You Can't Kill Me

[Alik Murphy]

The gentle hum of hospital machinery and the soft beeping of a heart rate monitor filled the room. Alik was lying on a hospital bed, a heavy patch over one eye, his other closed. He had an oxygen mask over his face, several tubes and wires extending from his body. Staples closing the gash on his forehead, his body covered in bruises and healing cuts. His legs were in heavy casts, suspended from the ceiling.

"... Your friend is tough. It's nothing short of a miracle that he's still alive." the doctor said, looking solemnly through the observation window into Alik's operating room. "Took us almost sixteen hours of surgery, but he's stable. Barely." he turned to the strange red-haired boy who'd brought this poor guy in. "... He's definitely gonna lose the eye. And right now, his legs are unusable." With a sigh, he sat across from him, a sympathetic look on his face. "... He got shot in the spine. As of now, he's paralyzed from the waist down. Even if he wakes up, he's gonna be confined to a wheelchair for... anywhere up to a few months. If he's ever gonna walk again, it'll be after weeks of physical therapy."

"Which... brings me on to the more current problem. He's comatose. I'm afraid we had to put him under to save his life. Right now... it's too early to say when he'll wake up. Could be months. If... ever."

"I'd encourage you to speak to him, though, if you'd like. It's probable that on some level, he can hear you. The more outside stimuli he experiences, the harder his body will work to wake him up."

The doctor thought about putting a hand on his shoulder, but it seemed like the kid didn't want that at all. "... I'm sorry, son. We're doing all we can."

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Alik would be left in a hospital bed, monitored day and night. The sign outside the door read "NO RELIGIOUS OR HOLY ITEMS PAST THIS POINT" to protect him, given his demon nature. Visitors would be allowed during certain hours.

Pearse, Alik's fat pug, refused to leave the hospital room. Anyone who tried to remove him was slobbered on and subject to ear-splitting pug whines.

[Morgan LaLuna]

Morgan came often and sat with his friend, telling him stories for all the things he missed that day, or even in the past few months. No story was too small. He held Pearse and could, on multiple occasions, be found sleeping curled up in a chair next to Alik, barely peeking with one eye any time a nurse or doctor arrived. Any time he had to go home he made sure to always bring little treats for the pup, and something to read out loud to Alik. Just in case he was listening. He Stumbled over words, and stuttered when he lost his train of thought, but he did his best.

His own injuries were taken care of on his own time, and any time a medical practitioner tried to check in on him they were waved away with grumbling... at best.

[The Sergeant]

“Skinny’s funeral was last night.” Dunham said, in a quiet and solemn voice, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees next to Alik’s hospital bed. “All the boys turned up. Quiet spot, out in the woods. Like he’d want it.”

Benjamín stood in silence by the door, eyes on his unconscious boss. Dunham glanced up at him, but understood. Wasn’t easy to know what to say. “... Me an’ Benny, we’re gonna work with that copper mate o’ yours. Try find out who did this. An’ believe me... they’ll pay. Oh, they’ll pay.”

Alik’s heartrate monitor beeped just that little bit faster, but neither of his men noticed.

“A few think it was the Cartel, but... they seem as surprised as the rest of us. Salazars put out a bounty for information. I’m... tryin’ to mend things with ‘em. Use what happened to get ‘em on our side. Seems like what you’d do.”

Dunham placed a hand on the corner of Alik’s bed, sighing as he leaned in a bit closer. “... You have a nice, long rest, kid. We’ll take it from here.”

He stood up, sliding his hands in his pockets and nodding to Benjamín, walking out of the room.

The large Colombian moved forward when they were alone, standing over Alik... before he gently placed a hand on his chest, a tear coming to the corner of his eye.

"La familia es todo."

[Delia]

The Green Phoenix's new manager had rushed to the hospital as soon as she heard, only to find Mister Murphy already had several visitors. Delia disappeared for a time, returning only once his room was cleared. In hand, she brought food, water, treats, and supplies to make sure Pearce had all he needed while he stayed with Alik.

"So it all caught up with you, huh..." She said, mostly to herself, when at last she saw him.

She sat with Alik for a time, in silence at first, before a passing nurse mentioned it was okay to talk to him. So she did, quiet tones, some words easily heard, others a foreign tongue, fretting and worrying over her boss (and friend)'s condition. On the first day, before she left, she pulled free a diminutive true silver chain from around her neck and looped it over a hook on the back of his bed. From it dangled a pendant depicting a delicate gold and silver harp on one side with the visage of Khalreshaar, an importantly non-religious but still powerful protective figure. Her gran would be upset to know Delia wouldn't have it on her, but she thought her grandmother would understand, all things considered.

On subsequent days when she returned, she did so with books or stories or even just newspapers so that she could read to him aloud. At one point, she traded out stories for songs, quietly sung or hummed so as not to disturb anyone else. Noticing that Morgan was a frequent figure at the hospital too, at one point, she brought a paper bag with a to-go box of fried pickles marked with his name in a tidy script, still remarkably hot and fresh whenever it was finally opened.

[Canaan]

“But he wants to stay!”

Cane had to fight to keep from rolling his eyes at the girl as he clipped the lead to Pearse’s collar. The dog whined anxiously, its stubby, curled tail thumping impotently against the drab hospital linens covering Alik’s legs. Whoever had thought to bring the animal to stay here in the hospital was an absolute moron, but he refrained from telling her that just in case she was the one who’d done so.

“He’s a dog. Ain’t right to keep him cooped up in a room for days on end.”

The girl--Cane still didn’t know who exactly she was in relation to Alik, but he didn’t necessarily care--clucked her tongue at him in dismay, reaching for the leash with a manicured hand. “Haven’t you ever heard of therapy dogs? They visit hospitals all the time. It’s good for the patient.”

“I’m not sayin’ it ain’t potentially good for him. If he’s got any sense of awareness, I’m sure Pearse is a source of comfort. My point here,” Cane explained gently, easing the leash out of her hands again, “is it ain’t good for Pearse, an’ I know that’s what Alik actually cares about here.” Animals weren’t Cane’s thing. He didn’t have the same sense of attachment everyone else seemed to for the furry little things, but he did understand people. What he cared most about right now was doing what he thought Alik would want in this situation, especially since the young man couldn’t advocate for himself right now.

The girl relented, but not without shedding a few tears which managed to successfully break down the Cajun’s gruff outer walls, and he spent a long minute offering his silent support in the form of a warm hug, whispering all the bits of broken comfort he could find.

Alik would recover; Cane knew it. The son of a bitch was too stubborn to let this do him in. But until then he’d take Pearse back home with him where he’d have the freedom to roam the gardens and chase the geese away from the lake shore every damn day.

Cane brought him back to visit, of course, giving the dog some precious time with his Person and occasionally relieving Morgan from the uncomfortable chair stationed dutifully at Alik’s bedside. Pearse usually napped, but Cane spent his visits reading to the young man from that day’s paper, interjecting here and there with his own opinions on any given topic until he’d exhausted the day’s news.

Always, before he left, he’d tuck his hand into Alik’s and squeeze it tightly. He’d bend close enough to whisper quietly, privately, in the boy’s ear, then scoop Pearse off the bed and set him on the floor so they could leave.