#nate devlin

She couldn't resurrect anyone. She couldn't go back in time and stop anyone from pulling a trigger. She couldn't make any surgery go faster so that he could get updates. Of everyone who had been shot that night, exactly two of them had survived. With the FBI apparently watching his every move, he shouldn't go visit either one of them, but it had been a very long night already.

Nate had seen the aftermath of the massacre at the bakery, the flashing lights of the police cars and the ambulance. He didn't stick around long enough to figure out if anyone had survived, or who it would have been, not after he talked to his sister. His goal after that phone call was just to get to the hospital, to be there when his mother and Constantine got out of surgery. The last thing he'd been letting himself think about was the massacre - most likely, based on what carnage he'd seen, no one had survived that. Gus, Stavos, Gio...

He could internalize those losses while he sat by his mother's bed and waited for her to open her eyes. As long as he had something else to focus on, the rest of his grief could wait. He could mourn as soon as his heart stopped racing, as soon as he stopped holding his breath.

Except, the mourning started before he was ready for it.

The flatline was still ringing in his ears while he sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair. He'd shrugged his flannel shirt off when things felt more than a little overwhelming, and it had started in his lap. During the time he sat there - he could have been minutes, or hours, or even days - it had slid off of his knee enough to brush the floor with one of the hanging sleeves, and he didn't have the energy to change that. Every inch of him was exhausted, and it didn't feel like he should have any tears left. Surely, the pain was bad enough that he should have been more than numb.

When the chair next to him moved and he felt the gentle squeeze to his shoulder, Nate made himself look up. There was nothing left of him to be surprised when he saw his sister there, the weak offer of support the best either of them could muster. No one could expect anything more, not after the day they'd had - the truth about Constantine's connection to their family, the shock of both attacks, the sudden wave of grief that came with their mother's death, the knowledge that the death toll was so much higher than anyone wanted it to be...

Grace had mentioned, when he arrived, that there was one survivor from the attack on the bakery. He hadn't asked who it was, and she hadn't had time to keep him updated before she ran off to handle something else. And he understood that, with everything else going on. Someone had to check on Constantine, and field questions from the FBI agent who was poking around. He didn't need to know who it was then. He wasn't even thinking about it.

But getting the news when he had just recovered from his latest bout of sobs was more overwhelming than he could have imagined.

Gio.

Of all the people they'd lost over the span of a few months, the trigger he'd pulled himself, the bombs and the kidnapping and the horse that had nearly gotten him killed, he didn't know he was still able to feel relief. So much of it seemed stupid and avoidable when he looked back at it, and the things that were too big to be avoided weighed heavier on his shoulders. He still had someone left besides his sister and Constantine, and that was more than he knew he had any right to ask for.

Nate should have avoided visiting, with a federal agent lurking around the hospital hallways, and it would only put an even bigger target on his back. It would probably put a bigger target on Gio’s back, too, which wasn’t recommended when he was recovering from three gunshot wounds. But where else was he supposed to be?

His mother was dead.

Grace was balancing Constantine and the FBI.

Everyone else had been shot down in the bakery.

The only place it made sense for him to be was sitting at another bedside. He even took a moment to silently thank God that Gio was awake when he slipped into the room. Awake and responsive was good, even if they spent their shared time in silence. They had the beeping of the heart monitor, and the hum of the lights overhead, and steady breathing. It was a lot better than sitting in a silent hallway where he was stuck in his own head. Out there, it was all storm clouds and thunder. At least that room had a silver lining.

Nothing about the lack of conversation worried him. Nate had been a part of the group for long enough, had interacted with the man in front of him more times than he could count, and that was just how things were. Sure, Gio liked to talk when he had something to say, but too much had happened. No one had anything to say about the events of that night, let alone the last few days, not even someone who typically had a comment for everything.

Nate probably still had tearstains on his cheeks, and his eyes still felt puffy, and were definitely still red. There weren't many people who would want to talk to him when he looked like that. Most people would want to be careful about what they said and be too afraid to say anything at all, and he had resigned himself to the quiet that came with new grief. Still, it wasn't that surprising when the voice came from the bed and pulled him out of a daze.

"How bad is it, kid? How many did we lose?"

It took a few tries for him to make sound come out. His mouth was open, but it didn't work as readily as he'd like it to. Listing all the losses of the night, both the lives and the fights they didn't know they were in, would be too exhausting. They'd already lost so much. He was desperately trying to cling to the few good things he could claw from the rubble his life had become.

"It's uh... you, me, Constantine. We're the only ones left."

"Fuck..."

They fell back into the quiet that they'd created before, the air heavier with the truth in it. Nate felt the shift in his gut that came with it - feeling both more and less alone in his little corner of the universe. Saying it made it true. There were less than a handful of people left that he could trust, and that was even including himself. But at least the grief was shared, split between the two of them instead of weighing only on his shoulders. It was another small wave of relief that felt impossible, especially when it was accompanied by the regret of having to share the news at all. Gio could have gotten better rest and had a smoother recovery if he'd said nothing. Grief and stress could make things harder, or something like that. He was struggling to remember what Grace had told him over the years, different pieces of advice getting twisted up with other ones.

"Well, chin up, kid. It could have been worse." He glanced toward the bed to see a familiar smirk, something that had been constant through the last few months of his life. Usually, it came with a lewd comment, or some story that he couldn't stop himself from telling for the third time. It was almost comforting to see, a reminder of what he still had to ground him in the middle of the earthquake of everything else. "You could have been stuck with a buzzkill like Stavos. At least I know how to have fun. Everything will be back to normal in no time."

Nate tried to return the expression, he really did. But the idea of normal that he'd had in his head couldn't ever really come back. He wouldn't be able to go home to his mother's cooking ever again. He wouldn't be able to sit at the table for a game of poker or go for a walk without looking over his shoulder. He would probably be lucky if he managed to drag himself out of the hospital once the night was over instead of wasting away right there in the chair.

He wanted to be a part of the light teasing, the easy energy that came with every ridiculous conversation he had with Gio, but that was hard. The whole truth was still close to his chest, pulling him down too far into the darkness to reasonably reach for the light.

"Yeah... normal..."

"C'mon, no one with us is worth your tears. We'll be fine."

Hiding his feelings used to be easier. The tears on his face didn't help when he was trying to put an uncaring mask in place, the air of nonchalance he'd learned over the years of working with and around mobsters. He was too much of a mess to be relaxed about any part of it. Gio was alive, but so was his mother, and they thought things were going to be fine. Should he really get attached to this new version of his life before it settled? Or was he getting ahead of himself and welcoming more grief into his future?

He knew he was a mess before it was even brought up, before he was called out on it and had the fact presented to him so bluntly. The rest of the mess had brought him along with it, and he hadn't seen the point in trying to clean himself up yet. No one but Grace was really going to see him like that, and it was still up on the air on whether or not he cared about Gio seeing him like that, too.

"Any other losses you need to get off your chest, kid? Is your sister okay?"

"Grace is fine." That was the truth, at least when it came to physical injuries. He wasn't the only one grieving a mother, and she had even more on her plate after talking about Constantine. Nate was in pain, but he wouldn't pretend that he was the only one in pain, or that his pain outweighed anyone else's. "But, uh... they followed Constantine to the house. Shot it up. He's out of surgery and he's supposed to be okay, but my mom..."

The words caught in his throat, and Nate quickly looked down at his hands so that they didn't escape with a new round of tears. He didn't think he was capable of sobbing anymore, not without a good twelve hours of sleep, but his eyes found a way to make more tears no matter how many he'd already shed.

"Hey..."

He didn't have to move his head to see the hand at the edge of vision. That hand had been on the bed just a few seconds earlier, minding its own business instead of intruding on his grief. Now, it was stretched out toward him, an offering of comfort when he didn't know where to look to ask for it. It was something he didn't know he desperately wanted to cling to until he took what was offered, curling his fingers around a warm, alive hand. It was the eye of the storm, a brief pause before everything went to hell again. It was enough.

"That's rough. I'm sorry."

The fingers squeezed his gently.

"Don't worry. If you need anything, you've got me behind you. You and Grace both."

Another squeeze to his hand reminded him to breathe, and Nate slowly shook his head. He took a few moments to breathe again, a big, deep breath that he needed just to find his voice again. It kept escaping him, running away when he needed it most, and it wasn't a solid thing he could cling to like the hand in his and the body attached to. It was a flighty thing, something he was still trying to pin down after years of practice. He could act tough, like the job he didn't wasn't dangerous and didn't risk his life on a daily basis - or at least like he didn't notice or care. Death was a terrifying thing he had to look in the eye and face down more often than he liked, and it was getting all too close. It kept coming in and taking people away from him, and there were only so many losses he could handle on his own. There were too many to carry, and it was only a matter of time before he was next on Death's list.

"That seems like a lot to take on, when there's rebuilding to worry about. And you almost died. You shouldn't be worrying about anyone else-"

"Kid," Gio cut him off sharply, "you're family. I'd crawl out of a grave if it meant helping out when you need something."

The words made Nate pause, biting the inside of his lip to keep from saying something without thinking. The idea of still having a family when all that was left of his own was himself and his sister was odd, but comforting, like the hand he was still holding onto just a bit too tight. He should let go, he knew that, but he really didn't want to. If he let go, the last few good things in his life might burn down, too.

"I'll try not to be too needy while you're stuck in a hospital bed."

That was enough to draw out a laugh that ended with a cough and a quiet wheeze, and he was quick to let go of the hand in his so that the newest problem could be taken care of. He didn't mean to cause this kind of reaction, and there was very little he could actually do that was helpful.

"Damn, Devlin, I just got shot in the chest. You can't make me laugh, of all things." But Gio was smiling, and still trying to hold back his reaction to the comment, not that Nate really understood what was so funny in the first place. "Or maybe it's impressive that you got me to laugh, considering almost everyone we know is dead."

Nate couldn't help the small expression that tugged at the corner of his mouth, though he didn't know if his own weak shadow of a smile counted for much. He didn't really feel better about anything, and he doubted that would change any time soon, but it was nice to have a little proof that he wasn't alone in any of it. He had Grace at his side when they needed to grieve the more normal side of their lives, and Gio for when he needed to grieve the crazy parts. That counted for something.

"How impressive is it, really? You laugh in your own face in the mirror. Though, I see why."

"Low blow, kid. Leave my face out of this. It didn't do anything to you." Gio waved a hand in his direction, the familiar smile growing further into his cheeks. "And it is impressive. Tonight was a shit show, and that's putting it lightly. Seriously, you should get an award for managing this. As soon as I'm out of here, I'm getting you a prize."

Nate felt his own smile widen while he shook his head, leaning forward in his seat. It was an automatic reaction, something that hadn't been entirely uncommon in the last few weeks. Since they had to start covering for each other's felonies regularly, they'd gotten closer, formed an actual friendship outside of the bonds that came with what they did for a living. As awful as it might sound, there was a part of him that was glad that, if only one person could have survived the attack on the bakery, he wanted it to be Gio.

"What kind of prize would I even get for this? A plastic statue with a cheap engraving? A gold medal that's actually chocolate?"

"A chocolate medal? No, it'll be way cooler than that."

They were quiet again while he seemed to genuinely think about the options he had as potential prizes. He'd have plenty of time to think of something while he was recovering. He'd have days, if not more than a week, and all the quiet time on his own to just brainstorm. But he seemed intent on coming up with an answer before Nate inevitably had to leave the room to find his sister again, hopefully before the FBI agent found him.

A few drawn out moments of quiet was all it took, and then Gio snapped his fingers just in time to stop him from drifting back into his thoughts. "I know what it is. Nathaniel Devlin,-"

"That is not my full name."

"-for the ability to make someone laugh in the middle of a fucking shit show, you've won one free pass to my bedroom."

Nate coughed out a laugh at the decisive tone that formed the words, shaking his head. He was too stunned to fight the grin that had formed on his face at the sheer ridiculousness of the offer. Maybe they both deserved prizes for the ability to make each other laugh when they really shouldn't be able to. Though he wasn't going to make quite the same offer, not even close.

"Yeah, to change your bedpan, maybe." He shook his head again when his ability to speak returned, unobstructed by swallowed laughter. "Someone's going to have to take care of you until you're back on your feet, and you don't have a lot of options. And, in case you haven't already noticed, I'm technically in your bedroom, right now."

Gio scoffed and glanced around the sterile hospital room with a frown, most likely feigning his offense. "Then this is breaking and entering. I need to have you removed. Hit the button that calls a nurse into here?"

Rolling his eyes, Nate made himself stand up from his seat, his grin fading into something softer. It was a weak smile, but still there. "I should go see if I can find Grace again, anyway. I'll be back again later. Get some rest so we can get you out of here sooner."

"You're ungrateful. I offered you a wonderful prize, and you made a joke about it. At least revisit the idea once this shit show is over."