat once again. Had her image flickered, replacing the young woman for less than a second before switching back. He might hesitate for a split second if she had been wheeled into his care, but thankfully she hadn’t.

Heading up to Neuro ICU

The familiar vocal tones of Dr Frank Langdon could be heard as he moved his latest patient up to the Neuro section of the ICU floor up on the level six. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack caught a sight of the gurney as he made his way back into the heart of the red zone; No, it couldn’t be her lying there. Jack was in no position to chase after Langdon as he disappeared into the elevator shaft.

------------------------------------

Robin didn't exactly push him. It was a gentle shove, if it was anything. He didn't have the benefit of Russian truth serum, so a gentle shove would have to be enough. 

Will straightened up and tugged his shirt down. "Right, practice run."

"Practice run," Robin reiterated behind him. "Trust me, it'll be fine."

She knew it would be, not that she'd had a chance to talk to Steve about it since he came back from the Upside Down. Even without a heads-up, she trusted him to do right by Will. 

+++

"Hey! Steve!" Will said, wincing as the "Steve" squeaked and faded, his voice petering out with his anxiety. 

"Will!" Steve greeted him with a very manly side back pat. "I heard you were a real, uh, sorcerer? Right?"

Will laughed, "Yeah, because it's like in me." He could feel himself flush. "But, uh, like from within me?"

Steve raised his eyebrows like he didn't know what to do with that. Or maybe he didn't know how to talk to Will. How the fuck was he supposed to do this? 

The longer Will stayed silent, the higher Steve's eyebrows rose until Will was, like, sure Steve's eyebrows would merge with his hairline. 

Steve came to the rescue. "Well, uh, thanks for saving Robin's life. And Mike and Lucas' lives, too. Just Robin, you know? She's like my person."

She said the same thing about Steve. That he was her person. And that could only happen when he knew everything about her. Which he did and accepted all while drugged to tell the truth. Which meant he wasn't lying to Robin when he accepted her. 

He could do this. 

"Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah, buddy?" Steve looked at him with his big brown eyes, and for the first time, Will noticed the concern there. He'd seen that expression pointed at Dustin all the time, but it was the first time Will saw it pointed at him. Jesus, it was worse than his Mom. How did Dustin handle this without caving in immediately?

"Robin said. Well, I wanted you to know that-" 

"You're shaking," Steve interrupted, pushing Will down onto the couch behind him. "Are you okay? Do I need to get Jonathan?" He shoved a Bopper from his jacket pocket into Will's hand. "Here, eat this, and I'll go find another Byers for you."

"No!" Will shouted. He didn't mean to shout, but Steve hovering like that was a lot. Seriously, how did Dustin survive? "No, I just need to say something, and it's kinda hard."

"Okay?" Steve sat down on the couch arm next to Will.

"I'm gay." Will spat out before he could talk himself out of it.

Steve blinked twice, and in the moments in between the two blinks, Will saw empires rise and fall, whole galaxies born and die.

"Oh, hey, uh, congratulations! That's hard, I mean, I've heard that it can be. Well," Steve threw his hands up. "What the hell do you say in response?" He patted Will on the arm again, but this time it felt different, not an easy type of vague familiarity but like Steve was there for Will, supporting him. 

"Congratulations are nice, actually," Will threw Steve a bone. 

"Yeah?" Steve smiled at him. "Last time I did this, I insulted h- um- the person's crush. And trust me, the person was worth insulting, but I don't think that was the best way to do it. You know, looking back."

"You insulted Tammy?"

"Oh, thank God, she told you." Steve nearly flopped in half, wheezing out a breath. "Yeah, Robin said she had hopes and dreams! Tammy Thompson sounds like a muppet when she sings, and she tried to make it in Nashville. That's not dreams, that's delusion."

Will laughed. In for a penny, in for a pound. He whispered, "My crush is Mike." He didn't know if he wanted someone to rag him or tell him he had good taste. Didn't matter now; the truth was out there. Spoken and all he felt was relief. 

"Is this a gay hazing thing? Get your straight friend to rag on your crush? Is that what's happening?" Steve shook his head. "Look, I get having a crush on a Wheeler. And Mike's not that bad, all things considered. He's nowhere near as big a shit as Dustin can be, and Dustin's my guy. And," He jumped up in his excitement. "At least you have a crush on a person who knows you exist! Hell, he even likes you."

"Do you think he likes me like I like him?"

“Oh, woah, nope. That's out of my league. When it comes to this stuff, I'm like a bat boy. I'm here to support the team, but I'm not on the team. You know?"

"Not really."

"Well, sports metaphors are all you're gonna get from me. You want to talk about the risks and rewards of telling your crush? Talk to Robin. She'll have good advice."

"Good advice for what?" Lucas walked into the room and flopped down on the couch next to Will. 

Will stared at Lucas, his brain on fire with panic. 

"For pet lizards," Steve said without a hitch. "Robin was obsessed with them as a girl. Will was thinking of talking to Dustin, but he's only raised a turtle. And from what I've heard from Robin on rants about the difference in pets, that's like a big one. I, for one, thought a turtle was a lizard."

"Aren't they?" Lucas asked?

"According to Robin? No."

"Yeah, I'm gonna go find Robin. Talk to her about lizards." Will said, shooting up from the couch. "Bye, guys."

"Later," Lucas called out before he said something to Steve that Will couldn't make out over the blood rushing through his ears. 

He'd told someone. He told Steve Harrington of all people, but he told someone. And it went well. Better than Robin, apparently, because Steve kinda liked Mike. More than he liked Tammy, at least.

I knew my brother was alive when I heard the news that they found the mutilated body of my Year Two teacher. Somehow, I knew the only person capable of doing so without leaving any trace of his presence was my twin. From the time I was eighteen to the third anniversary of my unexplained fainting spell, he’d managed to dispose of every person who’d ever abused me. My dorm roommates from my time at the Denmark school were killed one by one in the winter following my recovery from the fatigue. Then, my music teacher. His miraculous revival was the only thing that could explain the strange way I’d been feeling since I turned sixteen. The year-long bout of chronic fatigue, the panic attacks, and the strange dreams could all be explained by the inexplicable mental and emotional connection I had to him. 

The grief that once filled me completely had dissipated, leaving an obsessive longing for reunification in its stead. I thought he was trying to leave me hints that he was back. I thought he was trying to give me an indication that we should meet again, but as time passed, I realized he couldn’t find me. I couldn’t rightly go back to using our name, and I could never use Linus again without raising some interest as to how a person who has not existed since infancy could suddenly resurface. I took that risk once and got lucky. I didn’t know how to find him, and I’d unintentionally made it nearly impossible for him to find me. It was a tragedy unlike any other. And without proper fingerprints and the ability to differentiate one twin from the other, there was no way for me to resurface as Jason in a way that wouldn’t compromise us both. I had to work hard to find a way to untangle the mess I’d made in hiding. 

Also, I had a slightly complicated situation. I was in my third year of uni, I’d gotten a place of my own, and I started dating my first ever girlfriend. I’d never had the opportunity to meet a girl my age before, so it was a fairly unusual experience for me. I’d made it clear to her that I had never dated before, and I thought it would scare her away, but she was unwavering in her affection toward me. It wasn’t the most physical relationship, but I think she knew all of that would take a considerable amount of time. 

I hadn’t told her about my past or my brother. I couldn’t speak of it without opening a door to her finding out about the unusual circumstances that brought my brother and me together and ultimately tore us apart. Instead, I told her the same fabricated story I told everyone else. I told her that I was an orphan and had been since I was fifteen. Truth. I told her that my parents died while on holiday in New York City. Lie. I grew up in boarding schools. Truth. It was a relatively ordinary and boring experience that left no cause for interest. Massive lie. 

Eliza Hunter, my girlfriend, was a psychology student, and she was the epitome of warmth. And she let me have my secrets even though she saw right through my lies. I could tell by the way her eyes would get serious, losing their playful sparkle, when she spotted a lie. Then, she’d nod, collect herself, and her face would resume its sweet cheerfulness. I think part of it was the intrigue of a scientist, and the other part was respect for my privacy. 

We didn’t live together, but we lived close to one another. She’d spent a few nights at my apartment, and she remained patient with my decision to sleep on the couch instead of sharing a bed with her. I always apologized for the physical distance. I would’ve liked to be more physically affectionate toward her, but I always feared it would sour our relationship. I feared that I would become so self-repulsed that I couldn’t bear for her to ever see me again. The only way I could maintain our relationship was by pretending that I was being gentlemanly every time I declined an advance. I’d only ever told one person, and I decided when he died that my secret died with him. 

After he returned, though, I felt all these conflicting emotions. I felt longing, I felt remorse, and overall, I felt this sense of anxiousness. What if it was all delusion? What if I were making connections where there were none? What if in my pathetic attempts to cope, I fabricated my brother’s retribution-fueled resurrection? 

As I grew more and more fearful of my crumbling mental state, I became convinced that there was only one way to prove he was still alive. I got a decent haircut, made up some fake story about needing to get away to unwind, and I packed my bags. I had to go to Gotham. It was the only place he would want to settle. If he were alive and couldn’t find me, he’d let me find him. I was sure of it. There was only one issue. 

“I’d like to go with you. I sent a few emails to some people at Arkham—” She stopped mid-sentence to acknowledge that I wasn’t studying in her field. “Arkham is a famous mental health facility in Gotham… I’ve been dreaming of an opportunity to shadow them without cutting into my school time. 

“I got a message back, and I can shadow one of their psychologists. If I go with you, it’d be the perfect window of time to get twenty to forty hours of research. This is an amazing opportunity, Cassius. Wouldn’t it be nice if we went together?” Eliza asked. 

I was hoping to go alone, but the Arkham angle meant that I’d have enough time to search for my brother without explaining the truth to Eliza. If I found him, I decided I’d talk to him and ask what he thought about me telling the truth. Besides, I couldn’t say no to her when she was excited about something. 

“Sounds good. We can get a connecting room, and watch movies if you’re not too tired,” I suggested. She stood on her tiptoes and clasped her hands together. I opened my arms and hugged her. I let my chin rest on top of her head, and I felt a wave of calm wash over me. 

“This is nice,” Eliza whispered. 

“It is. Isn’t it?” I replied. I held her like that for a minute, and she made a soft noise. “It should be cold there, and I heard the hotels are a bit expensive. Maybe we should cut costs by getting one single room.” 

Eliza looked up at me. “Are you sure?” Eliza asked. 

“I’m never sure of anything but you,” I replied. “You look lovely, by the way.” I guess it wouldn’t be a total loss if I were just delusional. At least I could make Eliza happy. There was something about that crinkle in her nose and the gap in her teeth when she smiled that made everything feel okay. 

“Thank you!” Eliza smiled. “And I don’t know if I said it before, but I love your new hair.”