Ash blinked awake to Ken's ugly face way too close to his.
"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," Ken said, flicking Ash's forehead. "Time for your morning torture session."
Ash groaned and pulled the thin hospital blanket over his head. "Fuck off. It's too early."
Ken yanked the blanket away. "It's noon, dumbass. Now get your crippled ass up before I drag you."
The fluorescent lights stabbed Ash's eyes as he sat up. His whole body ached like he'd been run over by a truck. Twice.
"Move it, grandpa," Ken said, already pulling Ash's arm over his shoulders to help him stand.
Ash's legs shook like a newborn's. "Shit. Everything hurts."
"No shit, Sherlock. You've been lying in bed for weeks eating pudding like an old lady." Ken's grip tightened as Ash wobbled. "C'mon, just to the door and back."
Each step felt like walking through wet concrete. Ash's hospital gown stuck to his back with sweat by the time they made it five feet.
"You look like shit," Ken observed cheerfully.
"Feel worse," Ash gasped, leaning heavily on Ken.
That's how it went every morning. Ken showing up unannounced, dragging Ash through painful rehab exercises, calling him every name in the book. But Ash noticed how Ken always showed up exactly when the nurses changed shifts, how his insults got louder when Ash's breathing got too ragged, how he never actually let Ash fall.
Nights were different.
Ash would wake up to the smell of motor oil and cheap cigarettes. His dad would sit in the plastic chair by the window, boots up on the sill, staring at nothing.
"Hey," Ash said one night when he found his dad like that again.
His old man jumped like he'd been caught doing something illegal. "The hell you doing awake?"
"Could ask you the same thing."
His dad grunted and looked away. The bags under his eyes were so dark they looked like bruises.
They sat in silence for a while. The heart monitor beeped.
"You eating?" his dad finally asked.
Ash shrugged. "Hospital food sucks balls."
His dad reached into his jacket and pulled out a greasy paper bag. "Stopped by Marco's."
Ash's stomach growled at the smell of real food - proper burgers with extra oil, just how they liked them. His hands shook a little as he unwrapped it.
"You're a mess," his dad muttered, watching Ash fumble with the wrapper.
"Takes after his old man," Ash shot back around a mouthful of burger.
His dad snorted. "Smartass." But Ash saw the way his shoulders relaxed just a little.
By the second week, Ash could walk to the bathroom by himself. Small victory.
"Look at you, big boy," Ken teased when he saw. "Next thing you know you'll be wiping your own ass."
"Fuck you," Ash said, flipping him off. But he was grinning.
Ken helped him outside to the courtyard that afternoon. Real sunlight, not that fake hospital shit. Ash closed his eyes and tilted his face up, soaking it in.
"Don't get too comfortable," Ken said, plopping down beside him. "We got shit to do."
Ash cracked one eye open. "Like what?"
Ken pulled out a deck of cards. "I'm gonna take all your money."
They played for hours, Ken cheating, Ash calling him on it, both of them laughing until Ash's ribs hurt. Normal shit. Good shit.
At night, when the hospital got quiet, Ash would examine himself in the bathroom mirror.
The scars were fading too fast. The doctors kept saying how amazing his recovery was, how they'd never seen anything like it. Ash would nod and smile and pretend he didn't notice how their eyes lingered on him a second too long.
Sometimes, when he moved just right, his shadow didn't quite match his movements. He told himself it was just the meds.
When Ash could finally throw a punch again, he "accidentally" nailed Ken right in the ribs during their session.
"Oops. Slipped."
Ken coughed, grinning. "You little shit." Then he swept Ash's legs out from under him.
They both got kicked out of PT.
On discharge day, Ken showed up with:
- A stolen wheelchair
- Ash's favorite t shirt
- A six-pack of shitty beer (hidden in a teddy bear)
His dad showed up with:
- Discharge papers signed
- A deep hatred for the doctors
-That look in his eyes that meant "don't ever scare me like that again"
Ash showed up with:
-Zero answers about what happened to him
-A shiny new hospital car (courtesy of Gabriel)
-The creeping feeling something inside him wasn't quite right
But hey. At least he could piss standing up again.
"Finally getting rid of you," his dad grumbled.
Ash unzipped it to find his favorite hoodie - the one with the oil stain from when they'd worked on the bike together last summer. It smelled like home.
"Thanks," Ash said, pulling it on.
His dad looked away, scratching at his hands. "Yeah, well. Don't get used to it."
Ash knew what that meant. Knew his dad had probably spent his last paycheck on the new sneakers also in the bag. Knew he'd been sleeping in his truck in the hospital parking lot instead of going home.
Neither of them would ever say any of that out loud. When the discharge papers were signed and the last IV pulled, Ken and his dad flanked him as he walked out.
"Don't get all emotional on me now," Ken said, slinging an arm around Ash's shoulders.
"Wouldn't dream of it, asshole," Ash said, but he leaned into the support.
His dad walked a step behind, carrying Ash's bag, watching him like he might collapse any second. Ash took one last look at the hospital.
Then he turned away.
"Let's get the hell out of here."