Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Connor is on the roof of Evan’s apartment building.

Oh god.

Oh no oh no no no no no -

“You shouldn’t be here,” says Evan, looking tired and worn and hopeless. “You can’t be here. You’re not… you’re not really here.”

Connor reaches out to grab Evan’s arm, acting entirely on instinct. He has to stop this. He has to stop this now.

His hand goes right through Evan’s arm.

Evan watches, his expression never changing. He laughs a little, and it echoes out in the night. “See? I was right. You’re just a figment of my imagination.”

Connor feels cold, cold all the way through him. “No,” Connor says urgently. “No, I’m not, I… I’m real, I’m here, I’m not going to let you jump.” He reaches out to grab Evan’s arm again, but once again his hand goes through.

He tries again.

And again.

And again.

He can’t… he can’t touch him. He can’t touch Evan.

He can’t reach him.

He can’t stop him.

Oh god oh god oh god no no no no no -

“Please,” Connor begs, positioning himself between Evan and the edge of the roof. “Please don’t do this, Evan, I can’t… I can’t let you do this.” He blinks away the tears the best he can. “I love you.”

Evan just looks at him with those same dull, hopeless eyes. “You don’t love me.”

Fuck. Fuck, that hurts, that stings, that cuts right through him. Connor shakes his head. “But I do. I do, fuck, Evan, I love you more than anything, please don’t do this-”

Evan is still staring, an expression on his face that would be curiosity if it wasn’t so fucking… dull. Blank. Dead. “I don’t even know you.”

Connor reaches out again, and he wants to scream in frustration as his hand goes through. Evan watches his hand go through again, then looks back at Connor’s face, the expression never changing.

He just looks… done. Like he’s not even here. Like there’s a pane of glass separating him from the rest of the world.

From Connor.

The coldness spreads through him, making him shiver, and Connor realizes that he can’t stop him. He can’t physically stop Evan from jumping. All he has are his words, and they might not be enough this time.

“You do know me,” Connor insists, desperate to make him understand. “You… we went to high school together. You wrote a letter and it… it meant something to me, it made me feel like I wasn’t alone, like I wasn’t the only one who felt like this, and I never forgot, not really… I just… tried not to think about it for years and years and years and then we met again. We met again and it changed everything. It changed my life, Evan - you changed my life and I am so fucking in love with you and I can’t let you jump.”

“You keep saying that,” Evan says, his voice weary. “But you can’t stop me. You… you’re in my mind, you’re in my imagination, you can’t… you’re not real, it’s so obvious that you’re not real, and if you’re not real that means that I’ve finally lost it, like I always knew I would. I’ve lost touch with reality, I’ve… I’ve always known it would end like this. It was always going to end like this, it was always going to be like this. I am always going to be like this.”

“You’re not,” Connor pleads, taking a step closer to Evan. “You’re not always going to be like this, it is going to get better. I swear that it is going to get better, you just have to trust me, you have to trust me that it’s going to get better, it’s going to get better and I won’t… you’re not alone, Evan, you’re not alone and I won’t let you be alone, I won’t, I won’t, I can’t let you-”

The wind rages on around them.

Evan straightens his shoulders.

He walks right through Connor and off the edge of the building.

Connor doesn’t hesitate.

He follows Evan, stepping off the building after him.

As he falls, Connor stretches out his hand, desperate to reach Evan, despite failing so many times before. If he could just touch him, if he could just fucking touch him, maybe it would all end differently.

The lights of the city are a blur and the wind feels like a thousand tiny knives as they both keep falling, falling, falling…

Chapter Text

Connor wakes up to the sound of snoring and someone’s arms around his waist. The sun’s shining right in his face, and he turns to see Margot spooning him.

Eddie’s not wearing any pants.

The frame of Connor’s diploma is broken and covered with remnants of white powder.

Margot is snoring, mouth wide open. 

It’s bright. Glaringly so. 

Everything is wrong. 

He…

Evan jumped off the roof. 

Evan jumped off the roof and Connor was there and didn’t stop him. 

Couldn’t stop him. 

Even though he tried so hard. He tried so hard he followed Evan down, reaching out to catch him even though it was impossible, everything was impossible and…

Connor looks around and feels a growing sense of dread in his chest. 

Because this…

This feels real. 

It feels real and it’s… 

He was just…

He was in the hospital. Connor remembers that now. He remembers pain and fever and the ambulance and Evan’s terrified face and Zoe in her work blazer sitting at his bedside with Evan as they told him they were waiting for surgery. 

He was getting his appendix out. 

Wasn’t he?

“I want to stay, Evan, I want to stay with you, I can’t… I don’t… please stay, please let me stay.”

Evan looked so scared. So fucking scared. 

This isn’t… 

Connor reaches for his phone and, with shaking hands, looks for Evan’s number. 

It’s not there. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.

He has to know, he has to check, maybe it’s different this time, maybe he’s not… maybe it’s not…

Just heard the news about Evan Hansen, so sad. RIP.

I didn’t really know Evan Hansen, but we went to high school together and I remember he was nice. RIP.

RIP, Evan Hansen.

So sorry to hear about Evan Hansen. So sad.

No. No no no no no no no no-

“Connor, what the fuck?” 

He’s barely aware of Margot sitting up next to him, looking completely freaked out, because he can’t fucking breathe, he can’t fucking cope with this, this isn’t real this isn’t real this can’t be real this can’t be fucking real he’s not supposed to be here he’s not supposed to-

“You need to breathe, dude, fuck.”

Connor wants to laugh at that, but his lungs aren’t working, his chest doesn’t feel right, this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong, he can’t breathe if Evan’s not breathing anymore because they die together that’s how it’s supposed to go that’s how it works if Evan dies Connor dies too and this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong fuck fuck fuck

“Shit, fuck, what the fuck do we do?”

“Go get Andi, now.”

This isn’t real. It can’t be real because if it’s real then it was all a dream, two and a half fucking years of a dream, a dream where he bought a bookstore and got a cat and loved Evan Hansen fiercely, even before he knew that love was what it was, and now he’s… 

“Am I 27? Am I fucking 27?” he blurts out, and Margot looks at him, face pale and scared. 

“Yeah, dude. It was your birthday yesterday.”

“Fuck!”

Andi comes into the room, Zoe close behind her. Both of them look confused and Zoe looks… pissed. 

“What the fuck are you on Connor?” Zoe asks irritably, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“This isn’t real,” he tells her, and watches as her eyes widen. He shoves his phone at her with Evan’s Facebook profile. “Tell me this isn’t fucking real, Zo.”

Zoe looks at the screen, and it takes a moment for her to take in what she’s seeing. She goes even paler and looks at Connor with an expression of utter confusion. “Who’s Evan Hansen?”

“We went to high school together,” he tries to explain, because if it’s two years ago, if he’s fucking 27 again then that’s all Zoe would know. “He used to date Sabrina Patel. We were… we were…”

He can’t say it.

He…

He can’t fucking say it.

They were friends? Best friends? Boyfriends? 

They were together. 

Evan is everything, he’s the love of his fucking life, his soulmate if those even exist and Connor is stuck in a universe where Evan is dead.

Where Evan killed himself.

Where Connor didn’t save him.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

“Sabrina just got engaged,” says Zoe, her voice coming from very far away. “She’ll… fuck, this is awful, oh my god.”

“It’s not real,” Connor says insistently. “It’s not real, none of this is fucking real, I’m not supposed to fucking be here.”

Zoe looks at him, her expression alarmed. “Connor-”

Fuck this. 

Fuck all of this. 

He’s getting out.

He doesn’t know how but he’s getting out of this fucking universe.

Maybe if he jumps, it’ll all reset. 

He’ll be back where he’s supposed to be. 

With that he mind, he walks toward the window. Opens it wide. Starts to climb out.

And is promptly pulled away sharply, thrown to the floor, and there are arms holding him down and he’s thrashing against them and he’s screaming at the top of his lungs because this isn’t real this isn’t fucking real he needs to get back to where he belongs he needs to get the fuck back back to Evan back to his life his real life because this can’t be real and even if he is he doesn’t fucking want it, not without Evan.

Not without Evan.

Connor thrashes and screams and struggles and tries to get free but Margot and Eddie are practically sitting on him and Zoe’s on the phone and they’re gonna throw him in the fucking psych ward he knows he knows he knows but this isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t real and he needs to go he needs to go home he needs to go home-

“Connor,” says Andi, her voice soft and concerned. “You are home. This is real, I swear it is. It’s going to be okay..”

“It’s not, it’s fucking not okay, it’s not, you don’t-”

“This is real,” says Zoe, much less soft than Andi. “Connor, this is real. I’m sorry about your friend, I really am, but-”

“Fuck off,” he snaps, still struggling to get away. “I need to get back to him, I need to get back to my own fucking reality because this one isn’t fucking real.” 

It feels like forever and no time at all passes before the room is full of faces he doesn’t recognize, there are strange voices speaking calmly and firmly, and Connor’s heart is still racing and he’s still screaming on the inside and maybe on the outside too, he doesn’t know, and then there’s the sensation of something sharp and everything is heavy. 

As the world slowly fades out of focus, Connor hopes like hell that when he opens his eyes next, he’ll be back where he belongs.

He has to be.

He just has to. 

“I love you,” Connor slurred, his voice urgent, like he was trying to communicate something important. “I’m not… I want to stay, Evan, I want to stay with you, I can’t… I don’t… please stay, please let me stay.”

What the fuck what the fuck?

What was Connor saying, why was he saying this?

Evan felt like his heart was in his throat, like he was choking on it, but he kept it together as best as he could, holding Connor’s hand tighter, trying to give him a reassuring smile, trying to convince himself it was just the fever, it was just the morphine… and failing. He squeezed Connor’s hand tighter.

“No one is going anywhere. We’re okay,” Evan said gently. “It’s going to be okay, you’re just…” He had to take a second to collect himself, to breathe. “You’re sick but you’re going to feel a lot better soon.”

Connor whimpered softly and Zoe and Evan exchanged a worried look, but then Connor was out again, his brow smoothing out, his eyes closed again.

“What the fuck was that about?” Zoe said, her voice hard.

“I don’t know,” Evan said, and he was scared he was fucking scared. “I don’t know what’s going on.” He cleared his throat. “I -”

Suddenly the heart monitor Connor was hooked up to started to beep frantically. Suddenly there was a flurry of noise, of sound and light and Evan felt like his heart had leapt into his throat. Evan felt sick, he felt terrified, but he couldn’t let go of Connor’s hand. He had to be there. “I love you,” He said to Connor as the monitors beeping got more and more frantic. “I love you don’t leave, don’t -”

Zoe had rushed from his side, shouting down the hall that they needed help.

Evan refused to let go of Connor’s hand. He didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know, he just held Connor’s hand kept saying, “I love you, I love you, I love you I love you -”

“Sir, we need you to move,” A doctor said, physically moving Evan away, pulling them apart. Evan felt his breathing catch, he felt his heart hammering too hard, he felt sick he felt sick he felt sick. 

“His pressure is dropping.” 

Evan clung to the wall, watching in horror as the doctors watched the monitors and injected things into Connor and took an ultrasound wand to his stomach they kept talking and talking, talking over each other, talking fast, indecipherable, strange, and someone in baby blue scrubs looked at Zoe and Evan and said that Connor’s appendix had burst and they were taking him to surgery immediately. And then in a flash, they rushed Connor out of the room, and Evan could feel Zoe shaking beside him. 

“Appendixes burst all the time,” She said, her voice unsteady. 

Evan nodded. He took a few gulping breaths. He didn’t know which one of them she was trying to reassure. “It’s a common procedure,” Evan said. 

“It is.”

“Baby doctors do this. Alex told me that. Her old roommate did an appendectomy on his first day as a surgical resident… baby doctors do this.”

“They do.”

Evan wrapped his arm around Zoe and she hugged him tightly. They would be okay. They would be okay. Connor would be okay and Evan just. He had to take care of Zoe. Connor would want him to take care of Zoe. He needed to be the strong one right now. 

Alex appeared in Connor’s room. “They take him up?” She asked, smiling. “I was thinking I might need to throw some favors around to get it moving…” She trailed off. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah uh,” Evan said, barely able to find his voice. “His appendix burst. They just rushed him to surgery?” 

“Shit,” Alex said, frowning. “It happens though. Sucked, but it happens. He’ll be alright. Probably just means an open procedure and some hardcore antibiotics. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah,” Zoe said distantly. She looked pale and Evan could feel her shaking in his arms. “I… I don’t like being here. I...I don’t like hospitals.” She looked extremely pale. 

“Let’s go for a walk?” Evan said, letting her out of the hug but keeping an arm protectively around her shoulders. “How long is the surgery, normally, Alex?”

“Hour? Hour and a half maybe? Not long.”

“Okay,” Zoe said, nodding to herself. 

“Zoe,” Evan said, trying to keep his voice calm. “Let’s go for a walk yeah?”

She nodded to herself, her face still pale. She looked like she might pass out and Evan suddenly felt this intense feeling of protectiveness for her. He wrapped his arm around Zoe more tightly and led her out of the hospital room. Alex said she’d keep them updated if anything changed. “It’s not a big deal, I swear,” Alex said. “The appendix is just a little punk. He’ll be home in no time.”

“Okay,” Zoe said, inhaling audibly. 

“Okay,” Evan said, smiling gratefully at Alex. “We’ll go get some air. Thanks.” 

He and Zoe exited the building and Zoe sunk down onto a bench in the small courtyard outside immediately, her head in her hands. He knew she was crying.  Evan sat beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. She let out a quiet sob, and Evan just rubbed her back. 

“He’s gonna be fine,” Evan said, trying to keep his voice firm and reassuring. “I know this is fucking scary but… He’s going to be fine.”

“Sorry,” She said, wiping her eyes. “Sorry. I know. I’m being… I’m just…” She swallowed audibly. Wiped her eyes. “You know what happened in high school?”

Evan nodded. Not details, but the basics. “Connor cut his wrists -”

Zoe nodded and Evan stopped talking. Let her speak. “They lost him? In the ambulance, for a minute. They had to do… CPR and… Once we got to the hospital, he needed a transfusion and… He almost completed. He almost actually died.” Zoe sucked in a shuddering breath. “I just had to sit there, by myself, waiting. Waiting for updates, for our parents… I had to call them.” She shook her head, her eyes glittering with tears. “I had to call them and tell them he’s tried to…” She wiped her face. “I was just. Covered in blood and waiting all alone to hear what happened.” She cleared her throat. “Fuck, sorry.”

“That sounds so scary,” Evan said, his voice almost a whisper. 

“I wasn’t even… I was sixteen.”

“I know.”

“I hated it. I… I hated it so much.”

“I’m so sorry,” Evan said. “I’m so sorry that happened.”

“He told me... He said ‘it wasn’t supposed to be you,’ right before he passed out?” Zoe said. “I don’t think he wanted me to be the one to find him.”

Evan nodded. 

Zoe sucked in a breath. “Being alone with all of that… was hard. Really hard. So. Just. I’m glad you’re here?”

Evan nodded. “Of course I’m here.”

“It’s… it’s just nice to know someone else loves him too.”

Evan tried to smile. He pulled Zoe into a hug. “It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine, right?”

“Yeah. It’ll be fine.”

It had to be fine. 

It had to be. 

Connor had to be fine.

Connor wasn’t making sense and he was speaking Hebrew and scaring the fuck out of Evan, but it had to be fine. It had to be fine. He had to be fine. He had to be or else Evan… he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. 

It would be fine. 

They broke apart. Zoe called her mom, and Evan broke down and smoked a cigarette. He was trying to quit. He was trying to quit smoking but today wasn’t… Today wasn’t the day to beat himself up about it.  His mom had texted to say she was heading over to Cynthia’s to keep her company. He smiled at that. His mom was just… so good. She was so calm, so steady, so prepared to handle this. 

Evan wanted to be more like her. 

Evan bought himself and Zoe each coffee from a cart in the waiting room as the hour drew to a close. They waited inside together, half watching a weather report on television in the waiting area, drinking their coffee. 

One hour turned into two. 

Then two and a half. 

Something was wrong. 

Something was definitely wrong. 

“Didn’t Alex say an hour?” Zoe said tensely, gripping her coffee cup tighter in her hands. 

“Yeah,” Evan said. “She said an hour.” He got up. Started to pace. Picked at his cuticles. “I… this isn’t right. Something isn’t right.”

Zoe strode to the nurse’s station, asking them to please get someone to give her an update. Then she walked back and sat beside Evan, almost violently grabbing his hand. “Someone is coming to update us.”

“Okay,” Evan said. The dread started to properly set in, a strange swooping in his stomach. He let Zoe squeeze his hand, hard, tight, painful. Connor had to be alright. He had to be or… 

He had to be alright or Evan wouldn’t be. 

Before long, Alex appeared in the waiting room. “Hi,” She said softly. 

“Hi.”

“Dr. Altera is on his way.”

“Okay,” Zoe said. 

“So I’m just going to sit with you.”

Zoe’s hand was too tight and painful in Evan’s, her nails biting into his skin, but Evan had to keep it together for her. Zoe needed him to keep it together. 

Evan needed to keep it together. 

Dr. Altera finally arrived in the waiting room, and Evan and Zoe got to their feet. The doctor looked… weary. Tired. Evan’s free hand migrated to his mouth and he chewed at his cuticled, waiting for the man to speak. 

“There were complications,” Dr. Altera began. “So we only just closed. I’m sorry no one updated you sooner… I couldn’t spare anyone… Connor’s appendix burst and the infection spread pretty rapidly…”

And then his voice faded to a high pitched whine in Evan’s ears. Zoe’s grip got so much tighter, more painful. He heard words that didn’t make sense to him. 

“But,” Zoe said, her voice almost tearful. “He’ll recover.”

“Yes,” Dr. Altera said. “We cleared the infection. He should make a full recovery.”

Evan could finally breathe. 

“Thank you,” he said, relieved.

Chapter Text

Connor desperately hoped that when he next opened his eyes, he’d see Evan. 

Evan, looking tired and stressed, but relieved because Connor’s out of surgery and everything’s fine and this whole parallel nightmare terrible dream situation is over. 

The Evan who knows him. 

The Evan who loves him. 

Evan, alive. 

Instead, he wakes up in a hospital room to see Zoe, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, looking pale and drawn and pissed off. 

“What’s going on?” he asks Zoe, annoyed that his voice is coming out slurry and slow, like he’s been drugged. 

“You tell me,” Zoe replies, frowning and pursing her lips in a way that makes her look so much like their mom that it makes his heart hurt. 

Connor tries to move and finds that he’s strapped to the bed. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

He struggles against the restraints for a moment, then gives up. 

“You tried to jump out of a fucking window,” says Zoe, her voice cracking on the last word. “They had to sedate you to get you to the hospital without hurting yourself or anyone else.” 

It’s then that he notices there’s a bruise on Zoe’s cheekbone, and his heart leaps to his throat and his eyes fill with tears when he realizes what must have happened. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice still thick and slow and slurred. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I-”

“You kept talking about being in the wrong universe,” Zoe interrupts, her voice hard. “What the fuck are you talking about? What’s going on, Connor?”

“I…”

He wants to tell her. 

He wants to tell her so, so badly. 

But his sister is sitting there with a bruise on her cheekbone because he hit her, he hit her, and she’s scared and terrified and sitting waiting for him at the hospital, and this isn’t the Zoe who’s one of his best friends. 

This is a Zoe who’s a virtual stranger. 

She’d think he was crazy. 

She already thinks he’s crazy. 

“I don’t know,” he says, after a long pause. “I don’t know what’s going on, I’m… I’m really fucking confused.” 

Zoe’s frowning, her eyes dark and full of fear, but there’s something in her expression that’s shifted, just a little. 

Connor closes his eyes. “Tell me what’s real.”

There is a long, long silence. 

He keeps his eyes closed, hoping that when he opens them, he’ll be looking at a sister who knows him, really knows him, and a boyfriend who’s alive and well and not dead, not fucking dead because Connor couldn’t stop him. 

“It’s February 27th,” Zoe says finally. “The day after your birthday.” There’s another pause, then she continues. “I… I talked to a friend of mine and found out what happened to… to Evan Hansen.”

“He jumped off a building,” Connor whispers, still refusing to open his eyes. 

Another pause. 

“That… that wasn’t on Facebook. All I know is that he… he killed himself, I don’t know how.”

“He jumped.”

Yet another silence. 

“I don’t know for sure-”

“He jumped,” Connor says, his voice finally coming out firmer. He opens his eyes to see Zoe looking at him, expression full of fear. “Off the roof of his apartment building. I know he did, I was…”

I was there, he thinks. 

I was there, and I saved him. 

I was there, and I couldn’t save him. 

“You knew him,” Zoe says after a moment. She looks… conflicted. “He was important to you.” She bites her lip. “Were you together?”

Yes. 

“It’s complicated,” he says. “And it doesn’t matter anyway if he’s…”

The word he doesn’t say hang in the air, hovering like a grenade moments before collision. 

Dead. 

Dead. 

Evan’s dead. 

He’s dead, and Connor let it happen, and now he’s…

Now he’s stuck. 

He’s twenty-seven, not twenty-nine. 

It’s February, not July. 

And he’s alone. 

He’s alone. 

Zoe doesn’t know him. Not really. They’re still stuck on either side of this great divide, still separated by years of trauma and arguments and disappointments and blame. 

She’s here because she feels like she should be. 

Because she’s a good person, and he’s her brother, and…

He’s crazy. 

She thinks he’s crazy. 

Maybe he is. Maybe he’s imagining all of this, or maybe what came before was imaginary. He doesn’t know how to tell, he doesn’t know what to do. 

All he knows is that right now, he’s… somewhere else. 

And it’s not disappearing, not jumping around like it did before. As far as he can tell, he’s…

Stuck. 

A doctor sticks her head around the corner of the room. She looks young, too young, but it could just be one of those faces. She’s twitchy and nervous and probably hasn’t had to deal with a patient who is literally tied to the bed for their own safety before, and he kind of wants to ask what hospital he’s at, see if he’s at Alex’s hospital, see if he can get Alex on the case. 

Dr. Dawson. He can ask for Dr. Dawson. 

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, because if he’s 27, then he hasn’t met Alex yet. Alex won’t know him, Alex won’t recognize him, Alex will be…

Alex will be dealing with the fact her roommate just jumped off the roof. 

Fuck. 

Alex and Mattie work weird hours, Connor knows. Weird enough that they could have been the ones to find Evan. 

What’s left of Evan. 

He blinks a few times, trying to get rid of the tears, because it’s not helpful, it’s not going to help. If he lets himself cry now, he’s going to fall apart completely, he’s going to fall apart because Evan’s dead, he’s dead he’s dead he’s dead-

“Sir, I need you to breathe.”

“Connor. Connor, hey. Come on.”

He’s gasping for air, he can’t get enough air into his lungs, he feels like his chest is collapsing in on itself. Maybe he’s dying is he dying he could be dying if Evan is dead then so is Connor that’s how it goes that’s how it works that’s how it goes Evan’s dead Evan’s dead Evan’s dead and Connor’s…

Everything fades out of focus once more. 

Chapter Text

Connor still wasn’t awake. 

Dr. Altera said sometimes that happened. That he was stable and physically in good shape. He just needed to rest and recover. Sometimes bodies just knew better than medicine. “We won’t worry until we have to,” He’d said cheerfully before heading home for the night. 

Easy for Dr. Altera to say, Evan thought bitterly. 

But Connor still wasn’t awake. 

And Evan was due in court in two hours. 

“You should go,” Zoe said for the hundredth time. “Go at least shower. And change.”

“Are you saying I smell?” Evan joked weakly. He kept trying to keep their spirits up. Trying to remain positive. Connor was fine. It was a hard and complicated surgery but he was going to be fine.

“No, I’m saying you look like you slept in those clothes,” Zoe said, smiling a little. “And you grew a beard overnight.”

“Fine,” Evan said, rolling his eyes. “When is your mom getting here?”

“Her flight lands at nine,” Zoe said. “And really. I’m fine here. Go kick ass at work.”

“Alright,” Evan said, reluctantly. He leaned over and kissed Connor’s cheek. “I love you. Be safe. I love you.” He looked at Zoe. “Text me when he wakes up.”

“Okay,” Zoe said. “I will.”

“And tell him I love him.”

“I will,” Zoe said. “Go to work. Make money so you can spoil my brother when he wakes up from scaring the shit out of us.”

“Okay, fine,” Evan said, smiling a little. He kissed Connor’s cheek again and then headed out of the hospital. 

The day was a slog. He changed and showered fast at Connor’s apartment, shaving so fast he nicked himself twice, and stopping to fuss over Edgar who still seemed extremely distressed. Evan went to court and wearily dealt with his fishing waste case with Jonathan. Jonathan, who had some comments about Evan showing up only twenty nine minutes early rather than his usual forty. Jonathan who grinned wolfishly when Evan explained that he had been at the hospital all night with Connor who was sick and had emergency surgery. 

“This is why I hired you, Hansen. You’re all about the work.”

Evan nearly punched him. He didn’t want to be here but what could he do?

He called Zoe on the recess to check in. “How is he?” Evan asked. She hadn’t texted. Maybe Connor was still talking nonsense, scaring people. Maybe he was just really tired, but Evan wanted to hear his voice. “Is he still high? Can I talk to him?”

“He’s…” Zoe sounded like she might cry. “Evan he’s not awake.”

“What?” Evan said, his heart thumping in his chest too loudly. “What do you mean he’s not awake?”
“He just… he hasn’t woken up,” Zoe said. “The doctors. They can’t explain it. They say he should be awake by now. They’ve been running all sorts of tests. He should be awake by now. He should be…” She cleared her throat. “Mom is here. She’s been barking at the doctors all day, she’s basically turned into our dad? He even said he might come… I don’t. I’m sorry I didn’t want to tell you while you were at work.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand why he’s not awake,” Evan said numbly. “Have you seen Alex?”

Zoe sighed. “She’s been by a couple of times. She’s… she doesn’t know either, Evan.  They think it might just be a… weird reaction to the anesthesia? Nobody’s really sure. Or… they’ve seen his file, they’re saying it could be a mental health thing given his history but that doesn’t make any damn sense because I have a PhD in fucking psychology and that is just… not a thing. ”

“I’m on my way,” Evan said, heading toward the street to hail a cab. 

“Don’t,” Zoe said. “Look, medically, he’s fine. Just. Like. Sleeping. Stay at work. Okay? I’ll text you when I know more.”

“But I -”

“Don’t throw your job away because Connor’s being a sleepy shithead, yeah?” Zoe said, and she was trying to joke. “It’s probably just some dumb thing. It’s gonna be fine. Nobody but mom is even freaked out.”

Evan wanted to argue but… she had a point. He had to stay focused. He had to work, and when Connor woke up, he’d be annoyed if Evan had, like, lost his job because he was being such an anxious wreck. “Fine. I’ll come by as soon as I’m done here.”

“Okay.”

Evan hung up. He went back into the courthouse and totally nailed the Hernandez testimony. Jonathan looked extremely impressed and tried to get Evan to head back to the office to go over their closing for the next day. 

“With all due respect,” Evan said, “I’m going to look after my partner. I’ll see you in the morning.” Evan made his way back to the hospital. He still hadn’t heard from Zoe, and he kept praying that meant that it was good news, that meant everyone was just busy once Connor woke up and stopped scaring them… 

But when he got to the hospital and checked himself in as a visitor, he knew that wasn’t the case. 

Zoe looked like hell. She was still wearing her clothes from the night before. Beside her, Cynthia was holding Connor’s hand, her face pale. She looked like she had aged ten years since he’d last seen her. 

“Nothing yet?” Evan asked. 

Zoe shook her head. “They don’t… they’re running tests?” She laughed. “They’re checking to see if he’s diabetic? Like. Look at him. He definitely doesn’t have type II diabetes.”

“What the fuck.” Evan flinched. “Sorry Cynthia.”

“What the fuck is absolutely right,” Cynthia said, shaking her head. “I don’t… I just cannot believe they don’t know why this is happening.”

“They’re cross checking all of the meds he’s on,” Zoe added. “I guess sometimes that can mess things up?”

“Yeah,” Evan said hollowly. He walked to Connor’s side, pressed a kiss to the side of his head. Connor didn’t respond. He was out cold. Just… completely out. 

It wasn’t right. 

This wasn’t right. 

“Do they have any ideas?” Evan asked. 

Zoe shook her head. “I mean, they have a million ideas, but all of them are on par with Type II Diabetes.” 

Evan took Connor’s other hand. He had chipped black polish on his fingernails. Evan sank into a chair beside Connor, his heart pounding so hard in his chest. “Please,” He whispered. “Please I need you to wake up. I love you.”

Not too long after, Alex poked her head into the room. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t her usual sarcastic self. “Hey team.”

“Hi,” Zoe said. “Any news?”

Alex shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could give you something else… But I thought that I might just sit here with you all for a little bit.”

“Okay,” Cynthia said. “Thank you.”

So they sat. 

They just sat. Watching Connor’s chest rise and fall. Waiting and waiting for his eyes to open. 

They didn’t. 

The next time Connor wakes up, for a moment he’s sure he sees Evan in the seat next to his bed. He’s sure of it. 

But he blinks, and Evan’s gone. 

He shouldn’t have blinked. He shouldn’t have fucking blinked. 

No one else is in the room. Zoe’s gone. 

Probably gone home, or to work, or… something, Connor doesn’t fucking know, but she’s done what she’s supposed to do, she’s gotten him to a hospital and made sure he’s not a danger to himself, that’s…

That’s all he could expect from her. 

From this version of her. 

It’s not her fault she’s not here. He’s never given her any indication she’s wanted. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, he was such an asshole back then. 

Such a fucking asshole. 

He sits up the best he can, considering that he’s still strapped to the bed, which makes sense because they think he’s crazy. It takes a moment for him to notice, but there’s a call button or something in his hand. He presses it, and there’s a buzzing sound from somewhere, and soon a nurse arrives.

“You’re up,” says the nurse, looking bored. He looks at what Connor assumes is his chart, then nods. “Okay, so you’re scheduled for a psych evaluation. I’ll let them know you’re up.”

“Was there…” Connor clears his throat. “My sister was here?”

The nurse shrugs. “Haven’t seen anyone since my shift started, sorry man.”

“How long was I out?”

“They had to sedate you twice,” the nurse points out. “It’s nearly two am, I started at midnight. I guess they probably told your sister she needed to go home.”

“Right,” says Connor. He squares his shoulders. Tries to look like a sane human being. “Can I… can you untie me? I swear I won’t try to jump out the window or stab you or whatever.”

The nurse shakes his head. He actually looks kind of sorry. “No can do, not until the doctor’s seen you. But I’ll get someone in as soon as I can, okay?”

“Sure,” Connor says, leaning back against the pillows, watching as the nurse leaves the room. He lets out a shaky breath. 

He feels utterly defeated. 

Completely and totally wrecked. 

Alone. 

He dozes for a while, on and off, every now and then finding his eyes opening suddenly to look around because he’s sure he’s heard someone, he’s sure he’s heard someone saying his name. Sometimes it sounds like Zoe, sometimes his mom, sometimes it sounds like Evan. 

Most of the time it sounds like Evan. 

If he’s not completely crazy, if he’s in some kind of alternate reality, then what’s happening in his reality? In the reality he’s supposed to be in?

Is he dead?

Unconscious?

What’s going on?

What the fuck is going on?

Finally, fucking finally the doctor shows up. It’s the same baby-faced, tired-looking doctor from earlier, who seems to have pasted on a polite smile and asks Connor a long list of questions that he tries his best to answer in a way that doesn’t make him seem like he’s completely fucking insane. 

No, he doesn’t have any intention of killing himself, he tells the doctor, even if he’s not sure if that’s entirely true. 

A part of him still thinks that it’s the only way he can get back to Evan. His Evan, the Evan who’s alive and loves him. 

But what if he kills himself here and dies in his reality, too? 

He won’t do that to Evan. 

He won’t leave Evan alone. 

He has to stay alive, he has to figure out how to get back. 

Connor remembers the last death anniversary, how scared Evan had been that they might end up in another reality, that they might end up apart. 

He remembers how he’d promised that he wouldn’t stop trying to get back to Evan. 

To his Evan. 

It’s not a promise he’s about to break. 

So if that means pretending he’s a normal functioning human being for a while so he can get out of hospital and figure out how to cross into another reality, then that’s what he’s going to do. 

After a long, long conversation, they take the restraints off the bed, and let Connor get up and go to the bathroom, which is just as well because he really, really fucking needs to pee. 

And then he’s being escorted to another part of the hospital, put in a wheelchair even though he’s perfectly capable of walking, and being assigned a bed in the psych ward and given some medication and…

He goes along with it. 

He plays along. 

This isn’t real, he’s absolutely sure of it. Deep in his bones, he knows he’s not supposed to be here, but right now…

Right now it’s what he’s got. 

The nurse watches him and makes sure he gets into bed and he’s exhausted, he’s so fucking tired, this whole thing is fucking exhausting and he needs to think, he needs to fucking think and fix this, he needs to fix this, he needs to get back. 

He needs to get home.  

Maybe this time, when he wakes up, he’ll be home. 

Around ten o’clock a doctor arrived to tell them to go home. 

Zoe looked murderous. Cynthia looked utterly defeated. 

“He’s stable, just unconscious,” The doctor said. “You need to go home. Get some rest. Come back tomorrow. We’ll know more tomorrow.”

Nobody was willing to do that, it seemed. Evan told the doctor to fuck off unless he wanted a lawsuit on his hands. “I’m a lawyer,” he said stupidly, bull headed and stubborn. “How could you have fucked up something as simple as an appendectomy?”

Alex put her hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Thank you,” Alex said. “They’ll go home.” She looked at him hard. “You should all go home.”

And just like that, they all quit arguing.

Cynthia and Zoe got a cab back to Zoe’s apartment, because they wanted to be together,  and Evan decided not to go home with Alex. “Sorry,” he said softly. “I just… someone should check on the cat?”

“Of course,” Alex said. “Do you… I can come stay with you? Mattie’s working overnight.”

He shook his head. “Thanks. I just… “

“I know this is scary, but it happens sometimes. It’ll be fine.”

Evan nodded, wearily. She was right. “Thanks. For today.”

Alex hugged Evan, suddenly and fiercely, before he got into a Lyft back to the bookstore. The Lyft driver was chatty and cheerful, asking Evan about his summer plans. Evan wanted to throw himself out of the car. 

But he didn’t. He went back to The Little Book Nook and let himself inside with his key. Disarmed and rearmed the alarm. Headed up the steps to the apartment. Someone had pinned a note to the door - Evan thought it was Leslie’s handwriting. 

“Tell Connor not to worry about the store, we’ve got it covered.” 

Evan smiled slightly at that. 

Inside, he toed off his shoes and Edgar practically climbed up his body to settling on his shoulders. He usually only did that with Connor, but Evan figured that he was a decent substitute. He headed into Connor’s room, and Edgar jumped down onto the bed. Evan undressed, changed into some of Connor’s pajamas even though he had his own here. He just needed to feel close to his boyfriend that night. 

He just needed to feel like Connor would be alright. 

Evan had a drink with his meds before bed. Was it the healthiest thing? No. But he needed to calm the fuck down. 

Evan slept badly. He kept waking up, his heart pounding too hard in his chest, having these horrible dreams about Connor, awake and alone in a hospital. He hated it so much. 

Edgar climbed onto Evan’s chest and Evan pet him a few times. “He’s going to be okay,” he said gently to the cat. “He has to be okay.”

He couldn’t get back to sleep. 

He was scared to shut his eyes. 

So Evan had another drink. And when it didn’t make him sleepy, he went over some documents and emailed Jonathan a few times. Jonathan was also awake, which annoyed Evan a lot. 

He pet Edgar. Gave him a few too many cat treats because the poor thing just looked so lost and helpless. He couldn’t understand where Connor was. 

Evan didn’t think he understood where Connor was. 

Finally, at three o’clock, Evan couldn’t take it anymore. He was sick of himself pacing around this apartment. He went back to the hospital, lied to the woman at the front desk and said he and Connor were married so she’d let him inside. 

Connor was the same. Eyes closed, like he was asleep. Not moving or talking or looking up when Evan talked to him. Just. Totally quiet. 

Evan didn’t know what to do with himself. He climbed into the bed with Connor, careful of his tubes and wires, careful of his incision, and just lay there beside him. “I love you,” he said quietly. “So you have to wake up okay? I need you to wake up. Please.” 

Connor’s heart kept beating steadily. 

He didn’t open his eyes. 

Evan stayed there, holding him, until his arms and legs started to go numb. Until the sun outside rose. 

Until a nurse realized he was not, in fact, Connor Murphy’s next of kin. Just his overly anxious boyfriend. 

“Really, sir, you need to go home and sleep.”

“But… it’s been twenty four hours and he hasn’t woken up,” Evan said desperately. “I need to be here when he wakes up. I have to be here.”

“Sir, really, you need to go home. You can’t be here.”

Evan left. 

He went to Connor’s apartment. Showered and changed into a suit. He’d go to court today. If he went today and they won, Jonathan would have no choice but to give him time off. Time off to help Connor recover. 

Because Connor was going to recover. 

He had to. 

Chapter Text

Connor doesn’t remember much about being in the psych ward in high school, but he doesn’t remember it being as fucking frustrating as this. 

First things first, he’s medicated. Like, seriously medicated. They’ve put him on… something, he’s not sure what, but it’s supposed to be an antipsychotic, he thinks? At any rate, it’s making him feel fuzzy, dull and lifeless, which is not helpful when he needs his wits about him, needs to somehow figure out how he’s going to get back. 

Because he is going to get back to his reality. 

No matter how long it takes. 

Secondly, there’s a lot more group therapy than he remembers. Considerably more. Connor’s become more used to people over the last few years, ever since he took over the bookstore (and that’s a whole other thing, fuck, he’s supposed to be at work, will he even have a job to go back to after this, fuck), but he’s still not exactly comfortable being vulnerable around strangers, which seems to be the whole fucking point of group therapy. 

Which he has to be at pretty much every day. 

His second day in the psych ward, his mom shows up. She looks tired and scared and there’s this look on her face that’s almost like disappointment. 

Like she’s sitting there thinking “Jesus Christ, here we go again, I thought we were done with this shit.”

Which is, in all honesty, fair enough. 

The psych ward of a hospital is the last place Connor ever wanted to end up again. 

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” his mom asks. She’s holding her purse tight, frowning, looking like she wants to reach out and hold his hand but holding herself back. 

And that’s his fault. 

She’s holding herself back because this is two years ago, when he and his mother barely spoke, barely interacted at all. 

She doesn’t…

She doesn’t think he wants his hand held, and that feels like a punch in the face. 

Like how he punched Zoe in the face when he tried to jump out the window. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

“Tired,” he says, as close to honestly as he can. “I… mostly tired.”

She looks straight at him, her eyes dark and sad. “What did the doctors say?”

“They’re adjusting my meds,” he says, parroting back what they’d told him. “Gave me some recommendations for therapists in the area.”

Connor still isn’t sure if he should try to get hold of Praveed. He should be around, because Connor started seeing him a month after he turned 27, but at the same time…

If Praveed doesn’t exist, then that might mean that everything else was just his imagination, and he doesn’t think he can handle that. 

Because he is going to get back to his reality. 

He has to. 

He absolutely has to. 

His mom smiles, a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and opens her purse. She pulls out a packet of Oreos opens it and offers it to Connor. 

He takes a cookie and hands the packet back to her. 

Then tentatively takes her hand in his and holds it gently. 

Cynthia looks surprised, but something in her face shifts, and she squeezes Connor’s hand softly. “You’re going to be okay, sweetheart.”

Connor leans his head on his mom’s shoulder and tries to believe her. 

Zoe drops by a couple of times, armed with books and M&Ms, but she never stays long. She looks tired and scared and jumpy, watching Connor carefully like he’s going to implode at any minute, that he’s going to jump out a window or slit his wrists and it’s then that Connor realizes that his sister has now seen him try to kill himself twice. 

It makes him feel sick. 

Sick, and completely disgusted with himself, because she doesn’t need to see that. 

She should never have to see that again. 

Connor’s surprised she even wants to see him. After everything. 

It’s strange how normal it feels to be back in this space, back in this reality where he and Zoe are a million worlds apart. They have worked so hard at being okay, so hard at having a good relationship, and here they are, back at square one, and Connor’s left with the knowledge that it doesn’t have to be this way. 

That there’s another way this story can go. 

But she’s scared and she’s wary and he doesn’t belong here, doesn’t belong in this reality, and he doesn’t know what will happen if he gets to go back to where he belongs. Would the Connor in this reality snap right back? Would he remember anything that had happened? Or would he just… disappear?

He hates the idea of hurting Zoe, hurting his mom, but these people visiting him in the hospital in this reality…

They’re not his version of his mom and his sister. 

Fuck, what’s happening back in the real reality?

Maybe the Connor from this reality is there, and he doesn’t know Evan and he doesn’t know he owns a bookstore and he’s not close to his mom or his sister and everything’s a heartbreaking mess and his family are confused and worried that Connor’s lost two years worth of memories. 

Or maybe he’s just…

Is he dead?

How does he know if he’s dead?

He has no idea. 

No fucking clue. 

He doesn’t know where he would even start to try to figure this out. 

The fishing waste case was over and Jonathan was so elated that he hugged Evan, actually hugged him, and told him he could take the rest of the week to work from home. “Can’t have Larry Murphy showing up and wringing my neck can I?”

Evan didn’t feel anything like celebrating. He hurried back to the hospital, feeling like a cheap imitation of a person. Like he’d been warmed up in the microwave or something. He wanted to sleep for a week, but he had to keep pushing through, he had to keep going. Connor needed him. 

Evan couldn’t stop because Connor needed him. 

He headed into the hospital room, the visitor pass stuck to his chest lopsidedly. Zoe and Cynthia were sitting in chairs on either side of Connor’s bed. 

Evan could tell that Zoe had been crying. 

He suddenly remembered, vividly, from high school, happening upon her being visible upset in the library after Thanksgiving his senior year. Trying to talk to her, but crashing and burning the conversation…

That was probably when Connor tried to kill himself, Evan realized in retrospect.

“What’s going on?” He asked, taking the vacant seat beside Zoe. 

“Nothing,” Zoe said bitterly. “That’s the… the problem. They’ve been pumping him full of stimulants all day, but he’s not waking up.”

Cynthia looked at Evan. “They’re saying it’s… it’s a coma? They’re going to take him for a CT. Make sure there’s nothing that they could have missed. Check for brain activity.”

Evan swallowed hard. 

“Larry’s on his way,” Cynthia said, as if it was an afterthought. 

“He should have been here from the beginning,” Zoe said bitterly. 

Cynthia opened and closed her mouth a few times. 

Evan felt sort of felt like crying. All he could think of was that the last time he’d seen Connor’s eyes open, he’d been making no sense. Saying stuff about Facebook and speaking Hebrew and…

“Wait,” He said out loud. Evan’s heart was pounding hard. “Hebrew!”

“What?” Cynthia said. “Sweetheart, what was that?”

“In the ambulance, Connor started speaking Hebrew,” Evan said. “He doesn’t speak Hebrew. I thought it was… he had a fever, I thought it was that, but. Maybe it’s. It could be important? A symptom or-or-or something?”

Zoe had light in her eyes for the first time since yesterday. She slammed her finger on the call button beside Connor’s bed, and a nurse arrived in a few minutes. 

“Can we speak to the doctor?” Evan said. “There’s something that happened on our way here… it might be important.”

The doctors listened patiently as Evan explained how Connor hadn’t been making sense in the ambulance, how he’d spoken Hebrew. 

“And you’re sure he speaks no Hebrew?” The doctor said, looking skeptical. 

“He… we’re Catholic,” Cynthia volunteered. 

“He came with me to passover seder this year,” Evan said. “But… I know he wouldn’t know that. He wouldn’t know what he said, I swear.”

The doctor nodded. “It could be something neurological.”  A few more tests and scans were scheduled, and they wheeled Connor’s entire hospital bed out of the room so they could take him to CT. Evan felt something uncoiling a little inside of him, like he’d managed to do one thing right at least. 

“Dad’s on the warpath,” Zoe said to Evan when Cynthia got up to use the bathroom. Her voice was low, tense. “He’s talking about suing the doctors.”

Evan privately thought that might not be the worst idea. 

“He hasn’t even been here,” Zoe said, sounding disgusted. Her jaw was clenched tightly. Evan grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. 

“Have you taken a break?” Evan asked her. “I mean. I know you went home last night, but your mom was there. I’ve been working at least… You can take a break.”

“I can’t leave him,” Zoe said. “I. We. We spent years not talking, I can’t… that’s my fault.”

“Zoe, no -”

“We were actually okay, at the end of high school? Not great but, like, okay? But our parents broke up and I… I blamed him and we stopped talking. I did that. And I just got him back. I can’t leave him now.”

“He knows you’re here,” Evan said, inventing a little wildly. “Go take a walk. Call a friend or… or get a drink or something. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Zoe smiled wearily. “Maybe I’ll. Take a walk. Get some more coffee.”

Evan took in the bags under her eyes, the pallor of her skin. “Have you slept?” Evan asked her. “Things always feel worse when you haven’t slept.”

“Which one of us is the therapist?” She said, rolling her eyes. 

“Come on, we need to take care of ourselves,” Evan said gently. “If we fall apart, who’s going to take care of him when he wakes up?”

Zoe nodded. “You’re right. Maybe once he’s back from CT…”

“I’ll be here. I’m off work the next few days. I’ll be here, okay? Go home. Sleep. We’ll… take shifts or something.”

Zoe hugged Evan tightly. “If anything changes…”

“I will call you,” Evan promised. “I swear.”

“Thank you,” Zoe said. She headed home not long after, and then Cynthia said she was going to check herself into a hotel for the night once Connor was back. 

“Nothing more we can do. You should go home too,” She said to Evan. “You look exhausted.”

“In a little while,” Evan said. “I’ll go home and sleep in a little while. I just… I just want to be here for a little while longer.”

Connor was returned, still unconscious, to his hospital room. Evan and Cynthia waited anxiously for the doctors to arrive. Before long, Dr. Altera and another, older doctor, appeared to go over the scans. 

“Everything appears normal,” Dr. Altera explained. “The infection is cleared from his body. He’s recovering well from surgery. Nothing neurological on the scans.”

“So what is going on?” Cynthia demanded. “Why won’t he wake up?”
“Our theory,” The other, older doctor said, “Was that he had issues metabolizing the anesthetic we used.” He introduced himself as Connor’s anesthesiologist. “So we’re going to need a more complete medical history to rule out anything that might have caused this reaction.”

Cynthia answered most of the questions, filling the doctors in on Connor’s history of anemia, his mental health concerns, but Evan answered others. Changes in diet? Connor drank more almond milk and ate less pork now. Changes in sleep or behavior? Nothing Evan had noticed. 

“The anemia shouldn’t have caused this,” Dr. Altera said. “But it might… we’ll need to conduct more tests. I’m sorry, we should have more answers for you in the morning.”

Evan started to protest. 

“I’m sorry. I wish we had more to tell you.”

There’s too much time to think in the psych ward. 

Which… doesn’t help, because there’s just too much to think about. 

Connor spends most of his time trying to remember his life from two years ago, trying to make some sense of all of it, and there’s just… so much that’s different. 

So much that’s missing. 

He’d barely known Leslie. Hadn’t known Jax and Maureen. 

He hadn’t really appreciated Andi as much as he should have. 

And…

Evan. 

Fuck, he just…

Every time he tries to think about it, it’s like his brain revolts, like something inside him recoils, because he just…

He can’t be in a universe that doesn’t have an Evan. 

It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t make any fucking sense, it just…

It can’t be real. 

He remembers talking to Evan in the lead up to his 29th birthday, the second anniversary of dying and dying and dying. How he’d made a joke about convincing alternate universe Evan to fall in love with him and how Evan had been so upset. 

“If you end up in another timeline, you’ll be fine. You and the other me can go fall in love and do it right this time, but what about me? If you’re gone, I’m going to end up alone!”

It’s horribly, horribly bitter to think about now, because they’re both alone. 

He’s left Evan alone and he hates it. 

And Connor is alone in a universe where Evan’s dead. 

He’s dead. 

Connor remembers what he’d said to Evan during that conversation. 

“I refuse to go anywhere without you, okay? I’m fueled by caffeine and spite and I won’t let the universe take me okay? I love you.”

He’d promised. 

He’d fucking promised and the universe took him anyway. 

Connor talks to a therapist every day. Says as little as he can get away with but enough to make it seem like he’s stable and normal and not a danger to himself or society.

The therapist wants to talk about Evan. 

Connor absolutely, one hundred percent does not want to talk about Evan with a total stranger. 

“So you and Evan were involved romantically?”

“Yeah,” Connor says, his throat drying up, because he hates talking about Evan in the past tense, he hates it more than anything, especially when he knows in his gut, he knows deep inside him that Evan, his Evan, is out there somewhere and it’s up to Connor to find his way back. “Yeah, we were.”

“And he took his own life. On your birthday.”

Connor doesn’t reply verbally. He just nods. 

The hospital-appointed therapist, whose name Connor can’t remember, looks sympathetic. “Did he know it was your birthday?”

Connor shakes his head. “No,” he says. Because Evan didn’t know it then, even if he knows now. He clears his throat. Tries to create a story that makes sense. “We were… it was new.”

“When did you and Evan meet?” the therapist asks, her voice even. 

“I can’t remember,” Connor confesses immediately. “We… we went to the same elementary school, same middle school, same high school. We grew up together, but we didn’t… we didn’t know each other, not really, until recently.” He clears his throat again. Tries to figure out what he’s going to say to make it all fit. “Just after Thanksgiving,” he says finally. “We, uh…. We go to the same liquor store. We ran into each other and got talking and… started hanging out and…”

We died and died and died and died and died. 

We saved each other. 

He was there for me when my mental health got bad, when I was so fucked up I was barely even a person, and he loved me. 

He loved me so much. 

And I still love him. 

I will never, ever stop loving him. 

“We were… sleeping together,” he says, after a moment. “I could tell that Evan wasn’t doing great, I just… I didn’t know it was that bad. I didn’t…” He clears his throat. It’s so, so dry. “I didn’t know he was gone until I saw it on Facebook.”

It’s quiet for a moment. 

The therapist breaks the silence after a while. 

“When you were admitted, your sister said that you’d been talking about another reality. That this wasn’t real, that you had to get back to Evan, back to your reality.” She tilts her head a little, seeming genuinely intrigued. “Can you tell me more about that?”

“I was upset,” Connor replies flatly. “I’d just found out on Facebook that my… that a guy I was sleeping with, who I really cared about, had died, and I… it didn’t seem like it was real, like it could be real.”

“You tried to jump out the window.”

Connor rubs his face with his hands. “Look, I was… it was my birthday the night before and I was super high on… something, I don’t even know what, my roommate’s approach to pharmaceuticals is kind of experimental? I don’t really… I don’t really know anything about another reality, or what I was saying. I was probably just… still high.”

The therapist looks at her notes. “Your blood tests did come back with some illicit substances, but not high enough doses to-”

“I don’t know anything about another reality,” Connor says, trying to sound convincing. “I… all I know is that the guy I was fucking is dead and that I loved him, okay? I loved him, and I couldn’t… I didn’t know how to save him.”

It takes him a moment to realize he’s crying. 

And it’s like knowing he’s crying means that the floodgates open, because he just.

Breaks. 

Sobs and sobs and sobs for what feels like hours, because he’s scared and he’s alone and Evan’s gone and he couldn’t save him and his mom doesn’t think he cares about her and his sister’s afraid of him and his closest friends don’t know him and his cat doesn’t exist. 

And somewhere, in another reality, there could be another version of him who doesn’t know the people he loves. 

Or a version of him who isn’t even there at all. 

The therapist hands him a box of tissues and he sobs and sobs and sobs, wishing that he wasn’t here, wishing that there was someone who knew him, who could hold him tight and tell him everything’s going to be okay, even if they had no fucking evidence to back that up. 

But he doesn’t have anyone. 

Not here. 

He hadn’t realized. 

He hadn’t realized how alone he really was. 

Chapter Text

Evan woke up when a nurse shook his shoulder. He didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep. Last thing he remembered was watching an infomercial at 4:00am on some kind of food processor. He recalled thinking that he’d seen the same infomercial back when he couldn’t sleep in law school, in undergrad, probably in high school too. Was this thing seriously still in need of an infomercial? Had they not sold enough food processors in ten years of late night advertising?

He must have fallen asleep while he watched them grinding coffee. 

Evan had paid off the nurse to get her to let him stay that night, staying in a chair beside Connor’s bed. He gave her a hundred bucks, and then wondered how awful the pay for nurses was that that convinced her to break the law for such little money. “Anything?” He asked her. 

She shook her head. “Sorry hon, he’s still out cold.” She looked sad.

Evan felt his heart sink. “Thanks.” He looked at Connor’s face, still relaxed, eyes still closed, and Evan felt sort of sick. Headachy and tired and vaguely nauseated. 

Connor hadn’t opened his eyes in days. 

This was bad. 

He’d been begging to stay, stay with Evan, stay… and Evan had no idea what that meant. He had no clue. But he felt… 

Something wasn’t right. Something… something not medical, something fucked up and strange like how he had thrown himself off of his roof one night only to open his eyes in his bathroom on the same night…

What if Connor was back there? What if he was trapped in the loops again? Alone?

Fuck, what if he was alone?

Connor had to know he wasn’t alone, he had to know Evan was here, that he was staying he was here. 

Evan grasped Connor’s hand in his, pressed a kiss to Connor’s knuckles. “Please. Please. I love you. Please come back. Please come back and stay. Please.”

Somehow this felt like it was his fault. 

If he hadn’t caused the loops, Connor would have had a normal appendectomy and he would be fine. Looped on painkillers, complaining about being taken care of, but fine. 

But this? 

This wasn’t right. It was wrong, something was seriously, seriously wrong. 

Evan felt so helpless. He wasn’t a doctor, so he couldn’t help, and the doctors didn’t know what to do either. He held Connor’s hand tightly. Talking to him softly. “I love you. You’re the love of my life. I want to help but… you gotta give me something. Are you in there? Are you still here?” 

Nothing. 

Connor’s eyes stayed closed. He breathed, quiet and even. His heart monitor beeped along normally. 

Evan didn’t realize someone was watching for a long time. 

He just kept telling Connor how much he loved him. 

But then it was clear that there were eyes on the pair of them, so Evan looked up. Larry Murphy looked like shit. He had large bags under his eyes. His gray hair, usually cut with military precision, looked less orderly than the last time Evan had seen him. He was in a golf shirt and khakis, and there was something unnatural about seeing him without a tie. Like his head might fall off, like that story about the woman with the ribbon around her neck…His neck looked oddly brittle without the tie as armor.  

Evan and Larry locked eyes. The last they’d seen each other, Evan had been rude to Larry, rubbing his win against him in Larry’s face because Larry had said horrible things to Connor, had made Connor withdraw into himself, doubt himself… Evan had started to picture Larry as a bit monstrous. Evil. The sort of person who intentionally hurt their children, threw them into depressive spirals because he wasn’t getting his way. 

This man? He didn’t look like the monster Evan pictured. He just looked old. Old and tired and worried. 

“Hi,” Evan said. He stood up. Larry extended a hand and Evan shook it. “Did you just get in?” 

“Had my bags sent to the hotel,” Larry said shortly. “I came straight here. Is he…?”

“Still nothing,” Evan said quietly. “The doctors are going to try some other drugs today, they said… I. They did a CT and it was normal.” 

Larry frowned. He sunk into the chair on the other side of Connor’s bed, his hand briefly hovering over Connor’s, like he might take it but thought better of it, and then it returned to his lap. 

Evan resumed his seat, took hold of Connor’s hand, almost defiantly. 

Larry just looked at Connor. 

Evan almost felt sorry for him. Almost. 

“I’ve looked into having him transferred to another hospital,” Larry said, perhaps an hour later. 

Evan looked up, waiting for him to continue. 

“This one. Clearly they don’t know what they’re doing.”

Evan sort of wanted to protest, because this was one of the best hospitals in the country, let alone the city, but… Larry had a point. Something was wrong, and this hospital wasn’t fixing it. “Where?”

“Back home, of course. Somewhere private.”

“No,” Evan was on his feet now, still holding Connor’s hand tightly. “No you can’t take him out of the city that’s… He lives here. His people are here.”

“And he’s in a coma here,” Larry said coolly. “And these doctors don’t even know what’s causing it.”

Evan thought he might punch him, but that instinct was overruled when Connor’s eyes flickered open for just a second. 

“Connor?” Evan said desperately, his hand flying to the side of Connor’s face. “Hey hey look at me? I love you. Look at me, please?”

But his eyes had shut again. Connor’s eyes were closed. As if they had never even opened. As if Evan had imagined it. 

“Connor please,” Evan said, shaking his shoulder. “Please come on, just open your eyes again, look at me… Please. Please .” Evan felt his eyes fill with tears and he did not give a shit if Larry Murphy was looking at him. Larry’s voice echoed distantly, calling for someone to come look, come check. 

Nurses and doctors rushed in, all assessing and checking, shining lights in Connor’s eyes and taking his vitals. Evan wrapped his arms around himself, waiting, desperate. He had to be waking up. He had to be. 

The doctors all determined that Connor was still unconscious; his eyes opening might have been a fluke. 

“That’s not… that’s not an answer,” Evan protested weakly. “You can’t just. He opened his eyes! That has to be something!” He looked at Larry desperately. “You saw, didn’t you? You saw his eyes open?”

Larry frowned. “I honestly didn’t.”

“I’m not… I didn’t imagine that!” Evan insisted. “I swear, his eyes opened, I swear -” 

“Sir,” One of the nurses said gently. “Why don’t you go and get some air?”

He knew it wasn’t a request, and Evan felt like he was seconds away from having a panic attack anyway, and he refused outright to have one in front of Larry Murphy. He stepped into the hall, pausing to dry swallow a Valium, and then headed outside to smoke.

Connor’s been in the psych ward in an alternate reality for five days and is getting used to the routine when there’s a new girl at group therapy with a face that looks vaguely familiar but he can’t quite place. It scratches at the back of his mind, soft but insistent, like a pimple in a weird place or the feeling you’ve left the stove on. 

The guy who leads the group therapy sessions is the kind of guy that looks like he should be frolicking in a field, spinning in a circle, talking about how wonderful life is, accompanied by a list of possible medication side effects. 

He is way, way too enthusiastic about being in a room full of nutjobs. 

They introduce themselves, like normal. They’re supposed to say their name and a Fun Fact about.  themselves. 

If Connor weren’t so concerned about getting out of here so he could start trying to figure out how he’d gotten stuck in an alternate reality and how he’s going to get back to the right one, his facts would be a lot more fun. 

Hi, I’m Connor and an alternate universe version of my boyfriend killed himself on my birthday.

Hi, I’m Connor and I’m trying to get back to my own reality because this one is definitely fake. 

Hi, I’m Connor and everyone I care about is either dead, afraid of me, doesn’t know who am I or hasn’t been born yet. 

“Hi, I’m Connor and I co-own an indie publishing company.”

Something shifts in the expression of the girl with the face he might recognize. Maybe he knows her from Leatherbird. He doesn’t usually meet the authors, but he’s seen a lot of author photos. That could very well be it. 

That’s one mystery potentially solved, at least. 

If only crossing over to another reality were that easy. 

They go through the rest of the group and when they finally get to the girl with the face he might recognize, she smiles this too-bright smile and Connor’s immediately on edge, too alert, something vibrating through him like he’s just taken a bite into aluminum foil. 

“Hi, I’m Jenny and I’ve died then immediately respawned in my bathroom looking my reflection in the mirror like some kind of fucked up video game twenty-seven times on a never-fucking-ending Sunday.” 

Medication-commercial-guy looks intensely uncomfortable. “Nice to meet you, Jenny, maybe we should-”

“I’ve also checked myself into this facility six times because it decreases my chances of immediately dying considerably,” she continues, looking straight at Connor. “But I’ve never made it any further than Tuesday morning. And this is the sixth time I’ve been in this group therapy session on this particular day but it’s the first time I’ve seen this guy with the long hair in attendance and I’m pretty fucking sure that’s significant, somehow.” She leans in, her long, jet black hair swaying like a curtain. “So what’s your real story, Connor?”

“Did you get a book published through Leatherbird?” he blurts out. 

She grins. “Unknowable Bee Monsters. So you are that Connor.” She leans back into her chair. “Three months ago you told me I use too many adjectives.”

“I stand by that.” Something occurs to him. “I didn’t know you were Australian.”

“Really? When you were editing my book, you were taking out rogue letters all over the fucking place.”

“We need to keep going, perhaps the two of you can talk later,” says Commercial Man, and Jenny salutes him with a goofy smile. This big, wide, hopeful grin that’s weirdly contagious. 

This is really fucking weird, but it might be the best lead he’s got. 

As soon as the group session is over, Jenny heads straight to Connor, Commercial Man looking at them both suspiciously and talking to a doctor, which Connor takes a mental note of. Jenny takes his arm and almost drags him to a couch in the corner of the recreation space, then sits cross-legged on one side of it, facing him. 

He takes a seat and waits for her to say something. 

She doesn’t. 

She just stares at him, like she’s waiting for him to speak first. 

After a long moment, he finally does. 

“So, you like science-fiction.”

Jenny laughs. “I fucking used to, yeah. Dying over and over again tends to erase the whimsy.” Then her expression sobers. “You have a bad poker face, dude. When I started talking about death loops, I saw the look on your face. You know something, and you’re going to tell me.”

Connor considers his options. 

On the one hand, there is practically no chance that Jenny Parson, an Australian who writes queer pulpy science-fiction, knows anything about getting him back to his own reality. 

On the other hand, he’s never met anyone except Evan who’s admitted to dying and dying and dying like they did (although he has his suspicions about Alex and Mattie’s old roommate Charlie). 

On the other hand, he’s trying to get out of the psych ward, and being seen to go along with a story that sounds completely insane isn’t the best way of doing that. 

On the other hand, Jenny says she’s been here six times and he’s new. Which means that he’s not supposed to be here, which means that somehow, he’s changed reality. And that’s… something. 

On the other hand, he has well and truly run out of hands. 

“On my twenty-seventh birthday, I got stuck in a death loop with my boyfriend,” he says after a moment, as quietly as he can. “We got out of it by saving each other in our first loops, which was hard because… it got all fucked up and we didn’t know each other.” 

Jenny’s eyes widen. “Fucking hell.”

“But we did,” he tells her firmly. “We saved each other. We stopped the loop. That was two and a half years ago.” 

She looks at him intently. “Then why are you in the psych ward?”

“My twenty-seventh birthday was last Tuesday.”

“You said it was two and a half years ago.”

“It was, yeah.”

Jenny’s eyes widen even more. “You’ve time travelled.”

Connor shrugs. “I don’t know,” he admits. “All I know is that one minute I was twenty-nine and I had a stomachache and went to lie down, then I woke up and it was the day after my twenty-seventh birthday, and saw on Facebook that my boyfriend was dead.” 

“So it’s another reality,” Jenny concludes. “You’re from another reality and this reality is the one where you didn’t save your boyfriend.” 

“Yeah,” Connor says, and it feels so fucking weird to say this out loud, he feels like he’s breaking some kind of law just by having this conversation, but at the same time it’s like a weight is being lifted off him. “I kind of… I floated in and out for a while? Between realities. Sometimes people could see me, sometimes they couldn’t. I went to his funeral. Saw his mom and his best friend and his roommates mourning him.” He swallows, hard. “But sometimes I was… back in my reality, in an ambulance, and they were telling me I had… appendicitis? That I was going to have surgery and it was going to be okay, and Evan was there and I…”

He can’t bring himself to tell this stranger that he saw Evan jump. 

That he couldn’t stop him. 

That he…

“I’m so sorry,” says Jenny, her voice soft. 

“And then it was Wednesday morning again, the same as it was before, and I saw on Facebook that Evan was dead and I… freaked out and they sedated me and threw me in here.” Connor leans back on the couch. “And that’s my story, which is probably fuck all use to you.”

“You need to get back to your reality,” says Jenny, biting her lip.

“And you need to stop dying,” Connor replies. 

“And we’re both in the psych ward.”

“Pretty much sums it up.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

They sit there for a long moment. 

Connor lets out a sigh.

“Well, shit.”

Chapter Text

Other than the time Connor had briefly opened his eyes, nothing had changed. And Evan was clinging to that moment with both hands, a vice-like grip. It was real. He had seen it happen. He had seen it. 

He swore he saw it. 

It took about three days for news of Connor’s unexpected coma to travel to their friends. First it was the bookstore kids, coming in shifts. Jax, then Maureen, then Leslie. They reassured Evan they were taking good care of Edgar Allan Paw, that they were keeping things running smoothly. They’d changed shifts to cover all of Connor’s without having to close. 

Maureen had wanted to bring flowers but they wouldn’t allow them in the ICU, so she sat in the waiting room with Evan and folded origami flowers beside him while Jax visited and talked to Cynthia. 

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” Evan asked her. 

Maureen smiled. “I liked to hang out in the art room while the other kids ran around outside. I can’t really draw, but I fold a clean line. What do you think?” She showed him a handful of colorfully folded roses. 

“They’re beautiful.”

Then Maureen took a turn as sentry so that Evan, Zoe, and Cynthia could all go and eat something. Larry had been in and out all morning, usually on the phone. Evan had overheard bits of conversation, and he knew Larry was already working out a malpractice case. No matter what happened here, someone was definitely getting sued. 

Evan had started to keep detailed notes of what treatments and drugs they tried, what theories they tested to wake Connor up. At first it was just for himself, for himself and Zoe and Cynthia, to try to keep it all straight… but now it was more about trying to keep track of what didn’t work, what failed. 

Evan didn’t want to ally himself with Larry, but he still caught him outside of Connor’s hospital room on his way back from lunch. Zoe and Cynthia hadn’t returned yet. He strode up to Larry and asked if had requested a copy of Connor’s medical records yet. 

“How would that help me?”

“I’ve been… I’ve been keeping notes,” Evan explained. “Of everything the staff here has told me they’ve done or tried. I’ll get you a copy. Just… In case there’s any discrepancy.” 

Larry nodded. 

“You’re his parent… I’m not legally able to see them. But you can ask. If they push back, I’d mention that you know Rex Sugarman?”

“I don’t know a Rex Sugarman,” Larry said, shaking his head slightly. 

Evan rolled his eyes. “You do. You just know him from before he transitioned. He went by Deborah until 2010.” Evan shook his head. 

“Deb was a partner at my firm,” Larry said, almost smiling. 

“ Rex is the malpractice attorney on retainer for the surgical staff,” Evan said pointedly. “You’ll want to mention that you’re old friends.”

Larry nodded again, clearly having understood. “Thank you,” he said, his voice rough. He strode away to speak to a nurse. 

Andi turned up sometime that afternoon. Evan wasn’t sure he had ever seen her look so down. Or that he’d ever seen her wearing so many clothes. Despite it being a warm summer day, she showed up in a dress and a sweater. Even her hair seemed less lively. She hugged him and Zoe both in her usual bone-crushing way, and Larry eyed her bright red afro with suspicion. 

Not long after, a nurse appeared to remind them that Connor could only have three visitors at a time in the ICU, and Evan and Andi stepped out to give the Murphys some time. 

Andi’s skin had taken on a pale, ashy look, and Evan helped her sit down because she looked unsteady on her feet. “Something’s wrong,” She said, her voice wobbly. “This is wrong.”

Evan nodded. “Yeah. Something is definitely wrong.”

“I feel like… like he’s not in there, you know?”

Evan shrugged. He didn’t know what to make of that.

“I… What should I do?” Andi asked him, and Evan didn’t immediately realize that she was genuinely asking. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Evan said helplessly. 

The parade of people didn’t stop with Andi. Around dinnertime, Gladys and Martha showed up with food for everyone. They shooed the Murphys out of the room, insisting they take a break to eat something other than hospital food, and sat with Evan at Connor’s bedside. 

“It’s not right,” Gladys said, her characteristic no-nonsense voice noticeably absent. She sounded worried. “He’s too young for this.” 

Martha nodded in agreement. She reached out and held Connor’s hand tightly, holding it in one hand and patting it with the other. Something about the act made Evan want to cry. 

“How are you holding up?” Gladys asked Evan. 

“Doing my best,” Evan said, feeling the sudden weight behind the words. He was exhausted. Utterly beat. But he couldn’t leave Connor. He just couldn’t. “It… I know it means a lot that you’d come.”

“Of course dear,” Martha said as if Evan was being ridiculous. 

“I told Leslie I’ll pick up a few hours this week,” Gladys said. “To help out with the store. Cover lunches, work the register for a few hours so everyone gets a break. Keep things running smoothly. She said you’ve been handling the bookkeeping and all of the bills from here.”

“Oh,” Evan said, surprised that Leslie even knew that. He hadn’t been able to sleep much, so he’d run the numbers for the month for Connor and put in a supply order. “Yeah I… I helped him set up all of that so. It’s not like…. It’s not a big deal.”

“Kind of you to do.” Gladys gave him a pale smile. “I”m happy to help with that. If you need it.”

“Thank you. I just… I don’t want to let him down,” Evan said quietly. 

“I know dear.”

Visiting hours ended at nine, and Cynthia insisted that she be the one who stayed with Connor that night. Evan went back to his own apartment for the first time in days because he was running out of clothes to keep at Connor’s place. He pulled on his pajamas with numb fingers and habitually went to take his meds… Only realize he’d left them at Connor’s apartment. Shit. He hadn’t even realized. 

He’d swing by and take them in the morning. 

On his way back to the hospital. 

Fuck. 

Evan crawled into bed, exhausted, certain he would fall asleep immediately because it had been such a taxing few days. He closed his eyes and…

Nothing happened. 

Just. 

Nothing. 

He rolled over, restless and tried again. 

And again. 

He just laid there, listening to the ticking of the clock in the living room as it seemed to grow louder and louder. Listening to the increasing volume of his heart beating in his chest, his blood pumping in his veins, and what if Connor stopped breathing, what if he stopped breathing, stopped existing, what if he died and Evan was here just trying and failing to sleep. 

He got out of bed. Called the hospital for an update. 

“No change. He’s stable for now. Still hasn’t woken up.”

Evan hung up, feeling a sudden swell of anger inside of him and hurled his phone to the floor. He went into his bedroom, pulled on a pair of jeans, grabbed his keys and cigarettes and stomped out of the apartment and up the stairs and up onto the roof. Once there, Evan screamed. He just screamed until his throat hurt, until it felt like he was being ripped apart from his vocal cords. 

He wiped his face. Smoked a cigarette, sitting on a bench in the middle of the roof, not daring to get any closer to the side. 

He felt just. 

Overwhelmingly, stupidly, angry. Angry at the situation, at himself… at Connor. 

At Connor who swore, who promised not to leave… Who wasn’t here and Evan fucking needed him. He needed him and Connor was gone and Evan didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do. 

Really, what the fuck was he supposed to do? 

This didn’t happen. People didn’t have appendectomies and then fall into comas. People didn’t babble in languages they didn’t speak and then not wake up. 

People didn’t die twenty times and keep coming back…

What the fuck was he supposed to even do?

Evan wearily headed back inside. Retrieved his phone from the floor. No news. It was just after three in the morning. 

Fuck it. 

Evan poured himself a drink. 

Then another. 

Connor didn’t like him drinking alone, and Evan really hadn’t done it since he’d given himself alcohol poisoning. Never more than one drink at least. 

But he needed to shut his brain up for a while. 

So he had a third drink. Then a fourth. 

And suddenly sleep wasn’t so hard to come by.

Connor spends the remainder of his week and a half in the psych ward more on edge than ever and it’s all Jenny Parson’s fault. 

Knowing what he knows about death loops and the utterly bizarre methods one can find themselves dying, he’s just hyper-aware of absolutely everything that could possibly happen to Jenny, and possibly him. 

The building could explode in some freak accident. They could choke on their medication. On their food. They could trip in the shower. Someone else could stab them by accident or something like that. 

And that’s just the method side of things. Connor doesn’t know if he’s going to have to watch Jenny die or if he’ll die at the same time as her, and even if he does die at the same time as her, he doesn’t know what that means. 

He doesn’t know if dying in a freak accident will send him back to where he’s supposed to be or just trap him in yet another loop, here in a completely different universe. 

And what if he gets stuck in a loop and so does Evan, except Evan’s dealing with it alone back in the real reality, he’s just dying over and over again alone, without Connor to help him?

Or maybe he’s dying and dying and dying over and over again with that first Connor, the Connor who doesn’t know him, the Connor who doesn’t have their history, the Connor who belongs in this world. 

Maybe they’re falling in love. 

Maybe Evan’s with the other Connor and because they’re bonded by disaster and confusion and dying over and over and over again, Evan doesn’t even care that it’s not him, it’s not the right Connor, all he cares about is that he’s got someone, because this Connor, this Connor left him. 

There’s just no way to know. 

No way to know at all. 

But the days go by, and neither he nor Jenny drop dead. 

It’s incredibly fucking stressful being so on edge, but at the same time, he’s bored out of his mind. 

Connor’s mom visits every day and offers to take him back home when he gets out of the psych ward, which is… really fucking tempting, honestly. 

He could do with just being looked after by his mom for a while. 

Except that he needs to figure out how to get back to his universe, and he sure as hell isn’t going to figure anything out back home. 

Andi visits near the end of his stay, and she’s quieter than usual, but she offers to pick him up when he’s released and take him back to their apartment. She also tells him she’s gotten in touch with Gladys at The Little Book Nook and told her that Connor isn’t well, that he’s in hospital, that he’ll be in touch when he’s ready to return to work. 

That’s something, at least. 

He still has a job. 

They make it past Tuesday, and Jenny comments that this is the longest she’s lived by far. She seems surprised, but not convinced it’s all over, which Connor thinks is wise. 

The universe is still mysterious and arbitrary and likes to fuck people over. 

Connor had though, perhaps naively, that the whole reason he and Evan had died and died and died is because they were supposed to be together. They’d missed their shot in high school, all of the moments where they could have connected, and the universe had decided that enough was enough, that it was going to force them together by whatever means necessary. 

And they had saved each other. 

They had stayed together. Become friends. Had a lot of sex. 

Fell in love. 

Now Evan is the most important person in Connor’s life, and Connor is trapped in a universe where Evan is dead, and the universe is keeping them apart and he wants to scream and yell and cry and rage and punch a black hole and fix this, he wants to fix this, he desperately wants to fix this. 

But he’s in the psych ward, and there’s not much he can do from here. 

So he needs to wait. 

He needs to get out. 

Finally, finally it’s Sunday, a week after Jenny arrived in the ward, and they’re letting Connor go home. 

Since Jenny checked herself in, they’re letting her check herself out, too. 

When Andi comes to pick up Connor, Jenny’s waiting with her, and both women’s eyes widen in recognition. 

“Jenny, oh my god.”

“Andi? Holy shit, no way!”

They exchange a kiss that’s slightly too long to be platonic if this were anyone but Andi. Connor really shouldn’t be surprised that, apparently, Jenny and Andi know each other. 

And, if he’s not mistaken, have had sex. 

Andi is on frighteningly good terms with almost everyone she’s ever slept with. 

“How do you guys know each other?” Jenny asks, looking between Andi and Connor. 

“We’re roommates,” Andi says, giving Connor a tentative smile. 

“And friends,” Connor feels compelled to add, and Andi’s smile turns into something real. 

It’s probably the first time Connor’s actually called Andi his friend in this universe. 

That’s so fucked up. 

So fucking fucked up. 

“Do you need a ride?” Andi asks Jenny, and soon the three of them are climbing into the back of Andi’s VW Beetle, a car Connor always forgets she owns because she very rarely uses it. 

Andi’s talking a mile a minute about something and Jenny’s joining in, and without Connor even realizing what’s going on, they’re leaving the city, driving for nearly an hour until they’re at this kind of sketchy looking diner on the outskirts of town. 

Okay, then. 

“We used to come here all the time,” Jenny reminisces. “Do they still make that gumbo?”

“Sure do,” says Andi cheerfully. They sit in a booth and look at the menu and Connor’s hit with the feeling that if he’s going to survive in this universe, he’s really going to have to get used to just rolling with whatever the fuck is happening. 

When the waitress comes over, Connor wants to order scrambled eggs but he can’t bring himself to do it. 

It’s not the same without Evan here to give him hell. 

Instead, he orders the gumbo the other two have been raving about and a cup of coffee. 

When the waitress leaves, Andi pulls a thick wad of paper out of her bra and hands it to Connor. 

“What’s this?” he asks. 

Andi looks at Jenny, a little nervously, then back at Connor. “We can talk about it at home. It’s… something you said before you… I did a little research.”

“You researched alternate universes?” asks Jenny, eyes wide. 

Andi looks genuinely surprised. “You talked about it with Jenny?”

Connor considers his options, but before he can say anything, Jenny jumps in. 

“You’re the most open-minded person I know, Andi, so I’m going to be real with you. I got stuck in a death loop, and Connor’s from the future in an alternate version of reality.” 

Andi just stares at both of them for a long moment. 

Long enough for everyone’s drinks to arrive. 

The three of them sit there in awkward silence for what feels like forever, drinking whatever it is they’d ordered and not talking to each other. 

“Okay,” says Andi finally. She looks at Connor. “What I found in that article… I wasn’t sure about it, but I didn’t want to rule it out completely, and now that you’ve…” She sighs. Stirs her tea. Looks at Connor and Jenny again. “Can you tell me the whole story? From the beginning? Maybe we can figure out what the fuck is going on.”

Chapter Text

Evan woke up to his phone buzzing and buzzing. His head throbbed distantly and he blinked at the harshness of the light in the room. 

Zoe was calling him. 

And it was one in the afternoon. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

He’d been asleep for like ten hours. 

Fuck.

Evan answered the call, his voice coming out ragged and rough when he said, “Hello?”

“Oh thank god,” Zoe’s voice sounded relieved. “I was starting to worry.”

“Sorry I had a hard time sleeping last night I must have slept through my alarm… Did something happen?”

Zoe sighed. “No. Not really. Uh. Connor spiked a fever overnight, but he’s fine now.”

“Is he…?” Evan didn’t dare to ask. He hoped she’d say Connor was asking for him. He hoped she would say he was making jokes about how worried they’d all been. 

“Still out,” Zoe said, her voice gentle. “I. Sorry, I think I’m just… full of worst-case scenarios right now? I guess I just worried that you… That you might not be okay.”

“I’m spectacular,” Evan muttered, irritable. “Look, let me grab a shower and I’ll be there soon -”

“Maybe you need a day off,” Zoe said. “Take care of things at home. I know this has been a lot for you.”

“I’m off work. I should… I need to be there.”

Zoe cleared her throat. “I’m going back to work on Monday,” She said, her voice no-nonsense and leaving little space for debate. “I… I need. My clients need… It’s just. I need something to be normal.”

“Yeah,” Evan said. He couldn’t hide the betrayal in his voice, but it wasn’t fair to even be upset. He had worked the first two days of all of this mess. He couldn’t begrudge Zoe trying to hold onto her job. 

“Look, I’m not. This isn’t me giving up.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to think -”

“I don’t,” Evan said sharply. “I get it. Working can… help.”

“Yeah,” Zoe said gently. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I needed to get up anyway,” Evan said. “I… Are your parents still there?”

Zoe huffed softly. “They’re off in some stairwell arguing, probably. They’ve been at each other’s throats all day today. Dad wants to take Connor to a hospital closer to home, but mom won’t hear it.”

Evan felt like he might be sick. “And where do you fall?”

“I don’t get a vote,” Zoe said, her voice bitter. “I might as well not even be here…” She laughed hollowly. “I don’t think they should move him. Obviously. The possible complications of transporting someone in a coma that far?”

“Yeah.” Evan picked idly at his cuticle. It started to bleed. 

Zoe started to say something about how they were basically trying to give Connor, like, meth when Evan heard someone pounding on his door. “Hang on someone’s at my door.”

“Shit,” Zoe said. “I… Fuck, I was supposed to call her if I heard from you… Don’t be mad.”

“What?”

“Sabrina and Graham came to the hospital to bring us food this morning,” Zoe said. “And I was freaking out because I hadn’t heard from you and… She said she might come to check on you.”

Evan groaned. “How did she even get into the building?” He muttered. “I’ll call you back.”

“I’m sorry again,” Zoe said. 

Evan hung up, then headed to the door and pulled it open. Sabrina was standing in the doorway, looking pale and angry. Behind her, like a gangly pale shadow, was Graham, wearing a deep frown.  “I’ve been calling you for two hours,” Sabrina said, shoving inside. “What the fuck, Ev? You can’t fucking disappear when your boyfriend is in a fucking inexplicable coma! You scared the shit out of me and Zoe. I called your fucking mom.”

“You called my mom?” Evan snapped. He held the door open for Graham, who looked extremely uncomfortable about being at Evan’s apartment. “Don’t call my fucking mom, Sabrina. You know she freaks out about this kind of thing.”

“Yeah, and she’s seriously thinking about showing up and dragging your ass home,” Sabrina barked. “Disappearing when your boyfriend is in a coma, for fuck’s sake.”

“I was sleeping!” Evan shouted. 

“This place is nice,” Graham said quietly. “I like the… curtains…”

“They’re my roommate’s,” Evan said shortly, rounding on Sabrina. “You cannot just show up and talk to me like this.”

“Fucking watch me,” Sabrina shouted, stomping into Evan’s kitchen. Evan and Graham exchanged a look, and Evan followed her. 

“What are you doing?” 

“You have no food here,” Sabrina said, her voice accusing. “Have you been eating?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, things have been kind of fucked up,” Evan said. “Forgive me for not taking the time to go shopping .”

“You’re a fucking lawyer who makes twice what I do, I have a feeling you could figure out grocery delivery!” Sabrina shouted, and she was opening random cabinets now. 

“Babe, maybe… we talked about this on the way over,” Graham said quietly. “I thought we decided that approaching this calmly was better-”

“Great,” Evan said, angrier now. “Great, Sabrina, you the two of you are just, what, brainstorming what kind of a mess I’m going to be?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Graham said, looking alarmed. 

“Yeah, dumbass. We did because I had a feeling when we got here I’d find…” She reached into the recycling bin and unearthed an empty bottle of vodka. “This?”

Evan felt like screaming. “I’ve had that for fucking weeks . What is the matter with you?”

“I am terrified you’re going to do something stupid because Connor isn’t around to stop you!”

Evan felt like he had been punched. 

Graham looked gobsmacked. 

Sabrina however, looked horrified. “Fuck I… That’s not what I…” Her bottom lip started to quiver. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I just… Are you okay?”

Evan sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m… I mean. No. I’m not okay. I just. I’m as okay as I can be?”

Graham looked massively uncomfortable. “I… Babe, maybe I should go.”

“You don’t have to go,” Evan and Sabrina both said at once. 

“I… you two. You need to talk. I’ll just. Call me if you need anything, yeah?” Graham kissed Sabrina’s cheek, clapped Evan on the shoulder, and then he left. 

Evan and Sabrina stared at each other. “I’m sorry,” Sabrina said. 

“Me too,” Evan said, sighing. “Also sorry about… Graham.”

Sabrina shrugged. “He’ll get over it.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry I came in like that, I just… panicked.”

Evan nodded. “I just. I’ve been tired. Haven’t slept much. Slept through my alarms. I’m sorry.”

Sabrina nodded. “And you didn’t spend all night in here drinking alone.”

Evan shook his head. 

Sabrina gave him a half-smile. “Want to get trashed?”

Evan considered this. “Yeah. Why not?”

“Well, it’s been two weeks since I died,” Jenny says matter-of-factly. She’s lounging on the couch in Connor and Andi’s living room, smoking a joint that Andi’s just handed her, and she’s looking at the wall with interest. 

The wall which is, for all intents and purposes, a record of everything they know about death loops and alternate realities. 

After Connor and Jenny had explained what they knew about the whole situation to Andi at the diner, she’d jumped into action, which had involved her buying a fuckton of chalkboard paint, painting an entire wall with it, then using it as a really large blackboard to take notes. 

It’s been added to over the last week, with a whole section of ‘theories’ that mostly seem like plots for Jenny’s science-fiction novels. 

But it’s all they have. 

Everything they know. 

And no solid plan to get Connor back home. 

“Congratulations,” says Connor, trying not to sound bitter. “We seem to have solved your problem, at least.”

“Maybe Jenny meeting Connor was the key to breaking her death loops,” Andi suggests. 

It’s not entirely illogical, he supposes. 

It’s just…

That’s fucking great for Jenny, sure, but what about him?

“Maybe,” Connor concedes. “And… yeah, we never lasted this long when it happened to us, so… I think you’re out of the woods, Jenny.”

“Awesome,” says Jenny, sounding a little distracted. “Now we have to figure out why Connor’s stuck here and how to get him back to where he belongs.” She takes another hit of the joint, then passes it to Connor. “Obviously, I’m supposed to help somehow.”

“How do you figure that?”

Jenny just looks at Connor like he’s stupid. “Why would meeting you stop me from dying if I wasn’t meant to help?”

Connor doesn’t know if that really makes sense, but at this stage…

He needs all the help he can get. 

Connor takes a few hits, then lies back on the couch. He’d forgotten how comfortable this couch was. It’s been ages since he’s been at Andi’s. Most of the time Andi comes to visit him - shows up with food and weed and tries to convince Connor it’s fine to give Edgar catnip which is totally not just catnip, he knows her way too well for that. 

Fuck. 

“I miss my cat,” he announces, handing the joint to Andi. 

“You have a cat?” Andi asks, her eyes widening. “I love cats. We should get a cat.”

“I found him in an alleyway, just after Evan and I sorted our shit out and admitted we were in love,” Connor says, remembering. “His name is Edgar Allan Paw and he’s perfect and I miss him.” He takes another hit, then hands the joint to Andi, realizing to his horror that he might be tearing up. He blinks a few times, then continues. “Edgar was just… a really fucking good cat. He always made me feel like… I don’t fucking know, if I can keep a tiny furry creature alive, then maybe I’m going to be okay. When I found him he was so small and way too skinny. He looked like he hadn’t eaten for ages and… I was having a really fucking bad time with my mental health, and we just… we got better together.” He sniffs. “I miss him. I miss… everything.”

Andi moves to sit next to him. Throws her arm around his shoulder. “Hey,” she says, sounding more serious than usual. “You still have me, okay? I mean, I’m assuming we’re still friends in two years time.”

“We are,” Connor assures her. “You’re one of my best friends.” He lets out a sigh. “Fuck. Other universe you is probably worried about me. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Andi says, resting her head on Connor’s shoulder, then taking a hit of the joint. After a moment, she kisses Connor on the cheek, hands him the joint then gets up and heads over to the wall in a burst of energy. “Okay, so. I feel like we should bring in the big guns.”

“What big guns?” Connor asks. 

“My dad.”

Connor blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My dad,” Andi repeats, like Connor should already know this. “He’s a physicist. Maybe he knows someone who specializes in this kind of thing.”

“No offense,” Connor says slowly, “but I feel like any scientist worth their salt is going to just laugh when we tell them about this.”

Andi crosses her arms defiantly. “Actually, any scientist worth their salt should have an open fucking mind. And my dad definitely does. I could call him and get him to meet with us. Talk about what’s happening and see if he’s got any theories, or knows anyone who could help.”

Jenny looks at Connor and kind of shrugs. “Look, what do you have to lose?”

“I could get stuck in the psych ward again.”

“I’m not going to let that happen,” Andi says firmly. “You’re not crazy, Connor.”

Connor takes a hit of the joint. “Okay, but… you don’t actually know that.”

Andi just looks at him. “Yeah, I do.”

“Really?” Connor asks. “Because I gotta be honest… I’m not even sure that I’m not crazy at this point.” He lets out a shaky breath and a breathful of smoke. “I… I could have imagined all of this. It’s possible I don’t… this was all some kind of really fucking intense dream, I’m hallucinating, or I’m dead and this is… I don’t know what’s real. I don’t know for sure that I’m not crazy.”

Andi stops. Moves back to where he’s sitting on the sofa. Kneels down so she’s eye-level with him. 

“Connor. I believe that something unexplainable is happening to you,” she says, her voice gentle. “I’ve known you for a few years now, and the minute you woke up the day after your birthday, the moment I saw you, I could tell that something was different. I could sense it. And you were so upset, so freaked out, and I could tell something was wrong and I… I should have stopped Zoe from calling, I should have stopped her and just talked to you, I’m sorry.”

“No,” Connor replies wearily. “She wouldn’t have let you. She’s stubborn like that.”

“You felt different,” Andi continues, something serious on her face. “I could feel it. And after hearing what you said has happened, it makes sense, okay? This makes sense.”

“This makes no fucking sense, Andi.”

“I promise I’m going to do everything I can to get you home,” Andi says, reaching out and taking Connor’s hand, holding it tightly. “Okay? You are my friend. I’ve… fuck, babe, I’ve considered you family for years now, ever since you moved in.” She laughs a little. “Do you know how many people I saw for that room?”

“How many?”

“Thirty-three.”

Connor’s eyes widen. “Thirty-three?”

Andi nods and smiles. “Yeah, and I picked you. Out of thirty-three possible applicants, I picked you, because there was something about you that felt right.”

Connor thinks back to when he moved in with Andi. How he’d gone from living with his college roommate, to a guy who was possibly a serial killer, to a girl who cooked meth, and how when Zoe moved to New York he’d determined he had to get somewhere that wasn’t dangerous, just in case she ever wanted to visit, because he couldn’t expose his sister to that shit. 

Fuck, he had like… zero self-preservation instincts back then. Jesus Christ. 

And then he’d met Andi. Andi with her bright red afro, who smoked a lot of weed and painted a lot and answered the door topless when he came to visit and fed him garlic bread and asked him questions about books and…

Connor would be lying if he said that he’d felt some, like, instant connection to her. 

That he knew from the beginning they’d end up close. 

But he’d found her… interesting. 

Fucking weird, sure, but interesting, and she didn’t seem dangerous, like the other people he’d lived with.

So when she offered him the room, he’d taken it. 

He’d had no idea there’d been thirty-fucking-three applicants. 

No idea. 

He wonders if that’s something that’s unique to this universe. 

Maybe back home, it was different. 

He’ll have to ask if he gets home.

When he gets home. 

He’s going to get home. 

Andi’s promised she’ll help him. 

Connor’s known Andi for years now, and he knows that she doesn’t break her promises, but…

He doesn’t see how she’s going to keep this one. He honestly doesn’t. 

Chapter Text

“I hate gin,” Evan said to Sabrina after his third - no, fifth, definitely fifth - martini. They had made up a little makeshift bar on the roof, under the blotted out stars. They kept smoking, both of them, and it was making their voices rough and raspy. Sabrina was never really properly a smoker, but Evan was, and she decided it was rude to let him smoke alone. He appreciated it. It was nice not to have to be alone. 

But he hated gin. 

Sabrina shrugged. “Sorry. You wouldn’t come into the liquor store. Decisions needed to be made.”

“You know I hate gin,” Evan complained. “I’ve never liked gin. And I couldn’t go in there, because Connor and Andre went to Columbia together. There’s a story about a wheelchair and a drive-thru… Connor never actually told me the story and I keep thinking about it because… Well I don’t know how it ends. And if I went inside then Andre would ask how Connor is and I’d… I’d have to -” He couldn’t finish. 

“I know babe,” Sabrina said. She patted his knee awkwardly. She hadn’t called him “babe” since they dated. She was definitely drunk. “Sorry about the gin. I should have gotten vodka.”

“Whatever,” Evan mumbled. “Gin is just vodka that shipped next to an air freshener anyway.”

“What the fuck?” Sabrina giggled, drinking more. 

“It’s like. Vaguely pine-scented. Or whatever. Juniper… It takes like all. Bad.” He took another sip of his drink. “Connor says vodka doesn’t taste like anything.”

“Pfft, it tastes like fucking vodka,” Sabrina said. Evan laughed at her. She looked at him, her eyes slightly narrowed. “Do you… do you ever like. Miss vaginas?”

“What?” Evan giggled. 

“Like. In a sex way? I don’t… I don’t get how being bi works.”

“Oh,” Evan said, shrugging. “I think it’s like… bacon?”

Sabrina wrinkled her nose. 

“Like, okay, so… Connor and Graham? They know me and you, we don’t eat pigs. So they… they buy turkey bacon. And it’s fucking delicious and whatever, and-and they’re happy. They’re happy with us so no bacon.”

“Right.”

“So like… not sleeping with people with vaginas is like. Bacon? Like. I know it is delicious, but I’d rather… keep my partner happy, you know? So I just. Have. Dick.” Evan laughed. “I’ve lost track of this metaphor, is dick turkey bacon here or am I?”

“You’re drunk,” Sabrina accused. 

“I believe that was the. Entire point.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess.” Sabrina took another drink. “But Graham and Connor go out and eat bacon without us,” She said suddenly. 

“Oh,” Evan said. “Fair point… maybe we should. Uh. Have pussy dates?” He cracked up laughing and so did Sabrina. “Nope nope too far too fucking far. Sorry. Nope, that’s inappropriate. Sorry.”

Sabrina wiped her eyes. “Seriously though. You’re… drunk.”

“Yes?”

“You used to be able to… to outdrink me. A lot.”

Evan shrugged. “My new meds make me a cheap date,” He said. “Because I take drugs now. And uh. I don’t usually. Drink this much anymore.”

“Good,” Sabrina said with a nod. “That’s… That’s good.”

“Graham hates me,” Evan said suddenly, remembering how uncomfortable Sabrina’s fiance looked when he was in the living room talking about curtains. “Did you tell him about my stupid pussy dates joke?”

“That was like… just now.”

“Oh right,” Evan said, confused. “Graham does not like me though. He definitely, definitely hates me.”

“He does not,” Sabrina said dismissively. “He just. He doesn’t get it you know?”

“Get what?”

“Us,” Sabrina said. “You and me. Me and you. We’re… we have a thing that is different than mine and Graham’s and yours and Connor’s and he doesn’t get it.”

“We don’t have a thing,” Evan said. “We’re friends. Best friends.”

“Yeah because most people are besties with their long term exes.”

“Well… most people. Are. Dumb. Or whatever,” Evan said. He sighed. “We are best friends, right? You’re not just saying that?”

“Yeah. We are.” Sabrina affectionately kicked him in the shin. “You’ve my very best friend. Best friend I’ve ever had.” 

Evan smiled, then rested his head briefly on Sabrina’s shoulder.  “Why aren’t I in your wedding then?” He asked stupidly. “Is it… is the ex thing?”

Sabrina sighed. “I… I worried it would upset Graham?”

“See? I told you he hates me.”

“He does not hate you, Ev, you’re just paranoid.”

Evan rolled his eyes. “Maybe I just hate Graham.”

“You do not hate Graham,” Sabrina said with a laugh. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I do, I think I really might,” Evan said, talking with his hands. He sat up straighter. “You like him. Connor likes him. My mom even likes him. Everyone I love likes him and… I hate him.”

“You’re so fucking jealous,” Sabrina said, laughing, “For the dumbest reasons.”

“Yeah,” Evan said. “I mean he… what? Works in finance or whatever. He’s boring. He’s… mashed potatoes. Or mayonnaise. Cottage cheese?” 

“Or like… Cool Whip,” Sabrina said with a giggled. “Or… a marshmallow.”

“Those… they’re not kosher. Gelatin.” Evan hiccuped, reaching for the bottle of gin and taking a big swallow. He fucking hated gin. Gin was horrible. This was horrible. Everything was just… horrible. Connor was in a fucking coma. He was in a fucking coma and he wasn’t here, he wasn’t with Evan, and it was horrible. 

“You okay?”

Evan felt very far away from Sabrina now and it felt extremely isolating and excruciatingly lonely. He felt like his heart had climbed into his throat. Like he was choking on it. “I… I’m scared he won’t wake up.”

“Oh Ev,” Sabrina said, looking sad. “He’s gonna… There’s no way he won’t wake up. He’s strong, and young, and healthy.”

“Appendixes burst all the time,” Evan slurred. “This doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen but it did. It’s impossible but it happened. He might not wake up.”

“You can’t think like that.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t wake up,” Evan said sadly, lighting another cigarette. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Don’t think about it then,” Sabrina said. “You need to stay positive.”

“How can I stay fucking positive? My boyfriend is in a goddamn coma!”

Sabrina looked very young then. And very sad. And very very scared. “I know, sweetheart. I know. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not.” He wiped his face roughly. 

“I wish I could help.”

But she couldn’t. And she never could, that was the problem. She looked like a fucking fairy princess but there was no wand. There was no magic spell. Sabrina Patel was just a girl, just a person, and she couldn’t fix him or fix his life or fix the fact that Evan broke everything he touched, everything he loved. She couldn’t fix it and Evan hated her for it because it didn’t stop her from trying. She kept trying and it was maddening, infuriating, that she wouldn’t give up on him. 

Evan stood up unsteadily, dragging on his cigarette and exhaling a cloud of smoke into the humid summer air. There weren’t any stars. They were all blurred out by light pollution and clouds. It felt like it might storm. He couldn’t see the stars. An environmental lawyer who hadn’t seen stars in years. It reminded him of jumping, the blurred out stars, and his stomach lurched violently.  “I don’t like being up here,” He said to Sabrina. 

“What?”

“I can’t be here. I need to… I can’t be on the roof.”

“So we’ll… go downstairs,” Sabrina said, blinking, confused. “Come on.”

“He’d be upset I was up here,” Evan said. 

“Who? Connor?”

Evan nodded. He felt sort of sick to his stomach now, woozy and unreal, like he was seasick in his own skin, like he was moments from tipping off the side of reality. When was the last time he ate anything? How much had he drunk? When had he gone up to the roof? And why?  “He doesn’t… he doesn’t want me to come up here.” 

“Why not? He afraid of heights?”

“Don’t tell him okay? He’ll be upset.” Evan shook his head. “I need to get down from here.” He started to stumble toward the door, the exit, when Sabrina’s face went deadly pale. 

“Why the fuck would you say we could come up here when I asked?” She shouted, clearly upset. “I forgot, I forgot, I fucked up… I. Shit. How did I fuck this up?”

“I… I’m sorry,” Evan said, slurred. “I come up here sometimes. He doesn’t… Connor doesn’t like it so I… Sabrina, I need to get down from here,” He said. “I need to get down from the roof.”

“Alright,” Sabrina said, collecting their things and coming to grab him by the elbow. “Alright, we’re leaving. Shit. I’m sorry. Fuck. Fuck.”

She loaded him into the elevator and jabbed the button for his floor. Evan blinked at her slowly, his head not quite screwed on right. The flickering fluorescent lighting gave Sabrina’s face a cartoonishly skeletal quality and Evan stared as they slowly made their way down. “How do you know?” He asked her, and his voice was desperate, pleading.

“Know what?”

And Evan laughed, sort of half bitterly. “How do you know that… this is. That any of this is real?”

“What?”

“Like. That you’re a… a real person? That what’s happening to you is… is real life. Not a bad dream? That you’re not imagining it?”

Sabrina stared at him, her mouth open, her eyes confused and big. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Evan said, stage whispering dramatically. Sabrina nodded, so he leaned in close to her ear. “Sometimes… Sometimes I don’t think any of this is real. I don’t think I’m real. I think I’m… I’m dead and this is just. All the neurons in my brain firing at once. Telling me stories.”

Sabrina looked sick. “You’re not dead.”

“My brain could just be saying that,” He pointed out. “I could be. This could be the… Matrix or something. Or I could have died. I could have killed myself two years ago and not noticed.” He swallowed uncomfortably. “Sabrina, how do you know I’m not dead?”

“I won’t let you be dead,” Sabrina said stubbornly. Then she reached out and violently pinched his nipple through his shirt. 

“Ow, Sabrina, what the hell?” It really fucking hurt. 

“See? You felt that. You’re real.”

That did make sense, in a sort of drunkenly logical way. But the problem, Evan thought, was that he didn’t want to be real. Not now. Not like this. 

“Don’t talk like this,” Sabrina said with a watery smile. “I’m not letting you not be real.”

Evan swayed on the spot. He’d had so much to drink… 

This is always what it came back to with Sabrina. 

He tried to explain what was wrong with him, and she told him that he was wrong. And he might be, he might be wrong, he might be totally and completely wrong… but she never listened. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” he told her plainly as she helped him through the door to his apartment. 

Sabrina frowned. “Don’t puke on me.”

Evan weirdly felt like crying because, like. Connor would have just said he was going to be okay. He’d have gotten Evan a glass of water, taken care of him, and Sabrina… didn’t do that never did he never let her… 

He stumbled his way to the bathroom and threw up until he felt the light around him fading. 

Chapter Text

Connor’s not expecting to open the apartment door in late March and find Sabrina Patel.

Not even a little bit.

She looks… wrecked. Tired and pale and like she’s been crying. Her mascara is running, her nose is pink and her eyes are a little unfocused. She’s in a bright yellow coat he remembers seeing her in when she stood at Evan’s grave and what looks like a cocktail dress under it, teetering on high heels. Her hair looks like it was probably pinned up elaborately earlier in the evening but is now a mess and she smells strongly of alcohol. 

It’s nearly midnight. 

It’s nearly midnight, and Connor knows for certain that when they were 27, Sabrina Patel didn’t live in New York City yet. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, as gently as he can.

“You know who I am?” she asks, chin jutted out defiantly, eyes narrowed.

“Sabrina Patel. We went to school together.” He pauses, trying to figure out what else to say. “You’re friends with my sister.”

“I am,” she replies, looking at him with this horrible dead look on her eyes. “She gave me your address. I need to talk to you.”

There’s a churning in his stomach. 

He knows exactly what she wants to talk about. 

He lets her inside, intending to bring her into the living room, until he realises that she’ll notice the wall, which is now full of increasingly detailed notes about parallel universes from the many, many books Connor has been reading on the subject. 

And notes about how Evan killed himself. 

About how Connor and Evan died together, over and over and over. 

She can’t see that. 

Sabrina absolutely cannot see that. 

Connor leads her to the kitchen. Gestures for her to sit on the still by the kitchen island. 

Pulls a bottle of rum from the shelf and goes to pour them both a glass, then thinks better of it and grabs a soda from the fridge for Sabrina. 

More alcohol probably isn’t going to help here. 

It takes a moment for Sabrina to say anything. 

When she does, her voice is so bitter it feels like a slap in the face. 

“Zoe said some bullshit about how when you found out Evan was dead, you freaked out, because you and he were…” She looks at Connor, her expression challenging. “She didn’t say exactly, but she said that you knew each other. That you cared about him.” She ignores the soda Connor’s put in front of her and glares at him. “I want to know what the fuck was going on between the two of you.”

“I don’t really see how that’s any of your business,” Connor replies before he can stop himself. 

It’s absolutely the wrong thing to say, he knows it the minute the words leave his mouth. Her eyes flash with anger and she goes to say something, but he cuts her off before she can. 

“We were sleeping together,” he says, going with the story he’d told the therapist in the psych ward. “We ran into each other at the liquor store just before Thanksgiving, remembered each other from school and… started talking. It was… it was just a casual thing.”

“Evan doesn’t do casual,” Sabrina spits out. “I think you’re full of shit.”

Connor actually has to laugh at that. “He fucked pretty much his entire law school class after you guys broke up. I’d say he definitely does casual.”

Just not with me, he thinks to himself. 

Nothing between us was ever casual. 

“So you know we dated,” Sabrina says, like it’s some kind of victory. “Did he talk about me?”

He doesn’t know what response she wants. 

What response is going to hurt her the least. 

“Sometimes,” Connor tells her after a moment. “He said… he said you were friends. Before you were together, you were one of his best friends.”

“We were,” Sabrina says, her voice quiet. She blinks a few times. 

Connor has no idea what he’s going to do if Sabrina starts crying. 

He and Sabrina, the real Sabrina… they’re friends. Not close friends, not the way Sabrina and Evan are friends, but they’re friends. Sabrina and Evan, the real Sabrina and the real Evan… their friendship is something Connor still doesn’t know he totally gets, but he knows it’s important to Evan, the real Evan, and he’ll never stand in the way of it. 

Fuck, Connor’s friends with Sabrina’s fiance Graham. In an actual, genuine way. They hang out a lot, a lot more than Connor ever expected when Graham first rocked up to The Little Book Nook, asking to put in an order for some Spanish fiction, and Connor had, on a complete whim, asked him if he wanted to grab coffee or something. 

He’d wanted Graham not to feel left out when the four of them hung out, so he’d figured he may as well get to know the guy. 

And. 

Well. 

Graham’s cool, for a straight person. He’s well-read, surprisingly funny and there’s this kind of awkwardness to him that makes Connor feel understood, a little. 

Connor definitely misjudged him when he wrote him off as a Wrestling Ken Doll. 

Sabrina lets out this harsh laugh. “This is bullshit,” she says with a sneer. “You don’t know him. You didn’t know him in high school and you don’t fucking know him now. You’re full of shit and you’re taking advantage of him dying like some kind of sick tragedy perv and it’s not okay, it’s not fucking okay for you to be acting like you knew him, acting like he meant anything to you-”

“I know him,” Connor interrupts, feeling his heart start to race. “I know him, don’t you fucking dare try to tell me I don’t-”

“When’s his birthday?”

“April 13th.”

Sabrina glares at him. “Who are his parents?”

“Heidi Hansen and Carl Balls,” Connor replies immediately. “Heidi insisted she take his last name when he was born because she’s a nice enough person not to want to saddle a kid with the last name Balls.”

“Fine,” Sabrina says, looking less sure of herself but still clearly pissed off. “What’s his Hebrew name?”

It takes a moment for Connor to remember, because he’s only ever heard it mentioned once. 

Sabrina looks like she’s won, looks triumphant, and it’s pissing Connor off. 

“Oren,” he says after a moment. “It means pine tree. He… he thought it was funny, kind of.”

Sabrina’s eyes fill with tears. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, then closes it. 

“Sabrina,” Connor says carefully. “I swear, I know him.”

Sabrina blinks. 

Blinks again. 

Thick tracks of mascara roll down her face as she closes her eyes tightly. 

Part of Connor wants to offer her a tissue, or a hug, or do something, because even though this isn’t the Sabrina he knows, the Sabrina he’s actually friends with now, it’s still a version of someone he cares about, someone he considers a friend, and it’s obvious that she’s in pain. 

If it’s anywhere close to the deep, deep sadness Connor carries around with him every day…

“You knew him.”

Connor nods. “I did.”

Sabrina stares at him. “Then why the fuck did you let this happen?”

Connor’s heart leaps into his throat. “You think I let this happen?”

“If you know all that, then you knew him,” she spits out. “He let you in, he trusted you, and you let him kill himself? Fuck you, Connor!”

“I fucking tried, okay!” Connor yells. “I tried so fucking hard, you have no fucking idea how hard I tried, fuck you!”

“I know what you did in high school,” Sabrina hisses. “I know that you slit your fucking wrists in high school, your sister told me. Did you tell Evan about it? Did you put the idea in his fucking head?”

Connor feels those words like a slap in the face. 

He hadn’t…

He guesses he’d kind of known that Sabrina knew something about his attempt in high school, but he didn’t know that she knew the details. 

“This is your fault,” Sabrina says, her voice caustic. “It’s your fucking fault, if you were with him then it’s your fault, he was your responsibility and this is on you!”

“It would make you feel better if it were my fault, wouldn’t it?” Connor says, his heart beating too fast, ringing in his ears. “Because if it’s my fault, then you can just ignore the fact that he threw himself off the fucking roof of his apartment the day you announced you were engaged, fuck you!”

They stare at each other for what feels like a long time. 

Connor feels a buzzing in his head, like everything’s vibrating, like he’s taken a bite into aluminium foil, and this is wrong, this is wrong, he shouldn’t have said that but he can’t take it back, he…

There’s a knock on the door. 

Then another. 

Connor can hear a voice from outside. 

“Sabrina? Sabrina, are you in there?”

Sabrina’s eyes widen. Connor closes his eyes for a moment. 

Rubs his face. 

Then goes to the front door and opens it to see Graham standing there in a tux, looking pale and stony-faced. 

He meets Connor’s eye, no trace of recognition in his face.

“I’m looking for my fiancée,” he says, his tone icy. 

“I’m here,” Sabrina says from behind Connor. She pushes past him and heads straight to Graham, her cheeks pink, her face still covered in mascara tracks.

“Are you okay?” Graham asks Sabrina, sounding scared and angry and relieved all at the same time. “You just left, I had no idea where you went, I called your friend Zoe-”

“Who has got to stop just giving out my address, by the way,” Connor can’t help but add. 

“Fuck you,” Sabrina says, her voice shaky. “Asshole.”

“Have a nice night,” Connor says, then shuts the door on both of them. 

He waits until he hears them walking down the stairs, then curls up on the floor by the front door and falls apart. 

Evan woke up on the bathroom floor of his apartment, his head cradled on a towel. His head was spinning and pulsing painfully and Evan regretted it the second he opened his eyes because his stomach gave a violent lurch. 

He lunged for the toilet, barely able to get his head over the bowl before he threw up. 

What the fuck had he been drinking last night?

He was sick again. 

Gin, apparently. 

Evan hated gin. 

Fuck. 

He threw up again and again until all he was throwing up was stomach bile. 

He wearily reached his hand up to flush the toilet, his movements wooden and slow. His arms felt sort of shaky and when Evan tried to push himself up onto his feet, his legs wouldn’t hold him up. He sunk back to the floor, his hand over his face. 

Fuck. 

He’d gotten really drunk. 

On gin, apparently. 

And now he lived in this bathroom. 

Evan tried to take a few deep steadying breaths, but when he did he could smell the lingering scent of vomit and cigarettes and it sent him diving for the toilet again. 

A moment later, the bathroom door opened slowly, illuminating the dimness. “Hey champ,” A voice said. Alex’s voice. Alex…was good. She was safe. “Looks like you had a bit of a party last night.”

“I don’t have alcohol poisoning,” Evan said stupidly. 

“I know you don’t, bud,” Alex said. She helped him to his feet. “Rinse your mouth out and we’ll get you to bed, okay?”

“Can’t brush your teeth after you puke,” Evan mumbled, nodding to himself. 

“It erodes the enamel, yeah,” Alex said, still keeping a watchful eye on him. Evan rinsed his mouth out with mouthwash, and Alex steered him into his bedroom. On the way they passed Sabrina, who was lying with her head in Mattie’s lap and crying. 

“She okay?” Evan asked, confused, his head spinning from turning it too fast. “I didn’t… Did I upset her?”

“She’ll be fine,” Alex said gently. “She’s worried about you. About Connor.”

Fuck. 

Connor . 

For a few minutes, Evan… hadn’t thought about his boyfriend Connor who was in a coma after a routine appendectomy. He hadn’t thought about Connor for a few minutes. A few glorious, mostly painless minutes. Sure his head hurt and his throat and his stomach clenched painfully but the giant hole where his heart was supposed to be didn’t ache as acutely. 

He hadn’t thought about Connor. 

He was a fucking monster. 

Connor was in a coma and Evan was drunk. He was an asshole, heartless, callous, he was worse than Larry Murphy, Larry Murphy wasn’t out partying while Connor was in a coma, what the fuck was the matter with him what the fuck what the fuck what was wrong with him whatthefuckwhatthefuck?

“Evan, you gotta breathe okay?”

He couldn’t. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

Maybe he was dying again. 

He realized, distantly, that death would be a relief. He wanted to die. He wanted that, he wanted it to stop. 

But he couldn’t breathe and it was just his fucking anxiety and Alex was talking to him, talking and talking, “I can’t give you any drugs when you’re this drunk, Evan, it would be too dangerous so I need you to count with me okay?”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t count or focus or remember numbers because he was dying and he was drunk and Connor was in a coma, the love of his life was in a coma and Evan was drunk and pathetic and disgusting and he had failed the man he loved he had failed him so hard a failure is a failure is a failure. 

“Shit, okay, okay, just come here,” Alex said, and she pulled Evan into an extremely tight hug, squeezing her long limbs around him like a snake winding around its prey. He tried to pull away. “It’s gonna feel worse at first,” she said, her voice still calm and gentle as Evan tried to struggle away. “It’s gonna feel worse at first, but then you’ll start to relax. To calm down. I’m compressing the sympathetic nervous system, I’m… Just don’t fight it. Don’t fight. Just… It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

He kept trying to struggle against her, his heart pounding too hard against his ribs, pain like any second now it would burst through the bones and escape, but slowly, agonizingly slowly, his heart started to slow. His pulse stopped racing. He could breathe normally, without gasping or gagging. Alex kept hugging him, talking to him quietly. “It’ll all be okay. All of it is gonna be okay.”

“I’m so tired,” Evan said when Alex let go of her vice grip on him. “I just want him back, Alex.”

“I know,” She said, looking sad. “I know you do.”

“I love him.”

“I know you do. He knows you do.” She smoothed back his hair, an oddly comforting mom-like gesture. “I’m going get you some water, okay? Then it’s off to sleep with you. You need to sleep. Alright?”

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

Andi’s dad is on a business trip in Europe, giving a lecture about… something in Berlin until the beginning of April. When he gets back to the States, he’s promised to stop by and talk to them, which is… something. 

In the meantime, Connor just has to go about life as usual. 

Life like it was two years ago. 

When he was a completely different person. 

He barely remembers his routines, barely remembers what it was like, but the fact that he’s been off work and in the hospital means that he can get away with forgetting things, at least a little. 

His first day back at The Little Book Nook is… incredibly surreal. 

He knows this place, inside and out. He knows how it works, how it runs. He knows suppliers and insurers and authors and schools and all these things he’s not supposed to know yet. 

He’s been to Gladys and Martha’s place for dinner more times than he can count, but in this universe, he’s on friendly but distant terms with them. 

In this universe, he barely knows Martha, and he only knows Gladys as his boss.

In his universe, Leslie is one of his closest friends, his second-in-command. He’s been training her up as assistant manager and she’s good, she’s really good. 

Right now, she’s the newest employee, and she barely knows him. 

She’s nice, sure. Polite. But she’s distant because they’re not close. 

It hurts. 

It hurts to be in the same room as someone he considers one of his closest friends and have them smile politely like he’s a loose acquaintance. 

Then of course, there’s Garrett. 

Fucking Garrett. 

Garrett, who was such an asshole, who quit without notice and fucked everything up and sent Connor into a spiral and was just… the fucking worst. 

He still has to work with Garrett. 

Connor’s grateful that Garrett is still a self-involved asshole, because he doesn’t seem to notice that Connor is just intensely pissed off that he has to work with him. Leslie, however, seems to have noticed his change in attitude, even though he’s struggling to be polite and professional, and is definitely paying attention. 

It does, however, seem to be having the effect of highlighting the fact that Garrett is a self-involved asshole. 

Garrett says something truly douchey to a customer about Voltaire and Connor can’t help but roll his eyes and Leslie catches his eye and smiles at him a little and he smiles back.

It’s something, Connor thinks. 

Near the end of March, Gladys asks Connor if he has a minute to talk. Connor braces himself, not sure what’s going to happen. They head into the storeroom and Connor worries for a moment that she’s going to fire his ass. 

“I wanted to check in,” she asks, in her usual no-nonsense tone of voice. “I know you’ve been unwell. How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay,” he assures her. “It’s, uh… I’m on a new medication, so that should… help.”

He is, in fact, on a new medication, which is making him itchy and a little tired, but it’s taking some of the edge of the fact that he’s sad all the time. 

He’s just… 

It’s like a heavy weight inside his chest that he has to carry everywhere he goes, the knowledge that in this universe, Evan is dead. 

That Evan killed himself. 

That Connor couldn’t stop him, because he wasn’t there. 

Except that he was, but he couldn’t stop him anyway. 

He was there, but he wasn’t there, and in the end, it didn’t matter, because whatever happened, wherever he was, whatever he saw, it didn’t make any difference. 

He’s still here, in another reality, where Evan is dead. 

Where Evan never knew him. 

Where Evan never loved him. 

“That’s good,” says Gladys, the no-nonsense tone of her voice softening a little. “That’s good, Connor. When your roommate told me what happened, I was… well, I thought about coming to visit, but I wasn’t sure if I would be overstepping.”

Connor’s… a little surprised. “Oh.”

“Don’t tell the others,” she says, a twinkle in her eye, “but you’re my favorite employee. Always have been.”

Connor thinks he might cry. He blinks a few times. “Thank you.” He clears his throat. “I… I really love working here. It’s… it’s important to me. This place is important to me.”

Gladys nods. “I know. I see that.” She sighs. “I know we’ve talked about this before and I know it’s a bad time, but… I just wanted you to know that if you were interested in the manager position, it’s still open to you. I know you have the publishing company, so I don’t want to push, but… I thought I would mention it.”

Connor blinks a few more times. 

The last thing he wants to do is let Gladys down. Any version of Gladys. 

He’s trying to get home. 

Trying to get to his reality. 

He shouldn’t… he shouldn’t take on more responsibility here if he knows he’s trying to leave. 

But he’s only working part-time, and there’s not much editing work to do, and he’s got too much free time. 

Too much time to sit with the aching sadness of missing Evan, the aching sadness of having lost the most important person in his life. 

It might take a while to figure out how to get back. 

He’s already been here for weeks. 

He’s not…

He’s not giving up on getting home, he isn’t, but at some point, he’s going to have to start living where he is. 

Because if he doesn’t, that aching sadness in his chest is going to crush him. Going to chew him up from the inside until there’s nothing left of him, and that’s…

Evan wouldn’t want that. 

He’d want him to fight. 

He’d want him to fight his way back, and if that means playing along, then that’s what he’s going to do. 

“Let me think about it for a few days,” Connor says finally. He offers Gladys a weak smile. “It’s not a no.”

Gladys smiles back. “Alright, dear. You just let me know.”

Evan woke up. His bedroom was way too bright, his head was pounding, and he felt exhausted and terrible.

But not as bad as Connor probably felt, Evan’s brain reminded him. Seeing as Connor was in a fucking coma. 

Connor was in a coma and Evan had the nerve to be bothered by a hangover. What a fucking joke. He was such a fucking asshole. 

Evan dragged himself out of bed and immediately into a cold shower, trying to wake himself up and relieve the headache building and building inside of his skull. He took some aspirin then brushed his teeth before heading into his bedroom to get dressed. 

Evan realized distantly that it was the weekend. 

Strange. 

Weird that time kept passing, crawling at some points and flying at others. He had an email from Jonathan in his inbox asking Evan when he was coming back to work. Evan ignored it. 

It was the weekend after all. He wasn’t on the clock. 

He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt. Grabbed a hoodie because the hospital got cold sometimes. Then sneakers. He grabbed his phone and started to head out the door when he noticed Sabrina sitting up on his sofa. She looked like hell. Her mascara was smudged and her hair was in a messy knot on the top of her head. 

“Uh. Hi?” He said. 

“Where are you going?” She asked. Her voice was really rough, like she had spent all night smoking cigarettes and drinking heavily… which Evan realized distantly that she had. 

“I’m going to the hospital.”

Sabrina frowned. “The hospital…?”

“To see Connor.”

She frowned more deeply. “Not to… Not to check yourself in?”

Evan stared at her. “Why would I do that?” Evan asked, bewildered. “I’m hungover but I’m fine.”

Sabrina looked close to tears. “No, you’re not fine,” She said, her voice still hoarse. 

“I am,” Evan said. “Really, I just… Look I told you I hate gin. I’m sorry I got sick.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Evan.” 

He didn’t follow. He just looked at Sabrina, waiting for her to give him some kind of explanation. “I don’t understand,” he said finally when she didn’t go on. 

“You don’t?”

“I… Look, I hate gin? I must have like… blacked out or something. I’m sorry. That was stupid of me. I’m fine.”

“No. You’re not.”

Evan rolled his eyes. “Sabrina, come on -”

“Ev. Last night you told me that if Connor didn’t wake up you were going to kill yourself.”

Evan felt like he had been punched. He took a step back, shaking his head violently because that wasn’t right. That wasn’t right. “No I… I wouldn’t say that.”

“You did,” She insisted. “You were sick, you were throwing up and you said he didn’t wake up that you’d kill yourself.”

“I wouldn’t have…” Evan said breathlessly. “I’d never say that. I wouldn’t.”

“You did,” Sabrina insisted, sounding more and more upset. “You did . You started talking about… about how you’d do it, if you’d cut your wrists or take pills or - it was like you were deciding between Thai or pizza for dinner or something, it was scary as hell. You -”

“No. I wouldn’t say that.” 

“You did. Ev, I swear -”

“He’d… Connor wouldn’t want that, I couldn’t do that to him.”

“You couldn’t do that to him?” Sabrina repeated dully. “To him ?”

Evan didn’t understand. His head really fucking hurt. “He saved my life, I -”

“What about me?” She asked, sounding wrecked. “You wouldn’t do that to Connor but you’d do it to me?”

Evan shook his head, confused and unsure. “I don’t… No! I’m not going to kill myself, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You told me you didn’t want to live without him, you said that to my face when you were throwing up! You did -”

“Everything okay?” Mattie had come out of her room, her hair wrapped in a silk scarf. She looked exhausted. “You’re yelling.”

“Evan’s going to the hospital to visit Connor,” Sabrina said, and her voice oozed contempt. 

“Alright?” Mattie said, not understanding. “How are you feeling?” She asked this of Evan. 

“Hungover but fine. Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Mattie and Sabrina looked at each other. “You were kind of a mess last night,” Mattie said. “You were really drunk and really sick. Alex started talking about bringing you to the ER to get fluids into you.”

Evan crossed his arms over his chest. Distantly he was aware that his nipple hurt which was… odd. “So? Obviously she didn’t so… I’m fine. Sorry I inconvenienced you.”

Mattie frowned, holding her hands up like “stop.” “Listen, you were… You had a panic attack, I think? Alex had to, like, wrestle you into your bed. You weren’t making a whole lot of sense. You said something about how you had died before? You went on about manholes for a few minutes and then started giggling… It was weird.”

Evan swallowed uncomfortably, and for a moment he feared he might be sick. But he breathed through his nose and tried to smile. “I’m just. It’s been a hard few days. I’m fine. Sorry. I was just drunk.”

“He threatened to kill himself,” Sabrina said to Mattie. “Last night, he did, I swear -”

“I would not have said that!” Evan insisted angrily. “I don’t just... I’d never say that.” 

“Are you calling me a liar?” Sabrina asked, sounding hurt. 

“No, I’m saying you were drunk and-and I was drunk and upset, and I’m sorry that I scared you, I am, but I would not have just, like, flippantly said I was going to die okay? I would never do that.”

Sabrina looked like she might cry, and Mattie looked conflicted. 

“I think you should call your therapist,” Sabrina said. “You’re right. It’s been a bad week. You need help.”

“Seriously?” Evan said, disgustedly shaking his head. “Are you fucking kidding me right now Sabrina? You always fucking do this. You can’t let me have one bad day without it being a referendum on how fucked up you think I am.”

“I’m scared for you.”

“Fuck you,” Evan said. He stormed out before she could stop him, his heart hammering too loudly in his chest, his breathing too fast, his head pounding pounding pounding. 

She was lying. She was fucking lying. He would never have said that… because he knew it would kill Connor if Evan was thinking shit like that again. It would kill him. 

And he was already in a coma. Fuck. 

Fucking hell. 

Chapter Text

Before Connor turned 27 (the first time), he’d gotten pretty good at dodging calls from his mom. 

Like, Olympic level, if not answering the phone when your mother called could be counted as an Olympic sport.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love his mom, or even that he didn’t want to talk to her. 

It was mostly that he just… didn’t know what to say. 

Didn’t know what to say to make her not worry, to convince her that he was fine, he was surviving, that all the bullshit he’d put her through was in the past and she could just cut him loose, let him go, that she was officially relieved of any responsibility for keeping him alive because he was a goddamn adult and she’d suffered enough. 

He’d just… kind of hoped that his mom would start to realize that he wasn’t her problem anymore. 

Because that’s all he thought he’d ever been to her. 

A problem. 

Something that needed solving, needed fixing. 

He’d put her through hell as a teenager. Nearly died. Destroyed his parents’ marriage, destroyed their family, destroyed everything and…

He’d just felt like the kindest thing he could do for his mom was keep his distance. 

And that meant dodging her calls. 

He remembers the first time he turned 27, before the loops started, that his mom had called to wish him happy birthday, first thing in the morning. 

He’d watched the phone ring. 

He hadn’t answered it. 

She’d called three times, then given up and sent him a text message, wishing him a happy birthday and telling him that she loved him. 

As soon as he got that text, he’d let out this breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, because if she’d texted, then she wasn’t likely to call again. 

He doesn’t think he’d replied to the text. 

Connor pulls his phone out of his pocket to see that no, he had not, in fact, replied to that text message. 

He stares at the conversation thread between him and his mom for what feels like a long time.

Then, completely out of nowhere, as if he’d somehow willed it into existence, his mom’s photo pops up on the screen, and he realizes that she’s calling him. 

He doesn’t something he wouldn’t have done before he died and died and died. 

He answers the call. 

“Hi mom.”

She sounds surprised. “Hey sweetie, I just wanted to check in. How are you doing?”

Connor considers. “I’m… I’m hanging in there,” he says, as honestly as he can. “I’m doing okay.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “That’s good,” she says, her voice warm. “Sometimes that’s the best we can do, yeah?”

He laughs a little. “Yeah.” 

Connor closes his eyes. 

Hopes that when he opens them again, he’ll be home. 

With a mom who knows he loves her. 

“How are you?” he asks, opening his eyes to see that he’s still in this other reality, the reality where he and his mom are almost strangers. “Everything okay back home?”

“I’m good,” she says, once again sounding surprised. “I’m keeping busy. I was… I was thinking of doing some volunteering at the local elementary school. As a teacher aide.” She lets out this self-conscious laugh. “Don’t know if they’ll want me, but it’d be something to keep me busy.”

“You wanted to be a teacher before I was born,” Connor says, without really thinking about it. “They’d be lucky to have you.”

There’s another pause. When his mom speaks again, she sounds like she’s close to tears. “I don’t remember telling you about that.”

Fuck. 

Connor invents wildly. “I don’t really remember when you told me,” he says. “It might have been when I was in high school and we were… figuring out what I wanted to do with my life or whatever.” He tries to laugh, sound casual. “Pretty sure I told you there was no way anyone would trust me with children.”

“I don’t remember that,” says his mom, a smile in her voice, “but I think you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’d make an excellent English teacher.”

“I’d like to work with schools more,” he says, a little tentatively. This is something that he and his mom had talked about a lot, ever since he took over The Little Book Nook. He’d set up some partnerships with local schools, getting books to kids who might not have access to them otherwise. “Set up some reading programs through the bookstore. It’s… I might talk to Gladys and Martha about it.”

“Who are Gladys and Martha?” his mom asks, sounding a little confused. 

“They own the bookstore where I work,” Connor replies, and it stings a little, to realize that his mom doesn’t know this. 

Because he hadn’t told her. 

He hadn’t told her anything about this life before he turned 27. He’d kept it locked away, far away from her, he hadn’t let her in. 

“They’ve owned the place for thirty years,” he continues, feeling like he owes his mom this, owes her some information. “They’re married and they’ve kept this little independent bookstore running for decades, which is pretty impressive given how easy it is to get books online these days, you know?”

“I should visit next time I’m in the city,” his mom says, something warm in her voice. “What’s the place called again?”

“The Little Book Nook,” he says. 

“That’s cute.”

“Yeah, it’s… it’s a cute place.”

It’s quiet, and Connor’s not sure what to say for a moment. 

Until, all of a sudden, he is. 

“You know, if you’re looking for something to read,” he begins, trying for a casual tone, “I can always find you something that’s a bit off the beaten track, you know? Away from the mainstream. Just… let me know what kind of genres you like.”

He can hear the smile in his mother’s voice as she replies. “That’s very kind, Connor.”

“You speak French, right? We have a really good foreign language supplier.”

“I do,” says Cynthia, and Connor’s afraid for a moment that she’s going to cry. 

“There are some really great French novelists,” Connor says, because that’s true, and that’s something he and his mom have talked about in the past. “Next time you’re in the city, stop by and we’ll find you something. I’ll… I can email you some suggestions in the meantime?”

“That would be really lovely, sweetheart.” There’s another pause, then his mom continues. “Your sister… she explained a little bit about what happened. What… led to you ending up in hospital again.” 

Connor feels his chest ache, his throat clench up. “Oh.”

His mom clears her throat. “I’m… I’m so sorry for your loss, Connor.”

“Thank you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I, uh… thank you for visiting? I know I… I don’t always… I just… thank you for visiting.”

The line is quiet for a moment. He thinks he can hear his mom sniff. “Sweetheart, I will always be there when you need me,” she says, her voice soft but serious. “Nothing will change that.”

Connor really, really wishes she were here now. 

The real her. 

His version of his mom in the reality where he belongs. 

Evan barfed in a garbage can outside of the hospital. 

Low point. Definitely a low point. 

Evan filled up his bottle of water once he was inside, then checked in at the ICU desk as a visitor. 

“There’s already three people in his room,” the nurse said to Evan, not bothering to even look up at him. For a second, Evan felt a sudden, strange flicker of uncertainty. That maybe he wasn’t really there, that the nurse couldn’t see him, that he was imaginary. 

Evan shook it off. He was just hungover. He was just tired. 

He had a seat in the waiting room. Evan bounced his knee anxiously. Checked his phone. He should be… he could work. He could work, he could… 

He couldn’t work. He couldn’t think. It was like he couldn’t even breathe. 

He just stared, stared into space, for ages. For what might have been hours. Might have been days. He didn’t know. He stared into space forever. Until someone came and sat beside him. 

Zoe. She looked pale. Grayish. Exhausted. 

“Hi,” Evan said. 

“Hey,” Zoe said. Somehow she looked especially young today. Evan could practically see the indigo streaks in her hair from high school. 

“I got… wasted last night and cried a bunch. You?”

Zoe shrugged. “I ate three pints of ice cream, threw up, and went to bed at seven PM.” 

“We’re so good at coping,” Evan joked weakly. 

Zoe took his hand and squeezed it. 

“Your parents are still fighting?”

Zoe nodded. “I’m starting to worry that they’re going to loop around and, like, have hate sex or something. I dunno.” She sighed heavily. Sniffled. “It’s like I’m not there.”

Evan wrapped his arm around Zoe’s shoulders. “I’m sorry.” 

She leaned her head against his chest, and Evan held her tighter. 

He’d never had a sister. 

Well. Technically he had two. But… 

Zoe was like his sister. She was… family. Important. He needed to take care of her. Watch out for her. He let her cry for a while, her head pressed against his chest while he pet her hair and told her everything would be okay. 

He had no idea if things would be okay but that was what you said to someone crying in your arms. 

Zoe pulled away. Wiped her face, brisk and efficient. Evan was reminded of how she had sworn him to secrecy last September when he and Connor finally got together. When Connor wasn’t well, and Zoe had cried and told Evan he was never allowed to speak of it. He recalled being alarmed by how suddenly and tidily Zoe had packed away her emotions.

It was so much worse now. 

So much fucking worse. 

She laughed slightly then. 

“What?” Evan said. 

“Connor… he’s been here since Tuesday.” 

“Yeah.”

“He’s… growing a fucking beard.” Zoe giggled sort of hysterically. “He’s… he looks ridiculous. Like he’s growing fucking… chin mold.” 

Evan burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”

“He looks…” Zoe was wheezing now, laughing harder and harder. “He looks so fucking stupid!”

Evan laughed too, because he didn’t know what else to do. He just laughed. He laughed and laughed. And laughed. 

Until he was crying. 

Until Zoe was too. 

“He’s been here since Tuesday,” She sobbed. “Since fucking Tuesday.”

“I know. I know. I know, Zoe,” Evan said, rubbing slow circles on her back. “I know.”

Chapter Text

Andi’s dad is… not what Connor expected. 

Dr. Kenneth Whitten is shorter than Connor by at least a foot, and almost as pale. He shows up in a three-piece tweed suit with a bowtie, neatly combed hair and thick glasses that are almost comically large. Connor gets the impression that if you looked up what a physicist is supposed to look like in a dictionary, you would find a picture of this guy. 

Then when Connor extends a hand to shake, Dr. Whitten pulls him into a bone-crushing hug and removes any doubt that he’s related to Andi. 

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Connor,” says Dr. Whitten. “Andromeda has nothing but lovely things to say about you.”

Considering what an asshole he knows he used to be before he died and died and died, he’s a little surprised. Then again, Andi has always had a soft spot for him. 

Blind spot. Soft spot. 

Same fucking thing. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Dr. Whitten.”

“Please, call me Kenny.”

Connor is absolutely not going to do that. 

Dr. Whitten wanders over to the wall and looks at it with interest. “This is extraordinary,” he says, sounding genuinely excited about what he’s reading. “A first-hand account of an alternate reality, that’s incredible.” He turns to Andi. “Now, you said we’re looking at something akin to the ‘daughter universe’ theory.”

Andi blinks. “I did?” 

“From what you’ve told me, to Connor, this is an alternate universe created from the changing of one event,” Dr. Whitten clarifies. “Namely, Connor’s boyfriend Evan dying.”

Connor feels sick. 

“Other than this one incident, everything else that this incident doesn’t affect should be constant. The same as the universe you’re from,” he continues. “Of course, there’s a ripple effect, but the effects should be… contained. To the people involved. Yourself, anyone else close to Evan.”

Connor thinks of Sabrina, showing up to his apartment drunk, yelling that it was his fault. 

“Yeah,” he says, a little weakly. “I, uh… apart from… things are happening like they… I don’t know, I’m trying to remember what happened and go along with it and not, like, change everything, but it was…” 

Connor blinks. Takes a deep breath. 

Tries to focus. 

“All of what I remember from the first time was with Evan,” he says after a moment. “And he’s gone and I… it’s… I can’t tell what’s… I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” Andi says fiercely. She wraps an arm around him and pulls him into one of her bone-crushing hugs. “None of this is your fault.”

“What if it is, though?” Connor can’t help but ask. “This shit doesn’t just happen to everyone, right? There’s gotta be some reason that it’s happening to me. And to Evan. Did I… fuck, is there some kind of… am I just a completely fucked up person and the universe is punishing me or something?”

“You can’t think that,” Andi says immediately. 

Dr. Whitten looks thoughtful. “I can’t explain it,” he says, his voice even. “But I’m fairly certain that it’s not a question of morality. Did you read the paper I sent Andromeda? The scientist who wrote it… his theory is that there are infinite universes being created all the time, based on every possible decision we as humans make. Some decisions create universes that only differ slightly, but some create universes where the effects are much stronger, like in your case.” 

“I read it, yeah,” Connor says. He’d had to use a dictionary for almost every second fucking word, but he’d read it. “So, like, he thinks the whole death loop thing and alternate universes are connected, right?”

“That’s his theory,” says Dr. Whitten. He looks at Connor and tilts his head a little. “What did you think he was trying to say about the connection between the death loops and alternate universes?” 

It’s such a fucking college professor question that Connor almost laughs. He looks at Andi, who grins at him, then back at Dr. Whitten. 

“If I understand it correctly,” he begins, “which I might not, since I was an English major, not anything scientific, what he’s suggesting is that sometimes, there’s an alternate reality created that’s… rejected by the universe? Or something? And it’s because someone made a decision. So his theory is that the person involved will keep dying and dying and dying, over and over again, until they get to the right reality.”

Dr. Whitten nods. “That’s what he’s suggesting. What do you think about that?”

“I mean, maybe?” Connor says, shrugging. “But, like, what if it’s not just one person who’s dying and dying and dying? It wasn’t with me and Evan. And what about Jenny? She died and died and died and stopped dying when she met me. And nothing’s really happened to her since, but I’m still stuck here. Does that mean that the universe has pulled her into my bullshit? How is that fair? We barely knew each other before this.”

“Again, I don’t believe there’s any kind of… moral aspect,” says Dr. Whitten, frowning a little. “As for someone unconnected being forced into a death loop to aide in another person’s reality… well, it’s an interesting angle to consider.” His expression brightens considerably. “Would you like to meet the author of the paper?”

Andi’s eyes light up. “He might be able to help get Connor back home. Do you know him?”

“We run in similar academic circles,” says Dr. Whitten with a nod and a smile. “I’m sure that he’d be interested in talking to someone with similar experiences to his own, even if only for research purposes.”

“No offence, but I have zero interest in helping some guy write a paper,” Connor says frankly. “I just want to get back to where I belong.” 

“And I’m sure we can let him know that,” says Andi, her voice soothing. “It can be like… you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours, right?”

“Right,” says Connor, a little unsure. 

He’s not… against providing someone with information for research purposes, not exactly, but this is his life he’s talking about, not some theoretical bullshit. 

Then again, if this guy has died and died and died, then maybe he’ll understand. 

Maybe he can help. 

Maybe Connor can get back where he belongs. 

Evan was finally allowed to see Connor around an hour after he arrived at the hospital. He and Zoe went into the room together, and Evan felt his stomach flip uncomfortably. 

She wasn’t wrong. About the beard. Connor looked really fucking ridiculous. It made them both laugh and then feel guilty for laughing and then laugh more. Evan privately wondered if hospitals had an in with the people who produced Kleenex because they went through so many. 

Connor’s eyes were closed. He had bags under them which made no fucking sense, seeing as he had been unconscious for days. Days and days. 

Evan worried about why he looked so tired. What sort of battles he might be fighting. Alone. 

Evan hated that he might be fighting anything alone. He hated it. 

Zoe showed Evan some cards that had showed up since he had last visited. “Maureen dropped them off. People have been coming by the bookstore.”

Evan inspected the cards. Most of them were silly, get well soon cards. A few had literary themes. “People know?” He asked, his voice rough. 

Zoe nodded. “Maureen and Jax and Leslie put something on facebook and instagram. I guess people were worried because Edgar hasn’t been himself?”

Evan nodded. He saw there were cards from names he knew - Mariah at his office, and Mr. Nachman, Martha and Gladys’s lawyer, and the girl with the blue hair and the fluffy dog and her partner. 

People cared. 

Of course people cared. 

It was… nice to see that people cared. Cared enough to send cards and fold origami flowers. People cared because Connor was the sort of person who people cared about. 

Connor had some new tubes today. New tubes. Zoe explained that they were feeding him via an IV.

His fingernails looked a bit too long, Evan noticed. And the polish was chipping. Which felt ironic, as it wasn’t like Connor had been using his hands over the past few days. Evan dropped a kiss on Connor’s knuckles. 

“Do you think he can hear us?” Evan asked suddenly. “Do you think he… heard us joking about his moldy looking beard?”

She shrugged. “I don’t… I’m not sure. The science has conflicting evidence about whether or not comatose people can hear you.” Zoe raked a hand through her hair. “I don’t know. I don’t even know. What fucking use is my fucking psychology degree?” 

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Evan said softly. “You can’t… you can’t know the answer to something that medical science can’t decide just because I want to know.”

“I hope he heard us,” Zoe said. “Maybe he’ll get annoyed enough to wake up.”

Evan nodded. He turned back to look at Connor. Eyes still closed. Chest still steadily rising and falling. He looked like he was… sleeping. Tired and sick and not right, but sleeping. Like last September, when Connor’s brain was being a huge dick. 

Evan had hated that. Hated feeling so helpless and pathetic and unable to help. 

This was worse. 

He’d take last September over today anyday. Every day. 

He’d take September over this in a heartbeat. 

This was… unbearable. The waiting. The uncertainty. 

Unbearable. 

Evan wanted to stay overnight but Larry Murphy returned, looking irritable, around eleven o’clock and said he would be staying. 

Zoe and Evan exchanged a look. 

“Is that a good idea?” Evan asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Zoe shot him a look, but Evan didn’t really care about tact. 

“I’m a grown man. I think I can decide if I’m going to stay overnight in my son’s hospital room.”

Zoe looked like she might laugh. Evan didn’t know what to do or say. “This is perfect,” Zoe said. “Maybe you’ll piss him off enough that he’ll wake up.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Larry said dismissively.

“Don’t treat me like a fucking child,” Zoe snapped. “All week, you and mom have just ignored me, ignored everything I’ve had to say. It’s bullshit. This whole thing is bullshit!” 

“Zoe -” Larry tried. 

“It is bullshit,” Evan said, looking at Larry hard. “Zoe and Connor are close. They’re important to each other. You should… you’re just arguing with Cynthia and not listening to anything Zoe has to say. You should listen to her.”

Larry opened his mouth. Then shut it. 

Then opened it again. He frowned. “I’m staying here tonight,” He said. “And that is final.”

“Idiot,” Zoe said, shaking her head. “I’m going home. I’m exhausted.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Evan said. 

“They won’t let you back in,” Larry said. “It’s after visiting hours.”

Evan ignored him. “I’ll walk you out, Zoe.”

Chapter Text

On April 13th, Evan’s 27th birthday, Connor doesn’t get out of bed. 

It’s a Saturday, so he’s not rostered on at work. Garrett is supposed to be working and had asked Connor if he’d cover his shift, but Connor had said no, then asked Leslie if she wouldn’t mind. 

Because Connor’s the manager at The Little Book Nook now and scheduling shifts is his responsibility. 

He still doesn’t know if he’s made the right choice, taking Gladys up on her offer, but at least it gives him less time to sit around feeling sorry for himself and something to do. He’s still got way too much time on his hands, but he’s trying to fill it by reading everything he can get his hands on written by Dr. Weekes, who’d written the paper that Andi had pulled out of her bra on the day he got out of the psych ward.

Dr. Joshua Weekes, according to his Wikipedia page, is forty-two years old and was born in Norfolk, Virginia. He has a PhD in quantum physics, which he completed at Princeton, and there is a whole section on his Wikipedia page about the various members of the scientific community who think he’s batshit crazy. 

Which is so fun. 

Still, Connor’s going to give this guy the benefit of the doubt, because what he’s describing in various essays about death loops, is… pretty on point. 

My experience with death loops and those of others I have spoken to who have experienced similar phenomenon has led me to believe that while the number of loops may differ, all Death Loop experiences feature two important components: a starting point, where all subsequent loops begin, and an inciting incident, namely the first death. While I was initially unaware of both the starting point and the inciting incident of my loops, both became apparent by the initial loop’s completion. My first death occurred at approximately quarter to ten in the evening, after I inadvertently ran a red light and crashed headfirst into an oncoming vehicle, allowing me to later pinpoint this as the inciting incident. Immediately after dying, I opened my eyes to find myself a bathroom cubicle around the corner from my office at exactly 6.27pm. This starting point of 6.27pm in this same bathroom cubicle remained constant throughout fifty-three loops, though the first death was only repeated a total of eight times. I have included a chart (Appendix H) listing out all fifty-three of my deaths, with approximate times of death and the cause, when easily identifiable (see Section iv for further details on unexplainable causes of death). 

After reading through Appendix H, Connor’s really, really fucking glad he never got bit on the dick by a snake, though he still doesn’t understand how the fuck that happened. 

He’s totally going to ask this Dr. Weekes dude when he’s next in New York. 

Which is, apparently, end of May or early June. 

Super fucking useful for planning purposes, but apparently this asshole doesn’t care that Connor is literally stuck in an alternate reality while fuck knows what happens to him in the reality he’s supposed to be in and refuses to change any of his plans, which have him fully booked on some kind of tour until then. 

Still, Dr. Weekes apparently has some kind of theory about how to get Connor back, though he won’t tell him any details. 

Also, apparently Connor’s going to have to sign some sort of waiver that says that he’s going into this of sound mind and takes responsibility for whatever happens to him and excuses Dr. Weekes from any blame if whatever it is they’re going to try kills him. 

Which is so encouraging. 

Connor’s trying to stay positive about all of this, and for the most part, he can. As long as he stays busy, tries to get on with things at the bookstore and learns as much as he can about parallel universes and multiverse theory and a bunch of other things that make his head spin, the heavy weight in his heart at the knowledge that he lives in a universe that doesn’t have Evan in it is almost bearable. 

Almost. 

Today, it’s not. 

Today, it’s too much, and all he can do is stay in bed and try to sleep. 

This bed is less comfortable than he remembers, which is probably because he bought it for dirt cheap on Craigslist. 

In his reality, Andi’s turned this bed into some kind of art installation project. 

Connor’s mom bought him a new bed when he moved into the apartment above the bookstore, with a brand new mattress, and it was ridiculously comfortable. 

Connor remembers he and Evan breaking in the new bed, drunk on alcoholic milkshakes in the middle of the day. 

He remembers the night before where they literally broke this bed he’s currently in. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

He’d been so fucking stupid. So fucking stupid, not realizing that the way he felt about Evan wasn’t just friendship, wasn’t just fondness, it was so, so, so much more. 

Looking back, Connor can see that the way he felt about Evan hadn’t ever really changed. The realization about how he felt had hit him like a ton of bricks one hot summer evening, after seeing the way Gladys and Martha interacted and realizing how fucking familiar it was. After seeing how much they loved each other and his brain catching up to his heart and going “oh, that’s what this is”. 

That’s what love is. 

Connor hasn’t been in love before Evan. 

If the worst happens and he can’t get back home, he doesn’t think he’ll ever fall in love with anyone else. 

He couldn’t. He just…

He physically couldn’t. 

Maybe he could try to move on. Try to keep living, try to carve out a life in this reality. He might meet someone and it might be okay, it might be something that keeps him busy, keeps him occupied, keeps his mind off things for a while, but it’ll never be the same. 

If he can’t get home, he’s just…

It’ll always be like this. 

This heavy weight in his chest, this deep, dark well of sadness that just won’t budge. 

Won’t shake. 

Connor dozes on and off throughout the day, and in his dreams he sees Evan. 

Evan, looking like he can’t decide whether to punch Connor or kiss him as Connor steals his phone and tells him he’s found a restaurant that only sells scrambled eggs. 

Evan, in a suit that’s really working for him, leaning against the counter at The Little Book Nook while a pimply teenager plays the banjo at an open mic. 

Evan, with his eyes dark and burning, telling Connor that he loves him as he presses hot kisses down his neck. 

Evan, on the roof of his apartment building, letting Connor talk him down, letting Connor lead him back down the stairs and out onto the street, where it had started to snow. 

Evan. 

Always Evan. 

Connor had covered Garrett’s shift back in the real reality, he remembers. Evan had spent the whole day with him, at the bookstore, sitting in the sunshine spot. It hadn’t been long since they’d died and died and died when Connor turned 27 and they’d been afraid that Evan’s birthday might trigger it, might make it start all over again, so…

He hadn’t wanted to let Evan out of his sight. 

Hadn’t wanted him to be alone. 

Fuck. 

Connor never wants Evan to be alone. 

He wishes he were with him. 

He always wishes he were with him, but now it’s even more important, because…

What about his Evan?

The Evan who’s alive?

The Evan who loves him?

What if…

What if whatever it is that caused the loops, that connected them, has connected them now, and something terrifying is happening to Evan?

Something terrifying is happening, and Connor’s not there?

What if he’s stuck in another reality, all alone?

What if he’s hurt?

What if he’s stuck in another loop, dying over and over and over again, only this time Connor’s not fucking there?

What if he’s…

What if he’s dead?

What if Evan dying in this universe killed the Evan in his universe, killed all Evans, because he wasn’t supposed to die, he wasn’t supposed to jump off the roof, it wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Sabrina was right. It’s Connor’s fault. 

He didn’t stop him. 

He didn’t stop him he didn’t fucking stop him and now…

Evan’s dead. 

He could be dead everywhere. 

He could…

Connor feels cold and shaky, dizzy and confused, and he wrenches himself out of bed and heads to the bathroom, where he pukes and pukes and pukes for what feels like hours. 

It takes him a moment to realize that someone’s stroking his hair, rubbing his back, telling him that everything’s okay. 

It takes him an even longer moment to realize that person is Zoe. 

Connor pulls away from the toilet shakily. He wipes his mouth. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice equally shaky.

Zoe’s face is pale. “I know what today is,” she says, sounding pained. “I… I was friends with him on Facebook, I didn’t even realize, I…”

Connor bursts into tears. 

He hasn’t showered and he’s probably gross and sweaty and disgusting and he’s just been puking so he definitely smells terrible and he’s crying, these big, ugly, gasping sobs, and Zoe pulls him into a hug anyway. 

She feels… safe. 

Zoe gives great hugs, he remembers now. 

It’s so stupid that he hasn’t had a hug from Zoe in months. 

Years, in this reality. 

“I…”

He doesn’t know what to say. 

He misses Evan. His Evan. 

He misses his Zoe, even though there’s one right now hugging him. 

Zoe rubs his back soothingly. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

“I did.” Connor clears his throat. “I do. I think I… I always will.”

“I’m so sorry, Connor. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Evan called his mom. It was late and he was tired and sitting in a hospital waiting room, alone, because his boyfriend’s father had taken his place in that room and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with himself. 

So even though it was late, Evan called his mother. 

She picked up immediately, “Are you alright?”

Evan sighed. “Sabrina called you,” He said, knowing immediately that it was the case. He closed his eyes, frustrated. 

“Baby I’m really worried about you,” His mom said. “She said that… you were talking about dying last night?”

Evan wanted to hang up and go to Sabrina and Graham’s apartment and shout at her until the sun came up. But that wasn’t helpful. Evan shook his head. “Sabrina and I got drunk… I just. I freaked out. I swear, I’m fine,” Evan said, chewing idly at one of his cuticles. “I’m fine. I just shouldn’t drink gin.”

“Evan…” His mom said. 

“Mom. I am… I’m fine.”

“Your boyfriend is in a coma,” His mom’s voice said, and he noticed it was shaky, wobbly, unsure. “You’re not fine, baby. You’re not.”

Evan took a shuddering breath. “I have to be fine. I can’t… I can’t fall apart on him now. I can’t.”

“Sweetheart,” His mom said. 

“Mama, he’s… He’s not there. He’s not in there and. It was supposed to be a routine thing. It was supposed to be no big deal. But he was. He was saying nonsense before he went in, he was talking about… Facebook saying I was dead and-and speaking Hebrew. And he didn’t wake up. He’s not waking up… I don’t know what to do. I’m scared and I… I need to be fine.”

“Hebrew?” His mom said, sounding confused. 

“Alav ha-shalom,” Evan said softly. 

“Oh,” his mom said. She sounded upset. Really upset. “Oh sweetheart that’s… You’re sure that’s what he said?”

Evan’s eyes stung with tears. “Yeah. I’m sure. I know… I know that’s what he said.” He felt sick. “And then he didn’t wake up. He didn’t wake up…” Evan felt himself start to shake. 

“That sounds really horrible. Really scary and horrible, baby, I’m so so sorry.”

Evan swallowed hard. “What if he doesn’t ever wake up, mama?”

“Sweetheart,” His mom said softly. “I’m so sorry this is happening.”

“What if he doesn’t wake up?” He repeated. “I don’t know what… I love him.”

“I know sweetheart. I know.” 

“I need him to wake up. I need him to wake up.”

“I know honey. I know. I’m so sorry.” 

Evan cleared his throat. He wiped his eyes. “Mama, I don’t… What do I do?”

His mom sighed. “I… Honey. I don’t know. I’m so sorry. I don’t… I wish I knew what to say. I wish I had an answer for you… I’m so sorry.” 

Evan sniffed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault baby. It’s not your fault at all,” His mom’s soft voice said. 

Evan didn’t believe her. He didn’t believe her one bit. 

This was his fault. It was. Because he was the one who had died, had killed himself. He was the one who caused them to loop and loop, he was the reason they had found themselves in that fucked up bizarre situation, and that was why now Connor was in a coma. He was in a coma and it was because Evan had fucked everything up. Connor would be fine if Evan hadn’t screwed up everything. 

So he didn’t believe her. He couldn’t believe her. 

But his mom kept talking. She just kept talking, her voice gentle, soothing. Evan unwound, a little. And it took a few minutes for Evan’s ears to actually latch onto what she was saying. 

She was praying. 

They weren’t super religious Jews. They kept kosher and tried to do the high holy days, but not as much since he was a kid. They didn’t go to synagogue often and it wasn’t like Evan had a Shabbat dinner once a week. 

But his mom was praying. She was praying and Evan was listening and his Hebrew was pretty rusty these days, but he knew this one. Familiar and comforting. 

A prayer for the sick. 

Evan just listened to his mom’s voice, until his tears dried up, until his heart calmed down, until he felt safe enough to hang up. 

Chapter Text

It just keeps going. 

Time just… keeps going. 

Every morning when he wakes up, Connor still hopes that maybe, maybe he’ll be home. He’ll be in a hospital bed, having just had his appendix out, and this will have all been some kind of intense, long and terrifying dream. 

He hopes he’ll open his eyes and see Evan at his bedside, looking relieved to see him awake. Zoe will be with him, and maybe his mom. 

If he had emergency surgery, someone will have definitely told his mom, and she’s loaded, so she’ll definitely have flown in. 

He’ll apologize for worrying them, then he’ll get to go home, and they’ll fuss over him way more than necessary and he’ll let them, because he’ll just be so fucking glad to see them, after this. 

Whatever this is. 

Sure, there’s a theory this is an alternate reality, and it seems right, but Connor doesn’t know if he can be sure. 

Doesn’t know if he can be sure of anything. 

Still, he…

He keeps going. 

He goes to work, tries not to yell at Garrett when he’s being a dick. Tries to remember that this Leslie isn’t one of his best friends, she’s someone he barely knows. He tries to remember what he does and doesn’t know about her, what he’s supposed to know, and ends up just… asking a lot of getting to know you questions, just so he doesn’t trip himself up as much. 

He sees lots and lots of photos of Strudel the basset hound, who is still adorable. 

In the weekends, Connor reads. A lot. A lot more than he’s had time for in the last few months, given how busy his life in the real world has been. 

Part of him feels selfish reading. 

Reading has always been a comfort to him, and how can he be letting himself take comfort in reading when he’s in a universe where Evan’s dead?

How can he?

Most of what he’s reading is about parallel universes, so he can at least say he’s researching. Leslie makes a joke about how she didn’t know he was so into science-fiction, and Connor manages not to reply that he’d really rather that his whole fucking life wasn’t science-fiction. 

He’d much rather be reading something else. 

He does read other things, though. 

He rereads books he liked from his undergrad, books that meant something to him. He reads a lot of poetry, a lot of short stories, things that can grasp his attention for a little while, because it’s harder to lose himself in a book these days. 

He remembers how Evan had told him he hadn’t read for fun since college and how appalled Connor had been about it. 

Remembers how Evan liked to tease him about his reading habits. 

“I like books.”

“You don’t like books, you live for books.”

Remembers nights spent talking about books, staying up too late. How Evan would borrow something from Connor’s bookshelf when he visited and how Connor would have to ask him about it, have to ask what he thought, because Evan always had something insightful to say, something interesting, something intelligent. 

He liked that about Evan. 

One of the many, many things he liked about Evan. 

Likes about Evan. 

It’s scary just how easy it is to think about Evan in the past tense. 

It’s scary just how easy it is to fixate on the fact that in this universe, he’s dead, without stopping to remember that in the real reality, Evan’s probably fine. 

He’s probably fine. 

Connor hopes he’s fine. 

Connor hopes he’s okay. 

Hopes he’s safe. 

Connor hates that he’s left Evan, hates the idea that Evan might be missing him, that Connor has no way of knowing what’s happened in the real reality. 

Maybe no time has passed at all and when he gets back, it’ll be like he was never gone. 

Fuck, Connor hopes so. 

Because April is coming to an end, he’s nearly been here for two months, and if it’s been two months in the real world, too, then…

He can’t be sure if Evan’s okay. 

If Evan’s holding it together. 

Connor isn’t even sure he’s holding it together. 

He’s just…

He’s just going. 

He just keeps on going. 

Evan went back to work on Tuesday. 

For all of his complicated feelings about Zoe going back that Monday, Evan couldn’t sit on his hands and watch Connor breathe for any more hours. He spent all day on Monday just sitting there, useless, watching. Watching and watching Connor’s chest rise and fall. He was practically watching Connor’s weak attempt at a beard grow in; it was horrible. Evan couldn’t clock another twelve straight hours watching him breathe or he’d crack completely. His brain would split open and spew his garbage like pinata candies. 

And worse than just watching Connor breathe was listening to Larry and Cynthia Murphy argue constantly. Evan found himself falling back into a long-forgotten “mom-and-dad-are-fighting” pattern, intentionally blocking out their voices, refusing to intake the information flying around him violently. It seemed that Larry and Cynthia had lost their sense of embarrassment about fighting in front of Connor’s boyfriend. Evan sort of wished they’d gain that back, return to the hushed arguments in the hallway rather than shouting at each other over Connor’s prone body about whether or not moving him was a wise idea, or if the doctors had stopped doing their jobs as effectively since Larry had threatened a lawsuit. 

Evan just sat there, ignoring it. Looking at Connor’s face. His hair was starting to look a bit greasy. It had been nearly a week since the last time he’d washed it. Evan wondered if it would be weird to ask if he could do that. Wash Connor’s hair. Connor would hate it, of course, but he might feel better once he woke up if he was clean. 

Last September, when Connor hadn’t been doing well, he always said that showers made him feel less like a “skeleton hobo,” which was such a Connor way of describing his mental health that Evan had to kiss him, he had to, just kiss his cheeks and forehead and mouth and tell him how much he loved him. 

Evan hated looking at Connor like this. 

He hated trying to ignore Larry and Cynthia. After twelve hours stuck with the two of them, Evan was on the verge of a nervous breakdown or murdering Larry and Cynthia with his bare hands, so he went and found Alex and grabbed dinner with her in the cafeteria. They ate rubbery turkey and lumpy potatoes and Alex narrated her day to Evan, who was barely following. She’d stitched some people up. Alex had gotten to see Mattie perform a solo c-section that morning. She was doing some research on people in prolonged, unexplained comas…

“You’re way too nice to me,” Evan said suddenly. 

“No?” Alex said, shaking her head. “I’m not.”

“You took care of me when I was a drunk mess this weekend. And that’s not the first time you’ve had to.”

Alex grabbed his hand. “Dude. You’re kind of my brother, you know? Of course I’m gonna look out for you.” She sipped her coffee. “Besides, if there was ever a time to be a drunken mess, it’s now.”

Evan nodded. 

Then went and stared at Connor breathing until visiting hours ended. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. 

So he went back to work on Tuesday. Because he needed structure. He called Marcia to explain why he’d missed his last session and reschedule. He went to the bookstore to hang with Edgar and pick his meds back up. 

He’d missed nearly a week of them. No wonder he felt like hell. 

There was a voice in the back of Evan’s mind that told him he didn’t deserve to feel better. He didn’t deserve the meds. 

Evan tried not to dwell on it. 

Being off for a few days did mean he had plenty to do on office time. But he clocked out promptly at 5:30 and headed to the hospital daily. He couldn’t risk losing out on his precious time with Connor. 

Watching him breathe. Watching his chest rise and fall and rise again. 

When he showed up on Wednesday, Connor’s beard or… beard in progress was gone. His hair was clean. Cynthia explained that a nurse had taken care of it. 

“They took his nail polish off,” Zoe said, sounding annoyed. 

Evan nodded, also annoyed. He took Connor’s hand and resumed his vigil. 

On Thursday, Evan arrived to see that Jax and Zoe were in the middle of painting Connor’s fingernails. “Heteronormativity isn’t winning on my watch,” Jax said with a smile. 

“Hell yeah,” Evan said unenthusiastically as he took his chair again. 

“I’m not actually that good at this,” Zoe said, almost pensively. “Or maybe it’s because I’ve never painted the nails of someone unconscious before.”

Larry walked in not long after, observing the operation with apprehension. Cynthia was conspicuously absent. Zoe had said they’d had an especially bad argument the night before, one that ended with Cynthia in tears and her dad looking inches from having a heart attack. 

“What’s going on?” He asked, his voice oddly hesitant. Evan was still trying to work out how he’d overruled the three at a time visitor rule. 

“We’re railing against the hetero-patriarchy,” Zoe said, swiping a clear top coat onto Connor’s thumbnail. 

“Ah,” Larry said blandly. “Evan… come talk to me for a moment?”

Evan got out of his chair and followed Larry out into the waiting area on the floor. Evan still wasn’t used to seeing him out of a suit, but today was especially jarring because Evan was in one and Larry wasn’t. It felt off balance, unnatural. Strange. 

Evan watched Larry cautiously for a few moments before he finally asked what Larry wanted. 

“I… You handled all of the contracts for the bookstore.”

Evan tensed. “I did.”

“Does... “ Larry cleared his throat awkwardly. “Does Connor have a will?”

Evan felt his heart drop into his stomach. “Yes.”

Larry frowned and then nodded. 

“Everything goes to Zoe,” Evan said, remembering suddenly. His throat felt dry, uncomfortable. 

Larry stared. 

Evan cleared his throat. “I… I told him to set it up. When he bought the bookstore. I didn’t want to… to have him leave anything to chance.”

Connor’s father nodded. “Does… I assume you. You’re. Thorough. You must have… established power of attorney?”

Evan nodded numbly, feeling sort of sick, recalling their last conversation, when Evan had snapped at Larry for not listening to Zoe about anything. He felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner. He’d drawn up the will. What was the matter with him? How could have forgotten? “Yes,” He said at length. “Zoe. Zoe has power of attorney. If… if he’s incapacitated.” He looked down at his feet. “Why?”

“Cynthia and I are… Well. We’ve been. Disagreeing. On how best to move forward.” He cleared his throat.

“Yeah, no shit,” Evan said, rolling his eyes. 

Larry almost smiled. “Does Zoe… does she know? That she’s the one who he designated to make medical decisions?”

“Connor said he talked to her… but I’m not sure.”

“I’ll obviously need to see a copy of the will to confirm.”

Evan’s heart was going to jump out of his chest. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” Larry said, his tone… courteous. Almost sincere. 

“Why?” Evan asked again, suddenly terrified. “Are you still arguing with Cynthia about moving him?”

Larry put his hands into his pockets, shaking his head. “He… Connor has been in a coma for a week . It… We need to be realistic. We need to think about the best plan for… moving forward.”

“Meaning?”

“He’s probably not going to wake up. We might need to start thinking about -”

“No,” Evan said, something horrifying and cold and dark grabbing hold inside of him. Larry was talking about letting Connor die. “No.”

“He -”

“No! He’s still breathing on his own,” Evan pushed on, ignoring him. “The scans still show normal brain activity. They’re going to… the doctors will figure this out.”

“It’s been a week.”

“No,” Evan repeated, louder. “You… No. It’s only been a week. That’s not. We’re not there yet, okay? We’re not there yet. It’s only been a week.”

Larry looked like he might argue but thought better of it. “I’ll need a copy of the will.”

“Fine,” Evan said, “But Zoe’s power of attorney. She’ll agree with me. You know she will.”

Chapter Text

It’s an ordinary day near the end of April and Connor’s working in the stock room. Leslie’s out front, and he hears the bell over the door go off, then a voice he can’t immediately place. 

“I’m sorry to bother you. I’m looking for Connor?”

He heads out of the stock room and onto the shop floor, then immediately stops in his tracks as he recognizes who’s asking after him. 

It’s Heidi Hansen. 

It’s Evan’s mom. 

She’s in jeans and a sweater and boots and her hair is loose around her shoulders, blonde heavily streaked with gray, and she looks so much older than the last time he saw her. 

The way she’s walking, the way she’s carrying herself…

It’s like there’s a weight on her, dragging her down, like she’s carrying something heavy and it’s taking every single ounce of energy she has not to let it crush her. 

Connor knows that weight. 

Knows what it is that she’s carrying. 

Because this is the universe where Evan Hansen killed himself. 

“Hi,” he says, realizing that they haven’t met in this universe. That he could be anyone. “I’m Connor.” 

She offers him a smile, a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I know this is weird, I…”

“You’re Evan’s mom,” he says quietly as he gets closer to her. “I’ve seen photos, I… I recognize you. I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. Hansen.”

“Call me Heidi,” she says, her smile getting more and more wobbly. She looks around, sniffs, then kind of shrugs. “Is there… is there someone we could talk?”

Connor turns to Leslie, whose eyes are wide and a little concerned. “Do you mind if I take an early lunch?”

Leslie shakes her head. “Not at all, take all the time you need.”

Connor nods, thanks her, then motions for Heidi to follow him out of the building and around the corner to a diner he and Evan have eaten at so many times he’d lost count. It’s not the diner where they didn’t die, but it’s a good diner, and this conversation is going to be painful enough as it is that they should have… something to distract them. 

The host seats them in the back, and they order coffee, and don’t really talk until their coffees arrive. Heidi grabs onto the cup, holding onto it for dear life, like it’s the only thing that’s getting her through. 

Connor’s chest hurts. 

Aches. 

“How did you…” Connor begins. Stops. Starts again. “I, uh… Evan told me he hadn’t told you about us? So, I just… I’m wondering how…” He stops again. Clears his throat. “I’m not… I didn’t… because you didn’t know me, I didn’t know if I should…”

He’s not making any fucking sense, he knows. 

This isn’t the first time he’s thought about Heidi. 

About the Heidi in this universe. 

He’s thought about calling her. Finding her number somehow and calling her, checking on her to see if she’s okay, if she needs anything, if there’s anything he can do to help. 

But she doesn’t know him. 

She doesn’t know him, they’re not… they don’t have any kind of relationship here. 

In the real reality, Connor would consider Heidi a friend. 

That’s weird, maybe, to consider your boyfriend’s mom a friend, but it’s not that weird, really, considering that Connor also considers a pair of elderly lesbians friends. 

He likes Heidi. A lot. He thinks she’s strong and caring and he admires that she tries, she just keeps trying. Life dealt her a shitty hand and she did her best, did her best by Evan, and it…

Connor knows that in some ways, it wasn’t enough. 

That Evan needed… more than Heidi could give, needed her to be around more. 

She hadn’t had a choice. She’d had to work to keep them afloat, had to struggle and fight and keep the lights on and food on the table and…

Connor knows how much it hurt Evan, it hurt him that his mom wasn’t really around, but he also knows that Evan feels guilty for pushing her away.

For leaving for college and cutting her out of his life. 

Connor knows that things between Evan and his mom have been better since the loops. That they’ve mended their relationship, slowly but surely, and that things have been better. 

But this Heidi…

Fuck. 

She never got the chance. 

“Sabrina said that Evan was… seeing someone,” Heidi says, her voice careful. “She said she’d talked to you. Told me your name and where you worked. That you went to high school with the two of them.” She frowns a little. “She didn’t… it was a short conversation. She said I should know.”

“Right,” says Connor, nodding. He tries to figure out how to say this. “Sabrina and I… she didn’t know that Evan and I were… she didn’t believe me, at first. She was…” He shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter.” He looks at Heidi, trying to figure out what to do. “I’m so fucking sorry. I… I swear I tried, I…”

“He didn’t tell me about you,” Heidi says after a moment. “I… I don’t know why he didn’t, I… he knew I was worried that he was alone, he… he could have told me there was someone, he didn’t even…”

Connor closes his eyes tightly.

Opens them again, hoping that he’ll be somewhere else. 

He’s not. 

He’s still at a diner with a version of Heidi Hansen who’s lost her son, her son who means everything to her, and she’s trying to figure out where Connor fits in. 

Connor doesn’t fit in. Not here. 

This isn’t his universe. 

“He wanted to keep it casual,” Connor says finally. “No strings, he kept saying. We… we hung out, we…” He sighs. Tries to figure out how to explain. “He wouldn’t even stay the night. No matter how late it was, he’d just… go home, rather than stay. He… he held himself back, I can see that now, I…” Connor swallows. Blinks again. 

He’s still here when he opens his eyes. 

“I knew he wasn’t okay,” Connor ventures, his voice wobbling. “I tried? To talk to him, to get him to… talk to someone, maybe? I, uh…” He takes in a deep breath. “I don’t know what Sabrina said to you, I don’t, but you should know I… I tried to kill myself in high school.”

Heidi’s eyes widen. She grips the coffee cup tighter. “I’m so sorry-”

He rushes to explain. To try to make sense of anything Sabrina had said, to make it seem like he’s not a total monster. “I didn’t know Evan then, not really, only vaguely, but… we talked? About that? So he knew, and he knew that I’d… gotten help. The right drugs, a therapist. It’s been hard, but I’m… I’m okay? I guess I… I told him, because I wanted him to know that it could be okay. That it could… get better.”

Connor’s full of shit. 

He knows he’s full of shit. 

None of this happened in this reality, he’s fabricating wildly, but…

These aren’t outright lies. 

Not really. 

There’s truth here, nuggets of truth, and maybe it’ll give Heidi some kind of hope, hope that in Evan’s last months on earth, he had someone who understood. 

Even if it didn’t matter in the end. 

None of it mattered, because Connor couldn’t save him. 

It’s not until Heidi hands him a napkin that he realizes he’s crying. 

“Connor, I’m so sorry.”

Connor lets out a shaky laugh. “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t...  you have nothing to apologize for.”

Heidi’s eyes are big and sad and dangerously watery. “You lost him too. I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

Connor wipes his face. Shrugs. Holds onto his coffee cup. “It’s not the same,” he tries to explain. “I… it’s not the same as how you must be feeling, fuck, this is so selfish of me, what the fuck-”

“It’s not selfish,” Heidi insists. “It’s not, I…” She lets out a shaky laugh. “Fuck, I’ve spent the last few months just… so fucking angry at everything. At myself, at… at Sabrina, at Evan.” She swallows. “I’m so angry at him for leaving me, and I know how fucked up that is but… mostly I’m angry at myself. I could have stopped him, I could have been there, I could have not let him push me away-”

“He really loves you,” Connor can’t help but say, because he knows that this is true in every single universe. “He loves you so fucking much? He… he talks about you a lot, about how you’re brave and strong and… he loves you.” 

Heidi’s eyes fill with tears. “He barely talked to me.”

“He loved you.”

Heidi lets out this choking laugh. Sniffs. 

Connor can’t help himself. “He’s buried back home, right?” Heidi looks at him, eyes wide. “There’s a Jewish cemetery there. I… he said something about… wanting to be buried in a Jewish cemetery, because it was… it was important to you.”

Heidi blinks, tears spilling down her cheeks. She nods. “That’s what it said in his… in his will.”

Connor manages to stop himself from telling Heidi that he knows. 

He knows, because Evan had told him, back when he’d made Connor write a will of his own. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Connor hands Heidi a napkin. She grabs his hand instead. 

“Can I… can we stay in touch?” she asks, her voice a little desperate. “I… I just need… talking to someone who knew him and loved him, it helps. Makes me feel like he’s still here.” She sniffs. “I know he’s not and it’s probably not healthy, I just… I need to pretend. Just a little.” 

Connor thinks his heart is actually breaking, physically separating into a million pieces. “Yeah,” he says after a moment. “We can stay in touch.”

Evan needed to have a conversation with Zoe about Larry asking about Connor’s will. He knew he needed to talk to her. 

But he was sort of sick over a line in the will. A line he himself had helped to write. His memory kept repeating and repeating a conversation Evan and Connor had, back when they were drawing all of the legal paperwork up, the first November they knew each other. 

They were both having a drink, and Connor kept rolling his eyes. “I do not need a will. Just. I’ll write ‘delete my browser history’ on something and you can notarize it, okay?”

Evan shook his head. “Yeah, today, sure. But in less than a year you’re going to own property. A business. You need to indicate what happens to that or else the bookstore and the building could end up in legal limbo. Your parents aren’t together, so there’s no guarantee that they would be able to divide up the assets equitably.”

“You’re kind of a buzzkill,” Connor said. “You’re so practical.”

Evan felt his face heat up. “We’ve literally died, Connor. This year.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine, you can write me a will. Just… give everything to Zoe. She should get to decide what happens to the store and stuff, you know? She gets that it’s… important.” 

Evan typed that into the document he was working off of, indicating all of Connor’s assets and property should be given to Zoe in the event of his death. 

“Any specifications for a funeral?” Evan asked, still typing. 

Connor laughed. “Yeah. There ought to be a bagpiper and an indifferent penguin.” 

Evan stared. 

“Like that picture of the guy in Antarctica?” 

Evan still didn’t follow. 

“Do you even go on the internet?” Connor teased, smiling. He immediately pulled up the photo and showed it to Evan. 

Evan cracked a smile but refused to put “indifferent penguin” into a legally binding document. “Absolutely not.”

Connor stuck his tongue out at Evan. He put on a pale impression of a serious face. “Fine, fine. Just recreate the ‘Helena’ video by My Chemical Romance with my corpse.” 

“Connor, seriously,” Evan said, his eyebrows up. 

Connor rolled his eyes. “I’m twenty-seven. I don’t care. It’s not gonna… ” He cleared his throat. “I mean. As long as…”

“I want to be buried in a Jewish cemetery,” Evan volunteered when Connor didn’t continue. “Not because I care a lot but… that would make my mom happy. So that’s in mine.” He looked up from the screen to look at Connor. “Do you want… like a mass or?”

“God no,” Connor said, taking a big drink of his whisky. “I dunno. I just want something… short and not too fucking depressing?” 

Evan nodded. 

“Like… I just want to make sure it’s me they remember, you know? Me in all my fucked up, mentally ill, gay bookworm glory. I don’t want someone else’s funeral. I don’t want my parents to, like… throw a funeral for the son they wish they had.” 

Evan felt compelled to reach his hand out and take Connor’s then. “Okay.”

“So. I dunno. Put something about that in there.”

Evan nodded, and he started typing. “Uh… just a few more. I know this is pretty. Like. It’s kind of heavy.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Connor said in a tone that absolutely made Evan worry. “Bring it on.”

“Uh… do you want to indicate someone who has power of attorney in the case that you’re incapacitated?” Evan asked, looking briefly up at Connor. 

Connor blinked. “Wouldn’t that be you? Since you’re, like, my attorney?”

He shook his head. “Usually that’s like… a family member or something. Someone you trust to carry out your wishes or whatever? I’m not sure… I mean we’re only friends, I don’t  -” He feared if he said any more, Evan would let on how he felt about Connor. He’d let on how in love with Connor he was and ruin everything. He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure you’d want me making life or death decisions about you.”

“Zoe then,” Connor said decisively. 

Evan typed that up. “And uh. If you’re incapacitated… do you want extraordinary measures taken?”

“What does that mean, exactly?” 

Evan shrugged. “Like if something happened to you where you couldn’t make choices for yourself, would you want someone to tell the doctors to do everything they could? Even if the things they did might cause harm or reduce quality of life.” 

“Oh,” Connor looked thoughtful. “Huh. I guess, sure.” He took another drink. “What do people normally say? Or whatever?” 

Evan looked up at him, “I mean, I don’t exactly do a lot of wills. I did my own, but… I dunno, normally there’s clauses for different catastrophic circumstances. Some folks have stuff about, like, in the event of brain death, they want to be allowed to die. Or that they don’t want to be resuscitated more than four times.” 

“I don’t know what to even put there,” Connor said. 

Evan smiled a little, “It’s like… do you want long term palliative care if you get so sick or injured that you can’t advocate for yourself? Or, like, would you want someone keeping you on a ventilator if you can’t breathe on your own?”

Connor wrinkled his nose. It was adorable. 

“Basically, I’m asking if you want someone to unplug you in the event that you’re a vegetable.” Evan took a drink. “Is that not the sort of fun and casual conversation you wanted to have tonight?”

Connor shook his head aggressively, laughing. “Fuck no. And to answer your question: No extraordinary measures. If I’m dying, let me go. Could you imagine what that might mean if I started to loop again? Horrible. Absolutely not. No extraordinary measures. Make sure Zoe knows that. Just… unplug me.”

Evan nodded, writing that in. 

And now he was sitting here, wondering if he could… fuck with a signed and dated legal document. To remove that clause. To unmake that choice for Connor. 

Not that it was a real concern. He was breathing on his own. His brain still worked. He was just… unconscious. All that would happen if they unplugged him was that his heart monitor wouldn’t beep. 

Evan was being stupid. 

But he kept putting off talking to Zoe about the will. About Larry asking about the will. 

Chapter Text

“So I was thinking of writing a book,” says Jenny from her spot on Connor and Andi’s sofa. “About the whole constantly dying thing.”

“Not an academic paper?” Connor says with a roll of his eyes. 

“It’s been done,” says Jenny dismissively. “Obviously.” She takes a brownie from the huge pile that Andi’s made, puts the whole thing in her mouth, then continues. “Aawfik tylb rulnntrytig.”

“What?”

Jenny swallows. “I think it’ll be really interesting.”

“There’s pot in those,” Andi says when she sees Jenny reach for another brownie.

“Perfect,” says Jenny, and eats another three in a row. 

Connor goes over and grabs a brownie, then goes back to the wall, where he’s adding various theories from Dr. Weekes’ papers to the ever-growing list. 

“Did you ever fall down a manhole?” asks Jenny, sounding distracted. 

Connor snorts. “Maaaaaanhole.” He turns to look at Jenny, who just seems confused. “Sorry, that’s a… dumb joke with Evan. Yeah, we both did.”

“So did Dr. Weekes,” Jenny adds. “Maybe that’s some kind of universal constant.”

Connor snorts again. “The universally constant maaaaaanhole.”

“Oh my fucking god .”

Jenny gets up, looks at the wall. Takes it all in. 

It’s… honestly, it’s starting to look like the ramblings of a crazy person. Multiple crazy people, given the combination of different handwriting. There’s Andi’s loopy cursive, full of unnecessary embellishments, and Jenny’s blocky all caps. Then there’s his own handwriting, which Evan always teases him is way neater than he expected. 

“You have really neat handwriting,” he’d said once when they were going through the paperwork to set up The Little Book Nook, sounding genuinely surprised. 

“Thank you?” Connor had replied, a little confused. 

Evan chuckled. “I’m just saying. You’re so, like, cool and punk rock, I’d expect you to have, like, kind of messy, devil-may-care handwriting.”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “Devil-may-care?”

“Whatever,” said Evan dismissively. “You get my point though. I just… didn’t think you’d have such neat handwriting.”

“I feel like you’re making fun of me,” Connor had said, still finding the whole thing weird. 

Evan’s eyes had widened. “I swear I’m not,” he’d said, something in his voice softening. “I just… it’s nice.” He’d smiled, this soft smile that Connor hadn’t known at the time, hadn’t recognized then, but knows so well now. “It’s really… beautiful.”

Connor remembers wanting to kiss him then. 

He should have kissed him then. 

“Connor?”

He turns to see Jenny looking at him. 

“What?”

Jenny sighs. “I was just asking if you remember what Evan’s starting point was.”

“Bathroom,” he says immediately. “He’d… he’d been throwing up. He always came back to looking at his face in the mirror, having just thrown up.” He frowns. “He… his loop started right in the middle of him taking the bar. So he took the second half of the bar exam, like, a gazillion times.”

Jenny looks thoughtful. “My starting point was the bathroom, too. So was yours, so was Dr. Weekes’... do you think there’s a reason for that?”

Connor blinks. “Not really?”

Jenny tilts her head. “It could be… I don’t know, maybe there’s some symbolism there.

Connor rolls his eyes. “Symbolism. Sure. Okay.” He sighs. “It’s symbolic that this whole situation is shit.”

Jenny laughs. “Preaching to the choir, my friend. Preaching to the fucking choir.”

Connor had been in a coma for a week and three days when Evan remembered that Charles and Asher were getting married the next weekend. That he was supposed to be a groomsman in the wedding of two of his close friends. Honestly, if Mariah hadn’t been bitching about her tux rental being a hassle, Evan probably would have completely forgotten. 

“Oh god,” He said to her at lunch. “I completely… I forgot about the wedding.”

Mariah looked sympathetic. “You’ve had a lot going on.”

“I… I don’t…” Evan looked around helplessly. “How the fuck am I supposed to go to a wedding and, like, take a million photos and party when -” 

He couldn’t finish. 

When Connor was in a coma.

When Connor might not even be alive by the time the wedding rolled around. 

“I can’t… I can’t,” He said, feeling like he was choking, feeling like he was drowning. “I don’t think I can stand up in a wedding right now.”

Mariah grabbed his hand. “They’ll understand. If Asher was in your position? He wouldn’t have gotten off the couch in weeks. Remember how broken up he was when his cat had to to have that bladder surgery? He would be a complete mess if this was Charles in a coma. They’ll understand.”

Evan nodded. “I… I appreciate you saying that like I’m not a complete mess.”

She patted his hand. “Go talk to them. They’ll understand.”

And they did. He told both of them over lunch, sitting in Charles’s new office. He’d been promoted a few months back.

Asher pulled Evan into a tight hug when he explained why he had to drop out, and then he genuinely teared up which Evan… didn’t know what to do with. He just. Patted Asher’s shoulder awkwardly. Charles insisted that Evan still come to the wedding if things weren’t improved by that time. “I understand if standing up is too much for you, but I want you there. We want you there.”

Evan said he would do his very best. 

And then Asher gave Evan a small crocheted cactus. 

“What’s this?”

“Well, I wanted to give you a cactus to give Connor… since he brought you a desk cactus, and I thought he’d like one. But then I remembered most ICUs won’t let you have plants so… I found it on Etsy -”

“It was my dumb suggestion,” Charles said, “We used to call Connor your cactus guy and Asher thought it might make you laugh, shit-”

Evan hugged Asher tightly. He had never been so grateful to have this guy as a friend. He hugged Charles too, his heart feeling a lot warmer than it had in weeks.  “Thank you. That’s so kind. Thank you.”

“I hope he wakes up soon,” Asher said, sounding genuine. “I really really hope he does.”

Evan nodded. “Me too.”

Evan felt utterly useless at work that week. He stared at his phone all of the time. He spaced out in the middle of important meetings. He couldn’t focus. Evan had a court appearance, and he realized half way through it that he was just going through the motions. He was just operating on autopilot. He was half a person at best. He wasn’t even there. 

Evan wasn’t there. 

Jonathan dropped by Evan’s office on Friday evening. To “check in” he said. 

“Am I fired?” Evan asked, his voice dull and flat. 

“No!” Jonathan looked surprised. “No, you’re… Look. I know Larry.”

“I know you do.”

“He’s filing a lawsuit against the hospital -”

“I know,” Evan said shortly. “I helped with… with a few details.”

“Hansen, I… I didn’t realize how bad things were,” Jonathan said, sounding almost… embarrassed. “You. You qualify for personal and family leave. If you need time -”

“I’d rather be working,” Evan said honestly. “I can’t keep sitting there. I can’t just… I can’t just watch him, day in and out. It’s killing me.”

Jonathan nodded. “Okay. Well. If anything changes?”

“I’ll let you know,” Evan said. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thank you, Jonathan.”

Jonathan gave Evan a pale smile. “My husband was in a car wreck. Massive internal bleeding. He had brain surgery… He was in a coma for three weeks,” He volunteered suddenly. “Ten years ago now? He wasn’t even my husband then. He… It’s difficult. When you’re not technically family.”

Evan felt his breath catch. He was caught off guard. By surprise. “Yes, sir. It is.”

“After my husband woke up, we drove to Boston and got married.” He offered Evan a strange smile. 

Evan nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

Even though Connor still hasn’t managed to get the guy to pin down an actual time and date for his visit to New York, Dr. Weekes continues to stay in touch. His emails are either short with absolutely zero punctuation or big long paragraphs that run on and make very little sense unless you read them over a few times. 

It’s frustrating as all fuck. 

Connor’s starting to get the impression that this guy is a bit of an asshole. 

Still, he keeps up correspondence. Answers the doctor’s questions and indulges his rants, because in between the bullshit, there’s stuff that… kind of makes sense. 

Hi Connor you should take a good look and see if you can find any evidence of changes you have made to your body in the last two years that you remember did you get any tattoos or any injuries that would have left scars the theory is that you are in the body of your 27 y/o self so anything you have done since then shouldnt be there if you cant find any changes you know you have made then this proves it i am sure that it is your consciousness that is from another reality not your body so you should check for evidence pls email when you have done this

Dr Joshua Weekes, PhD

Connor can actually answer this straight away. A few weeks after the death loops, Andi had given him a tattoo of a melting clock on his shoulder. He’d kind of handwaved the explanation, but he’d wanted something to kind of…

Commemorate is the wrong word. More like know that something about him had changed, since he’d died and died and died. 

That he’d changed. 

That there was a physical reminder of… change, after dying and dying and dying, over and over again. 

He remembers when Evan had first noticed it. 

It was when they’d first decided to give the whole fuck buddies thing a try, early on in their friendship with benefits. They were at Connor’s place, having just had sex, and Connor had just caught his breath and had managed to stop himself from throwing his arm around Evan to pull him close because Evan had said then that he didn’t like cuddling. 

Then he’d felt Evan’s fingers, lightly tracing the lines of the tattoo on his shoulder. 

He’d stayed still and closed his eyes, letting Evan touch it. Feeling the weight of his fingertips, ghosting over his skin. 

“How long have you had this one?”

“A month?” Connor guessed. “A month and a half? Andi did it, a few weeks after… a few weeks after.”

“Right,” Evan had said, his fingers still moving, slowly but surely, sending shivers through Connor’s whole body. “Right, that makes sense.”

“Do you like it?” Connor asked, half-joking, half-serious, because while it didn’t really matter in the long run, he’d… wanted Evan to like it. For some strange reason. 

“I do,” Evan had assured him, his fingers still moving maddeningly slowly, and Connor remembers being powerless to move, almost hypnotized by the motion, the feeling that something important was happening. 

They’d stayed that way for what felt like a long time. 

“I just wanted… to see it,” Connor had confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know? To see that… I’m not the same as I was when we were dying and dying and dying. I don’t… I don’t feel the same and I wanted to… to see it.”

“Yeah,” Evan had replied, in that same hushed, whispered tone. “I get it.” He laughed a little, still tracing the edges of the clock, over and over. “I couldn’t… I don’t think I’m brave enough for a tattoo. Not really.”

“They’re not for everyone,” Connor said, watching as Evan’s fingers moved. “Doesn’t mean you’re not brave, though.”

Evan had looked at him, this hard to read expression. “I’m not brave,” he’d said, his voice so, so quiet. 

Connor had reached out then and taken his hand. Squeezed it lightly. “Sure you are,” he’d replied, trying to make sure the words had the weight they required. “You’re still here, aren’t you?"

Evan arrived at the hospital at around the time Zoe did. She was standing in the hall, on the telephone, saying quietly, “I know Stephanie, I’m glad you called.” She paused. “I know.” Another pause. “Have a good night.” She looked at Evan. “Sorry, one of my clients is having a hard time.” 

Evan nodded. “How come we’re in the hall?”

“The staff was giving Connor a sponge bath,” She said. “I figured there were some things a sister shouldn’t see.”

“Oh,” Evan said, feeling something twist weirdly in his chest. Connor needing to be cared for like that. Connor being a patient, like that. His mom used to be the person to give old people that kind of care, to give people sponge baths, to handle their bodies when they no longer could. He cleared his throat, trying not to think about it. “My coworkers gave me a little fake cactus for Connor?” He said, holding it up. 

“Cute,” Zoe said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Is it weird that I feel a way about someone else seeing Connor naked?”

Zoe laughed. “If it helps, it was a woman in her forties.”

“It doesn’t,” Evan said, almost laughing. 

They were allowed back into the room as the nurse’s aid was pulling on Connor’s new hospital gown. Evan briefly got a glimpse at the tattoo on Connor’s shoulder of a melting clock, the one he told Evan he had gotten right after the loops ended… and Evan suddenly felt like crying. 

Zoe sighed, sinking into her usual chair. 

Because she had a usual chair. 

Evan sucked in a deep breath as he sat in the chair beside her. “I need to… I need to talk to you about something.”

Zoe’s eyes went wide. “Did something happen?”

Evan sighed. “Your dad asked me the other day… whether or not Connor had a will.”

Zoe’s brow furrowed. “What?” She let out a nervous sounding laugh. “Well that’s… I mean I know he’s all responsible now, but that’s… Connor wouldn’t…” She cleared her throat. “Does he. Have a will?”

Evan nodded. “I helped him draw it up? When he was buying the bookstore? Just… just in case something happened.” He went into his bag, pulling out the copy he had. He gave it to Zoe. “He… Connor named you power of attorney. In case medical decisions needed to be made and he was… unable to make them for himself.”

Zoe looked horrified. “What?” She took a ragged breath. “I… Don’t you have to notify someone if that…?”

Evan shook his head.

“What the fuck?” She said, looking at Connor with something unreadable in her eyes. 

“I… Your parents can’t agree on anything when it comes to what to do about Connor,” Evan said gently. “But legally speaking, Connor wanted you to make those choices.”

“So… so my dad can’t, like, move him unless I say it’s okay?” Zoe said, looking over the document. “I’d have to sign off on it?”

“Yeah.”

“Why… why didn’t he name you? To decide that?” Zoe asked, looking confused. “You’re his partner…”

“We weren’t together when we drew this up,” Evan said. 

“So? You were obsessed with each other from the jump,” Zoe said. “You’re… It shouldn’t be me. I don’t want it. It should be you.”

Evan shook his head. “It’s… I can’t, Zoe. I don’t have any rights here. It’s… You have a signed directive.”

Zoe just looked at Connor for a long time. Then she started to page through the rest of the document, her face setting into something more grim. “He… this says no extraordinary measures. There’s… there’s end of life care that specifically says he doesn’t want to be in a coma.”

“I… I know,” Evan said. 

“But he’s still breathing on his own,” Zoe said. “He’s not… This isn’t technically end of life care. Right?”

Evan sighed. “I would argue that, yeah.”

“Okay,” Zoe said, sucking in a breath. “Okay okay okay.” She looked directly at Connor. “You better wake up, asshole, because I refuse to be the girl who has to pull the plug on her brother, okay? So. You better wake the fuck up.”

Chapter Text

“Okay, so, be honest,” Connor says one morning in early May when he finds Jenny waking up on their couch at 8 in the morning. “Do you actually have an apartment of your own at the moment, or have you moved in?”

“I have an apartment,” Jenny says, a little defensively. “But it’s tried to kill me, like, a gazillion times, so… I feel safer here.”

Connor motions for her to follow him into the kitchen and makes them both coffee. “I get that,” he says carefully. “I really do. But at some point, you are going to have to get your life back to normal. And that means actually living in your own apartment.”

“You’re just pissed off that I used the hot water in the weekend,” says Jenny dismissively, helping herself to a slice of bread Andi had made the night before, slathering it with copious raspberry jam.

“Well, yeah, I’m not thrilled about cold showers,” Connor admits. “But that’s not what I’m saying.”

Jenny bites her lip. Squares her shoulders, like she’s about to argue. “I’m doing my best,” she says stubbornly. “I’m going to work.”

“You got a new job,” he points out. “You quit your job at that Chinese restaurant because you burned to death after accidentally falling into a flaming wok full of sweet and sour pork.”

“Fine,” she says, crossing her arms. “But if you’d died at work, you’d be right there with me.”

Connor, who did not, in fact, ever die at work, kind of sees her point. “Okay. I just…” He sighs. “I’m… trying to get home,” he says, his voice careful.

Jenny looks at him like he’s spectacularly stupid. “I know that, Connor.”

“So what happens when I do?” he asks her. “I don’t know what happens to the me that exists in this universe. I don’t know any of it. But I do know that I won’t know you.”

Jenny blinks a few times. “You knew me before, though,” she says, her voice a little wobbly. 

“I knew of you,” he corrects. “But we weren’t close or anything.”

 Jenny’s eyes are wide. “You’re… you’re the only person I can talk to about this,” she says, her voice shaking even more. “You’re the only person who understands.”

“You can talk to Andi,” Connor points out. He’s starting to feel like a complete asshole for bringing this up in the first place.

“It didn’t happen to her, though.”

“But she knows about it,” Connor says, as gently as he can. “And I… I don’t know if I died. In this universe. So I… if I go home, that means you and Andi might end up with the me that lives in this universe. The me who doesn’t know about any of this.”

Jenny frowns. “I…” She opens her mouth. Closes it. “I don’t…”

“You don’t want me to go.”

“I want you to get home,” Jenny says immediately. “I do. Of course I fucking do. I just… I didn’t think about it that way.” Her eyes start to well up dangerously. “I’ll miss you.”

Connor winces. “I’m not trying to be a dick,” he says quickly. “I just… I worry that you’re relying on me too much.” He hands her a cup of coffee, then takes one of his own. “I worry that I’m relying on you too much,” he adds quietly. “I… I’m not… I don’t want to fuck up your life, Jenny. I like you. You’re my friend. But you’re here and I… I don’t belong in this universe. I don’t. I need to get back to my life.”

Jenny looks at him, an expression he can’t quite place on her face. “What if you can’t?” she says slowly. “If you can’t get home, then… what would you do?”

“I’m going home,” he says immediately. “I don’t care how long it takes, I don’t care what I have to do, I’m going back to where I belong. I’m not… I can’t stay here.”

Jenny’s quiet for a moment. “I do want you to get home,” she says, softer this time. “But I… I’m going to really fucking miss you, okay?”

“I’ll miss you too,” Connor says, because it’s true. 

He’ll miss Jenny. He knows he will. 

In his reality, he doesn’t really know Jenny. She’ll be a stranger, and that’s…

That’s hard. 

That sucks. 

But if it comes down to a choice between being friends with Jenny or getting back to Evan, Connor will choose Evan every time. 

Every single fucking time. 

Evan kept putting stuff off. 

Like getting a refill on his meds. He still had a week’s worth left, but he had been spotty about remembering to take them. 

Like returning any of Sabrina’s calls… She had called him once a day since they’d gotten drunk together on the roof, and Evan was dodging her by inventing court dates and not answering. He texted her every few days so she didn’t just show up at his place again, but he never called. Hearing her voice would put him on edge, make him more likely to lash out at her. 

It wasn’t Sabrina’s fault that Evan was such a mess but she made for a decent scapegoat, and he knew that about himself. Best to avoid her for the time being. 

He put off staying at his place as much as he could, instead spending most nights at Connor’s apartment curled up with Edgar Allan Paw. Edgar seemed especially down these days. He never wanted to play anymore when Evan visited. 

Evan was also putting off a rather pushy associate from the Law Offices of McLaren, Hunt, and Simon, because after the fishing waste win, Richard McLaren had apparently gotten it into his head that he needed Evan to come and work for him. 

Which… 

No fucking way. 

Not even if they made him a millionaire. Not even if they paid off all of his debts. 

Unless a contract offer included a binding guarantee that his boyfriend would wake up from his coma which seemed to have no medical reason behind it, Evan wasn’t even going to bother taking a call from Richard’s office. 

But perhaps the worst thing that Evan had been putting off was therapy. Evan had been putting it off, but Zoe gently suggested he talk to Marcia about the Connor Situation, and Evan… Listened.

He didn’t want to but.  He didn’t need her to waste energy worrying about him too. Not when she had Connor to worry about. And her parents constantly fighting. She had more than enough to worry about.

So he went to therapy. 

And immediately knew he didn’t want to be there. That maybe he shouldn’t be there, because his chances of being thrown into a psych ward had gone up dramatically since the last time he was in Marcia office. 

Marcia looked at Evan sadly as it all poured out of him. The complications the coma the Hebrew mumblings, Larry and Cynthia fighting, his mom praying, Zoe being beside herself with worry that she’d have to actually act on her position as power of attorney. The McLaren offers, what had happened when Evan had interned for Richard, how Connor had had an affair with him… 

“Evan, that is… that would be a lot for someone who didn’t have your struggles.”

Yeah. No fucking shit. 

“No wonder you’re having a difficult time coping.”

Evan swallowed hard and nodded.

Marcia fixed him with a serious look. “Have you had thoughts of hurting yourself?”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“Do you want to hurt yourself?”

He nodded. “Sometimes.”

“Do you have a plan to hurt yourself?”

He struggled to find his voice. “I… no.” 

Marcia waited. 

“Well, I mean. Not... really. I’ve thought about, like. Stepping in front of a subway train right as one pulls up to the platform or, like, taking all of my Valium at once but… Nothing concrete or serious. Nothing real. Not like last time.”

“So you have means?” Marcia looked very, very worried. “What I’m hearing you say is that you have potential plans and means to do harm to yourself.”

“No! No that’s… You’re not listening. I’m not, like. I won’t do that.”

She didn’t look convinced. 

“I can’t kill myself,” Evan said. “It would destroy Connor if I killed myself.”

Marcia wore a painful-looking smile, “And what if Connor isn’t around?”

“What do you mean?”

“If he dies,” Marcia said. 

“He’s not going to die,” Evan said stubbornly 

“He might,” Marcia said. “And it might be… appropriate to try to prepare yourself for that possibility.” 

“No,” Evan barked, getting to his feet. “I don’t. Because… Because it’s not happening. He’s going to wake up -”

“Evan, if Connor doesn’t pull out of this, I have an ethical and moral obligation to make sure you are safe and  -”

“No. Fuck you for saying that,” Evan said, pointing a shaking finger at Marcia. “He is not going to die.”

“Evan -”

“No, no! Fuck you. You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to decide when I have to prepare myself or-or any of that. He’s going to make it. And even if - Even if he doesn’t, my shit is no longer your concern. You’re fired. Obviously.” He stormed from her office, breathing heavily. 

Suddenly he felt extremely unsure of himself. What to do with his hands, how to carry himself, how to breathe or what to think. 

He’d fired Marcia. His therapist. The only therapist he’d ever successfully worked with and that left him feeling unsteady, unstable. 

Connor, his rock, his safe person, his protector, was lost somewhere inside of himself with no indications that he was going to return. 

Evan was lost. 

He didn’t know what to do. 

But he did know what he was not going to do. 

He was not going to sit around and fucking prepare for the love of his life to be dead. Evan refused to do that. He refused. 

In his daze of angrily stomping around Manhattan, Evan found himself on the front steps of Tipsy McStagger’s. He hadn’t been, not in a while. It was their place. It felt wrong to go without Connor.

But Evan needed a drink. Or twenty. He needed to… erase that conversation with Marcia from the front of his mind. 

He headed inside and bought himself a whisky, because that was what Connor liked and Evan missed Connor a lot. He missed him so much, all of the time. 

He had several ... Several whiskeys. He had whiskey and a lot of it, until the gnawing, aching, terrified feeling inside of him started to go away. Until a sort of calm settled over him, a reassuring blankness. 

When the bar closed, Evan walked home. He thought about calling a Lyft for the short ride, because they’d done that for safety during the loops, but he decided fuck safety. He decided fuck everything. He walked and smoked and walked and smoked some more. 

“Hey man.”

Evan whipped around. 

Otis was standing under a streetlight. The backpack slung over his shoulders was the one Evan and Connor had bought for him during the winter. On his feet, Evan recognized the combat boots too. 

“You… you probably don’t remember this,” Otis said, his voice extremely hesitant and soft. “But I. You and this long-haired guy? You really helped me out this winter? And I… I’m getting a lot better now. So I just. I wanted to say thank you. I knew you lived nearby but I hadn’t seen you around…” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I have a place to stay now? And uh. I got a job at a bodega. It’s third shift and the pay sucks but it’s better than busking for quarters.”

Evan stared at him in utter shock. 

“I know that, like. Most people don’t do that kinda thing and that really helped. Like with the clothes and socks and stuff.  The… clothes and whatever? That meant a lot to me. So. Thanks.”

It was the first time anything Otis had said to him had ever made any fucking sense. “What are you?” Evan asked. “Are you… are you like? An angel or a timelord or…?”

Otis looked embarrassed. “I’m… I’m nobody. Just. A guy who, uh. Who went off his meds.”

Evan shook his head. All of the sort of… profound shit he and Connor had thought Otis had said…. He was just a homeless dude with mental health problems. “That… no,” Evan said. “Because you… you knew stuff. You knew everything.” Evan laughed, hollow and sharp and inhuman. “You knew everything. I thought that… I thought that meant something.”

Otis flinched. “Dude I… I’m sorry if I ever said something that fucked with your head. I’m really sorry. I’m just a guy with a shitty life, man.”

Evan felt the small bubble of hope inside of him deflate and shrivel a little bit more. He nodded. “Sorry I… I’m so glad to hear you’re doing better. I… that’s really great.”

“Thanks,” Otis said. “Hey uh. Your guy, with the hair? He works at, uh. The Teeny Weenie Bookstore or whatever?”

“The Little Book Nook,” Evan said. 

“I’m gonna stop by once I get my first paycheck,” Otis said, smiling triumphantly. “And I’m gonna buy a book.”

Evan tried to smile. “That’s wonderful. I… I’m excited to find out what you pick.”

Chapter Text

Working with Garrett is the worst. 

Just the worst. 

Not for the first time, Connor considers just… asking Gladys if he can fire him. Maybe they hire Jax early. They’re friends with Leslie, after all, and if Connor recalls correctly, they’re still in the States right now. They haven’t gone to Mexico to teach English yet. 

He probably shouldn’t. 

He really probably shouldn’t, but it’s so fucking tempting, especially when Garrett’s just being such a fucking asshole. 

It’s just after the lunch rush and Connor’s busy stacking the travel section when the bell over the door goes. He hears a familiar voice asking for him at the front desk. A voice he hasn’t heard in a long time in his reality. 

Jesus fucking Christ. 

This is the last thing he needs right now. 

He looks over, and Garrett’s pointing in his direction with a smarmy grin, and Richard is standing there with his asshole haircut and his asshole jacket, smug and secure in his overall assholery. 

Richard heads over to where Connor’s stacking books determinedly. 

Connor resists the urge to smack him in the face. 

It’s just… so much worse now. 

Now that he knows just how much of an asshole Richard is. 

He knows that Richard kissed Evan without his consent, tried to feel him up in the pantry of his kitchen, with his husband in the other room, and he knows how much that fucked Evan up. 

He remembers how after Evan told him, he’d been jumpy, twitchy, and if Connor didn’t check in before touching him, he’d freeze, go pale, look so fucking scared and Connor never, ever, ever wants to see him look like that again. 

This asshole sexually assaulted Evan. 

Evan, who means more to Connor than anyone in the fucking universe. 

Evan, who’s dead in this universe. 

Who fucking killed himself.

And while that’s not all Richard’s fault, it sure as fuck probably didn’t help. 

“You haven’t been answering my emails,” says Richard, reaching out to touch Connor’s arm. 

“Take a fucking hint,” Connor snaps, pulling his arm away. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

Richard smiles. “We don’t have to talk, Connor. Let me take you out tonight. We could go to that hotel you liked.”

“Fuck you.”

Richard raises an eyebrow. “Was kind of hoping you would, yeah.”

“If you ever step foot in this store again, I will call the police,” Connor says, pulling his shoulders back and bringing himself up to his full height. “I don’t ever want to see you again and if you show up again, I will get a fucking restraining order, don’t think I won’t.”

Richard looks incredulous. “Like hell you will. I’m a lawyer, in case you forgot. You try to take any kind of legal action against me and I’ll eat you for breakfast.”

“My dad’s a lawyer,” Connor says immediately, and he doesn’t actually think he’s ever said those words in a way that’s supposed to mean something. “Larry Murphy, you heard of him? I hear he’s a big fucking deal around these parts.”

Richard blinks. Goes pale. “You’re Larry Murphy’s kid?”

“I am,” Connor says, and fuck it’s weird to be using his dad as some kind of leverage, but he knows enough lawyers to know what kind of language they speak. “You leave me the fuck alone or I’ll have plenty of things to say to my dad about how you treat your fucking interns, Richard.”

Richard goes even paler, if that’s even possible. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“I know that you prey on young queer law students and basically blackmail them into fucking you,” Connor spits out. “It’s a fucking open secret, everyone knows you do it. You’re lucky no one’s called you on it yet but I swear to God, if you get anywhere near me ever again I will make your life a living hell.”

Richard scowls. “You don’t have any proof. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“All it takes is for someone to say something to someone else, and then I bet you’ll get dozens of the poor bastards coming out of the woodwork, looking to rip off a piece of you,” Connor threatens. “I’ll make that happen. I swear I will.”

Richard looks disgusted. He lets out a harsh laugh. “You’re not fucking worth it,” he sneers, then turns and leaves the bookstore as quickly as he can. 

Connor takes in a shaky breath. 

Lets it out. 

Closes his eyes. 

Hopes like hell he’ll be home when he opens them. 

“Were you serious?”

Connor opens his eyes and sees that Garrett’s standing in front of him, looking shaken. 

“Do I look fucking serious to you?” Connor snaps. 

Garrett’s eyes widen. “I… I know people who’ve interned for him, and they… they said something that sounded weird, but I didn’t…” He frowns. “That’s assault.”

“It is,” Connor agrees. 

“How do you know about it?”

Connor closes his eyes. “He tried to… my boyfriend was his intern.”

Garrett’s voice is shaky when he replies. “What happened?”

Connor opens his eyes. 

Looks straight at Garrett. 

“He fucking killed himself.”

With that, he goes back to restocking the travel section. 

Sabrina showed up at Evan’s apartment before work two weeks to the day since Connor had fallen into a coma. She showed up with bagels and coffee and a grim smile on her face. 

Evan had been in the middle of knotting his tie when the doorbell buzzed, and he let her in while he finished getting dressed. 

They stared at each other for a long long moment when she came inside. “You look like hell,” She said softly. 

“Yeah, I know,” Evan said, shrugging. 

“Have you been eating?” She asked. 

He lied and said yes. “You know I need to go to work.”

“Let me come with you,” Sabrina said. “I’m not going to, like, follow you to your office but I… I thought maybe you needed a little company.”

Evan didn’t know how to tell her that he didn’t want to see her at all. He didn’t want to see anyone, he didn’t want to see anyone but Connor but Connor was in a fucking coma.

Evan was hungover. 

He didn’t want a bagel or Sabrina’s pity coffee or to go to work. He didn’t want to do anything. All he wanted to do was to lie next to Connor. 

But Connor was in a fucking coma. 

Connor wasn’t here. 

“Maybe you could come to dinner tonight?” Sabrina asked, following Evan out of his apartment. 

Evan shook his head. 

“You can’t spend every night at the hospital, Evan.”

“I’m not,” He lied. 

Sabrina didn’t look convinced. He used to be a better liar. He used to lie to her like it was his job. He’d gotten bad at it. 

He’d gotten bad at a lot of things that were bad for him. 

Except smoking. He was still good at that. 

“Ev,” Sabrina said, grabbing his elbow. 

“I’m not,” Evan said. 

She looked at him, hard. 

“I’m… I’m going to Charles and Asher’s wedding this weekend,” Evan said, almost lamely. 

Sabrina stared at him, apparently unconvinced. 

“No. Really. I mean… I’m not standing up because, well. I know I’m like. A mess. But. I… they’re my friends. I should be there.”

“You’re going by yourself?” Sabrina asked, looking… sad. 

He nodded. “People from work will be there.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sabrina said with a sympathetic smile. 

“No,” Evan said harshly. 

“I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I’m fine,” Evan said. “I’ll be fine. People from work will be there.”

“Let me come with you,” She said. “It’ll be… we’ll have fun.”

“No offense, Sabrina, but I don’t really want to show up to a wedding with my ex-girlfriend while my boyfriend is in a coma? I’m not interested in playing pretend happy couple with you while the love of my life is unconscious in a hospital.”

Sabrina recoiled like he’d slapped her. 

“Does Graham even know you’re here?” Evan pushed. 

“Of course he does!”

“Is he okay with you being all over me again?” Evan went on. “He’s cool with you constantly checking in, hanging around, basically acting like I’m your boyfriend? He’s okay with that?”

“Ev, come on -”

“I am not your fucking boyfriend anymore, Sabrina,” He shouted, wheeling around so he was looking her dead in the eye. “I don’t need you hovering.”

“Yes you do!” She cried, her eyes flooding. “You need someone to take care of you, and if Connor’s not here to do it then… then…”

“Then what?” He spat. 

“Then I’m scared that I’m going to have two funerals to go to,” She sobbed. “I’m scared you’ll die, Evan, you already said -”

“I never said that,” He barked. “I never fucking said that.”

“You did. You did, Ev, I wouldn’t lie to you, I wouldn’t -”

“Leave me alone,” Evan said. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

“No!” Sabrina said, grabbing onto his arm. “I’m not leaving you alone, I won’t -”

“That’s not your job anymore,” Evan said, his voice quieter, softer. “It hasn’t been your job in a long time.”

“Ev-”

“Graham is a nice guy,” He went on. “He’s nice. He’s healthy and-and-and normal. He loves you. He loves you enough that he’s put up with you freaking out about me since before you even moved back here. Just… can’t you just go and be happy with that? With him?”

Sabrina looked horrified. “You are my best friend.”

“Go back to your fiance, Sabrina,” Evan said, his tone… final. “I don’t want this. I don’t want… you. Leave me alone.”

Connor’s mom visits the city for a week in May, and he’s unprepared for how it makes him feel. It’s not like she’s never visited before, in both this universe and the real one, the past and the future, but it’s different, somehow, and it hurts his heart. 

It’s just…

It reminds him of other times she’s visited, but it’s just not the same. 

His mom sits in the corner in the sunshine spot throughout an entire workday, soaking in the sunshine and reading from the huge pile of novels she’d purchased. She talks to Martha and Gladys, who both immediately recognize her as Connor’s mother and talk about how well he’s doing as a manager. 

His mom looks so proud. 

So fucking proud. 

Connor doesn’t know what to do with that. 

He doesn’t feel like he’s done anything she should be proud of. 

He’s stuck. 

He’s just stuck. 

His mom insists that the three of them go out for dinner, and they end up at this fancy restaurant, where he, Zoe and his mom all drink far, far too much wine, and Connor remembers that when his mom had visited the August after he died and died and died, just before he moved into the apartment over the bookstore, he hadn’t gone to dinner with them. 

Because he’d been with Evan. 

He’d been having sex with Evan - amazing, incredible sex because Evan had been at a conference and it had been frustrating and he’d needed to unwind, needed to get rid of some of that energy. Connor remembers the look in his eyes, the feel of Evan’s lips on his neck, his hands, his mouth…

Connor remembers everything. 

He misses him so fucking much. So much that it hurts. 

Every day, he wakes up and it hurts. 

His mom is in town for a week, from a Wednesday to a Wednesday, and Connor spends almost the entire weekend with her. She’s clearly not expecting it, and honestly, neither is he, but he’s lonely and he’s sad and he kind of just… needs something familiar. 

He follows her around department stores and secondhand bookshops and art galleries and museums, and he spends Saturday night in her hotel suite with Zoe, the three of them watching Zoolander, drinking wine and eating Chinese takeout. 

No matter what universe they’re in, his mom still has this weird obsession with Zoolander. 

“Do Blue Steel,” says Zoe to Connor, halfway through the movie, before collapsing into a fit of giggles. Connor does his best impression of the expression and his mother nearly falls off the sofa in her amusement. “That’s terrible, Connor, holy shit.”

“I can’t help it if I’m ridiculously, ridiculously good-looking,” Connor replies immediately, and Zoe hits him with a cushion from the couch. 

The three of them laugh for what feels like forever, and for a moment Connor forgets. 

Forgets that he’s stuck in a universe where Evan killed himself. 

That he’s stuck in a universe without the love of his life. 

That…

He blinks a few times and realizes that he’s crying, almost like it’s happening at a distance. 

He wipes his face distractedly. 

Huh. 

Neither his mom nor his sister say anything, not really. Zoe rests her head on his shoulder and his mom squeezes his hand. 

They order another bottle of wine from room service and finish the movie. 

On Sunday, they go out for burgers for lunch after sleeping in longer than they should have. It’s the same place they went with Evan, right after Connor moved into the apartment above the bookstore. 

It’s like the universe is trying to fucking torture him. 

They eat greasy burgers and fries and order alcoholic milkshakes and they’ve all drunk far, far too much alcohol this weekend, but Connor doesn’t care, because it’s kind of taking his mind off Evan, kind of taking his mind off this looming appointment with Dr. Weekes to see if he can get home. 

Except that it’s not. 

Because he keeps finding reminders of Evan. 

They’re everywhere. 

Fuck. 

It’s like Evan’s woven into the fabric of the city, into every part of Connor’s life. He can’t even hang out with his mom and his sister without thinking of Evan, because he knows that if this were the real reality, Evan would be right here with them. 

Evan would be here. 

Evan should be here. 

Evan should be alive. 

Connor shouldn’t be here. 

He needs to get back home. 

He needs to. 

He needs to. 

Chapter Text

Cynthia was reading to Connor when Evan got there on Thursday night, with Zoe sitting beside her, a far off look in her eyes. Cynthia paused. “I thought. I’m not sure he’s gone this long without reading something since he learned to read,” She said. “He’s… he’s probably bored.”

“Bored into a coma,” Zoe joked. “That’s a new one.”

“How’s everything?” Evan asked quietly. 

“Martha brought him a blanket today,” Zoe said, indicating a beautifully crocheted throw that was spread over Connor’s legs. “And Andi brought us some brownies.” She almost smiled. “Mom had two before she realized they were hash brownies.”

Cynthia almost smiled. “So I’m high. It’s probably the best I’ve handled this situation in a week.”

Zoe looked directly at Evan. “I talked to dad. About Connor’s will.” She looked down at her hands. “He’s… He’s not happy.”

“He already knew you had power of attorney,” Evan said, shaking his head. “I told him that.”

“That’s not why,” Cynthia said quietly, her eyes going glassy. 

Evan looked to Zoe, confused. 

She grimaced. “Look. I know we’re not there yet,” Zoe said. “And I’m not saying that I think we’ll get there. Because… we need to be hopeful. We have to be. But. If we get there… The will is pretty clear that he doesn’t want to be… Kept alive by machines. He doesn’t want extraordinary measures taken. So I. If we get there, I told dad I was planning to honor Connor’s wishes.”

Evan felt sick. Like genuinely truly sick. “I… when we talked it sounded like Larry agreed with that.”

“I thought so too,” Zoe said, shaking her head. “But he… He threatened to contest the will? He. I dunno. He stormed off an hour ago.”

Evan felt sick. 

“It’s not going to come to that,” Cynthia said, shaking her head firmly. “Larry’s… He doesn’t know how to process emotions like an adult. It’s not going to come to that. The doctors say his vitals are strong and his brain is fine, so it’s not going to come to that.” She cleared her throat. “Where was I? Ah…” She picked up where she left off reading from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. 

Evan and Zoe just sat there listening, almost reverently, like they were afraid talking might break the spell, ruin whatever magic Cynthia might be conjuring by reading out loud to Connor. She read the first few chapters, stopping just after Harry finally got his Hogwarts letter. 

Evan was suddenly painfully reminded of Connor’s tenth birthday party. Of having a stilted, awkward conversation about Hogwarts houses and Evan admitting he was still waiting to check the book out from the library. How he and Connor had retreated to a corner to read the first few chapters of the first book together, only to separate just before everyone sang happy birthday. 

Evan had wanted so badly to stand next to Connor when he blew out the candles on his cake but… everyone always looked at the birthday person. Everyone looked and tried to guess what wish they might be making, and if Evan had stood next to Connor, people might have looked at him in his dumb, homemade costume and… 

Evan had stood by Jared. 

He should have stood by Connor. He’d wanted to. 

Fuck. 

They could have had more time together… 

But they weren’t there yet. 

They weren’t. 

When Cynthia sighed and said she couldn’t keep reading, Zoe picked up the book and continued in her place. Her voice was smooth and soft and she had this smile while she read, this sort of subtle and perfect and real smile, and Evan’s heart ached for her. Her brother was in an inexplicable coma. It wasn’t fair to her. 

Or to Cynthia. Cynthia who looked like she had aged ten years since she had first arrived the day after Connor’s appendectomy. 

Or even to Larry, who was so repressed and scared that he had flown to New York but couldn’t bear to actually be in the same space as his sick child. 

It wasn’t fair to them. To Connor’s family. 

It wasn’t fair at all. 

A few days before the end of May, there’s an email from Dr. Weekes. 

Hi Connor I will be in New york first weekend of June a colleague has helped me secure a lab space at Columbia university i will attach directions if you dont know it and how to find the lab please plan accordingly as there will be a procedure to get you home details tbd i will tell you when you arrive for this to work it is important that you keep an open mind

Dr. Joshua Weekes PhD

He shows Jenny and Andi almost immediately. Jenny looks at Connor and raises her eyebrows. “Didn’t you go to Columbia?”

“I did,” Connor says, trying to keep his voice even. 

“This guy seems like an asshole,” says Jenny flatly. 

“Details tbd?” Andi repeats, frowning. “That’s… vague. Surely he’s got something more to say than that.”

“It does say to keep an open mind,” says Jenny, and now she’s frowning. “That’s, uh…” She looks at Connor. “Are you sure this guy’s legit?”

Connor raises his hands defensively. “Hey, don’t look at me, we found him through Andi’s dad.”

Andi looks… a little concerned, but nods. “You’re right. My dad wouldn’t… I’m sure it’s fine. This isn’t exactly, like, an established scientific procedure. It’s bound to be… a little out there.”

“Exactly,” Connor says. 

Jenny still looks unsure, as does Andi, but it’s not like either of them have a say in whether or not Connor does this. No matter what happens, no matter how insane Dr. Weekes’ ideas are, if he thinks they’ll work, Connor will try it. 

He needs to get back to Evan. Back to his life, back to his reality. He’s been here for months now, and who knows what that means for his reality?

Does it mean that Evan’s been trapped in the loops for months?

Does it mean that he’s just… disappeared for months?

Is Connor dead?

Is Evan dead?

Connor can’t stand not knowing. Can’t stand not being sure. 

He can’t just keep going on like this, he needs to do something. 

Anything. 

He needs to try. 

He needs to fucking try. 

Zoe seemed to actually think it was a good idea for Evan to go to the wedding. She told him on Friday night. “I think it’s good… Go see friends. Get out of this awful room for a while.”

The room wasn’t actually all that awful, in Evan’s opinion. Not anymore. There were cards and books and Maureen’s ever-growing bouquet of origami flowers. Asher’s fake cactus. A picture of Edgar. 

Zoe herself was taking a couple of days to just… not be at the hospital. She made plans to get a massage and go see a movie by herself. See her therapist. “I just. I need a break. If I stare at him breathing anymore I’m going to crack into pieces.” She had put her hand on Evan’s shoulder. She had convinced her parents to take a night off on Friday as well, going so far as to buy them both tickets to Hamilton so they would have something to keep them occupied. The tickets were separate, of course, because Larry and Cynthia were still at each other’s throats, but Zoe had joked that Connor was probably “stubbornly refusing to wake up because our parents are driving him crazy.”

Then she had fixed Evan with a look,  “You need a break too.”

“I’m… I’m going to the wedding,” He said. 

And apparently, he was going. 

He’d told two people now so it must be true. 

So he went ahead and booked his train ticket for Charles and Asher’s wedding. Confirmed his hotel reservation, the one he had made ages ago when they had asked him to stand up. Connor had requested that Evan get a room with a king-size bed and when Evan had asked him why, he had just wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and the pair of them ended up having sex right there on Connor’s sofa. 

It felt weird and inappropriate to think about sex at a time like this. 

The bookstore kids and Alex had actually managed to smuggle Edgar Allan Paw into the ICU on Friday night when Zoe and the Murphys were taking a break. They’d sneaked him past the nurses in a backpack and Alex had drawn the shades in the room so they wouldn’t be disturbed. 

“This is against like a million rules,” She muttered as Leslie and Maureen freed Edgar from the backpack and set him at the foot of Connor’s hospital bed. “I could get fired for this.”

“I’ll sue for wrongful termination if you do,” Evan reassured her. “Thank you.”

Honestly, it was heartbreaking to watch Edgar climb up Connor’s body gingerly and settle beside his shoulder and let out a mournful little meow. He kept rubbing his face against Connor’s cheek, and Evan had to look away because it was making him so sad. 

Leslie looked heartbroken. “I know it’s stupid,” She said after about fifteen minutes. “But I… I guess I thought it might wake him up or something.”

“Me too,” Jax said. Maureen was holding their hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Like. Cat magic. Or something. It’s dumb.”

“It’s not,” Evan said. “He loves that cat so much.”

“Edgar misses you too, you know,” Maureen said quietly. “Every time someone in a suit comes to the store, his little ears perk up until he realizes it’s not you.”

Evan swallowed hard. Now he felt guilty for neglecting Edgar. Connor always joked that he was the cat’s other dad and… apparently absent fatherhood was genetic because Evan was doing an awful job of being there for his cat child these days. “I should… I’m sorry I haven’t been there as much. I just. It felt weird… staying there. Without Connor.”

“I know,” Leslie said. “Were you the one who handled payroll last week?” She asked. “I was going to ask Gladys for help but…”

Evan nodded. “Yeah. I.. There weren’t any issues, right?”

Leslie shook her head. “No. Thank you for taking care of that.” 

He nodded. 

Leslie looked at Evan hard. “You know… you can come by to hang out with us too,” She said. “This is a shitty time and. You need your people.”

Evan blinked, surprised. “No, I mean… You’re… That’s very kind of you to offer but I’m not...  I’m not…”

“She’s saying they’re your people too, dude,” Alex stage whispered to Evan. 

“Thank you, I got that,” Evan said, almost smiling. He gave a grateful look to Maureen and Jax and Leslie. “Thank you.”

After about thirty minutes, the bookstore crew smuggled Edgar back out of the hospital room. Alex and Evan stood there, quiet, and watched as Connor breathed. 

“The cat was probably stupid,” Evan said. 

“I think Connor would have appreciated it,” Alex said, shrugging. “Remember how he brought Edgar to Thanksgiving last year?”

Evan smiled a little and nodded. 

Then he remembered that this year would have a Thanksgiving, regardless of whether Connor was around to see it. And he hated that. He hated that. 

The world shouldn’t get to just callously keep turning if Connor Murphy wasn’t a part of it. 

Connor’s never been to the science department at Columbia. Not even when he was a freshman and had to get his science requirements done. They were all in one of those massive lecture halls, not the specialist department. 

It’s weird. He hasn’t been here since he graduated, and it’s weird. He, Andi and Jenny walk through the halls, trying to find the lab that Dr. Weekes is using while he’s here. 

Connor has no idea how he managed to convince someone to let him use it, but apparently he did. 

When they get into the room, there’s what looks like a large plastic box thing in the corner, and there’s a guy in a lab coat shoveling in what looks like… salt. 

Connor is immediately concerned. He turns to Andi, whose eyes widen. 

“That’s a sensory deprivation tank,” she says, sounding a little excited. She looks at the guy in the lab coat. “Is this part of the plan? To get Connor back to his own reality?”

Seeing as they haven’t established they’re even in the right place yet, Connor feels super weird about just… saying that out loud. 

“You are Dr. Weekes, right?”

The guy looks at them. He’s younger than Connor expected. Tall. A little pudgier than his Wikipedia page made it seem. “Yeah,” he says, looking at them. “You Connor?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so I have to know,” says Jenny, heading toward them. “How did you get your dick bit by a snake? I’d understand that shit happening in Australia, but in Virginia? Come on, dude.”

“If I knew how a snake ended up jumping out of a toilet in Virginia to bite my dick, I’d know a lot more about the universe than I do right now.” He looks at Connor. “Okay. Right. I have paperwork for you.”

“Sure,” says Connor, who has in fact brought a pen with him for this very purpose. Dr. Weekes hands him a thick wad of paper and Connor skims over it, Andi looking over his shoulder with concern the whole time. 

No responsibility for death, dismemberment or irreversible brain trauma, yada yada yada. 

There is nothing on earth that’s going to stop Connor from signing this so he can along with whatever fucking crazy theory this guy thinks might get him home. 

Andi, however, does not seem convinced. 

“Babe, I’m not so sure about this.”

Connor signs his name in the four places it says to. “Andi. I need to get home.”

“This is… completely insane, you do realize?”

“So is dying over and over again,” he points out. “So is me being stuck in another reality.”

He hands the wad of paper to Dr. Weekes, who nods approvingly. 

“We’re almost ready,” he says. “Take off your clothes.”

Andi frowns. “I really don’t think you should-”

“Andi,” says Connor, who’s already unbuttoning his pants. “There’s nothing you can say that’s going to convince me not to try this.”

She frowns. Then looks at Dr. Weekes. “Tell me exactly what’s going to happen.”

“We’re putting Connor in a sensory deprivation tank, then giving him a strong hallucinogenic and a mild electric shock. The combination of these things should send his consciousness back to his own reality. In essence we’re just… rebooting his brain and allowing for a form of almost astral projection to occur.”

Connor takes off his socks. 

“You’re going to give him a mild electric shock?” Jenny repeats, looking skeptical. “While he’s submerged in water? I can’t see that going well.”

Connor pulls off his shirt then kind of stands there in his boxers. He looks at Dr. Weekes. “These need to go, too?”

“In a minute,” he says, sounding distracted. “You can take them off just before you climb in. First I need to inject you.”

“With what?” Andi demands. 

“Lysergic acid diethylamide.”

“LSD?” Jenny asks. “That’s not so bad. Andi, we’ve totally done LSD before.”

“It’s a higher dose than recommended,” Dr. Weekes warns. “But Connor signed the paperwork, and he wants to get home, so we’re going to try it out.”

He takes Connor’s arm and ties it off, then presses around for a vein. It’s not long before there’s a pinch, and a syringe is being emptied into his arm, and Connor starts to feel… weird. 

This is all really, really fucking weird. 

It’s kind of a blur from then. There are electrodes attached to him, then he’s being told to take off his underwear and climb into the weird pod thing. Once he’s in, they get him to lie down and it’s so fucking weird, he’s just… floating in nothing, it feels like, and he’s distantly aware that his whole dick is out, but at least it’s not being bitten by a snake and he’s been told it’s a nice dick, so it probably doesn’t matter in the long run. 

Someone’s saying something in a way that makes him think he’s being asked a question, and he says yes, in the hopes that that’s the right answer. 

He wants to get the right answer, so he can get back to Evan. 

There’s a weird noise, then everything’s dark. 

Pitch black. 

Connor closes his eyes. 

Opens them. 

Black. 

Doesn’t change, even when he blinks. 

There’s a buzzing in his ears. 

Kind of a sting. 

He feels his body move involuntarily, kind of just… kicking around, and it’s weird as fuck, this is weird, but when he opens his eyes, he thinks he sees something. 

He closes his eyes. 

Opens them again. 

Closes them. 

Opens them. 

And he’s somewhere else.

Chapter Text

Evan got a good night’s sleep the night before Charles and Asher’s wedding. In his own bed. He texted with Mariah, who said that he was missed dearly at the rehearsal dinner. Apparently Asher’s cousin Mark was his replacement and a “complete toolbox.”

“Can’t wait to see you tomorrow!”

Evan got up at his usual time. Took himself out for breakfast at the diner near the bookstore. Not the one where he and Connor didn’t die, the one where they had their first date, because he wouldn’t go there without Connor, but the other one. He had breakfast. He went to the store and visited a little bit with Edgar and Leslie, who was behind the counter, and he even helped Gladys run the till for a little while so Leslie could take her break.  

The wedding was supposed to start at four, and Evan’s train ticket was for 1:30, so at noon Evan went home. He showered. Shaved carefully. Put a little bit of product in his hair, so it looked nice, neat. He put on his best suit. Navy, nicely tailored. Evan had spent a small fortune on it after he won the Kendra McCool case against Larry. He only wore it for special occasions. Like the wedding of two of his closest friends. 

He stared into his closet for a long while trying to decide on a tie. 

Maroon, he decided. 

Connor always liked Evan’s maroon tie. 

He liked to pull on it, pull Evan in for a kiss by the end of it. 

He knotted the tie around his throat, looking into the mirror on the back of his door. 

He looked nice. Good, even. 

Well dressed. No trace of his life being a complete trainwreck to be seen on his face or body. His overnight bag was packed, leaning against the wall. His gift had already been delivered to the venue, a real gift from their registry but also a prosecco pong set Evan and Connor had picked out after Charles and Asher had destroyed everyone at Alex and Mattie’s New Year's Eve party. 

Evan looked okay. 

He had a train to catch. 

He was supposed to go to this wedding and be happy for his friends, his friends who were in love, his friends who wanted him there. 

He had a train to catch. 

Evan walked outside. 

He had to go left to get to the train station. 

He went right. 

Right.

Right into the nearest bar. Someplace dark even at midday where he had never been before. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender asked. She was young. Pretty. 

“Whisky,” Evan said, his voice certain and smooth. “A double. Please.”

It’s bright. 

Almost painfully so. 

Bright, and soft around the edges, and things are moving in a way that’s unnatural, and there’s something in his field of vision he can’t quite figure out. 

He blinks a few times, and it gets clearer. 

It’s a hospital bed. 

A man in a hospital bed. 

A man he recognizes. 

Because it’s him. 

It’s him.  

He’s asleep. 

No, not asleep, he realizes, moving closer, almost like he’s floating. He looks down, trying to see if he can see where he is right now, but it’s like he’s not real, like he’s a ghost, an apparition. 

But it’s him. 

In a hospital bed. 

He takes in details. Dark circles under his eyes, pale skin. Paler than usual, like he hasn’t seen the sun in weeks. Thinner than he should be.

He’s hooked up to all sorts of tubes and wires, and the room feels… lived in, somehow. 

Whatever’s happening, he’s been here a while. 

Connor recognizes things. There’s a blanket over him he recognizes as one of the crocheted, handmade blankets that Martha makes sometimes, when her arthritis isn’t playing up. They’re beautiful, but time-consuming, and she’d always promised she’d make him one someday.

There are origami flowers on a table near the bed, beautifully arranged, made out of paper, and it takes him a moment to remember that Maureen likes origami, that sometimes she’d make things for the bookshop displays, sometimes he’d find her folding beautiful things when the store was quiet. There’s a small crocheted cactus on the table, too. It’s cute. 

And there are cards. So many cards, standing up like a display, like a memorial, and he can’t touch them, can’t open them, but they all say get well soon, and he looks back at himself and is hit with the sudden realization that this is what’s happened to the real him, this is what’s happening. 

He’s in a coma. 

He’s in a fucking coma. 

The door opens, and Connor looks to see that someone’s walking in, and sitting in the seat next to his bed. Taking his hand and kissing the knuckles, letting out a shaky breath and hanging his head. 

His vision is hazy for a moment, but then it clears, and Connor sees that it’s Evan. 

It’s Evan. 

He’s in a nice suit. Freshly shaved, having done something to his hair... he’s dressed up way too nicely to just come visit the hospital. 

He’s wearing his maroon tie, the tie Connor has always liked.

It takes a moment for Connor to tune in to what Evan is saying. 

“I know I should be at the wedding, I know. You wouldn’t want me to miss Charles and Asher getting married, they’re my… I was supposed to stand up, for fuck’s sake, they’re my friends, I know you’d want me to… I just… I couldn’t? I had the train ticket and the hotel room booked and I… I knew someone would tell me if anything changed, I knew I could get back to you if anything changed but I couldn’t… I couldn’t go.” Evan squeezes Connor’s hand. Kisses his knuckles. “I couldn’t leave you. Even though you’re...”

His voice trails off, and Connor tries to rush toward him, tries to go to comfort him, but he’s not really here, he’s not…

This didn’t work, this hasn’t worked. 

He’s not really here, he’s not, he’s not really here, he’s…

But this is real. 

Connor knows that this is real, this is the reality where he belongs, and Evan is right there, he’s right there and Connor can’t touch him, can’t talk to him, can’t do anything as Evan begins to sob quietly, so quietly, and fuck, Connor hates it, hates it so much, hates how quietly he cries, how he hides how he’s feeling, how he pulls away, how…

It takes a moment, but Connor sees Evan freeze. 

Sit up. 

Look at Connor’s body. 

“Connor?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

“Can you hear me?” Connor says desperately. “Fuck, Evan, can you hear me? I’m here, I can’t… I don’t think you can see me, I’m not… I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I’m trying, I’m trying I swear.”

Evan squeezes Connor’s hand. “Something’s different,” he says, his voice a little urgent, and then he turns his head and he’s looking right at Connor, looking right at him, and his eyes are bloodshot and he just keeps looking at him, like he sees him. 

Like he sees him. 

“Evan,” Connor tries again. “Evan.”

“Connor, are you… are you here?”

Evan went to the hospital. 

Of course he did. 

He had tried. He tried to go to the wedding, he tried, he made an effort. 

But he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t manage it. 

So he had a drink instead. Several. Probably too many. Evan needed to just… not think about the way he was letting everyone down. He needed not to think about it. Sabrina had offered to go with him to the wedding, and he’d told her off, yelled at her that he wasn’t her boyfriend anymore. Zoe insisted he needed a break. 

But Evan couldn’t take a break, he couldn’t leave town. 

So he went to the hospital. 

Because he couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t breathe, thinking about leaving Connor like that. He couldn’t breathe. 

He stepped into Connor’s room, alarmed at how quiet it was without the crowd of people that were typically there. He dropped himself into the chair beside the bed. Took Connor’s hand, pressed a kiss to his knuckles. 

Evan pulled in a deep breath. Exhaled, this shivery, shaky thing. 

Evan hung his head. 

It was too much. Too hard. He couldn’t keep this up.

He couldn’t keep this in. Between the overwhelming sadness and the whisky… this wasn’t staying in.

He swallowed and started to talk to Connor. Because he missed talking to Connor, he fucking missed him so much. “I know I should be at the wedding, I know. You wouldn’t want me to miss Charles and Asher getting married, they’re my… I was supposed to stand up, for fuck’s sake, they’re my friends, I know you’d want me to…” He trailed off. Evan stopped. “I just… I couldn’t? I had the train ticket and the hotel room booked and I… I knew someone would tell me if anything changed, I knew I could get back to you if anything changed but I couldn’t… I couldn’t go.” He squeezed Connor’s hand. Kissed his knuckles again, practically a ritual by now. “I couldn’t leave you. Even though you’re...”

Even though Connor… wasn’t there. 

He wasn’t there. 

This was his body, sure, but it wasn’t Connor. It wasn’t. It was just a vessel, and a useless breakable one at that. And Evan was overwhelmed with anger about that. About the imperfectness of Connor’s body, how it hadn’t protected him, how it hadn’t kept him safe or well or whole or even fucking there… 

And he began to cry. 

All Evan ever fucking did was fucking cry. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. Connor wasn’t here he wasn’t here he wasn’t and it wasn’t fair he should be here he should be not Evan, not Evan but Connor should be here he should -

Something was different. Something felt… different. 

Evan stiffened. 

He squared his shoulders, sat up straighter. 

He looked at Connor’s unconscious form, blinking, trying to understand. He knew Instinctively he knew that something… something was different. Something was different but he didn’t dare to hope, he couldn’t bear to be wrong. 

Evan found his voice, “Connor?”

He waited, his heart pounding, his blood rushing in his ears. He waited, desperate, begging, praying for the universe to grant him this one thing…

Evan squeezed Connor’s hand. “Something’s different,” He said because it was, it was different, something was different… something just out of the corner of his eye, something hazy and unreal. 

Evan turned his head. Looked away from Connor because he thought he saw…

He thought he saw Connor. 

That wasn’t… It didn’t make sense but. Nothing made sense. Nothing made sense, twenty-nine-year-olds didn’t have appendectomies and end up in comas, twenty-six-year-olds didn’t take the bar twenty times because they kept killing themselves in the middle 

It didn’t make sense but Evan was certain Connor was there. 

In a way he hadn’t been a moment ago. A way he hadn’t been in weeks. 

“Connor, are you… are you here?”

“Yes!” Connor says, feeling his heart leap, something inside him feeling more hope than he has in months. “I’m here, I swear I’m here, I’m trying, I’m trying I’m trying.”

Connor has to do something. He has to make this work, he has to…

He sits on the edge of the hospital bed. On top of his body. 

Lies down. 

Wills himself to… fuck, he doesn’t know, slot back into his body?

Get back in. 

He stretches out his arm so it reaches the hand that Evan’s holding. 

Tries to adjust the angle the best he can. 

Focuses everything he’s got in him and squeezes. 

Evan’s eyes widen. He looks at Connor’s hand. 

“Connor. Did you…”

“Yes!” Connor yells. “Yes, I did, I swear I did, just give me… I’ll figure this out, I swear, I’ll keep trying, I’ll never stop trying, I-”

He moves his fingers again. Ever so slightly. 

Evan’s eyes go even wider. 

“Connor,” Evan says, his voice urgent. “Connor, can you hear me? Please, open your eyes, I’m here, I’m here, please please please, if you can move your hand you can open your eyes, please just open your eyes, open your eyes.”

It takes a moment for Connor to realize that Evan’s pushed some kind of call button, and the room is full of people, and they’re looking at his body, shining lights in his eyes, and it’s loud and it’s bright bright bright and Connor can feel his heart beating too fast, too too fast, too too too too fast, and he reaches for Evan, who’s been shoved away from his body by doctors and nurses and fuck knows who else but he realizes in horror that his vision is starting to darken, he’s starting to slip away, he’s starting to…

“No! No, I’m not fucking going, I’m not going, I…. Evan, I’m here, I swear I’m here, I’m coming back, I’m coming back to you, I’m not giving up I’m not fucking giving up I-”

There is a tightness in his chest and he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, and it’s pitch black, it’s pitch black, and it feels like his brain is exploding, it feels like he’s dying, he can’t see, he can’t breathe, everything is fading in and out, and he sees Evan and black, Evan and black, Evan and black and black and black and…

Evan waited, impatient, terrified, but certain that… that he’d get an answer. If Connor was here, somehow, disconnected from his body he would. Evan would know. Connor would tell him, somehow. 

That wasn’t… that wasn’t logic. 

Evan wasn’t making sense he wasn’t but he was so sure -

Connor’s hand squeezed Evan’s back. 

Evan’s eyes popped wide. Connor had squeezed his hand, he’d squeezed Evan’s hand, he’d - 

He had squeezed Evan’s fucking hand. “Connor. Did you…”

A beat. Maybe two. 

And then Connor’s fingers moved again. Just the tiniest twitch, the most meager wiggle, but it was real, it had happened and Evan had seen it. He had seen it, felt it, it was real. 

“Connor,” Evan begged, “Connor, can you hear me? Please, open your eyes, I’m here, I’m here, please please please, if you can move your hand you can open your eyes, please just open your eyes, open your eyes.”

He reached for the call button, slamming it hard, still talking, “Please Connor, Connor please I love you I love you -”

“What’s the issue?” The nurse on call said, looking bored, and Evan practically shouted that Connor had squeezed his hand, that he’d shown signs of life, of proper life for the first time in weeks. 

“He squeezed your hand?”

“Yes, yes he did!”

A doctor appeared a few moments later. Alex not long after that. She shot Evan a bewildered look - probably wondering why he wasn’t at a wedding in the Hamptons - and she started to flash a light in Connor’s eyes, taking his pulse. 

Then his heart monitor began to beep frantically. 

“His pressure’s dropping,” The other doctor said to Alex, pulling Connor’s hospital gown open, exposing his pale chest, his shoulders, the edge of the melting clock tattoo, the proof that Connor was real and had lived through dying twenty times. 

“What’s going on?” Evan asked, clinging to the wall. Connor’s heart rate grew more jagged on the monitor, more rapid. 

“He’s crashing,” Alex said. Her voice was urgent, efficient, as she commanded the nurse and other doctor to inject Connor with something. “Give me the paddles,” She said. 

Evan watched in absolute horror as his roommate defibrillated his boyfriend. As a nurse towed him out of the room after Alex screamed, “Get him out of here.”

He watched as the floor grew rapidly closer and closer as his knees gave out under him. Evan felt his chest clenching and compressing painfully and he couldn’t breathe he could not breathe he couldn’t breathe or think or live not without Connor not without Connor he couldn’t he wouldn’t he couldn’t -

Chapter Text

It’s bright. 

Too bright. 

Cold. 

He opens his eyes. 

“Oh, thank fuck.”

Distantly, Connor recognizes a voice. “Like you fucking care,” says Andi, sounding disgusted. “You got him to fucking sign that piece of paper saying it’s not your fault if he died, you fucking prick.”

“I’m okay,” Connor says, or thinks he says. He doesn’t think the words come out right. 

He’s soaking wet, wrapped in some kind of blanket, and there’s someone he doesn’t recognize standing over him, checking his vitals. 

“I strongly recommend getting him to a hospital,” says the unfamiliar woman. “We had to restart his heart, for Christ’s sake.”

“We do that, and we have to explain why he’s pumped full of LSD,” says Dr. Weekes, frowning and looking at Connor. “Unless you’re prepared to tell them you’re a junkie? In the paper you signed, you said you wouldn’t disclose any of this. You signed it.”

“I’m fine,” Connor tries again, and this time it seems to be understood. “What’s…”

“Well, your heart stopped, so there’s that,” says Andi, looking well and truly terrified. “Fucking hell, Connor, you almost died.”

“Your heart didn’t stop long enough to kill you,” says Dr. Weekes dismissively. “Besides, you’ve died before.”

“And I’m done,” says the unfamiliar woman. “Whatever the fuck is going on here, I want no part in it. I’m not bailing you out again, Weekes.” She looks straight at Connor. “Do yourself a favor, kid. Cut this guy loose. He’s going to get you killed.”

Connor realizes, dimly, that he’s shaking. Andi wraps another blanket around him and pulls him into a hug. “You scared the fucking hell out of me,” she says, holding him bone-crushingly tight. “You… oh my god, Connor.”

“It worked,” Connor says, a little dazed. 

Dr. Weekes looks at him, genuine excitement on his face. “It did?”

“Kind of,” he says. “I wasn’t in my body, but I saw it. I’m… in the other reality, I’m in a coma.”

Andi looks pale. “Fuck.”

“Evan was there,” he continues, a horrible pain in his chest that he thinks has nothing to do with having recently had his heart restarted. “He was… I managed to… he felt me, I think, he…. I tried to move my hand and I did, I did, I…. I think if I were there for longer, if I could… I could get back into my body. I could. I could make it work, I could… I could get back.” He looks at Dr. Weekes. “Put me back in.”

The doctor looks genuinely torn. He shakes his head. “I don’t think I can.”

“Bullshit you can’t. Just put me back in.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think you’d survive another time, Connor, I… I’d have to pump you full of more drugs, shock you again and… your heart can’t take it.”

Connor bites his lip. “Okay, so I’ll get a good night’s sleep and we’ll try again in the morning.”

“That’s not enough time to recover.”

“Well, when are you next in New York?” Connor asks, a little desperately. “Or I can come to you, wherever you are. I can… how long do I need to recover? We can try again. It worked, I swear it worked.”

“I’m on a book tour for the next six months,” says Dr. Weekes slowly. “I can’t… if we tried again, it wouldn’t be until October.”

Connor feels his heart sink. “Six months,” he repeats. 

“And that’s if we try again,” says Dr. Weekes, frowning. “That was… look, Jessie’s a friend of mine but there’s no fucking way she’s not going to tell Columbia that she had to resuscitate someone after an experiment. There’s going to be… fuck, this is going to be hell, there’s going to be some kind of investigation and I… I might just need to lie low, try it again once it all dies down.”

Connor grabs the doctor’s arm as tight as he can, which isn’t very tight because he’s shaking. “No. No, you can’t, I can’t… I need to get back. I need to. If I’m in a fucking coma then eventually they’re gonna… fuck, they might pull the plug and then I’ll never… I’ll never get back home, I’ll never get back, I-”

“Kid, is this worth dying over?”

Connor doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“No,” says Andi, her expression determined. “No, I’m not letting you kill yourself over this, Connor. We’ll find another way.”

“What if there isn’t another way?” Connor demands. “This is the only lead we have, and it worked! It worked, I just needed more time, if you’d just let me-”

“Your heart stopped!”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take!”

“Well, I’m not.” 

“That’s not your decision to make, Andi.”

Andi’s eyes fill with tears. “Connor, I can’t… I can’t watch you die, okay? I just can’t do it. We need to find another way.”

“We’ll regroup,” says Jenny quietly. Connor had forgotten she was even here. “We’ll take some time. You can recover, get your strength back, and then we’ll… we’ll think of something.” She looks at Andi challengingly. “This isn’t giving up, Connor, it’s just… taking a moment to regroup, okay?”

Connor looks at Jenny, then back at Andi. 

Andi looks scared. 

So fucking scared. 

He lets out a breath. 

“Okay,” he says. He’s so fucking tired. “Can we just… can we just go home?”

Evan came to on a gurney. 

“You passed out,” Alex said to him when he opened his eyes. “How many panic attacks a week are you currently having? Might be worth talking to your doctor about changing your meds if they’re this bad. I know things are stressful but I’ve seen you have a handful in the last week. You might need a new drug regimen.”

Evan stared at her. Like his frequent panic attacks were really what he was concerned about right now. “What happened?”

She clicked her pen closed. She looked so fucking tired. “You had a panic attack. You were hyperventilating and lost consciousness. You also smacked your head pretty hard on the ground when you fell, and I suspect you might have a concussion. Do you feel nauseated, does your head hurt? Your blood alcohol level, by the way, is a .188, how much have you been drinking? I thought you were going to the wed-”

“Is he dead?” Evan asked dully, interrupting.

Alex frowned. “No,” She said. She took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “His heart stopped. We had to shock him a few times to restart it.” 

Evan felt like he’d been shot. Like all of the life was spilling out of him from the pain growing from his chest. He hadn’t been shot before. Part of him started to look around for someone with a gun. He’d expect it. Welcome it even. 

Alex took his hand. “Connor stopped breathing on his own,” She said, so so so gently. “We had to intubate.” 

Evan rubbed a hand over his face. “He squeezed my hand. Just before the monitors went crazy.”

Alex shook her head. “He hadn’t been conscious -”

“Alex, listen. He squeezed my hand. I swear.”

Alex looked utterly conflicted by that information. “I’m not sure that is possible,” She said finally, her tone professional and diplomatic. 

“But… I felt it,” Evan said, showing her his hand as if Connor’s squeeze had left some kind of mark, some visible proof that it had happened. It should have burned or cut him or something, it should have left a mark. “I… I need you to believe me. I need you… I’m not lying.”

“I called Zoe,” Alex said after a few moments. “We had to put him on a ventilator, or someone would have to manually… We put him on a ventilator.”

Evan felt sick. Dizzy. 

“Zoe just got here,” Alex said. “Cynthia and Larry too.”

“I have to talk to Zoe -” Evan said, going to stand up, but Alex blocked him bodily. 

“No. I’m admitting you for observation.”

“Like hell you are!” Evan said, indignant and furious. 

“I’m worried about your safety. You have a concussion, you’ve been having panic attacks. You’re extremely drunk -”

“I’m really not,” Evan snapped. 

“And your boyfriend is on a vent. This… it’s not good, dude. I’m sorry. I just, this doesn’t look good, and I just… I don’t trust you alone. If I knew you’d be with someone, I’d be okay letting you leave, but. Well. You are. You’re by yourself, so I’m keeping you here until my shift ends.”

“You can’t do that,” Evan said. “You can’t hold me here against my will.”

“Push me again and I’ll commit you involuntarily,” Alex said shortly. “Don’t think I don’t have enough reasons. I am not fucking around Evan. You need to take care of yourself, and right now I don’t see that happening.” She sucked in a breath. “I called your mom.”

Evan could have killed her. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“She’s on her way,” Alex said. “Cynthia already called her and begged her to come… She flies in tonight.”

“This is bullshit! You cannot call my mom to come babysit me. I’m twenty-nine years old!”

“Yeah?” Alex said. “Well, until you can slap ‘doctor’ in front of your name, I’m in charge here. So sit your ass down and shut up.” She made a note in the chart she was carrying. “And Sabrina is on her way.”

“Fuck you!”

“You’ll thank me later.”

“You… I hate you,” Evan spat, meaning it, very suddenly meaning it. He hated her. He hated that she wasn’t doing anything, wasn’t helping Connor, wasn’t doing anything. He hated her. 

“Yeah, not such a fan of you right now either,” Alex quipped, rolling her eyes. 

“You stupid fucking bitch you can’t do this, you can’t…”

“Call me all the names you want,” Alex said. “If it means you make it through this alive, I really don’t care.”

Andi spends a full week trying to convince Connor to go see a doctor. 

“They had to restart your heart,” she keeps saying. “Because it stopped. You need to get everything checked out. Make sure there’s no lasting damage.”

“I’m fine,” Connor keeps insisting. And he is fine. Tired, but fine. 

Except that he’s never been further from fine because…

He’s in a coma. 

He’s in a fucking coma in another reality. 

And he has no way of getting back in sight. 

No other leads. 

Part of him is tempted to just… try doing whatever it was that Dr. Weekes did by himself. Read up on it, buy a sensory deprivation pod online, find someone who’ll sell him some LSD and mildly electrocute him and try it again. 

But he doesn’t know enough about the process to do it safely, and he doesn’t want to just… die. 

Except there’s still a voice in the back of his head, telling him that if he kills himself, he’ll snap back to his reality. 

It’s getting harder and harder to ignore. 

Andi’s terrified. It’s clear that she’s terrified.

It’s also clear she’s starting to figure out what Connor’s known all along. 

That no one really knows what’s happened to the Connor who belongs in this universe, and if this Connor gets back to his reality, who knows what will happen to him in this reality?

Andi doesn’t want to lose him. 

And he gets it, he does… except that this isn’t his Andi. 

This isn’t his Andi, this isn’t his reality. 

So hurting her… it sucks, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. 

He has to keep telling himself that it doesn’t matter, when she looks at him with big, terrified brown eyes, frantically baking all sorts of things he likes, in some mad attempt to convince him that staying here wouldn’t be that bad. 

She keeps saying things about the future. 

About how now that he’s the manager at the bookstore, has he ever thought about offering to buy the business when Gladys and Martha retire? 

“They’re old,” she reminds him. “Soon they won’t be able to keep it up. You’ve got a trust fund, I’m sure you could afford to buy it.”

Connor hasn’t told her that in an alternate reality, that’s exactly what he did. 

He’s tried to keep the details about the other reality… separate. As much as he can. 

There are things Andi knows, sure, but Connor doesn’t want her to know everything. 

Because it’s…

It’s his life. 

And this isn’t his Andi. 

It’s a weird feeling to know that this person who looks exactly like someone he loves isn’t quite right, isn’t quite them. 

He’s in a coma in his reality. His Andi must be worried sick. 

But that’s nothing compared to how Evan must be feeling. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.

Fuck. 

Evan had just looked… so wrecked. He’d looked good in his suit, of course, all dressed up, but it wasn’t right, he hadn’t looked right, he’d looked… off. Like a funhouse mirror version of himself, distorted and tired. Too thin. Too tired. Unsteady on his feet. Exhausted and stretched out and heavy, so heavy, like he was carrying something that could crush him any second. 

Connor can’t stop thinking about it. 

Can’t stop thinking about what he’d said, how he’d sensed Connor somehow. 

He’d been all dressed up for Charles and Asher’s wedding, he’d said. 

Connor can’t remember when the wedding was supposed to be, not exactly, but it was… soon? Evan was standing up. 

He’d said that he wasn’t anymore. 

Fuck. 

That’s on Connor, that’s his fault. 

Evan should have…

Fuck. 

Fuck, if he’d gone to the wedding, then Connor wouldn’t have seen him, would have just seen his own comatose body, so part of him is glad he didn’t go, but…

Fuck. 

Connor doesn’t know how long it’s been. 

He can’t figure it out. 

At least two weeks, if not more.

Less time than Connor’s spent in this reality. 

Less time by far. 

Which is…

It’s something. 

But if Evan looks that wrecked after maybe two weeks, what’s going to happen if it keeps going?

Is Evan going to be able to keep going?

Is Connor?

Fuck. 

Evan slept off and on in the hospital bed Alex had stuck him in. He knew, objectively, he could just get up and walk out the moment she turned her back, but he wouldn’t put it past her to actually have him involuntarily committed and they definitely wouldn’t let psych patients come visit coma patients. 

They could hold you for fifteen days in New York without cause… 

And frankly. Well. There was cause to hold him. 

So Evan stayed. And slept. And dreamt of Connor, horrible sick, science-fiction types of nightmares where Connor was in some kind of alien pod full of salt, where he was being shocked by some doctor Evan didn’t recognize, where he was being injected by huge needles and turned into some kind of sad Frankenstein’s monster sort of half-person...

He woke up a few times. Once when Alex was sticking him with an IV, and he’d sleepily mumbled that he did not have alcohol poisoning. 

“It’s a banana bag,” She said. “Helps with the hangover.”

He closed his eyes again, finding he had no energy to argue with her. 

Sabrina and Graham arrived sometime in the middle of the night. Sabrina looked really anxious and Graham looked… pissed. Really fucking pissed. 

So Sabrina had told him what Evan had said to her. 

Cool. 

She got pulled away at one point, a phone call or something, and Graham looked Evan in the eye. “Don’t ever talk to her like that again.” 

Evan dropped his gaze. Found he had no words to respond. To explain or apologize or… He had no words. There was no excuse. 

“I know this is hard for you. I know if it were me, I’d be… a wreck. But you can’t talk to her like that. She loves you.” 

Evan opened his mouth. 

Closed it again. 

Said nothing. 

Sabrina returned, looking ashen and scared. “I just saw him,” She said. “I saw Connor.”

Evan held his breath. 

“No change. I’m so sorry.”

“He squeezed my hand,” Evan said weakly. “I felt it. I felt it.” He knew. He knew he sounded like a madman, like a lunatic repeating himself, but he knew. He knew what he felt. He knew what happened. 

“I know,” Sabrina said. “I know you did.”

He drifted back to sleep, his head aching in a fuzzy, television static sort of way. His skin felt uncomfortable, loose, and he realized with panic the next time he woke up that his tie was missing. 

His tie was missing and Evan felt like his head might fall right off of his neck. His tie was missing. 

When he opened his eyes, his mom was standing beside his bed. She had the maroon tie in her hands. She looked so worried. He had made her look so worried. “Hi baby.”

Evan tried to smile at her. “Hi mama.”

“I should have come sooner,” She said, her voice shaking. “I should have come right away. I’m so sorry sweetheart.” She pulled him into the tightest hug, and it dissolved whatever shred remained of his resolve. He cried on her shoulder like an inconsolable child for a long time. 

Because Connor was going to die. He knew that now. 

Connor was going to die, to properly die and stay dead, and there was not one damn thing that Evan could do to stop it. So he cried on his mom and let her sit there with him, let her sit there and bear witness to his pain, because he had nowhere else to go, no place else to put it. 

Chapter Text

It takes a few days for Connor to realize that he’s being watched. That Andi and Jenny are clearly taking shifts to check in on him, make sure he’s not about to do anything like get high and throw a toaster in the bath or some shit. 

Jenny, it seems, still hasn’t fucking got the memo that she doesn’t live here. 

It’s annoying, but he can deal with it, he thinks. 

Until he can’t. 

It all comes to a head when he gets home and finds Jenny erasing everything off the wall. 

All of it. All their hard work. 

Gone. 

He doesn’t hesitate. He tackles her to the ground, trying to stop her. 

She lets out a yell, and there’s a flurry of limbs, but he’s stronger than her, and soon he’s got her pinned to the ground. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he yells. “That’s everything we have, that took us fucking months!”

“We have photos,” she spits back. “We have photos of all of it. We just can’t keep it on the wall, okay? This has gone far enough. This whole fucking thing is out of control.”

Connor pulls away. Runs his hand through his hair. 

“You said you’d help me get home,” he says, almost surprised at how caustic his voice is. “You were dying and dying, over and over again, until you met me. You… you said that you’d help me.”

“That experiment nearly killed you,” says Jenny, her eyes big and scared, “and we don’t have any other fucking leads! I won’t help you kill yourself.”

Connor snorts. “We’ve both died before. Didn’t stick.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t die,” Jenny warns. “And die permanently.”

“Who says?” Connor counters. “Who says we’re not, like, immortal or some shit? Who says that from now on, any time we die we just come straight back to life?”

Jenny shakes her head. “We can’t know that.”

Connor’s so fucking sick of this. He’s so fucking sick of it all. “Why not try it out?” he says, then stands up and heads toward the window. “I could jump out right now and see.”

Jenny stands up, too. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t know,” Connor snaps. 

Jenny frowns. “Like I didn’t know what?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he says, his voice bitter. “Me getting back to where I belong means I die here. If I’m in a coma back in my reality, then where the fuck is this reality’s Connor, huh? Isn’t it fucking obvious?”

“You don’t know that.”

“It’s fucking obvious that he’s already dead.”

“So, what?” Jenny challenges. “You’re just going to kill yourself? Leave me and Andi to explain it to the people who love you?”

“They’re not real,” Connor says. “None of this is real.”

He heads toward the window, heart racing. 

Jenny tackles him to the ground.

Throws him against the wall. 

“Fuck you!” he yells. 

“Fuck you!” she yells back, and punches him in the face. 

Connor reacts on instinct and punches her right back. 

Then immediately feels sick. 

He knows how to throw a punch, and Jenny’s half his size. Her head snaps back, her nose starts to bleed and she looks dazed, shocked, and he doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know what to do, so he just sits there, horrified, as she bleeds and bleeds and stares at him, trembling. 

“Fuck,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Fuck, Jenny, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

She wipes the blood from under her nose with the back of her hand and keeps staring at him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“I want to help you,” she says, her voice shaky. “I really fucking do. But I don’t…” She wipes her nose again. “I died and I died and I died and I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t, and that… that fucking sucked and I had no control over it. But I never took anyone else with me, not even once.” She closes her eyes. There’s bruising coming in on her face, and Connor feels like he might throw up. “Maybe I’ll start dying again if I refuse to help you. I don’t know. But I can’t… I can’t let whatever fucked up thing that’s going on make me a murderer. I just can’t.” 

Connor closes his eyes. 

Hopes that when he opens them, he’ll be somewhere else. 

He keeps them closed as long as he can. 

“Connor. Please.”

“Okay,” he says. “I get it. Okay.”

Evan’s mom took him home on Sunday. 

“You should be with Cynthia,” Evan kept saying. Repeating. “She’s the one who flew you out because she needed… She wanted you here, you shouldn’t…”

“She understands,” His mom said briskly. She was changing his sheets. Evan had no fight in him to stop her, to tell her to knock it off. “She told me to stay with you. She’s a mom… she gets it.”

Evan didn’t fight her. 

He called off work for the next day when she told him too. Ate food when she put it in front of him. Slept a while, but not too long, because Evan had a concussion and needed to be woken every few hours. Took his meds when prompted. His mom had strong-armed her way into picking up his refill. They watched a few episodes of Bob Ross in the living room, Evan’s head on his mom’s shoulder. 

“Baby,” She said after Bob finished painting a lovely winter scene. “Zoe and Alex told me that… You said Connor squeezed your hand last night.”

He nodded. “He did.”

She sighed. “I know… I know in high school that. Sometimes. You told me sometimes you could… convince yourself that something was real. If you wanted it to be real, you’d…”

“That’s not what this is,” Evan said sharply. 

“I know how badly you want Connor to wake up, honey. And I know this has been a hard few weeks for you. Alex told me… she said you’ve been drinking a lot?”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t that drunk,” Evan said, his heart racing. “I’m not making this up. I’m not, I swear…”

“I know how real it probably felt sweetheart -”

“I’m not delusional,” Evan said. He was basically pleading. “You have to believe me I felt him squeeze my hand. I felt it.”

His mom opened her mouth. Closed it again. Wrapped her arms around him tightly. “Okay sweetheart. Okay.”

“I’m not crazy,” He said. Sobbed. “I’m not crazy.”

“Nobody thinks that,” his mom said, petting his hair. “I love you. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. Nobody thinks you’re crazy. Nobody thinks that sweetheart.”

They watched more Bob Ross together. His mom checked her phone a couple of times. Evan fell asleep eventually, his head on his mom’s shoulder, letting her baby him because he was out of steam, out of fight, he had nothing else to give.

She noticed his bitten up and picked at cuticles, all scabbed and bloody. She noticed the other marks on him too, bruises and a cigarette burn, casualties of his tendency to drink himself to sleep in the last few days. 

His mom disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a first aid kit. She cleaned and bandaged what she could. Evan let her because he had no fight in him, and then he went back to sleep. Because he was exhausted. Because he had no fight in him. 

She woke him up and they ate Chinese food. 

Evan’s fortune cookie didn’t even have a fortune in it. 

He thought, darkly, that it was because even the cookie knew there was no future for him. 

“The Murphys are all going to meet with Connor’s doctors tomorrow,” His mom said maybe an hour later. “They’d like you to come, if you can?”

Evan nodded. “Of course.”

“Why don’t you get an early night, baby? You look exhausted.”

“Okay.” 

So Evan went and showered. Brushed his teeth. He pulled on pajamas and sunk into his bed. His mom was hovering in the door. “I’m just… I’m gonna stay until you fall asleep okay?” She said, having a seat at the edge of the mattress. 

So he didn’t escape. Do something stupid. 

“Okay,” Evan said softly. 

“I know this feels like the end of the world,” His mom said quietly. “But I swear you’re going to get through this.”

“Okay.”

He closed his eyes. 

When his mom thought he was asleep, he heard her on the phone a little while later. She was talking to his dad, Evan realized after a few minutes. 

“I’m just… watching him breathe,” She said, her voice hushed. “I’m terrified. I’m scared we’re going to lose him Carl.”

“No, don’t come here.” A pause. “No offense, but I don’t see that helping.” Another pause. “I’m not saying that. I’m not saying that…” She exhaled. “Maybe… maybe after this is all over… After Connor dies. Maybe I can get Evan to come home with me for a while. So I can keep an eye on him. So he isn’t alone. Fuck, Carl… I can’t leave him to go through this alone.”

Evan shut his eyes tight. 

He was not going back home. Not a chance.

Besides… besides. Connor was not going to die. 

Evan refused to let Connor die and he was not going anywhere. He refused. He wasn’t going anywhere, he was staying put, he refused. 

He refused.

When Connor gets home from closing the bookstore on Friday night, he finds a fuckton of people in the apartment. 

They’re all drinking and smoking and eating garlic bread, and there’s loud music playing and Connor’s kind of pissed off, because Andi didn’t say anything about throwing a party. 

The windows are all thrown open, which is good because it’s hot, it’s unseasonably warm, and there are people everywhere, and Connor presses his way through the crowd to head to his room, where there’s a couple making out on his bed. 

“Out,” he says sternly, and one of the guys holds his hands up in protest and they both leave. 

Connor flops down on his bed. 

Stares at the ceiling. 

Listens to the thumping bass of whatever the fuck it is that’s being played in the living room. 

He just…

He doesn’t want this. 

He doesn’t fucking want this. 

He wants to sleep, because if he sleeps then maybe he’ll dream about Evan, maybe he’ll see him, the way he pictures him in his head, smiling that bright smile that outshines the sun, laughing at some stupid joke, or with dark eyes as he kisses Connor fiercely.

Those dreams about Evan make it easier for Connor to deal with how utterly wrecked he looked when he saw him in the hospital, sitting next to Connor’s comatose body. 

The love of his life is in another fucking reality and Connor’s here, at a stupid party, and it’s not fucking fair, none of this is fair, this isn’t fucking fair. 

Connor doesn’t know if it’s a minute or an hour later, but the door to his room opens and Andi walks in. She’s clearly high. 

“Connor! Come join the party!” she says. 

She sounds giddy and light and happier than anyone has any right to be, fuck fuck fuck. 

“I’m not doing that.”

Andi pouts. “Connor. Connor, please.” She sits down on the edge of his bed. Grabs his hand. “I threw this party for you.”

Connor pulls his hand away. “What?”

“Things have sucked,” she says, sounding mournful. “And you’re so sad and I thought… a party might cheer you up.” She pulls a joint out of her bra. “This one’s laced with cocaine.”

“The last time you gave me a joint laced with cocaine, things did not go well.”

Andi grabs his hand again. Holds it tightly. Too tightly. 

“Connor. Connor, I need you to just… come on. Please. Please just… drink and get high and just… feel better, okay? Things are okay here. They’re okay. If you get stuck here, it’s not going to be that bad, I promise, I swear, I just… please just feel better.”

Connor blinks. “You promised you’d help me get home,” he says, suddenly angry. 

“And I’m helping!” Andi says, her voice shaky. “But I’m not going to help you die, Connor.”

“Did you ever think that might be the only way to get me home?” Connor spits out, his heart beating too fast, too too fast. “If I want to get to where I belong, then maybe I should just fucking kill myself.”

Andi blinks. Wraps her arms around Connor tightly, so tightly he thinks she might crush him. “No. No, no, I won’t let you kill yourself. No.”

“What if it’s the only way to get back?” Connor challenges. “What then, huh?”

“No,” Andi says, shaking her head as Connor pulls away. “You… we’re going to get you back to where you belong, and get this universe’s Connor back, and I won’t… I won’t have to lose anything.”

“The Connor in this universe won’t remember anything,” Connor says stubbornly. 

“That’s okay,” Andi says, her voice a little desperate. “I can deal with that. What I can’t deal with is you… is either of you just dying.”

Connor feels a ringing in his ears, a buzzing, and everything feels off-kilter. 

He feels like he’s taken a bite into aluminum foil. 

Nothing’s right. 

Nothing is fucking right. 

“In the other universe, I’m in a coma,” he says, looking straight at Andi. “And if I’m in a coma there but I’m me here, then where’s the other Connor, huh? Does he even exist?”

Andi’s eyes fill with tears. “Don’t say that.”

“He’s probably dead,” Connor continues, and he knows he’s being cruel, unnecessarily cruel, but he needs Andi to realize, he needs her to understand that no matter what happens, there is no ideal outcome here. 

No matter what happens, someone is going to lose someone. 

And as much as he loves Andi, Connor would rather than she lose him than lose Evan. 

It’s cruel. 

He knows that it’s cruel. 

But he can’t deny it. 

“He’s not dead,” says Andi stubbornly. “He’s just… stuck. Like you’re stuck. And you’re both… you’re both going to be fine.”

Connor stands up. “You keep telling yourself whatever you want,” he says, his voice rough. “I’m going to get drunk.”

With that, he leaves the room. 

Heads to the kitchen. 

Pulls out a bottle of rum and starts drinking. 

Chapter Text

His mom was in the shower and Evan was dressed and waiting to talk to the Murphys. They wanted to meet at Zoe’s apartment, which Evan thought was super weird, but he had decided he was done fighting. He was just going to do what he was told. 

His phone started to ring. A number with an area code from back home. 

Evan watched it ring for a few minutes but…

Well it was a stupid thought but his brain suddenly thought somehow it could be Connor, even though that was insane, that wasn’t a thing that was possible, but by that point he had already answered the call. 

“Hello, this is Evan Hansen,” he said because that was how he answered the phone now. 

“Hey dude! Can’t believe this is still your number, what the fuck!” 

Evan thought his brain must have finally given up the ghost and surrendered into being Fully Crazy because there was no way Jared Kleinman was calling him. They hadn’t spoken in like… eleven years. 

Cool, so that was fun. 

He was officially insane. 

“Jared?” Evan said, trying to confirm that his broken brain at least made some sense. 

“Yeah man, long time right?” Jared said. 

“Why…. why the fuck are you calling me?”

Jared laughed on the other side of the line. “Well because you blocked me on facebook so I can’t message you.”

“Why would you want to talk to me?” Evan asked. Evan remembered that he had blocked Jared on facebook after he’d posted something rude on a photo of Evan and Connor. 

“Well, is it true?”

“I don’t… I don’t -”

“Connor Murphy had an appendectomy and is now, like, near-death and in a coma and whatever?”

“H-how do you -?”

“My mom volunteers at this thing with Mrs. Murphy?” Jared was laughing. “Like, clearly the old lady gossip is getting a little out of hand because you don’t, like, fall into a coma because you got your appendix out. And since you’re bumping uglies with the guy, I figured you’d know the real story.”

Evan laughed hollowly. “You. You called me after a decade. For gossip.”

“Well, yeah -”

“You realize he’s my boyfriend, right?” Evan said. “Like, I love him? We’re together? You get that right, that Connor and I are… We’re a couple. It’s not like he’s just someone I know.”

“I mean -”

“And that it’s genuinely cruel to call someone out of the blue and ask them if their boyfriend is actually in a coma because you’re, I dunno, bored?”

“So it’s true?” Jared said, sounding surprised. “Damn, the freak really managed to out-freak himself.”

“You’re really still trying that freak shit, Jared? It’s even more transparent now, fucking hell. You were obsessed with him in high school,” Evan said with a hollow laugh. “Pathetically, ridiculously obsessed with him. Like, seriously Jared, were you just jerking off in your mom’s basement thinking about a guy you had a crush on in high school? Is that all your life has amounted to? And did you just think to yourself, ‘oh I know, I’ll call my ex and ask if this rumor I heard was true’? What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“I -”

“You’re a pathetic, small, and despicable person,” Evan said. “I cannot believe that Connor is in a coma but you’re still allowed to live and breathe and exist when you’ve done nothing but waste oxygen since you were born.”

“Hey lay off, I didn’t realize it was so serious-”

“Do you think I give a flying fuck about your motivations?” Evan asked, laughing now. “You’re trash, Jared. Absolutely human garbage. You don’t matter. Not to me, not to anybody. Fucking hell, Jared, I genuinely cannot even remember the last time I spared your pathetic existence a thought. But you’re clearly still thinking about me. About Connor, who never even spoke to you unless you were antagonizing him. How fucking sad your life might be that you need to insert yourself into someone else’s tragedy to feel like you matter. Because you don’t. You don’t matter. And you never have. I bet your parents regret you every fucking day. If you dad had just pulled out your parents would be a lot fucking happier now, because all you are is a waste of potential and a huge asshole.”

“In fact,” Evan said, on a fucking roll now, “You should probably just end it. Yeah, you should definitely just go and kill yourself. You should kill yourself because you’re a waste of DNA and at least if you did it neatly, someone could make use of your organs. So how about you go take care of the smear on society that you’ve amounted to and I’ll get back to my sick boyfriend? How about that?”

The line went dead. 

Evan stared as his phone, his breathing uneven and he was so fucking angry, he was so damn angry he could scream, he could break his phone, he could punch something he could blow up and take this whole block with him he could -

“Sweetheart?” 

His mom was standing there, barefoot with a towel wrapped around her hair, in jeans and a t-shirt. It was warm out today, Evan heard her say. 

“Yeah?”

“Were you… were you on the phone?”

Evan almost laughed because it was so fucking bizarre. “Yeah. Uh. Jared Kleinman just called me.”

His mom wrinkled her nose, obviously confused. “Why?”

“To ask if it’s true that my boyfriend is in a coma.”

His mom’s face fell. “He did what ?”

“Yep,” Evan said, almost… almost laughing. “He. Wanted. Gossip or - I don’t even. He still has my phone number? We haven’t talked since high school and he still has my phone number.” He shook his head. “I cannot fucking believe him.”

“He was always such a little shithead,” His mom said, shaking her head. “And apparently had grown up to be just… An adult shithead.”

“Apparently.”

“I… Remind me to give Rebecca Kleinman a piece of my mind the next time I see her,” Evan’s mom said, her voice caustic and angry. “Fuck. I am so sorry sweetheart.”

“That’ll teach me to answer an unknown number I guess,” Evan said quietly. 

There are… three bottles of rum in Connor’s kitchen. 

Well, there were. 

He’s drunk most of them now. 

He’s… 

He’s really fucking drunk. 

And high. 

And… whatever. 

There’s a guy with dark hair and dimples and he’s smiling at Connor, smiling at him like he’s interested, and Connor has a boyfriend. 

But his boyfriend is dead. 

And Connor is in a coma. 

Connor has to tell this guy that. 

He walks over to tell this guy that his boyfriend is dead and he’s actually in a coma, but instead the guy smiles and says, “you must be Connor.”

He’s not expecting that. 

“I must be,” he replies, completely thrown off. 

The guy smiles. His dimples are cute. “I’m a friend of Jenny’s,” he says. “She invited me. My name’s Parker.”

“I remember you,” says Connor, because he does remember him. 

They went on a date because Evan told him he should date someone. 

Fuck Evan for telling him he should date someone. 

That was…

He was…

Connor didn’t sleep with him but he made him a grilled cheese sandwich and never called him again. 

Asshole. 

He’s such an asshole. 

Evan was so jealous, so so jealous, and Connor was such an asshole. 

“You do?” says Parker, looking confused. 

“We should have some more rum,” Connor decides, and retrieves another bottle from the kitchen and pours them some glasses, and asks Parker about his book. 

Parker tells him about his book and Connor smokes Andi’s joint and drinks the rum and keeps filling up Parker’s glass so he’s not the only one who’s drinking because drinking alone is bad and Connor hates it when Evan drinks alone, he hates it, he hates it so much, when Evan got alcohol poisoning Connor was so scared, so fucking scared, he thought he’d lose him, he was so fucking scared that he’d lose him, that Evan would die, but Evan did die, he died over and over and over again, he died in this reality, he’s dead in this reality, he threw himself off a building and Connor watched it happen and Connor didn’t stop him and he was at Evan’s funeral, at his fucking funeral except that he wasn’t, it reset, it always resets, everything’s the same, nothing fucking changes, Connor’s stuck he’s stuck stuck stuck stuck-

“You with me?” 

“Yeah,” Connor lies. 

He’s got no fucking idea.

There are warm lips on his, arms around him, a kiss to his collarbone he’s always loved Evan’s collarbone, Evan made a joke once about how Connor was going to run off with his collarbone that’s so stupid like Connor would ever intentionally go anywhere Evan wasn’t like he’d ever leave he didn’t want to leave he left he left he didn’t mean to he didn’t mean to he didn’t mean any of it

“Connor, fuck.”

He’s kissing this stranger and trying to drown, everyone’s a stranger but Evan, everyone everyone everyone, he’s kissing this stranger he kind of knows and it’s not the same, it’s not the same, but he has to feel something. 

There are lips and teeth colliding, limbs everywhere and everything is hazy and warm and he loses himself, loses himself because is he even real, is anything real, he’s in a coma, he’s not really here, this isn’t real, none of it is real, and Evan’s dead, Evan’s dead, Evan Evan Evan Evan Evan Evan Evan Evan Evan-

Evan and his mom arrived at Zoe’s apartment around noon. Evan had only been to Zoe’s place a handful of times. She had a roommate and preferred to come to Connor’s if they hung out. 

Evan always sort of got that. Not that he didn’t like his apartment but the bookstore apartment felt more like… home. A place where he could relax and feel safe. 

Originally he thought that was just because Evan had never died there but honestly, Evan could feel at home anywhere with Connor. Anywhere he saw Connor’s smile, watched him reading something with such intense concentration… 

Connor was home. He was safe, always safe. 

Evan and mom took the subway to Zoe’s. Evan struggled with the morbid impulse to throw himself in front of an oncoming train in front of his mother. 

He needed to keep his shit together. 

He needed to keep his fucking shit together. 

They walked to Zoe’s place, falling into step beside one another. “Did they tell you what they wanted to talk about?”

His mom shook her head. “No.”

Evan hated that. He hated everything. Everything. 

Larry was the one who answered the door. In jeans and a Cornell Law shirt. Each time he saw Larry, he was more and more dressed down. Which meant things were worse. 

Things were worse. 

Evan tried to breathe normally. 

“Come inside, please,” Larry said, holding the door open. Evan and his mom followed him inside, into Zoe’s tastefully decorated living room. Cynthia was sitting in an armchair, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her nose was red, and her eyes. 

She’d been crying. 

“Where’s Zoe?” Evan asked. 

“Here,” She said. He turned and saw her coming out of the bathroom. She looked ill. Pale, sweaty, shaky. “Sorry.” She’d clearly thrown up. 

“You okay?” Evan asked her. 

She shook her head. “Let’s… we should sit down.”

Evan didn’t know what that meant. His heart thudded along too fast. He sat on the sofa beside his mom, and Zoe had a seat in another chair. Larry remained standing. 

“I…” Zoe started. She looked so fucking sad. So damn sad. 

“It’s okay,” Cynthia said. “It’s okay Zoe.”

Evan looked at her, then at Larry, Cynthia… his mom. “What’s going on?”

Zoe shook her head, wiping her eyes. “I… Connor is on life support.” She cleared her throat. “He’s… he’s not able to breathe on his own. He… He’s not. He’s probably not going to wake up.”

Evan felt cold. Everything felt cold. 

“His will was… It was specific. He…” Zoe blinked rapidly. “I’m. I have to make the decision. I have to.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve decided that… if he doesn’t wake up in the next three days… we’re going to take Connor off of life support.”

“What?” Evan said, his heart beating too hard, way too hard. “No, you…”

“I don’t want to do this,” Zoe said, and she was crying. “But I… We don’t know if he’s in pain. We don’t know what’s going on with him. All we know is that he. He signed a piece of fucking paper that says he doesn’t want to be kept alive on a ventilator so I… So I have to respect that. I don’t want to, but I have to.”

“No,” Evan said again. “You don’t have to… You have power of attorney, there’s nothing about time limits, there’s nothing I-I wrote it, I was the one who… I wrote it. There’s nothing…. He needs more time.”

Cynthia started to sob. Larry was staring out of the window. 

“I know,” Zoe said. “I know. But it’s my… Legally it’s my call to make. And. I can’t… He’s not there anymore, Evan. I want to give people time to say their goodbyes, but then… We have to let him go.”

“No you fucking don’t,” Evan said, and his heart was working too hard, his vision was blurred with tears. He turned to look at Larry. “We can contest the will.”

“No,” Larry said. 

“We can,” Evan said. “I can… I’ll find something, a-a… I’ll find something, I wrote it, I’ll file an injunction we…. We don’t have to obey that. We don’t have to-”

“No,” Larry said. “He picked Zoe as… He picked Zoe to make this call.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Evan said to her, desperately. 

“Baby, sit down,” His mom said to him gently, putting her hand on his arm. “I know this is hard but -”

“No,” Evan shouted. “No you don’t get to do this. You can’t do this. Please, Zoe.” 

“I don’t like it either,” Zoe said, and she was crying. “I hate that it’s my call… I hate it. But. I can’t… we can’t do this anymore, Evan. Look at us. He wouldn’t… He wouldn’t want this.”

“Please don’t do this,” Evan begged, crying, grabbing her hand. “Please… Please Zoe. Please don’t do this. Just give him a little more time. He squeezed my hand. He did, I swear -”

“Evan,” She said gently. “You were drunk.”

Evan shook his head, hard, refusing to hear her. “He did. He’s in there, Zoe, I… I need him to be alive. I need him. Please don’t do this… Please Zoe.” 

“I’m so sorry,” She said, squeezing his hand. “I don’t… I’m so sorry.” Zoe dropped his hand, rushing away. He heard her throwing up in the bathroom. Evan just stood there, numb. He kept blinking, willing himself to wake up, to go back to this morning, to last week, to a month ago when he and Connor were happy when everything was okay. 

This wasn’t real. 

He blinked. 

This couldn’t be real. 

He blinked again, harder, his vision blurred with tears. 

This wasn’t real it wasn’t it wasn’t it wasn’t real. 

This couldn’t be real. 

He needed it to not be real. 

Chapter Text

Connor wakes up. 

His head is screaming. 

He’s naked, and it’s too bright. 

He rolls over and the bed is still warm. 

He…

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

No. 

Fuck, he…

Fuck. 

Fuck. FUCK. 

Connor pulls himself out of bed. Throws on a bathrobe, then makes his way to the bathroom. 

Pukes. 

Pukes again. 

Pukes another time. 

Rinses his mouth, then looks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

Fuck. 

Fucking fucking fuck. 

He washes his face, then heads toward the kitchen, because he fucking needs coffee, but stops when he hears voices. 

“Hey, where did you end up last night?” asks Jenny, sounding more cheerful than she has any right to be. 

“With, uh… I was with Connor?” 

His heart plummets. 

It’s Parker. 

Parker. 

“You slept with him?” asks Jenny, her voice genuinely shocked. “Parker. Seriously, I told you-”

“I made a mistake, okay?” says Parker, sounding genuinely upset. “I just… I didn’t realize he was as drunk as he was, I thought… I didn’t… he kissed me and took me to his room and I… I feel terrible, he was so drunk, I see that now and I… shouldn’t have slept with him, I know I shouldn’t have.” Parker sighs, lets out a shaky breath. 

Connor tries very hard to stay still. To stay quiet, to not let them know he’s here. 

He goes to leave but stops when Parker continues. 

“Jenny, who’s Evan?”

Connor bites his lip hard to stop himself from crying. 

Jenny’s voice is dangerously even. “What do you know about Evan?”

Parker sounds… tired. “He… Connor kept… kept saying his name. When we were… you know.”

Jenny lets out a shaky laugh. “Jesus.”

There’s a pause. “Who is he, Jenny?”

Another pause. “His ex,” Jenny says softly. “He killed himself. In February.”

“Fuck.”

“On Connor’s birthday.”

“Holy shit.”

“I told you to stay away from him,” Jenny says, her voice harsh. “I… look, I know you think he’s cute and you like that he’s a book nerd like you, but… I told you not to go there, I told you-”

“If you’d told me why, then maybe this wouldn’t have happened,” Parker counters, sounding… disgusted. “Fuck, Jenny.”

“He’s messed up,” she continues. “He’s really, really fucking messed up, and I knew he’d hurt you, I knew it.” She sighs. “You’re too good for him.”

Another pause. “You said he was your friend,” Parker says, not quite accusingly, but… definitely questioning. “You talked about him all the time, you…”

“I shouldn’t have invited you. I shouldn’t have even come to this party, I should have known it would get all fucked up.”

“Next time maybe tell me the whole story rather than just give vaguely ominous warnings,” Parker says, sounding more than a little pissed off. 

“Next time maybe fucking listen to me when I tell you to stay away from someone.”

Connor’s heard enough. 

He heads back to his room. Picks up Parker’s shoes and socks, throws them outside the door, then locks it. 

Climbs back into bed. 

Screams into his pillow until he finally falls asleep. 

“Evan, sweetheart, where are you going?” His mom shouted after him. He was walking down the street as fast as his feet would carry him. 

He ignored her. He kept walking. Walking and walking and walking. 

“Evan, baby, please, slow down -”

He ignored his mother. Turned arbitrarily down a side street. Kept walking until he saw a bar. 

He strode inside and grabbed a seat. The bartender looked surprised by his appearance, as if he had shown up out of nowhere. Evan realized with a jolt that he recognized the bartender. 

Zak. 

He had bartended the party to celebrate Connor taking over the Little Book Nook. 

He had flirted with Connor, Evan remembered. He’d been a little jealous, even though they weren’t together. 

Zak didn’t seem to remember him. Or at least he didn’t say. “What can I get you?”

“Whisky please,” Evan said. 

“Gotcha,” He said, pouring Evan a double and setting it in front of him. Evan drank it in one go.

“Please keep them coming.”

Zak nodded. He poured Evan another. He drank it. Zak poured another. 

A moment later the door to the bar opened and Evan’s mother walked inside. She looked… 

She’d been crying, but she straightened her shoulders and had a seat beside him. 

“What are you drinking?” She asked. 

“Whisky,” Evan said. 

His mom nodded. She looked at the bartender. “I’ll have the same. Please.”

Evan looked at her wordlessly. She didn’t drink whisky. Wine sometimes. He’d seen her have a gin and tonic in the past. But not whisky. 

They drank two drinks in silence. 

No words. 

Just breathing and drinking. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” His mom said after a while. 

“I’m not talking about this,” Evan replied dully. He finished his drink. Zak poured another. 

“Connor is going to die,” His mom said, her voice quiet, solemn. “And I am so sorry. I know how much you love him. It’s not fair.”

Evan shook his head. “I’m not talking about this.”

“Sweetheart,” His mom said. “You need to -”

“No,” He said severely, looking at his mother sharply. “I don’t. If I talk to you about this, I’m… I’ll start to lose it. I’ll lose it and I’ll… I’ll never get it back. So I am not talking about this. It’s drinking time.”

His mom’s eyes looked glassy. Like she might cry. 

Evan turned his attention back to his drink. Finished it. Appreciated the way the whisky burned on the way down. Appreciated how with each drink he felt it less. Got a little more numb. 

He didn’t want to feel this. 

He refused to feel it. 

He kept drinking. 

His mom stopped after a while. Just sat there with him until the bartender cut him off. 

“Let’s get you home,” She said gently. 

Evan nodded. He let her gently guide him out of the bar. It was cooler outside now; it had rained. The air felt cleaner somehow, as if the rain had… washed away some of the stickiness of the summertime air. 

Evan felt like crying. 

His mom squeezed his shoulder. “Give me a cigarette,” She said. 

“What?” Evan said, bewildered. He’d never told her. He’d never ever told her. 

“I know,” She said. “When I came to visit after you sat the bar, you went to the pharmacy to buy some aspirin and… I know baby.”

“You don’t…”

“I quit when I was pregnant,” She said. “And picked it back up when your dad left. And quit again when you were ten.”

Evan nodded. 

Went into his pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes. He gave her one. Pulled one out for himself. He lit hers first. Then his own. 

His chest ached on the inhale. It hurt. It burned. 

It was easier, Evan thought, to hurt himself in these little ways. 

More tolerable. 

Like he could space it out over a few hours or days, and it would all feel less…

He exhaled smoke. Evan’s mom took his hand and squeezed. They stood there on the street corner, smoking their cigarettes down to the filter. They dropped their butts into the trash. 

Evan began to cry. 

To cry and cry and cry, like he would never stop. 

He thought he might never stop. 

Connor was going to die. 

He was going to die. In three days the love of his life would be dead and Evan wanted to go with him. He couldn’t imagine his life without him. He couldn’t do it, not without Connor. 

It hurt too much. 

It’s a few days into July when Connor gets an email he’s not expecting. 

It takes him a few read-throughs to figure out what the fuck it’s saying. 

Hi Connor i have another theory and time to test it next weekend if you are free and interested there is a community college in New Jersey who have agreed to let me use their lab I have attached information about the procedure and consent forms for you to go over please note there is more risk attached to this one but from what you have said you are willing to try apologies for being out of touch i believe this will work based on feedback from the prior theory and what you said was successful i know you are anxious to get back so i trust you will reply promptly to schedule the next experiment 

Dr Joshua Weekes, PhD

He just stares at the screen for a long time. 

Another theory. 

The doctor has another theory. 

Connor looks at the attached information and feels his blood run cold. It’s… 

Fuck, this is insane. 

This is fucking insane, there’s no way any sane person would agree to this. 

But then again, he’s not a sane person, is he?

This is…

It’s dangerous and stupid and reckless and potentially suicidal, but Connor’s desperate. 

He’ll try anything if he means he might see Evan again. 

Even if he doesn’t make it. 

Even if he dies in the process. 

He just wants to see him again. 

Even if just for a moment. 

He replies to the email immediately. 

I’m in. When and where?

It’s obvious he can’t tell Andi or Jenny about this. Andi would freak out, would call his sister or his mom and try to stop him, try to pull the plug on the whole thing, and he can’t…

He can’t let her do that. 

He just can’t. 

He rereads through the information, over and over again, and it doesn’t change. 

His eyes keep catching on the same words. 

Near-death experience. 

Stopping the heart. 

Induced hypothermia. 

It’s all insanity. Complete insanity. There’s no way a sane person would go along with any of this, but here he is, walking into madness with his eyes wide open, all in the name of getting back to a reality he might have imagined from the very beginning. 

It occurs to Connor that he might have completely lost it. 

That none of this might actually be real. 

That he might already be dead. 

He supposes that if he’s already dead, there’s no harm in any of this. 

No harm at all. 

The day after Connor’s sister told Evan she was going to let his boyfriend die, Evan woke up with a hangover and his mom sitting at the foot of his bed. She’d probably been watching him sleep again, Evan thought. 

“Good morning,” She said. “I made coffee.” His mom set a mug on his bedside table. 

“Thank you,” Evan said, sitting up and holding the mug with numb fingers. 

“I thought we could go to the hospital,” Heidi said. “But I thought maybe before we go, you could call your therapist? Marcia, you said her name is? I think… It might be good for you to talk to her. It might help.”

Evan took a sip of his coffee. “I fired her.”

His mom looked alarmed. “When?”

“Last week,” Evan said. “Because she said I… She said I needed to prepare myself and I didn’t want to believe it.”

His mom nodded. “I’m sure if you called her -”

“No,” Evan said. “I can’t… I’m not sure I can go back there.”

His mom opened her mouth, her face twisted, like she was going to protest, but then she nodded. “Okay.”

Evan sipped his coffee. “I’m not going to the hospital.” 

His mom blinked in surprise. “Baby, I know it’s hard, but -”

“No,” Evan said. “I can’t… Other people should. I can’t. I’m not going to the hospital. I don’t want to… I can’t be there.”

“Evan…” His mom said. 

“He saved my life,” Evan found himself saying to her. “Connor. He saved my life.”

His mom looked confused. 

“When I was taking the bar,” Evan said, his voice shaking. “When I was in the middle of the bar… I wasn’t doing so well?”

His mom nodded, her eyes huge and terrified. 

Evan cleared his throat. “I’m downplaying it. I. It was bad. It was really bad. I couldn’t… I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see how I was supposed to… do this. Do anything really. I was… The exam was. Brutal. And I was exhausted.” He sniffed, surprised that he still had the ability to produce tears about this when there were so many other, worse things he could be crying over. “And Sabrina got engaged to someone else… I just. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t see how I was supposed to pass the bar, how I was supposed to become a lawyer. Become a person who was… worth something.” 

“Oh sweetheart.”

Evan took a shuddery breath. “I went to the - there’s this liquor store not too far away. I saw that Sabrina was engaged on facebook and I just. I wanted a drink. I wanted a drink but I didn’t have anything in the apartment so I went to the liquor store. To buy something to drink. Connor was there… He’s friends with the guy who runs the store.”

His mom shook her head. “You told me you were… you said you were going out for a drink, you said  -”

“I lied,” Evan said. “I lied to you. I… I went to go buy some liquor and I decided I was going to. I was going to… I was going to kill myself.”

His mom had started to cry. “Baby…”

“I… I thought I’d lost it. That I had cracked, because this guy from high school was just. In the liquor store? I thought he was.. I thought I was imagining him.” He sucked in a deep breath. “He followed me home. I guess I was… I was obvious? I dunno. I still don’t know why he followed me home. But he did. He followed me home. Up… up onto the roof of the building.” Evan wiped his face. “I was going to jump.”

His mother was crying. She crying she was in pain he was hurting her he was hurting her always hurting her. 

“He talked me down,” Evan said. “Connor. He talked me down from the roof. I really thought. I really thought he wasn’t real. I was out of my mind, I was completely crazy. And I… He saved my life. Connor talked me down. He saved me.” He shook his head. “It was his birthday? I didn’t realize. It was his birthday.”

“Oh my god, baby, I am so sorry… I didn’t know. How did I not know?”

Evan took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He blinked a few times. “Connor saved my life. He saved my life and I… I can’t go to the hospital. I can’t go to the hospital because I owe him my life and I. I can’t return the favor. I can’t save him. I can’t do anything… anything but watch. I can’t do anything but watch the love of my life die. So no. I’m not going to the hospital. I’m not going to the hospital to watch him die, mom. I’m not going to do that. I can’t… I can’t.”

His mom was crying. She looked horrified, wrecked, so broken. 

He’d broken her. 

Her life would really, genuinely have been better without him in it. He knew that. Evan knew that, he viscerally knew it. 

But that wasn’t something a child could tell their parent. It wasn’t something Evan could bring himself to tell her. It wasn’t fair to her. 

He wasn’t fair to her. 

“How do I… sweetheart, how do I help?” His mom asked, sounding so helpless, so broken. 

“I just… I can’t mama. I can’t right now. I just want to go back to sleep. Can I do that? Can I go back to sleep?” He wiped his face. “I just… I can’t do this.”

“Of course sweetheart,” His mom said. She smoothed back his hair. “You rest.”

Chapter Text

Connor knows, somewhere deep inside, that this is the last week he’ll spend in this reality. 

He knows, because if this experiment doesn’t kill him, he’ll do it himself. 

It’s decided. There’s no going back now. Either he gets back to Evan, or he dies trying. 

He wants it to be the former. 

He desperately wants it to be the former. 

It’s not like in high school where he just couldn’t fathom the idea of living any longer. It’s not that. He wants to live, he really fucking wants to live, but not here. 

Not like this. 

Not anymore. 

He tries to make sure he’s acting normal, because he knows Andi’s watching, Andi’s keeping a careful eye on him, trying to make sure he’s okay. He does his best but he can still tell that Andi’s figured something out, that she’s wary, she’s careful, she’s watching him carefully, scared he’s going to do something stupid, and there’s no real way to get her off his back other than just… keep going as usual. 

It’s just a week. 

He can get through a week. 

His mom calls him out of the blue on Monday night. She sounds sad. She asks him all sorts of questions about how he’s doing, how the bookstore is going, if he’s having a nice summer, and it’s only after the well of small talk has dried up that she finally tells him the reason she called. 

“I heard from a friend of mine on the school board at your old high school that a scholarship has been created for promising students from low-income families,” says Connor’s mom, her voice sombre. “There are funds to help them cover the costs of applying for college and get through their freshman year, no matter where in the country they go.”

“That’s cool,” says Connor, not sure why his mom is telling this or why she sounds so sad. 

“I couldn’t find out who put forward the money,” his mom continues, “because they wanted to remain anonymous. But… honey, the scholarship is in Evan Hansen’s name.”

Connor feels his heart drop violently. 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

He doesn’t know what the fuck to say, how the fuck to react to this, and he can feel his eyes sting with tears, his throat well up at the sudden reminder that this is where he is, stuck in a universe where the love of his life is dead. 

Where Evan killed himself, and Connor didn’t stop him. 

“Honey.”

Connor clears his throat. “That’s… that’s really nice,” he manages to choke out. “Evan… he and his mom didn’t have a lot of money growing up, I know it was… it was hard.” He swallows, hard. “I wonder who it was.”

“All I know is that it’s a former student,” says his mom quietly. “Rumor has it, a classmate of yours. I have no idea who - they wanted to remain anonymous. Wanted the scholarship to be about Evan’s memory, not about them.”

Connor honestly has no fucking clue who’d have the money to throw at that. No fucking clue. He barely remembers anyone from high school, he’s tried to block it out, but now he’s desperately searching his memories, trying to recall someone, anyone, who might have seen Evan, who might have cared, who might have the means and the inclination to do something kind, something significant, something to honor his memory. 

But he has no idea. 

No fucking idea. 

As he ends the call with his mom, Connor thinks to himself that this is just another way he’s failed that man he loves. 

He has lunch with Zoe on Wednesday. They arrange to meet at the deli around the corner from her work on his lunch break. It’s only when he arrives that he remembers that this deli isn’t just near her work, it’s near where Evan works. 

Where Evan works in another universe. 

Where he didn’t get the chance to work, because in this universe, he died before he could finish the bar. 

There are two men in suits standing at the counter, and Connor’s heart does this weird leap when he recognizes them as Evan’s workmates, Charles and Asher. They’re talking, but they’re holding themselves at a distance from each other, and Connor remembers that they’d broken up, they hadn’t gotten back together until October, then they’d gotten engaged at the firm’s Christmas party. 

Evan was supposed to stand up at their wedding. 

They don’t even know Evan. 

They never got the chance. 

Asher notices Connor staring and looks at him, tilting his head a little like he’s trying to figure something out, and Connor lets out an embarrassed laugh. 

“Sorry,” he says, as clearly as he can. “I thought… you look like someone I know. Sorry.”

Charles kind of rolls his eyes, and then the two of them turn around, placing their orders, and Connor slinks into a seat in the corner and waits for his sister to show up. 

She’s there about a minute later, her hair in a sensible ponytail, wearing a cherry red blazer. She smiles awkwardly when she sees him. 

“Hi,” she says. 

“Hi.”

“This place does good potato salad?” she offers. 

As they head to the counter to order, Asher and Charles leave without giving Connor a second glance. 

Soon he and Zoe have food and they’re sitting near the window, keeping up a vague but impersonal conversation. 

Connor hates it. 

He hates it he hates it he hates it. 

He’s been here long enough. He should have…

He should have tried harder with Zoe. 

There’s no excuse. 

He’s just an asshole. A self-involved asshole, who doesn’t care who he hurts. 

The whole plan is seeming less and less inevitable. 

He stabs at his potato salad, then takes a bite. 

“Are you okay?” Zoe asks suddenly. 

Connor blinks. “I’m fine.”

Zoe sighs. “Really, though. It’s just… we haven’t… we don’t really do lunch? And Andi said you’d been… weird. That she’s been worried.”

Fuck. 

This is the last thing he needs. 

“I’m okay,” he says, putting a little more strength into the words. “I… Andi worries too much, but I’m fine.”

Zoe bites her lip. Blinks a few times. “It’s just, this is so out of the blue, you inviting me to lunch. She’s worried… she said she’s worried you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Connor tries to keep his expression blank. Fights for it. 

“I figured it was bullshit that we live in the same city and never talk,” he says after a moment. “And you… you looked after me. After… on Evan’s birthday, you visited and we hung out when Mom visited and...” He sighs. “I just wanted things to be okay, but if you don’t want to I can just go-”

“No!” Zoe practically yells. She grabs his hand. “I want things to be okay, too, I just… Andi’s worried and it… it freaked me out. I…” She lets out a shaky breath. “I know that I fucked up, too, okay? When Mom and Dad split up, I blamed you and I… that was shitty of me, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” Connor can’t help but ask, hating how bitter his voice is.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she repeats firmly. “They weren’t happy. And you were sick.”

They sit there in silence for a while. 

She squeezes his hand. 

“Maybe we could do brunch in the weekend?” she says, something a little desperate in her voice. “I’ve only got a half an hour break now, but in the weekend we could… talk. Really talk.”

Connor closes his eyes. 

Opens them again. 

“I’ve got something on Saturday,” he says. “But Sunday? There’s this diner around the corner from my apartment. I’ll text you the address.”

Zoe smiles. 

Looks relieved. 

Connor tries not to let it show that his heart is beating way too fast. 

He’ll text her on Saturday, before he… 

Before. 

Postpone. 

Cancel. 

Something. 

She’ll be fine. 

Zoe is always fine. 

When Evan woke up, his mom wasn’t around. She’d left him a note on a post-it saying she was with Cynthia, helping to sort out some details, but to call her when he woke up. 

He ignored it. 

He couldn’t handle talking to her. 

He mindlessly switched on Netflix. He arbitrarily chose something mindless to watch and sat there on the sofa in his pajamas drinking from a bottle of vodka. 

He remembered, suddenly, the first time he had paid attention to Connor’s tattoos. In particular, the melting clock tattoo on his shoulder. Evan had gently traced the lines with his fingers. He had been a little surprised to learn Andi had been the one tattoo him. 

But he supposed she was an artist. 

Evan liked the tattoo. It was sort of beautiful, really. 

Connor was beautiful. 

Evan had hesitantly said,  “I couldn’t… I don’t think I’m brave enough for a tattoo. Not really.”

“They’re not for everyone,” Connor said. His eyes were following the movement of Evan’s fingers, watching carefully. “Doesn’t mean you’re not brave, though.”

“I’m not brave,” Evan said. Because he wasn’t. He just wasn’t brave.

And Connor had taken Evan’s hand and squeezed it suddenly. “Sure you are,” His voice steady, sure. “You’re still here, aren’t you?"

Evan sniffed, staring at the television. 

Connor was wrong. 

He was wrong. About Evan. 

Evan wasn’t brave. He was not brave in the slightest. 

That was why he wasn’t at the hospital. If he were brave he would face it. 

But he wasn’t. He was a fucking coward. 

So he watched Netflix and drank. 

An hour passed. Or two. 

Someone buzzed his apartment. 

Evan ignored it. 

The buzzer sounded again. 

Evan sighed, ignoring it again. 

A few minutes later, someone was pounding on the door to his apartment. He was going to ignore. 

Evan was going to ignore it. 

Until he couldn’t. 

He got up and pulled open the door, expecting Sabrina or something, barking, “WHAT?”

Zoe was on the other side of the door. In a loose-fitting pair of jeans with doodles of stars on the cuffs. 

“Oh,” Evan said. 

“I spent the morning on the phone with a funeral home,” Zoe said. Her voice was raw. “I spent the morning planning my brother’s funeral. My only brother’s funeral. Because he decided to put me in charge of unplugging him. So I’ve had to hear my mom crying about the suit she’s going to put in him when they bury him? They picked it out for Sabrina’s wedding. And you’re… you’re not there.”

Evan swallowed uncomfortably. 

“You’re not there. You should be there, you should… He’d. No fuck that. I don’t know if he’d want you there or not because he’s in a coma. He’s in a coma and you… You’re my family now. Connor made you my family. And my parents? They’re going to tear each other apart over this. And I cannot… I can’t unplug my only brother alone, Evan. I can’t kill him, I can’t decide to listen to his dumb fucking will alone. And I’m doing this alone. Because you’re not there. You are the love of Connor’s life and you… This is the stuff you do when you love people. You… you pull the plug when they put in in their will, you plan fucking funerals...”

“I know -”

“You need to be there,” Zoe said, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I need you there. I need to… I can’t do this by myself and my parents. He was right, not to pick them, because they… they can’t. So I need you.”

“I can’t,” Evan said. “I… Zoe I can’t.”

“You have to,” Zoe said. “If you love him like you say -”

He shook his head. “I can’t, Zoe, I just… Look at me,” He said. “I can’t help anyone like this. Not like this. I’m no good to you, to Connor… I’m no good like this.”

“That is such bullshit,” Zoe said. “It’s bullshit. You are not the only person hurting Evan. You don’t get to disengage because this isn’t what you signed up for. He needs you.”

“He’s not there Zoe,” Evan said. “He… It wouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. None of this shit matters.”

“What about to me?” She said. “It matters to me. I am not okay right now. I’m losing my brother this week and I only got him back a few years ago and… I am not fine. I am not okay. So it fucking matters to me.”

He just looked at her.

“Were you planning to just never talk to me again? After Connor dies?”

Evan couldn’t answer. 

Because he had no plan. 

Because there was no after. 

There was no after. Once Connor died…?

Evan saw nothing. 

He couldn’t see anything after. 

“Are you… Are you safe?” Zoe asked Evan. “Are you in a safe place right now?”

“How can you even ask me that?” Evan said, his voice brittle, thin. 

Zoe pulled Evan into an unexpectedly tight hug then, her arms wrapping around him. “You need to hold on. Please. I need you to hold on. I can’t… I can’t lose you both. Please don’t make me lose both of you.”

“Okay,” Evan said. He didn’t know if he meant it. 

“Come to the hospital,” Zoe said. “Please.”

Evan shook his head. “I… Fine,” He said. He lied. He couldn’t do it… but he couldn’t stand the heartbroken look on Zoe’s face. So he acted as if he was relenting. “Just let me… I need to do a few things? Clean myself up a little… Shower?”

Zoe nodded. “Yeah. Of course.” She hugged him again. “I’ll see you there?”

“Yeah.”

She left. 

Evan closed the door. 

Went back to the sofa. 

Turned the television back on.

And didn’t move.

Chapter Text

Connor wakes up at 8 in the morning and calls a Lyft. 

To New Jersey. 

The app tells him it’s going to cost a ridiculous amount of money, but he doesn’t fucking care. 

It’s not like it matters now. 

He’s careful when he leaves the apartment, trying not to wake Andi, who’s been up all night painting something. She’s passed out on the sofa, topless and covered in paint, and he can’t help but stop and watch her for a moment before he leaves. 

She’s a good friend. 

Better than he deserves. 

He really, really fucking hopes that this Andi is going to be okay. 

She has to be. 

When he gets downstairs, the Lyft driver is already waiting for him. He seems absolutely elated to be getting such a large fare and tries to start a conversation with Connor, but quickly gathers that he has no interest in talking and just turns on the radio. 

Connor looks out the window and watches as the city rushes by. 

He’s…

He’s as ready as he’ll ever be. 

He doesn’t know what’s going to happen. Last time he tried to get back, he hadn’t thought it through, hadn’t really planned for it, but this time…

He’s trying not to burn down this universe’s Connor’s life, as best he can. 

No more than he already has, at least.

He’s printed out everything he knows about alternate realities and death loops. Written a detailed account of what happened to him, what he’s been doing over the past nearly five months. All the people he’s talked to, what they know about him, who they think he is…

If this universe’s Connor comes back, he wants him to have something to go on. 

It’s the least he can fucking do. 

There’s a thick envelope, full of information, as well as a handwritten letter, which Connor hopes will convince the other version of him that this is real, this is actually fucking real. 

If the other him can recognize his own handwriting, then it should confirm that this is real.

Dear Connor Murphy,

I’m you. Well, a version of you. It’s all really fucking confusing and I won’t bore you with the details here, because there are pages and pages of information for you to read and there’s no point repeating things. If you’re reading this, the chances are that you’re really fucking confused. The last thing you probably remember is your 27th birthday, right? You got super high with Eddie and Margot? Andi made garlic bread and threw you a party full of people you don’t actually really know? Hopefully this is ringing a bell. 

When you read this, it’s July. It’s months later. A lot has happened, and you weren’t there for it. But I was. I’m a version of you from another reality, but in the future, and apparently I’m in a fucking coma in my reality so somehow I got an all-expenses-paid trip to this one. To your one. 

The big difference between my reality and yours? 

Evan Hansen. 

Yeah, that one. The guy from high school with the broken arm? 

You were supposed to meet him again on your 27th birthday. You were supposed to save his life. And he was supposed to save yours. But somehow, things went wrong, and he killed himself. 

That might not mean anything to you, but it does to me. 

It means everything to me. 

So I’m going back to the reality where Evan Hansen and I saved each other. Where we fell in love. Where we’re alive and happy and together and everything’s okay, because I can’t stay here. I wish I could say that I know that you’ll read this, that I know you’ll get back to your life safely, but I honestly don’t know. And I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. 

But if, by some miracle, you end up reading this, do me a favor - don’t let Evan die in vain. I’ve written down everything I know about him and it’s in this envelope. This universe still has people who loves him in it, people who miss him. His mom. His mom, who needs the comfort of knowing that she wasn’t the only one who loved him. The only one who saw him. 

If she contacts you and wants to talk to you about him, you don’t have to talk to her if you really don’t want to, but please, be kind and give her something. Give her something to remember him. There’s plenty in this envelope, in there with some kind of explanation of the fucked-up quirk of the universe that made this whole thing possible. Heidi Hansen is a really fucking amazing person, and she deserves some kind of comfort. Don’t be a prick. Give her something . 

Another couple of things you need to know. Andi, your roommate. She’s the best fucking friend you’ll ever have. She knows exactly what happened, she knows all of this, and she wants you back. You might not have realized you meant that much to her. I sure as fuck didn’t. But she chose you, out of thirty-three applicants for your room, and that’s something. She’s incredible, and she deserves to have you back. So don’t take her for granted. 

And Zoe. She loves you. She loves you so much. 

If you’re reading this, she wants to have brunch with you tomorrow. 

I’ve texted to reschedule, just in case you don’t make it, but if you do…

Reschedule. Please. 

See her. Talk to her. 

She’s not your enemy. She never has been. And your life will be so much better if you just talk to her. It’ll be different. I swear it will. 

You’re me, the me I was, but I’m not you. Not anymore. And I want you to have a chance to be better. 

It can be so much better, Connor. You just have to let it. 

Be brave. And don’t be an asshole. 

Sincerely, 

Me. 

Evan was still on the couch when his mom got back late that night. 

She frowned when she saw him, and he told her to take his room and stayed there. He didn’t sleep. He just… he watched basically an entire season of Grey’s Anatomy. Mattie got home around four-thirty in the morning and sat with him for a while. “I’m so sorry,” She said. 

He nodded. 

“Are you going to go tomorrow?” She asked. “I stopped in for a while. Mariah was there? And Sabrina? They both asked after you.”

Evan sniffed. “I can’t,” He said. “I can’t do this. I can’t be there… I can’t see all of these people coming to say their goodbyes. I can’t… I can’t watch him die.”

Not again. 

“Babe,” She gently. “You love him. I know this must be… excruciating.” Mattie patted his hand. “But trust me, you want to take your chance to say goodbye. Believe me. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

She went to bed after that. 

Evan didn’t move. 

Time passed, in stops and starts. Slowly, then all at once. 

Suddenly it was morning. 

His mother left after begging him to come with her. 

He stayed put. 

Suddenly was afternoon. 

Then evening. 

Evan got up. 

He found himself shuffling down the stairs. He smoked a cigarette in his pajamas, dirty and wrinkled. 

Mr. Abrahamson walked up the sidewalk toward him. He frowned at the sight of Evan. Evan’s hand holding the cigarette trembled almost violently. 

“I heard,” Mr. Abrahamson said. “About your boyfriend. Alex, she told me. I am so sorry he’s not well.”

Evan dragged on his cigarette. “He’s dying. He’s… Tomorrow they’re going to take him off the ventilator. He’s going to die.”

Mr. Abrahamson looked horrified. “I’m so sorry.”

Evan shrugged. 

“Alav ha-shalom,” Mr. Abrahamson said, so quietly Evan barely heard it. 

Evan almost laughed. “He’s Catholic. Well. Sort of. He grew up Catholic.”

Mr. Abrahamson put his hand on Evan’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Evan.”

“Thanks, Mr. Abrahamson.”

He shook his head. “Arthur. Please . Call me Arthur.”

Mr. Abrahamson stood outside with Evan until he finished his cigarette. Then Evan held the door open for the old man. 

He walked back upstairs. Back to the couch. 

Evan couldn’t feel this. 

He couldn’t…

He must have fallen asleep. 

Because it was morning. 

The last morning. 

Evan’s mom shook his shoulder almost roughly. “Come on,” She said to him. “Get up. Go take a shower. You’re coming to the hospital with me.”

Evan didn’t move. 

“Sweetheart, I cannot fathom how hard this is for you but… You need to be strong for Connor today. You need to be brave for him.”

“I’m not brave,” Evan said meekly. 

“You are,” His mom said. “You are. So go take a shower and we’ll go. We’ll go and… Honey, trust me, you want the chance to say goodbye.”

He shook his head. “I… I can’t do it.”

“You can,” She said, that sort of manic seize the day attitude she used to put on when he was a teenager creeping into her voice. “You can. You have to. Evan… Connor is the person who you love. And I know how much he loves you back. He needs you today. Don’t make him go through this without you.”

Evan hung his head. “I can’t… I’m not. I’m not strong enough to do this, and I know. I know that makes me a coward and-and a monster. I know what that makes me but I… I can’t go there and watch him die. I can’t. I don’t want… It’s not fair.” He sniffed. “He left me to do this by myself and I can’t. I can’t do this without him, I can’t do it alone.”

His mom wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “You’re not alone baby. You’re not. I’m here. Alex is here. Connor’s family… Sabrina? We’re here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

He just cried. “We were supposed to be together,” Evan whispered, his voice jagged and broken. “We were supposed to…We were supposed to have more time. I love him. I love him so much sometimes it almost… it hurts. I was supposed to spend my life with him. I don’t want it without him, I don’t want it.”

Evan’s mom held him for a long time. Until he ran out of tears. Until was just a shaking mess. 

“I love you Evan,” She said. “I love you more than anything. I am so so fucking sorry about Connor, baby. I am so sorry.”

He nodded. 

“You love him like I love you,” His mom said. “Fiercely. With everything you’ve got. And Connor… he needs that today. He needs you and… Evan. Baby. We don’t know what comes after all of this, but I know that boy deserves to leave this world knowing how much he was loved by you. You can help make it a little bit easier for him to rest. Okay? You need to help him do that.”

Evan wiped his eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

He got up. 

He showered, his fingers numb and hands shaking. 

He got dressed, in jeans and a t-shirt and a hoodie. 

The hoodie was Connor’s. He’d borrowed it and never returned it. 

He took a breath. 

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Dr. Weekes seems surprised when Connor shows up alone. For a little while, at least. Then something in his expression shifts and he gives Connor a grim smile. 

“You didn’t tell your friends this time, did you?” 

Connor shakes his head.

Dr. Weekes nods. Rakes his hand through thinning hair. “Probably just as well. This one… it could be… difficult.”

“Yeah,” Connor mumbles. He pulls a thick wad of paper out of his bag, then hands it to Dr. Weekes. “Already signed the paperwork. I’m ready when you are.”

Dr. Weekes looks at the paper, nods again, then puts it on the desk. 

And just looks at Connor for a moment. 

Connor frowns. “What?”

“When I was six years old I took a shit under the slide in the school playground.”

Connor wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”

“This kid in my class, Peter - he tripped and fell in it,” Dr. Weekes continues. “And everyone thought it was his shit, even though he kept saying it wasn’t.” He looks… Connor can’t fucking decipher his expression. “They called him Poopy Peter for the rest of elementary school, and in middle school. Pretty sure it followed him to high school, as well.” 

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’ve never told anyone this,” says Dr. Weekes. “Ever.”

“So… why are you telling me?”

Dr. Weekes looks at Connor. “When you get back to your reality, find me and tell me what happened. And tell me that story so I’ll believe you.”

Connor has… no fucking idea what to think about that. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about this during the first experiment?” he asks. “Did you… what, did you know it wasn’t going to work?”

“I didn’t think about it,” Dr. Weekes admitted. “I… I handled it poorly, the first time around.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“It’s going to work this time,” he says, looking like he might actually believe that. 

Maybe. 

“Sure,” says Connor. 

Dr. Weekes opens his mouth, then closes it. 

Looks conflicted. 

It’s just pissing Connor off. “What?”

“Does anyone know where you are today?”

Connor shakes his head. 

“That’s probably for the best.”

“What,” Connor says dully, “in case I don’t survive?”

Dr. Weekes doesn’t answer. 

Instead, he gestures for Connor to follow him into a smaller room attached to the one they’re in. It’s fucking freezing. In the center of the room, there’s a bathtub full of ice. 

Connor feels sick just looking at it. 

He remembers the bathtub he almost died in in high school.

It was bigger than this one, full of nearly scorching water. 

It was supposed to make it hurt less. 

It was supposed to make slitting his wrists hurt less. 

Connor shivers involuntarily. 

“You’re not going to make me get naked again, right?”

“Not completely naked this time,” says Dr. Weekes. “Down to your boxers is fine.”

Connor kicks off his shoes. Takes off his shirt, unbuttons his jeans and just stands there for a moment. 

Then he takes off his socks and climbs into the bathtub.

It’s a shock to the system. Enough to leave him gasping. It’s been out for long enough that it’s starting to melt just a little, and the more it touches his warm skin, the more it melts, and Connor lays down the best he can until he’s almost submerged. 

He squints at the fluorescent lighting on the ceiling, closes his eyes tight, but it’s still too bright. His ears are underwater, so he can’t really hear anything, not really, but he thinks he hears Dr. Weekes asking a question and he mumbles out what he hopes is an affirmative answer. 

Then Dr. Weekes is leaning over him, blocking out the harsh light, and sticking electrodes to his chest. They’re cold, too, and kind of sticky, but he’s rapidly starting to lose sensation. 

It’s cold it’s cold it’s so fucking cold. 

When Dr. Weekes moves, it’s too bright again, and he closes his eyes tight tight tight tight, and it’s hard to breathe, it’s hard to breathe because he’s so fucking cold, he’s already panting for air when pain shoots through him. He feels his whole body move involuntarily and then there’s more pain shooting through, more and more, all he can feel is pain and cold and pain and cold and the lights are too bright it’s too bright everything is too too bright

Connor thinks that he’s dying.

Really dying this time. 

It’s not like every other time he’s died, it’s worse, it’s so much fucking worse, and it’s bright bright bright and cold cold cold and he can’t feel anything but pain anything but pain and it’s bright and it’s cold it’s too cold he’s too cold he’s drifting he’s drifting away and this is how it ends it’s how it ends it was always going to be how it ends with him dying alone he’s dying alone in a bathtub full of a ice with a stranger and he’s alone he’s alone he was always going to die alone he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he’s alone he’s alone he’s alone…

Evan had spent a good chunk of his youth wondering how it felt to know you were going to die. When he was very young, he’d work himself into these huge anxiety spirals thinking about the moments leading up to an execution. How it might feel to know your heart was pounding, your blood pumping, your eyes blinking and it would all stop in moments. 

He would fixate on how that would feel. 

Spent months in six grade terrified because he had these constant thoughts about how people led to the guillotine might have felt. Researched people who were executed, their last requests. 

It morphed into an obsession. He spent ages looking up historical accounts of people put to death. Poured over books and documentaries about victims of the Holocaust. Started having horrible nightmares. 

His mom put him in therapy that year. 

And he mostly just blocked it out. 

And he was thinking about that now. 

How really he hadn’t even thought of the pain of the people in the audience who loved the person selected to die.

How he’d never thought about how it would feel to be the executioner. 

As he walked on numb legs, not to his own death, but to Connor’s, Evan realized that walking to his own death had been significantly easier. 

It was so much easier to die than to be the one left alive. 

The three visitors at a time rule had been suspended it seemed as Evan and his mom walked into Connor’s room. Cynthia and Larry were embracing, both crying. Zoe was wiping her eyes, standing at the end of Connor’s bed. 

She pulled Evan into a hug when she saw him. 

When she released him, Evan took Connor’s hand. Placed a kiss to his knuckles. His skin was cold. So fucking cold. 

“We’re going to... The doctors are going to come and take him off the ventilator in a little while,” Zoe said. “I just signed off on everything. He’s been… They’ve given him some pain meds, so. He shouldn’t be in any pain? And Alex… She explained that once he’s off the ventilator it might not be right away. It could take some time.”

“Okay,” Evan said, still holding tight to Connor’s hand. 

“Do you… We can give you two some time?” Zoe said. “Just come and let me know? When you’re… when you’re ready?”

Evan nodded. 

The room slowly cleared, and Evan and Connor were alone. 

The machine keeping Connor breathing wrecked the stillness. It was practically deafening. Evan watched his face for a long time. Trying to memorize every detail. Knowing that soon enough they would start to blur and fade. 

“I love you,” He said, his voice shaking. Quiet. 

Connor didn’t respond. Obviously. 

“I uh…” Evan cleared his throat. “I doubt you can hear me. But. If you can… I love you. I am… I am so in love with you. I never thought… I thought I didn’t deserve something like this. Someone like you. And… and I probably don’t. I don’t deserve you but… You are the love of my life. You are the kindest person I’ve ever known. You. You changed everything for me. Everything.” 

He paused. 

Of course Connor didn’t reply. 

“I… this is unfair,” Evan went on. “Not to me. I… The universe has put a target on my back for misery and I don’t know why but that’s not… It’s unfair because you are the best person.” Evan wiped his eyes. “The best. Most stubborn. Caring. Loving. Beautiful, dorky, genius person. You… You are everything , Connor. To me and to so many people. You… It should be me. Not you. The world shouldn’t have to lose you. It’s not fucking fair.”

He rested his head against their clasped hands. Tried to gather himself a little. “I am so sorry I can’t save you,” He said. “You saved me when I didn’t even want to be saved and I can’t save you back and I am so fucking sorry. I am so sorry I wasn’t here, that I was such a coward, that there were months that went by where I loved you and didn’t say. I am so sorry…. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I should have been better for you. I… I love you. With everything I have. I love you…” 

He sat up straighter. 

“So I’m going to ask… beg, one last time. Connor… my love. Please. Please. Please can open your eyes? Can you wake up for me? I swear I will… I will do anything. Anything. Just please open your eyes?”

Evan searched Connor’s face, desperately, for anything. Any flicker of change, twitch of life, anything. 

But there was none to be found. 

Because Connor, the man he loved, the person who had changed his life, was gone. Was dead. This body was a shell, a relic, a reminder and nothing more. 

“Okay,” Evan said, nodding to himself. “That’s okay, love. That’s alright. You… You go. You rest. I love you, okay? I love you. I will love you forever, I will love you until I can’t anymore. You can go, and I’ll be here to help you through. I love you. You are so loved, so adored, by so many but… I love you. It’s okay. You can let go. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

There was no change. 

And Evan couldn’t bear to wait here anymore. 

He leaned in and kissed Connor’s sunken, pale cheek. Whispered, “I love you I love you I love you I love you.” 

Then Evan stood up. 

Crossed the floor. 

He opened the door and Zoe stepped inside. She hugged Evan again. Called the doctors in. 

“Mom and dad, they… they said they can’t watch them take out the breathing tube,” Zoe said. 

Evan nodded. Stayed put. 

Alex and two other doctors arrived. They explained that they were turning off Connor’s heart monitor so that when his heart stopped beating, they wouldn’t have to hear it. 

“We’ll unhook the ventilator,” Alex explained. “And then give you some time with him.”

Zoe nodded. “Okay.” 

She took a seat in her chair. The one where she had sat for weeks and weeks. 

Evan sat beside her. 

“Okay,” Zoe said, her eyes puffy and voice frail. “Okay. It’s… It’s time.” 

Connor opens his eyes.

He isn’t alone. 

He can see Zoe, sitting in a chair, her eyes puffy and her nose red, and… there’s Evan. 

He can see Evan. 

He’s in jeans and a hoodie and he’s pale and he looks wrecked, just utterly ruined, and he’s been crying Connor can tell he’s been crying.

Connor doesn’t know if this is real, doesn’t know if he’s really here.

But at least he gets to see Evan.

Even if he’s dying.

There are noises and everything hurts and he thinks that he’s dying.

Evan looks at him.

Right at him.

“Connor!”

He doesn’t know if this is real he doesn’t know he doesn’t know but he sees Evan, and Evan sees him, and Connor can hear someone yelling, someone yelling his name, and there’s a flurry of people and he’s trying to speak but he can’t and there are doctors and nurses and they’re doing something he doesn’t know what they’re doing he doesn’t know what’s happening there’s something in his throat and he’s still so cold so fucking cold and he’s shaking he’s shaking he’s shaking but he can’t see ice he can’t feel ice he can feel fabric he can feel wires he can feel warm air warm air and he’s breathing he’s breathing it in and he thinks this is real he thinks this is real he thinks that it worked it worked it worked

“It worked it worked it worked it worked-”

“Hey hey hey, Connor, look at me, I love you, focus on me, you’re okay, it’s going to be okay-”

“Evan,” he gasps out, his voice rough and raspy, almost unrecognizable to his own ears. “Evan, you’re here, you’re here.”

Evan’s crying, thick tears streaming down his face, and Connor wants to wipe them away, wants to touch him, and he reaches out and Evan takes his hand, holds it tight and his hands are warm, they’re so warm, they’ve always been warm Connor has always loved that Evan has such warm hands. 

“You’re freezing,” Evan murmurs, rubbing Connor’s hand between both of his. He looks at someone. “Why the fuck is he so cold?”

There’s a flurry of conversation and movement and there are blankets being wrapped around him but the thing that really helps is that Evan’s arms are around him, holding him tight and he’s warm and alive and Connor breathes it in, breathes him in, and the chill that’s made a home in his bones starts to slowly thaw as he breathes in and out, ignoring the pain in his chest, ignoring how his body is still shaking, because Evan’s here, he’s here, he’s warm and he’s alive and Connor did it he did it he doesn’t understand what happened he doesn’t understand it at all but he’s home. 

He’s home. 

He’s home. 

Evan squeezed Zoe’s hand. 

Looked away. He didn’t think he could stand to watch the doctors working, unhooking and unplugging things…

He looked at Connor’s face instead. He wanted to focus on Connor’s face, focus only on him...

And then Connor opened his eyes. 

Evan was imagining this, he realized. 

But then Connor blinked. 

Looked straight at him. 

Right at him.

“Connor!”

Zoe took a breath, ready, Evan was sure, to tell him to keep it together but then she gasped, “Oh my god, Connor!”

“His eyes are open!” Evan said, shouted, whatever.

“Oh my god,” Alex said, looking startled, alarmed. 

There was this horrible noise, this gagging choking retching sound. 

“He’s fighting the intubation,” She said, her face so pale, but then she was leaning over Connor, placing her hands on either side of his face gently and said, “Oh my god, okay, Connor, hey, look it’s alright. It’s alright you have a tube down your throat that’s helping you breathe… That’s why it feels like you’re choking. Just relax, relaxing, I’m going to take it out, I’m going to take it out just hold on.”

Connor’s eyes were wild, frantic, flitting from side to side and Evan could see that he was shaking, he was shaking so hard and Alex got the tube out of his throat and Evan heard the best sound he had ever heard in his entire life. 

Connor’s voice. 

Scratchy and strange, whispering, “It worked it worked -” He was breathing too hard, too rapidly, and Evan knew immediately that he had to… do something. 

He looked at Connor and spoke, rushing, his voice pleading and desperate. “Hey hey hey, Connor, look at me, I love you, focus on me, you’re okay, it’s going to be okay-”

“Evan,” Connor’s weak voice barely carried the sounds. “Evan, you’re here, you’re here.” 

And Evan began to cry, to just openly cry, unable to stop it, unable to care. The doctors checked things, switching Connor’s heart monitor back on, and they were all talking over one another, just talking but Evan couldn’t focus on them.

 Connor’s hand reached out toward him and Evan grabbed his hand and held it tightly in his own. “You’re freezing,” He said to Connor softly, rubbing Connor’s cold hand between his. Connor always had cold hands but this… this was wrong. This wasn’t right. He looked at the nearest doctor and barked, “Why the fuck is he so cold?”

Alex took his temperature with a thermometer that she rubbed across his forehead. “Holy shit his temp’s down to eighty-nine degrees,” She said. “He has hypothermia. I need warming blankets in here, now!” She looked utterly bewildered. “How the hell does he have hypothermia he’s in a hospital what the fuck what the fuck?”

Alex wrapped blanket after blanket around Connor, and he was shaking so hard, he was shivering so much and Zoe, sobbing, asked Alex what the fuck was happening, and she said, “I have no fucking clue,” and Evan ignored all of it, ignored everything else and climbed into the hospital bed beside Connor, wrapping his arms tightly around him, holding him against his chest as he shook and shivered, pressing kiss after kiss to the top of Connor’s head and to his ice-cold cheek. “You’re alive,” he sobbed. “You’re alive and I love you I love you I love you.”

Chapter Text

Everything is overwhelming for what feels like forever. It’s like he’s fading in and out, like things are happening in flashes. He’s being held tightly, as he slowly warms up, stops shaking, but it takes ages, it takes so long, and Evan is talking, telling him he loves him, and Connor does his best to reply but he doesn’t know if Evan can hear him. There are doctors and nurses constantly showing up to test something, to ask him questions, and he’s trying his best to speak, but he’s not sure he’s making sense because he’s cold he’s so cold. 

Then he’s sitting up in the hospital bed and the arms around him are gone and he’s covered in blankets and people are trying to talk to him and he’s overwhelmed. It takes every ounce of energy he has to follow what people are saying, to stay present in the moment he’s in, but Connor doesn’t want to miss it, he doesn’t want to miss any of it, because he’s home he’s home he made it home and everything’s okay now, everything has to be okay. 

His throat hurts and he’s dizzy and he’s still so fucking cold. He’s stopped shaking, but he still feels like there are tremors going right through him, and he’s exhausted. 

More tired than he can remember ever being in his life. 

But Connor refuses to go to sleep. He fucking refuses. 

In this universe, he’s been in a fucking coma. 

He’s not going back to sleep until he absolutely has to. He’s not missing out on any of this. 

Alex is there, and she looks almost as exhausted as he feels, and Connor knows instinctively that it’s not just the usual doctor tired, it’s something else, and it’s probably his fault. All of the other doctors do a lot of talking, a lot of theorizing, a lot of posturing, but Alex has never been one for bullshit. 

“Your appendix burst and the infection was bad,” she says, looking at him intently, this searching, calculating look like she can’t quite believe his eyes are open. “That was three weeks ago. You didn’t wake up after the surgery. Brain function was normal, you were breathing on your own until five days ago. We had to restart your heart. Put you on a ventilator.” Alex’s expression is grim. “Your will says no extraordinary measures, so Zoe had to make a decision. It was going to be today.”

Connor feels that like a knife to the heart. 

“Fuck.”

There are two other doctors in the room who start talking over Alex, talking about different treatments and theories and ideas and reasons why this all might have happened. 

Alex looks straight at Connor. 

“We don’t know why this happened to you, Connor. This is… there’s no explanation I can give you.”

Connor closes his eyes for the briefest of moments, then opens them and is so fucking relieved to see he’s still here. 

He’s got some theories. 

He’s got a pretty fucking good theory, actually, but it’s insane and it makes no sense and there’s no way anyone would believe him. 

No one would believe him. 

No one but Evan. 

Evan would. 

Evan…

“Evan?” Connor asks, his voice slurred as he tries to look around, tries not to sound as terrified as he feels. “He was… he was here?”

“Connor, oh my god, Connor.”

His mom is holding his hand, holding it tightly, and he hadn’t even noticed her come in, he hadn’t. Zoe’s still there, sitting by his bedside, and now so is his mom, and… his dad. 

Who’s crying. 

Sitting on the other side of his mom, wiping his face with a handkerchief, trying to clear his throat, trying to erase all evidence of emotion, and Connor…

He hasn’t seen his dad in months and months. 

“Evan stepped out so the three of us could see you,” Zoe says, her voice soft and reassuring. “He’s just outside. Heidi’s there with him.”

He’s with his mom. 

Evan’s with his mom, that’s…

That’s good, he should be with his mom, his mom misses him, his mom misses him so fucking much, she was so devastated in the other reality, she should be with him, they should be together, it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay. 

Evan’s alive and he’s with his mom and Connor’s home. 

It’s going to be okay. 

“I love you so much, sweetheart, it’s so good to see you,” his mom says, squeezing his hand even tighter, and she’s sobbing, and Connor squeezes back as best he can, even though his limbs feel like wet noodles right now. 

He’s exhausted. 

He’s so fucking tired. 

But he’s not falling asleep. 

He’s not fucking falling asleep. Not now. Not when he’s just gotten back. 

“Sorry,” Connor manages to croak out. “I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

His mom reaches out and smoothes back his hair. “You have nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart, none of this was your fault.”

“Didn’t…” Connor tries to clear his throat and starts coughing. His mom looks alarmed, frightened, but the coughing fit passes soon. “Don’t like that you were scared,” he manages to say after a while. 

His throat is really fucking sore. 

“You had a tube in to help you breathe,” says Zoe, her voice even and matter-of-fact. “No wonder your throat is sore.”

“Someone should be able to get you some water,” says his mom. 

“I can go get some ice chips,” his dad says, standing up. “They might soothe his throat-”

“No!” Connor yelps hoarsely. 

They all look at him, eyes wide. 

His mom is the first one to say anything. “Sweetheart-”

“Not ice,” Connor says immediately, realizing with horror that he’s starting to shake again, shake almost violently, and he’s so cold he’s so fucking cold and it’s hard to breathe it’s hard to breathe and then Zoe has her arm around him, holding a blanket around his shoulders tightly, and she’s counting slowly with him, steadily, and it takes a moment but he manages to get his breathing under control, he finally manages it, and he feels himself drifting.

Then forces himself back awake. Opens his eyes wide. 

His dad’s eyes are wide and scared as they meet Connor’s. He’s looking right at him, and it’s an expression Connor doesn’t think he’s seen for a very long time, maybe ever. 

“You’re okay,” says Larry Murphy, his voice firmer than the terror in his eyes would suggest. “You’re okay, son.”

“You need to rest,” says his mom, frowning a little. “Sweetheart, you look exhausted.”

“Slept too much already,” he jokes weakly. “Kids these days… terrible work ethic, right Dad?”

Larry’s eyes widen, and he lets out a sharp laugh that’s almost like a sob. “Millenials and their comas,” he replies, and the look on Connor’s mom’s face makes his dad look almost immediately guilty, but Zoe barely stifles a giggle, and Connor does actually laugh because that’s fucking funny but also really fucking dark and he didn’t think his dad had it in him, he genuinely didn’t. 

“Wanna say something about… guacamole and my apartment,” Connor says, his words coming out in a slurred, scratchy rush. “Too tired.”

“If you need to sleep, you should sleep,” says Alex, her voice firm. “We’ll be monitoring you and waking you up periodically to make sure you’re still responsive, but your body has been through a lot. It needs rest.”

“Evan?” Connor asks again. “Can I… can I see him? Please?”

Connor’s dad stands up. “I’ll go get him,” he says, then stands there for a moment. 

Larry reaches out, brushes Connor’s hair out of his face, then pats his shoulder. 

“It’s good to see you awake.”

Connor closes his eyes, just for a moment. 

When he opens them, he can see Evan. 

And everything’s okay. 

Connor’s eyes slid closed and Evan almost screamed, just barely stopped himself, when his eyes opened again, half-lidded and unfocused, but open. 

It was the best sight, the most incredible, beautiful thing. Connor’s open eyes, his beautiful, mismatched eyes. “I love you,” Evan said. 

“Love you,” Connor mumbled. 

Evan just cried against him, his tears getting into his hair, as the doctors asked Connor questions and took his vitals and theorized what happened. 

“He’s awake?” Zoe said to Alex. “He’s awake and he’s breathing on his own… How is that possible? How is he alive?”

“I don’t know,” Alex said, looking sick. “It’s not possible.”

“Can I… is he going to stay awake? Should I get my parents?”

Evan refused to move. 

“His breathing sounds good,” One of the doctors said. “Connor, Connor can you follow this light for me?”

They shined a light in his eyes and Connor opened them. Followed the light. “Bright… Ow.” He blinked again. “Where’s… Evan?” His eyes sought Evan again. “You’re really here?”

Evan kissed his forehead. “Yes. I’m here. I love you.”

“He’s talking! He’s talking and he’s breathing on his own,” Zoe sobbed and she looked so relieved. “He’s alive, oh my god. What the fuck?” She collapsed into her chair, her shoulders shaking. 

Evan kissed the side of Connor’s head, moved his hair out of his face and kissed his cheek. Connor… he almost smiled. “I love you,” Evan said. 

“Love you… love you.”

Evan kissed him again, closed mouth, his lips against Connor’s briefly. Then he looked at Zoe. “I’ll go get your parents.” 

“Evan?” Connor said as he shifted. 

“I’ll be right back,” He said, his voice thick and broken. He kissed Connor’s cheek. “I love you. I’m going to get your parents. I love you. I love you. I’ll be right back.”

Evan’s weak legs carried him out of the hospital room and into the hall. He looked out into the waiting room and saw his mother hugging Cynthia. Saw Larry’s head in his hands. 

Larry looked up first. 

“Is it.. Is it over?” Larry said. “They said… We’d have time, they said -”

“He’s awake,” Evan rasped. “He’s awake, he’s alive…. He’s alive and he’s awake.”

Larry looked disbelieving. Cynthia looked ill. “What?”

“Connor’s alive,” Evan said. “He’s awake. He’s breathing on his own. He’s… Connor is awake.”

Evan watched their faces shift suddenly, through so many levels of fear and grief and… “Listen to me,” he said, trying again. “He’s awake. He’s talking to Zoe. Go, go! Go see him.”

Larry and Cynthia scrambled to their feet, out of the waiting room, their hands reaching for each other as they rushed. 

Evan’s mom looked at him, her eyes huge and scared. 

“He’s alive,” Evan said. “Alive and awake.”

“Oh my god,” His mom said. “Oh my god.”

Evan’s legs gave out under him, and his mom came and put her arms around him. “I said goodbye,” He cried, his face buried in her neck. “I said goodbye I said it and he’s alive he’s alive oh my god oh my god.” 

His relief was like a sudden and unexpected pain, a palpable, acute, weight in his chest because Evan realized in this moment that Connor had lived. He’d lived through this. 

And Evan… Evan almost hadn’t. 

He’d nearly let it take him.

He’d nearly given up. 

Oh god, how could he have nearly given up?

Oh god. 

Oh god. 

His mom stayed with him a while, petting his hair and kissing the top of his head and saying it was all going to be okay, it was all going to be okay. 

“No, no, I fucked up, I fucked up everything,” Evan said. “I fucked it all up, I’m a mess, I… I’m a mess.”

“It’s okay baby,” His mom said to him. “We’ll get through this. We’ll… you’ll call your therapist and. And you’ll take better care of yourself. I’ll take better care of you. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll get through this. We’ll get through this.”

“Evan?”

Larry was looking at him. His eyes were red. He’d been crying. 

“Yeah?”

“Connor’s asking for you.”

“Okay,” Evan said, nodding to himself. 

He got to his feet. Hugged his mom. 

He went back into Connor’s room. He was still awake. 

Still alive. 

“He’s alive,” Zoe said to Evan. 

“He’s alive,” Evan said back.

“Evan?” Connor said. Rasped. 

“Right here,” Evan said softly, climbing into bed beside him, wrapping his arms around him tightly. “I’m right here.”

Connor gave him this pale sort of smile, and he rested his head against Evan’s chest. Then he coughed weakly and sighed. 

“You okay?” Evan asked. 

“Throat’s sore,” Connor said. 

“Here,” Cynthia said. “Here, drink some water sweetheart.”

Connor adjusted slightly, and Evan held the pink plastic cup with a straw. Connor took a sip and then swallowed, pulling a face. “This is terrible,” Connor said, wrinkling his nose. “Why is this terrible?”

Alex smiled. “We have to thicken your liquids… Your esophagus isn’t strong enough for you to swallow right now.”

Connor shook his head, “That… tastes like semen, oh my god.”

“Great thing for a father to hear,” Larry said from the door. He was smiling this kind of exhausted smile.

“Oh, did I… not mention I was gay?” Connor croaked. 

Evan laughed, this wet gross laugh, and he leaned his head against Connor’s. Kissed him. “I love you so much.”

“Love you,” Connor said back. He closed his eyes. “Love you.”

“I love you.”

Chapter Text

Connor doesn’t have the greatest sense of time passing for the first few days back in his own reality. He tries desperately to stay awake as much as he can, but his body seems to have other ideas, and he feels himself drifting a lot more than he’s happy with. 

Every time he wakes up, it’s to this horrible, bone-chilling fear that he’s in the wrong place. 

But then he sees someone he loves, sitting at his bedside, and they take his hand and squeeze it, and it’s okay. 

He’s okay. 

Usually, it’s his mom. Sometimes it’s Zoe, sometimes it’s his dad, but usually it’s his mom. 

Occasionally it’s Evan. 

But not very often. 

Not as often as he’d like. 

People tell him that Evan’s got to work, that he’s trying to organize things at work so he can take some actual leave when Connor gets to go home from the hospital, so he’s focusing on getting everything organized now, and that makes sense, it does, it honestly does. 

It’s just…

It doesn’t feel right. 

It feels… off, it feels wrong, and not seeing Evan is putting Connor on edge, making him worry that this isn’t real, that he’s not in the right universe. 

Not seeing Evan scares him, because Evan’s the proof he’s in the right universe. 

If Evan’s alive, then Connor’s where he belongs. 

Not seeing Evan scares him, but he tries not to let it show, because that’s the last thing anyone needs right now. And it’s not like Evan’s disappeared, it’s not like he’s never here, it’s just…

It doesn’t feel right. 

None of it feels right, and that makes him feel cold, cold like he’s sitting in a bathtub full of ice, cold like he’s dying, really dying, and he can’t deal with that, so he tries not to think about it. 

The fact was that when the love of your life nearly died, things did not return to normal. They couldn’t. 

Evan… He had been living like there was no after this. No after. 

Turned out, there was. 

And he wasn’t prepared. 

He wasn’t sure what to do now.

Alex insisted he go home after Connor went back to sleep. “You look like shit,” She said shortly. 

He knew it was true. 

“You eat anything today?” 

He shook his head. 

“Drink anything?”

Evan nodded. “I... “

She put a hand on his shoulder. “I get it. I get it. Just. He’s going to need a lot of help,” Alex said bluntly. “And you’ve got to… He’s going to need you. Go home. Eat something, something decent, not like a fucking granola bar. And sleep it off.”

“I’m not drunk,” Evan said. 

“But you’ve been drunk,” Alex said. “For a couple of days now. Connor needs you to be you, you know? So. Go home. Eat something substantial. Like a burger or something, yeah? Doctor’s orders.”

Evan nodded. “I will.”

So he got his mom and told her that Alex was sending him home with explicit orders to eat something. 

“Okay.”

“I’m… I am so sorry that I’ve been so…”

His mom took his hand and squeezed it. “This was an impossible situation. Nobody expected you to be alright, sweetheart.”

They took a Lyft home. His mom ordered them a mountain of Thai food, and Evan ate everything she put in front of him, chewing mechanically, not tasting anything. 

“So we’ll go back in the morning, okay?”

Evan blinked a few times. “I need to go back to work.”

She looked confused. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Connor is going to need a lot of help,” Evan said plainly. “And right now he has a million doctors and nurses. But he’s gonna go home eventually and. If I go back now, I can tie up everything I’m in the middle of and maybe swing a few weeks to just be with him.”

“I understand,” His mom said. “But does it have to be tomorrow? You… baby, we thought Connor was going to die today. You need to recover.”

“I’ll recover once I get my life back,” Evan said. “And I’m not going to be a lot of help if I lose my job and insurance, you know?”

His mom wanted to fight him on this. 

“If I promise to make an appointment to see Marcia, will you feel better?” Evan asked her. 

“Okay.”

So he called her after-hours number in front of his mother and asked for her next available appointment. 

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” Evan told his mom after a couple of hours of her watching him like he was a particularly temperamental stray dog she had allowed inside. Like he might bite or pee on the carpet. 

“Alright.”

He swallowed his meds in front of his mother. Smiled big like a good boy. 

He went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and blinked in surprise because someone had covered the mirror. 

He didn’t know who but… they covered the mirror. 

For shiva, he realized.

Because they expected him to be mourning. 

He was supposed to be in mourning. 

Evan’s first shiva was when he was in college. His dad’s brother died unexpectedly - a stroke. He didn’t stay the full seven days, because really, his dad’s side wasn’t his family, they were just people he vaguely knew. More like neighbors than family. But he went home for a couple of days and spent it with his dad and Tracy and baby Amelia who had flown in from Colorado. Sabrina had come with him. She brought a lot of food that she had prepared, casseroles and pastas and a lot of cookies she had baked. 

Evan mostly spent the time hanging out with his new baby sister. She was about a year old. He sat on the floor with everyone else on a cushion, Amelia on his lap, usually babbling adorably. She really liked Sabrina. She liked to squawk “GAH!” whenever she saw her. 

Evan had felt out of place in all of that grief. 

That night, he and Sabrina slept on an air mattress in the den of his paternal grandparents’ house, and she had rolled over and asked why they covered the mirrors. 

Evan sighed. “It’s… There’s a few theories on how it started. One, that when someone dies, evil spirits are more likely to try to, like, take their place. And you can’t see them with just your eyes, but you can see them in mirrors. Or that it’s supposed to make it so you don’t, like, get all distracted from the mourning? Like you’re not thinking about how you look, but just reflecting on… death or whatever.”

Standing in his bathroom in front of the covered mirror, Evan was gripped with a sudden fear that there was nothing under the sheet. That the mirror was gone. 

He ripped it down. 

His face stared back at him. 

Evan really did look like shit. Huge dark circles under his eyes. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, so he had a shadow of stubble. He was pale. He actually looked a bit too thin. Nothing like how Connor looked, but his chin was sharper, his cheekbones more prominent. 

Evan brushed his teeth, keeping his eyes on his reflection the whole time, suddenly terrified that if he didn’t, he might catch a glimpse of an evil spirit trying to fill the void Connor had almost left. 

Connor was alive. He was alive. He was alive. 

“Snap out of it,” Evan muttered to himself, spitting into the sink. 

He must have brushed too hard. The toothpaste was pink with blood. 

Evan left the light in the bathroom on and backed out, never taking his eyes off the mirror. 

He went back to work the next day. People clearly weren’t expecting him, but a lot of them seemed happy to see him. 

Mariah grabbed him into the tightest hug he’d ever had outside of Andi’s bone-crushing ones when he stepped into the office. “How are you?” She asked him. 

“I… I don’t even know. He’s alive. That’s all… That’s all I’ve got.”

“Should you be here?” She asked him. “Jonathan made it sound like you weren’t coming back for a while. He briefed me and Asher on your cases.”

“Asher’s back?”

“Yeah, he and Charles aren’t taking their proper honeymoon until the winter. They just took a couple of days to test the limits of their sex drive.”

“Are they mad at me? About the wedding?” Evan asked sheepishly. 

“Dude, oh my god, no,” Mariah said. “They missed you but they completely understood. It was a bullshit situation.”

Evan nodded. 

“I should warn you,” Mariah said, walking with him to his office. 

“About what?” He asked, stepping inside. 

There were cards all over his desk. Cards and cards. Some food too, candy and dry goods and several gift cards. Someone had clearly been looking after his cactus and succulent because they still looked very healthy. 

“People all… we were all thinking about you.”

Evan nodded. 

He picked the cards up, piled them into a neat stack, and put them into his desk drawer. “I’ll look at them later,” He said. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to be with Connor?” Mariah asked him. 

“He’s going to need me when they let him leave the hospital. I need to be here now so I can be there then.”

“Jonathan would let you work offsite.”

“I have a court appearance next week,” Evan said. “I need to focus.”

“Oh. Okay.”

So he focused. Got to work. 

Didn’t come up for air until six-thirty when his phone dinged to remind him he’d make an appointment with Marcia. 

Right. 

He promised his mom. 

He packed up and walked toward the subway. His phone was full of texts. Zoe, with updates, and a photo of Connor, wide awake, pulling a face. “He misses you.”

Texts from his mom, reminding him to eat and go to therapy. Saying she loved him. 

A text thread from Jonathan and Larry saying they were taking Evan to lunch on Friday. 

Evan wasn’t sure any of this was real. 

He couldn’t be sure. 

He had an appointment to get to. He went to Marcia’s office, knowing that normally he’d be… shaky and nervous and embarrassed about what he had said to her the last time he was here. He should be. He had been horrible, utterly awful… 

But Evan just didn’t give a fuck. 

She let him inside and they both sat and got settled. 

Marcia spoke first, “I want to apologize for how our last session ended Evan, I truly -”

“He’s alive,” He interrupted.

Marcia smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“He was going to die. They were going to take him off of life support… but he woke up yesterday. Nobody knows why.”

Marcia nodded. 

“I… Something isn’t right,” Evan said. “Nothing about this makes sense.”

“Confusion is very common following a trauma.”

“I just… I can’t. Whenever I look at him I just think… I said goodbye. I did some horrible things when he was out. I… How do I come back from this? Because I’m not here. I’m not here.”

Marcia clicked her tongue. “Evan…”
“I should be happy. I should be relieved and ecstatic and so fucking happy. I should want to be with him every second but I… I don’t feel anything. I don’t feel any of that. It’s just… blank. Almost like I… took a bite of aluminium foil. Just a vague, undefined bad… thing.”

She said some things about how trauma not making logical sense. How good news could land oddly when something horrible happened. 

Evan hung his head. “I think… I think the problem is that. That I realize now I don’t… I don’t deserve him. He’s so good and so loved and I… I made everyone around me miserable. I was cruel. I… I don’t deserve him. I deserved to lose him. And I’m glad that I didn’t but… How do I come back from that?”

“That’s a lot of negative self-talk, Evan.”

He almost smiled. “I’m genuinely asking,” He said softly. “How do I come back from this?”

She didn’t have an answer. 

Chapter Text

Connor wakes up to find Evan is in sitting at his bedside.

It’s just him. Just Evan. 

For the first time in what feels like forever. 

Evan has his head in his hands, and Connor can see that he’s quietly shaking, and it breaks his heart. He reaches out his arm weakly, trying to reach him, trying so hard to reach him, and Evan clearly sees him move, because all of a sudden he’s wiping his face and pasting on a smile, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and Connor’s chest hurts. 

“Hey,” Connor says, hating how weak his voice sounds. 

“Hi,” says Evan, reaching out and holding Connor’s hand, pressing a kiss on his knuckles. “How are you feeling?”

“Cold,” Connor admits. 

Evan frowns. “Do you want another blanket? Do you want me to get a nurse? We can get something-”

“It’s okay,” Connor interrupts. He shrugs. “I just… I’m always cold.”

Evan looks so fucking sad. “You’re too thin. No wonder you’re cold.” He stands up and moves the blanket that’s at the foot of the bed so it’s covering Connor a little more. It’s the crocheted blanket Martha made, and it’s even more beautiful up close. He runs his fingers over it carefully, reverently, and Evan seems to notice. “Martha made it,” he says, his voice quiet. 

“I thought so,” Connor replies. Evan’s closer to him now, close enough that Connor could touch him if he wanted to. 

He wants to. 

He always wants to. 

He reaches out and Evan takes his hand, almost automatically pressing a kiss to his knuckles, and Connor tries to pull him closer, pull him close enough that he can kiss him properly, but he doesn’t have the strength. 

He thinks that maybe Evan will figure out what it is he’s trying to do and lean in so Connor can press his lips against his, but he doesn’t. 

Evan sits back down in the seat next to Connor’s bed, never letting go of his hand. 

He feels far away and it hurts. 

“Connor?” Evan asks, his voice soft and hesitant.

“Yeah?”

“What… what happened?”

Connor feels his eyes fill with tears, so quickly it shocks him, it terrifies him, it hurts his heart. Evan’s eyes are wide and scared, and he squeezes Connor’s hand tighter then moves to sit on the edge of Connor’s bed, reaching out his other hand to touch his hair behind his ear, letting his hand rest against his cheek for a moment, and Connor takes the moment to lean in, to kiss him, and when Evan kisses back there’s a desperation that Connor can taste. 

There’s a soft knock at the door. Evan moves slightly and Connor sees that it’s Martha and Gladys. 

Evan clears his throat. “I can go if you-”

“Stay,” Connor says immediately. “Three in the room, right?”

Evan hesitates. Nods. Smiles at the two women, then stands up and helps Martha to a seat. She looks… older than Connor remembers. But that’s nothing compared to Gladys, who looks like she’s aged at least a decade since Connor last saw her in the other universe. 

“It’s so good to have you back, Connor,” says Gladys, genuine relief in her voice. 

Martha reaches out and takes Connor’s other hand in both of hers, patting it softly. She smiles softly. “I see the blanket’s being put to good use.”

“It’s beautiful,” Connor says sincerely. “Thank you so much.”

Martha looks horribly sad for a moment. “I’m just glad you get to see it.”

Connor nods. Blinks a few times.

It’s hard to know what to do with other people’s grief. He’s spent so much time hiding the fact that he didn’t belong, that the people around him were distant versions of themselves, that he knew them better than they knew them and it made him feel so alone. He’s spent so much time mourning the versions he knew, the versions who were here missing him, that to come back and see that they’ve been mourning him is almost too much for him to handle. 

It was so close. 

So fucking close. 

Down to the fucking wire, he only just made it back. 

There’s a part of him that doesn’t know if he really believes he made it back. 

It takes a moment for Connor to realize that he’s supposed to respond, that they’re looking at him like he should be saying something. 

He runs his fingers over the blanket again. 

“This must have taken you ages,” he says. His voice is still so weak, so quiet, and he doesn’t like it, because every time he talks Evan looks fucking devastated and he hates that. 

“Labor of love,” says Martha with a soft smile. “It should last you a long time, dear. Should last the two of you a long time.” She pats Connor’s hand again. “Maybe you can even pass it down to future generations.”

Connor can feel Evan go deadly still next to him. 

Gladys laughs a little. “Darling, it’s probably not the time for them to be thinking of starting a family.”

“Starting a family,” Martha says, rolling her eyes a little. “Such a heteronormative concept. We never had children of our own but we’re still a family.” Gladys puts her hand on Martha’s knee and squeezes it. 

“I know,” she says, in her normal no-nonsense tone. She looks straight at Connor. “We consider you and Evan part of our family, Connor.” She scrunches up her nose and Connor realizes that she’s tearing up. “I apologize if that’s a little overly sentimental, but… given recent events, you… you’ll have to forgive me.” 

Martha pulls a handkerchief out of her pocket and hands it to Gladys, who looks embarrassed to be crying. 

Connor’s pretty sure he’s crying, too. 

And Evan’s sitting there, still frozen solid. 

Until he mutters something about a phone call, then leaves the room in a rush. 

Evan sat on a bench outside of the hospital, smoking a cigarette and willing his hands to stop shaking. 

Martha said…

She said they could pass the blanket down to future generations. 

Evan and Connor had never even talked about kids. 

And the thought of having a really long time together… it didn’t sit right with Evan. Uncomfortable and a little too tight, like old clothes that you had outgrown but tried to squeeze yourself into. 

He didn’t know how he was going to make it through the next week, let alone the entirety of a future stretching out endlessly in front of him. 

Him and Connor. 

Fuck. 

Fuck Connor was going to see it. The moment he was well enough he would notice it, zero in on the fact that while he had been in a coma, Evan had misplaced his entire fucking will to live. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

He needed a fucking drink.

After a little while, Evan spotted Zoe on her way inside the hospital. She saw him, smiled, and sat down beside him. “Hey,” She said. 

“Hi,” Evan said. “Sorry,” He said, waving smoke away from her. 

“You hiding out?”

Evan nodded. “Martha and Gladys are here?”

“Oh good,” Zoe said. 

Evan nodded. “Yeah, he’s happy to see them.”

“Bet you anything he’d be happier if you were in there with him,” Zoe said. 

Evan bit his lip. Picked at his cuticles. 

“What’s going on?” Zoe asked. “Can I help?”

“Remember when… when Connor’s mental health was being a dick? Last fall?”

“Yeah,” Zoe said darkly. 

“You were right. I can’t help him when I’m like this… And every time I see him it’s just so obvious that I’m… I’m fucking useless here.”

Zoe shook her head. “He just wants you here. He just wants you to spend time with him. Talk to him.”

Evan picked more at his cuticle. Took another drag of his cigarette. “It’s… I’m fucking this up.”

“Just be there for him,” Zoe said. “That’s what he needs right now.”

Evan nodded. Wiped his eyes. 

“You’re not okay, are you?”

He shook his head. “Am I ever?”

“Yeah,” Zoe said, sounding surprised. “You are.” 

Connor wakes up with a jolt, his heart pounding. 

It’s dark, and there’s no one else in the room with him, and for a moment, he’s not sure where he is. 

It takes him a minute, but then he sees Martha’s blanket, and it hits him that he’s still here. 

Still here. 

He knows he should go back to sleep. It’s the middle of the night, and no one’s here, and sleep is apparently part of the whole healing process, so he should. 

And he could, he knows. He could close his eyes and be out again in seconds. 

But he doesn’t. 

There’s a copy of Harry Potter and The Sorceror’s Stone next to his bed, and he takes it and starts reading from where someone’s put in a bookmark. 

It’s hard to focus, because he’s so fucking tired, but he just…

Doesn’t want to sleep. 

Doesn’t want to leave. 

Maybe an hour later, someone pokes their head through the door. It’s Alex, who looks surprised and a little annoyed to see him awake and reading. 

“Dude,” she says, coming into the room and closing the door behind her. “It’s four am. You should be asleep.”

Connor looks at her, noticing that she’s in a denim jacket over her scrubs. “End of your shift?” he asks, his voice still scratchy. 

“Yeah,” she says, coming to sit next to him and taking the book away from him. “I just wanted to check in on you before I left.”

Connor feels something in his chest ache. “Mom says you’ve been here the whole time.” He tries to smile. “Dad says you might be the least incompetent person in this whole hospital.”

“Your dad is a real charming guy,” Alex replies with a roll of her eyes, but she’s smiling. She sighs. “Dude, you really gotta sleep.”

Connor feels himself tense. “I’m not tired.”

“Liar.” Alex sighs again. “Look, I can’t even imagine how fucking scary it must have been, okay? What happened to you… whatever the fuck it was. It was scary enough for all of us watching. I get that you might have… concerns about sleeping, when you came so close to…”

Connor waits for her to continue, but when she doesn’t, he does it for her. “To not waking up.”

Alex flinches. She looks horribly sad, and very, very young. 

It occurs to Connor that Alex isn’t that much older than him. She’s barely in her thirties but she’s a fucking doctor, she’s in a job where people’s lives are on the line, where she’s responsible for people who have people who love them, people who rely on her to look after what’s most important to them.

“This must have sucked,” he says, realizing how lame that sounds the minute he’s said it. 

Alex looks confused for a fraction of a second, then she kind of laughs. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“I guess… people don’t make it all the time, in your line of work,” says Connor, and from the look on Alex’s face he wishes he hadn’t, it was the absolute wrong thing to say. 

She looks utterly devastated. 

“You’re not just any patient,” she says after a moment. “You’re my friend. Evan is like a brother to me. I… I just fucking wish I understood what the fuck happened. If I understood, if I could make sense of it, if I were a better fucking doctor, then maybe-”

“Alex.”

She lets out a shaky breath. 

Her bright red hair is washed out in the dim light of the hospital room. 

She looks so young. 

So fucking young. 

“None of this is on you,” Connor says softly. “And I’m okay. I swear I’m okay.”

Alex sniffs. Nods. 

Pulls out a stethoscope from her bag and starts taking his vitals with the practiced ease of someone who has done this a million times. Looks at the various equipment he’s still hooked up. 

“Your temperature is still low,” she says, frowning. “So’s your blood pressure. Not dangerously, but… lower than it should be.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“I need you to get some sleep, Connor.”

Connor swallows. “I… I’m fucking terrified I won’t wake up.”

Alex blinks a few times. Nods. Takes in a deep breath, then sits on the edge of his bed. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” she says, her voice quiet. “If you can get some decent sleep in the next few days, I’ll help the bookstore kids smuggle Edgar in here again.”

Connor feels his heart leap, almost painfully. “You… you brought my cat to the hospital? While I was in a coma?”

Fuck, Edgar.

He misses Edgar so fucking much. 

Is he okay? Connor knows that Leslie, Maureen and Jax would never let him starve, would look after him, and that he’d have company during the day when the store was open, but what about the rest of the time? 

Did Evan look after him? Is it okay for Connor to ask Evan if he’d spent time with his cat? Normally he wouldn’t hesitate to tease Evan about Edgar, about how he was definitely Edgar’s other dad, but Connor knows that Evan’s not… not himself. 

He’s not okay. 

And that’s on Connor. 

Because Connor’s been in a fucking coma for weeks.  

Alex smiles, her eyes glassy. “Yeah. Edgar misses you, dude.”

Connor feels himself tear up. “I can’t believe they smuggled my cat into the ICU, oh my god.”

“You wanna see him, yeah?” 

Connor nods. Suddenly, yeah, all he wants is to see his fucking cat. 

“Then get some damn sleep. And I’ll make it happen.”

Evan’s mom was sleeping in his bedroom and Evan could not get comfortable on the sofa. He tossed and turned, his mind refusing to shut off. 

He couldn’t sleep. 

He just couldn’t sleep. 

Evan researched for a while. Brushed up on malpractice law, looked into some precedents of suits against hospitals. Sent a few promising cases to Larry, even though it was three in the morning. He read and wrote until his eyes itched and burned and then he tried to sleep. 

Nothing. 

Sleep just wasn’t coming to him. Evan got up. Paced around for a while. 

He snagged a book from his bookshelf. First one he saw. 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Slytherin special edition. Connor had bought it for him, given it to him as a twenty eighth birthday gift. 

Evan couldn’t sleep. 

So instead he read.

Alex got home about five fifteen and found him sitting up, staring into a book, his brain not taking any of the information in, his eyes itching with fatigue…

“Why are you up?”

Evan shrugged. 

“You and your boyfriend are going to be the death of me,” Alex said, rolling her eyes. “You need to sleep. Both of you.”

“He was awake?” Evan asked, his heart speeding up. 

“Yeah,” Alex said. “I think he’s… He’s scared to sleep.”

Evan swallowed hard. Started to pick at a scab on his cuticle. “Oh.”

“I… I bribed him,” Alex said, smiling a little. “I bribed him to sleep. Like he’s a fucking toddler.”

“What did you bribe him with?” Evan asked, curious. 

“His cat,” Alex said. “I said I’d help the bookstore kids smuggle Edgar in again if he slept properly for a couple of days.”

Evan smiled. “He loves that cat.”

Alex patted Evan’s shoulder. “He loves you more.”

Evan dropped his gaze back to his cuticles. One of them had started to bleed. “Everyone keeps saying that.”

“I think he might be more inclined to rest like he needs if you were there. He asks about you every time he wakes up.”

Evan stared at the bubble of blood pooling in his nail bed. “I can’t… every time I see his eyes close, every time he even blinks too long… I hate it. I hate it so much.”

Alex patted his hand. “I know.” 

“I should get ready for work,” Evan said. 

“Have you slept at all?”

He stood up. “I should get ready for work. Get some sleep, Alex.”

Chapter Text

Connor does what he’s told and gets some damn sleep. 

He’s woken up every now and then by a doctor who wants to take his vitals, check that he’s responsive, make sure he hasn’t fallen back into a coma, and while that would be annoying at any other time, he doesn’t mind it so much. 

At least it’s proof that he’s here. In the right universe. 

Where he belongs. 

He falls back asleep easily every time. 

The first time he wakes up without prompting, he feels…

Better. 

Better than he had. 

Warmer. 

Zoe’s sitting next to his bedside, and so is his mom. Zoe’s on her laptop, and his mom is reading a book, and it takes him a moment to notice it’s a different room.

There’s a bouquet of flowers on a table nearby. That’s new. 

It’s full of brightly colored flowers, yellows and purples and reds. 

It’s… nice. 

“They moved you out of the ICU when you were sleeping,” says Zoe when she sees he’s awake and looking around the room. She smiles, this genuine smile. “This is good. Really good.”

His mom looks exhausted but she’s smiling, too. “You’ll be here a little while longer,” she tells him. “They obviously want to keep an eye on you, given everything, but they think you’re out of the woods.”

“Okay,” he says, and he tries to smile at them. 

Tries again. 

The second time, it’s a little easier. 

“How’d you sleep?” asks Zoe, who’s shut her laptop and is moving her chair closer to him. “You were out for a while, but you were responsive every time they woke you up to check on you.”

“Okay,” Connor says, realizing he’s telling the truth. “No weird dreams,” he adds, and Zoe’s face twists a little, this flash of horror flitting across her features momentarily, but then she smiles again. 

“Good,” she says. She leans in and wraps her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek. “Don’t you ever fucking scare me like that again. Asshole.”

Connor’s limbs still feel limp and noodley, but he hugs his sister back the best he can, and feels himself tear up again. 

Something occurs to him. 

“I… I never talked to you about it,” he says stupidly. “I’m such an asshole.”

Zoe stiffens in his arms. “About me having power of attorney?” she says, the words coming out harshly. “No, you fucking didn’t.”

Connor hears his mom take in a sharp breath. 

The tension in the air hangs heavily. 

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I didn’t…” Zoe pulls away and looks him in the eye. “I hated it, Connor, I hated having to be the one to make that call. I… it was going to be the day you woke up, did they fucking tell you that? I almost… I almost let you die, Connor, I almost-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Connor says hastily, pulling her back into a hug. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m fine, look, see? I’m okay. It’s okay.”

Zoe holds onto him tightly. 

So fucking tightly. 

They don’t let go for a very long time. 

When they do, Zoe wipes her face, takes in a deep breath and puts on a smile. It’s this efficient, clinical kind of motion that has Connor utterly transfixed. 

It reminds him of his dad. 

He did almost the exact same thing the day Connor…

The day he came back. 

“Has Dad gone back home?” Connor asks when Zoe sits back in her seat. 

She shakes her head. Looks a little annoyed. “No, he’s still in the city,” she says, with a slight roll of her eyes. “But he’s working. Doing something work related, I don’t fucking know.”

“He texted me,” says Connor’s mom, and Zoe looks genuinely surprised. “Apparently Evan’s boss is taking him and Evan out for lunch to celebrate Connor’s recovery.”

Connor and Zoe exchange a look. 

“Well that should be fun for everyone involved,” says Connor. “Hope there’s alcohol, for Evan’s sake.”

At that, Zoe looks uncomfortable. She clears her throat. “Speaking of that-”

“Okay folks,” comes a voice from the doorway. There’s Alex, in what looks like a fresh pair of scrubs, hair pulled back in a braid, looking more rested than the last time Connor saw her. “Don’t say I don’t keep my promises.”

With that, she ushers Maureen, Jax and Leslie into the room. Jax has their arm around Maureen’s waist, Connor notices immediately, and Leslie’s cradling a backpack. Alex shuts the door and closes the blinds, then stands at the door and nods to Leslie. 

Leslie grins, puts the backpack on the end of Connor’s bed, and out pops a little black and white face. 

Connor thinks he’s going to fucking cry.

“Mrow,” says Edgar Allan Paw, scampering up the bed happily to greet Connor. He takes his customary spot on Connor’s shoulder and presses his face to Connor’s cheek, giving him little kitten kisses. 

Connor is definitely going to cry, fuck. 

“The gang’s all here,” quips Jax with a watery smile, and it’s like that breaks a dam, because all of a sudden the three of them are rushing toward Connor, pulling him into hugs one at a time, and fuck, fuck, fuck Connor’s missed them, he’s missed them so much, these people are his family and he’s really fucking missed them. 

“How are you feeling?” asks Leslie, who is definitely crying but smiling as well. “Fucking hell, Connor, it’s so good to see you.”

“I’m okay,” Connor assures them. “I’m… fuck.” He wipes his face with the back of his hand, and Maureen hands him a box of tissues. “It’s really good to see you guys.”

There’s a flurry of tears and laughter and the box of tissues makes the rounds. There aren’t enough seats in the room, so when they all sit down, Maureen sits on Jax’s lap. 

Connor doesn’t miss it when Jax presses a kiss to the side of Maureen’s head. 

“Jax and Maureen,” he can’t help but tease, “do I need to call HR?”

“You never said there was paperwork,” says Jax to Maureen, who rolls her eyes and kisses Jax properly. 

“When did this happen?” Connor asks, genuinely smiling. “Just so I know whether or not it’s appropriate to say ‘it’s about time’?”

Jax’s expression shifts to something more serious, and so does Maureen’s. They look at Connor and bite their lip. “When Zoe called and told us you woke up,” they say, taking Maureen’s hand and holding it tightly. “Right after we found out you were okay, I kissed her.”

“You told me that life was short and scary,” Maureen says, looking at Jax with this soft, fond expression. “So we had to hold on to the good things.”

Connor feels this twisting in his chest. “Yeah,” he says, and he knows he’s going to fucking cry again, fuck. “Yeah, we do.”

Edgar Allan Paw lets out a contented sigh from Connor’s shoulder and curls up closer, purring happily and rubbing his nose against Connor’s cheek. 

Leslie launches into a story about how she caught Maureen and Jax making out in the stockroom the day before, which makes Zoe laugh and Maureen blush, and Connor’s mom reaches out and pets Edgar and smiles at Connor widely, and Connor’s hit by the feeling that this would be a perfect moment, if only Evan were here. 

He can picture it, too, picture Evan sitting next to him on the bed, carding his hands through Connor’s hair, pressing kisses on the side of his head, holding him tight, holding him like he never wants to let him go. 

It’s like an ache, not having him here. 

Like a physical pain in his chest. 

He’s working now so he can be there when you get home, Connor reminds himself. Everything’s okay. You’re home, you’re with your people, and everything’s okay. 

It has to be okay. 

He was a zombie at the office the next day. 

Evan had gone to the hospital after work the day before, but Connor was asleep. “Just asleep?” Evan asked, probably twenty times. 

“Just asleep,” Zoe reassured him. “They check if he’s responsive every two hours. He just needs to… rest. And heal.”

He nodded, holding Connor’s hand and wishing that he would wake up. Even just to say hi. 

He didn’t. 

So Evan hadn’t slept the night before either. He hadn’t slept at all, no matter what he tried. 

Every time he shut his eyes he imagined Connor’s eyes slipping closed again and then woke up screaming. 

So.

He hadn’t slept. 

Evan kept drinking more and more coffee until he could basically feel his heart beating in his eyelids. Mariah and Asher started stopping in to check on him every thirty minutes or so, and Evan was starting to get really fucking tired of it. “I’m fine,” He said after the third or fourth time. 

“We know,” Mariah said. “But in case you weren’t…”

“I’m fine,” Evan said. “I’m always fine.”

Around noon, Jonathan stopped into Evan’s office. “I’m taking you to lunch.”

Evan blinked a few times. “Am I fired?”
“What? No,” Jonathan said. “I’m taking you and Larry to lunch. I thought I’d texted.”

“Oh,” Evan said. “Right. Yeah, just give me -”

“Hansen, I know for a fact that you’re two weeks ahead of schedule on all of the motions you need to file despite being out off and on for a few weeks. Take a break.”

Evan stared. 

“You’re probably never going to hear me say it again,” Jonathan said. “Come on.”

Evan closed his mouth, which he knew was hanging open. He collected his things and followed Jonathan out of his office, down to the lobby, then out onto the street where a sleek black town car was waiting for them. 

“It’s a hybrid!” Jonathan told Evan, clearly pleased about it. 

“Oh… Great.”

They chatted on the ride, just small talk about the weather and Jonathan’s house in the Hamptons and Jonathan said something about how his husband was thinking about planting a rooftop garden. Evan nodded along, murmuring agreement or whatever, not really there. 

He should be at the hospital. With his boyfriend who just woke up from a coma. 

He should be at the hospital. 

Larry met them at the restaurant. Evan had never been there, obviously. It was some four-star, twenty-eight dollar salad sort of place. He smiled widely at Evan, shaking his hand enthusiastically. The hostess sat them at a sunny table in the middle of a wide, brightly lit dining room and Evan stared at the menu disinterestedly. 

Nothing sounded good. 

Evan shouldn’t be here. 

Jonathan and Larry talked shop and told war stories about cases against each other. Evan chimed in, laughed and played along when he could manage it. The waitress grabbed their drink order, and Evan asked for water. 

“You’ve had quite the last couple of weeks, Hansen,” Jonathan said. “Live a little.”

“No, I shouldn’t, I have to go back to the office after this.”

Larry and Jonathan laughed like Evan had made a hilarious joke. 

Well. Alright then. 

“Whisky please,” He said quietly to the waitress, who nodded. 

He ordered the cheapest thing on the menu for his meal and tried to sip his water and drink his drink slowly. He talked with Jonathan and Larry, chiming in to conversations and telling them a story or two about law school. Mostly he just stared at the table while they talked and drank. 

Jonathan ordered Evan a second drink. 

Evan ordered himself a third. Got up and ordered a fourth from the bar when Jonathan and Larry both stepped out to make phone calls and smoke cigars and do old white people stuff.

Evan checked his phone. Responded to an email, then the second. 

Jonathan and Larry returned as he was finishing his sixth drink. Jonathan covered the bill without even looking at it. 

“Well, gentleman,” Jonathan said. “I’m glad to see you’re both doing better. Hansen, go with Larry here back to the hospital to see your guy. I’ll see you on Monday.” He waved them off without another word. 

Evan and Larry stood outside of the restaurant, waiting for the Lyft Larry had called. 

“Thank you,” Larry said. “For the notes you sent last night. You are extremely thorough.”

“Of course,” Evan said. “I’m happy to help any way I can with the suit.”

Larry looked at Evan for a long moment. “Maybe you should… take a walk? Drink some coffee before you come to the hospital.”

“Oh,” Evan said, feeling almost like he had been punched. 

“Believe me I know how challenging the last few weeks have been. I know. But Connor is in a fragile place right now. So. Walk it off. Come by later, after you’ve sobered up.”

Evan swallowed hard. Nodded. “Yes sir.”

Larry got into the Lyft as it arrived. 

And Evan went for a walk. 

Fuck. 

He was so stupid. 

He was fucking all of this up. He was fucking everything. Just everything.

Evan went back to his apartment. He changed out of his work clothes. Had a seat in on the sofa… 

He realized he didn’t know where his mom was. He texted her. 

“With Cynthia,” Her reply said. “We went to the bookstore apartment to get some of Connor’s things. They say he’ll be in the hospital for a few more days. The bookstore kids are smuggling the cat into the hospital.”

Evan replied to thank her for telling him. 

Picked at his scabbed cuticles. Closed his eyes, just for a moment… 

Just for a moment. 

And promptly fell asleep on the sofa. 

Chapter Text

The next time Connor wakes up, his dad and Zoe are in the room. They’re both working on their laptops, not really talking to each other. 

“Hi,” he says, hating how his voice is still weak, his throat is still kind of fucked, and they both look up at him. 

Zoe’s face lights up. “Hey,” she says, shutting her laptop immediately. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he admits. He frowns. “Cold, still.” He shivers a little. “It’s… weird, I know, because it’s still summer.”

His dad and Zoe just look at him sadly for a moment. 

“It is still summer, right?”

“It is,” says his dad, his voice strained. It takes a moment, but he also shuts his laptop and looks at Connor. “I don’t like that you’re still cold. I don’t like that they can’t explain why on earth you woke up hypothermic.” He clears his throat. “I don’t like that they can’t explain why…”

Why I woke up at all, Connor thinks. Why any of this happened.  

Something occurs to him. “You’re suing the hospital, aren’t you.”

His dad blinks. “Obviously.” His face clouds over. “What happened to you… whatever happened, it shouldn’t have. There’s no excuse for how poorly this was handled.” His voice grows stronger as he continues. “They gave us no explanation as to why you fell into a coma after what was allegedly a successful surgery, no explanation as to why your heart stopped, while you stopped breathing. We had to… we had to prepare for the worst, we had to… we had to do our best to follow your wishes, to do what your will legally stated we were to do in this situation, we had to…” Larry’s whole demeanor drops then, and he sags back into his chair, and he suddenly looks very, very old. 

“We had to say goodbye,” Zoe says, her voice soft and trembling. “All of us did.” Her eyes are glistening with unshed tears and Connor hates it. “I… I planned your funeral, Connor. I had to plan your funeral.”

Connor lets out a shaky breath. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck about covers it,” says Larry Murphy, and Zoe lets out this surprised laugh. He squares his shoulders. Looks Connor straight in the eye. “I’m suing the hospital. They’re going to be hit with one hell of a lawsuit and there’s no way they’re getting out of taking responsibility for this.” His expression doesn’t waver as he continues. “Especially with Evan’s help.”

Connor has to take a moment to let that sink in. “You and Evan… worked together on this?”

“Not exactly,” his dad says, looking a little uncomfortable. “But he provided useful information. Contacts. Things I wouldn’t have even thought of.” Something in his expression shifts. “Now that I’ve seen just how thorough he is, you’d better believe I’d think twice before going up against him in court again.” 

Connor lets out a laugh. His dad’s cheeks color slightly. 

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell him I said that,” Larry continues with a small smile. “I’d like to hold on to my reputation.”

“What about Alex?” Connor can’t help but ask. “If… if the hospital gets sued and she’s been here the whole time, what about her? I don’t… I don’t want her to get into trouble.”

“Neither do we,” Larry assures him. “I’ve made it very clear that Dr. Dawson has our utmost respect. We’ve…” He clears his throat. “None of her decisions resulted in any harm to you. She fulfilled her duty of care, went above and beyond, and it was the responsibility of doctors more experienced and tenured than she is to provide the answers.” He pulls his shoulders back and continues, his voice smoothing out, gaining traction. “Furthermore, she was transparent. She was honest and upfront that she didn’t know what was happening, that she couldn’t explain what happened to you. She didn’t make excuses, she didn’t give us any bullshit, she was professional and honest and straightforward.” He crosses his arms. “Frankly, Dr. Dawson is the only person in this hospital I don’t want to punch in the face.”

Connor lets out a laugh, which turns into a cough, which turns into Zoe giving him something to drink. It’s still that thick, gross semen-like bullshit, because his throat is still not great, but they say he might be able to try actual food and water tomorrow, all going well. 

By actual food, he’s fairly certain they mean jello. 

Something occurs to Connor. 

“How was lunch with Evan and Jonathan?” he asks his dad. 

His dad looks surprised. “Fine,” he says. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, then finally speaks. “I’ve known Jonathan for a long time. He’s… very impressed by Evan, and he doesn’t impress easily.”

“Good,” Connor says, looking at his dad a little challengingly. “Clearly he’s not an idiot.”

Zoe barely stifles a laugh. 

Connor’s dad frowns, ever so slightly. “I… I think it would be in everyone’s best interests if Evan were to take some time to rest once you’re back home,” he says, his tone cautious, maddeningly neutral. 

It puts Connor on edge immediately. “Is he okay?”

Zoe’s face pales, ever so slightly. She and Larry exchange a subtle look. “It’s been hard on all of us,” Zoe says, and there’s something cautious in her tone, too, but in a different way, and it strikes Connor that he’s never really thought of his dad and Zoe being similar before now. It’s never really occurred to him. 

Zoe’s never looked more like their dad than she does right now. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” says Connor. 

“None of this is your fault,” Larry says firmly. “But it’s been a difficult time. Emotionally turbulent, which takes its toll on all of us, no matter how hard we try.” Something crosses his face that might be a smile if it weren’t so sad. “There’s a reason the law allows us to sue for emotional damages. They have… effects. Substantial effects.”

“It’s been hard on all of us,” Zoe repeats, “but I think it’s been the hardest on Evan. He… he loves you so much, Connor, and he… all of us…” She takes in a breath, squares her shoulders. Holds her head high. “We said our goodbyes. We said our goodbyes to you, we prepared ourselves to… to let you go, and while we’re thrilled that you’re back, it’s not the kind of thing you can just forget.” Her lip begins to wobble. “Planning your brother’s funeral isn’t the kind of thing you can just forget.”

Connor can’t stand this. “Fuck, Zo, I-”

“I don’t understand,” his sister says, her voice breaking, her eyes filling with tears. “I… none of it makes any fucking sense, Connor, it doesn’t make any sense, you were dying, you were as good as dead, you couldn’t breathe on your own and I had to make that call and it killed me to do it, it fucking killed me, but your will was clear on what you wanted and I had to, I fucking had to, and I did everything I could, everything I was supposed to, I planned your fucking funeral and signed the papers to say we were letting you go and you… you came back. I’m so fucking glad you’re here but it doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“Zoe,” Connor says, his voice coming out a little desperate. “Come here, okay?”

She stares at him for a moment, then nods and sits on the edge of his bed, and Connor wraps his arms around her, kisses her head and lets her cry for what feels like forever. 

When she’s finally out of tears, she climbs off the bed and sits back in her chair, wiping her face, collecting herself, and Connor watches the process with morbid fascination. 

It’s scary, how fast she can pack it all away. 

Just like their dad. 

“Is Evan still at work?” Connor can’t help but ask. “Do you know if he… is he going to visit?”

His dad’s expression is carefully neutral. “He said something about a case.”

“Right,” says Connor, feeling a little lost. 

He feels like…

He feels like Evan’s avoiding him. 

It feels like he doesn’t want to be here, Evan doesn’t want to be with Connor, and that hurts, that’s devastating, that twists up in his insides painfully because everything he did in the other universe, the painful experiments, the research, all of it…

It was for Evan. 

It was to get back to Evan. 

Connor fought his way back from another reality for Evan. 

And Evan’s not here. 

Evan’s not okay. 

And that’s his fault. 

That’s on him. 

Evan opened his eyes. He had a bit of a headache. 

His phone said it was already six o’clock. 

Shit. 

Shit, he’d fallen asleep. 

Shit he was supposed to visit with Connor. Shit. 

Evan got up. 

He went and brushed his teeth because he didn’t want to have liquor on his breath when he went to visit Connor. 

He brushed them twice. Just in case. 

His mom had texted to say she was getting dinner with Cynthia, that she would be by later. 

She reminded him to eat and take his meds. 

Evan grabbed a granola bar on his way out the door. He wasn’t hungry, he’d already eaten, but he grabbed it. 

Good boy. Roll over. Sit.

Evan took the train to the hospital. 

Fuck, he was so tired. He was so fucking tired. He nearly fell asleep on the train, just sitting there. He felt like he was only half warmed through, like he was food heated up in the microwave that was still cold in the middle. 

Fuck. 

Evan smoked on the walk from the subway station to the hospital, praying the nicotine would help him to wake up a little. 

He couldn’t have Connor seeing him this tired. 

When Evan got to the hospital, he was told that Connor had been moved out of the ICU. Something inside of him unclenched a little. He wasn’t in the ICU anymore. 

That was great. Amazing. 

Evan followed the receptionist’s directions to Connor’s newer, bigger room. Zoe and Larry were both inside, each of them typing on laptops. 

Connor’s eyes were closed. 

Fuck. 

“Oh, hi!” Zoe said, smiling at Evan. “I’m glad you’re here, I was just about to text you.”

“You were?” Evan said. 

“Yeah,” Zoe said. “They said tomorrow he can have solid food.” She had this huge grin on her face. 

“It’ll probably just be jello,” Larry said. But he was smiling. “Finish everything you needed?” Larry asked Evan, his eyebrows lifted significantly. 

He nodded. “Can I sit?

“Yeah go ahead,” Zoe said. “Actually, do you mind staying a bit? Dad and I were going to go to the cafeteria. I’m starving.”

“I’ll stay,” Evan said. “Of course I will.”

They smiled at him. They left Connor’s room. 

And it was just Evan and Connor, alone in the room. 

Evan wanted to shake Connor awake. Prod him until he opened his eyes, just to be sure that Connor could open them again. 

Fuck. 

Evan took a shuddery breath. 

He took Connor’s hand. Squeezed it. 

And Connor squeezed back. 

Opened his eyes. 

“You’re here,” He said, his voice quiet. 

“I love you,” Evan said. “I’m sorry I haven’t been… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t go,” Connor said, his brow wrinkled. 

“I won’t,” Evan said. “Go back to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

Connor’s eyes slid closed again. 

And Evan leaned his head onto their joined hands, just for a moment. God, he was so tired. He just needed to close his eyes for a minute. Just a minute.

Chapter Text

It’s raining.

It’s hot and humid and muggy and it’s raining, and Connor can see there are people heading into a building in the city. He recognizes the area, vaguely, but he can’t place it, not exactly. He wouldn’t be able to get back to the bookstore from here if he had to walk. 

Wherever this building is, it’s nice. Kind of welcoming, in a way. He follows the crowds inside and notices they’re well dressed, familiar faces he recognizes but can’t quite place.  

There’s a display in the foyer with Connor’s photo front and center. 

It’s a photo of him with Edgar on his shoulder and it takes him a moment to remember that Heidi took this photo to send to his mom the first time she met Edgar in the bookstore. In the photo, Connor is smiling, and Edgar’s curled up on his shoulder.

Edgar was so small back then, Connor thinks.

Still just a baby. 

Underneath the photo is writing, writing that stops his heart. 

Connor Lawrence Murphy

February 26, 1992 - July 7, 2021

There are other photos on display, too. There are some photos of him when he was a kid, all missing teeth and sticking-out ears. There’s a photo of his entire family at his high school graduation, then one of him and his mom at his graduation from Columbia. 

There’s a photo of him and Zoe, barely four and five years old, curled up on the sofa watching TV. Connor’s asleep, his head resting on Zoe’s shoulder, and Zoe’s sticking her finger in his nose and hamming it up for the camera. 

There’s a photo of him on his tenth birthday, reading a book with a sandy-haired boy, paying no attention to the camera at all. Connor’s wearing an official Ravenclaw Harry Potter costume, and the other boy is wearing a handmade robe and carrying a carefully painted and sanded stick as a wand. 

That same photo is on the fridge in Connor’s apartment. 

That same photo of him and Evan. 

There are other photos of Evan, too. More recent ones. There’s a photo from The Little Book Nook holiday party last year, where Connor and Evan are standing to the side holding hands while Jax and Maureen do some ridiculous dance moves. There’s a selfie with Evan, Connor and Andi at some weird theatre installation at the end of spring, maybe a month before Connor got sick. 

There’s a photo of he and Evan at Thanksgiving last year, the actual day of Thanksgiving, and Edgar’s on his shoulder and he and Evan are looking at each other, and they’re happy. 

They were happy. 

Connor knows he’s at his funeral, but no one else seems to think it’s weird that he’s here, he’s walking around. No one looks at him, no one acknowledges him at all. 

Like he’s not here. 

Like he’s an apparition. 

There are people he doesn’t immediately recognize, but there are also those he does. He sees Andre talking to Dave and Mikhail near the front of the room. Not too far away, there are Mattie and Alex, Mattie with her arm around Alex protectively. Even though Alex has nearly a foot on her girlfriend, she looks small. Fragile.

Connor’s never thought of Alex as fragile before. It sits uncomfortably. It doesn’t feel right. 

Right next to where he’s standing, there are people he recognizes from back home. Alana Beck is there, with a woman with long dark hair that Connor, weirdly, thinks is vaguely familiar, like he’s seen her before, but can’t place her. They’re talking with Nick Schultz, which Connor thinks is a little weird, because they weren’t really friends. 

“Evan and I were at community college together in our freshman year,” says Nick to Alana quietly. “And even though we weren’t really close, we all grew up together. It felt… I just wanted to pay my respects.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” says Alana, who’s wringing her hands, a little desperately. “Marisol’s a nurse, and I was pre-med for a while… an appendectomy causing a coma like this? It doesn’t make sense, this is… it’s not fair, none of it is fair.”

The dark-haired woman wraps her arm around Alana’s waist and kisses her cheek gently. Holds her hand. 

Nick looks stricken. He looks around the room, a little awkwardly, like he’s not sure he should be here. He’s wearing a nice suit, Connor notes. Expensive, clearly. Last he heard, Nick was doing pretty well for himself, living out in California doing some kind of tech start-up thing. 

The fact that he’d come all the way to New York for Connor’s funeral…

It’s weird. But it’s nice. 

It’s kind of him, Connor thinks. 

Not far away, Connor sees a tall guy with sandy blond hair walking through the door. Dennis is wearing a dress shirt and pants and a tie and he looks uncomfortable, looks out of place, and his scruffy hair is neater than Connor’s ever seen it before. It’s like he’s a whole other person. 

No, it’s more like he’s wearing a costume, Connor thinks. A costume of a proper grown-up. Which is a funny thing to think about, seeing that Dennis had a kid when he turned twenty-three, just before Connor turned twenty-one.

Mia must be nearly nine by now. Connor remembers going to her baptism and getting ridiculously stoned with Dennis and his friends. 

Connor looks at his friend carefully. His eyes are red, and Connor can’t tell if it’s because he’s high or because he’s been crying. 

It might be both. 

He can’t look at this anymore. 

Connor turns around, just in time to see Gladys and Martha being helped down the aisle to their seats by Jax and Maureen and Leslie and Leslie’s girlfriend Camille. Jax is in a nice looking suit, this three-piece navy suit that Connor vaguely remembers them changing into for a function at their second job at a local school right after work one night at The Little Book Nook. Connor remembers how Maureen had looked them up and down with clear interest, blushing when she’d realized Connor had caught her. 

When Gladys and Martha are seated, Jax and Maureen hug and Jax presses a kiss to Maureen’s forehead. Maureen responds by lightly kissing them back on the lips, and Connor feels something in his heart clench a little bit. 

“Jax and Maureen, do I need to call HR?”

“You never said there was paperwork.”

Connor feels cold. There’s a weird buzzing in the air and everything feels… strange, like he’s taken a bite into aluminum foil. 

He didn’t… he never talked to Jax and Maureen about their relationship. 

He didn’t get the chance. Because he died. 

Connor can’t look at them anymore. He can’t. He turns away, walks a little and finds himself right by more familiar faces. 

There’s Charles and Asher and Mariah who work with Evan, all in sober dark suits, and Evan’s boss Jonathan, who’s standing talking with a pair of men it takes Connor a moment to place. 

Levi and Jonah Nachman, he remembers. Levi is Gladys and Martha’s lawyer, and Jonah’s an honest-to-god clown. 

Levi and Jonathan must know each other, it seems. Connor remembers… something about the queer Jewish lawyer grapevine from last year’s holiday party. They’re talking about something, then they turn and something in Jonathan’s face shifts. Tenses up with anger. 

Connor follows their gaze to see that fucking Richard McLaren has just arrived. He’s in a way too expensive suit. Connor turns back to the group of lawyers, who all look fucking furious that this asshole has dared to show his face here. 

Jonathan’s the one to head toward him. Connor follows him, morbidly fascinated to see what will happen. 

“What are you doing here?” says Jonathan, his voice low and angry. “Do you think it’s some kind of a joke to show up at Larry Murphy’s kid’s funeral? I know the two of you don’t see eye to eye in the courtroom but have some goddamn respect.”

Richard looks utterly unapologetic. “I’m not here for Larry, I’m here for Connor. I knew him.”

Jonathan looks unconvinced. “Bullshit you did.”

“I didn’t know he was Larry’s kid until I heard he’d died.”

This just makes Jonathan look angrier. “You know he was dating Hansen, right? Evan Hansen, the junior associate you’ve been trying to steal out from under my nose?”

At that Richard just looks puzzled. “Really?” 

“Really,” says another voice, and Connor looks to see Asher has joined Jonathan, Charles at his side, standing next to him protectively. “They were serious about each other. Really fucking serious. So do everyone a favor and get out of here before anyone else sees you. You don’t belong here.”

Richard looks at Asher, this long, hard look that’s this close to inappropriate, and Connor wants to punch the asshole himself. 

“I’ll escort you out,” says Levi Nachman, his voice dark, and with that, he and his husband are both taking Richard by an arm each and forcibly leading him out of the building. 

Asher lets out a shaky breath as soon as Richard’s out of the room. Charles puts his arm around his waist. “I hate that guy,” says Asher softly. 

“Me too,” says Jonathan, his voice stony. He looks… pissed, Connor thinks. 

None of them seem to realize that Connor’s even here. 

A few moments later, Levi and Jonah are back, looking older than Connor remembers. 

“Had a word with security,” says Levi, his tone matter-of-fact. “He won’t be getting back in.”

“Good,” says Charles, sounding relieved. “Good, he… he shouldn’t be here, Evan shouldn’t have to deal with that today.” He looks at Asher, his expression concerned, and Connor’s suddenly very aware that there’s a piece of this puzzle he’s missing, that there’s something he doesn’t know.

From how shaken up Asher looks, Connor’s pretty sure he’s figured it out. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, what a fucking asshole. 

How fucking dare he show up at Connor’s funeral, what the actual fuck?

Connor looks at this group of men he only really tangentially knows and feels gratitude, genuine gratitude for getting Richard out of here. 

If Evan had seen him…

Oh god. 

Evan. 

Evan’s going to be here. 

At Connor’s funeral. 

Connor’s funeral, that he’s walking around at like a ghost, and fuck this is horrifying, this is terrible, he doesn’t want to be here, this can’t be real. 

This can’t be fucking real. 

“This isn’t real,” he says aloud. 

No one hears him. 

Evan’s hands were shaking too hard to knot his tie. 

He’d fucked it up when he got dressed and now he was standing in the private room in the back of the funeral home, in front of a mirror, trying to redo it but he couldn’t. His hands were shaking too hard. 

“Here.” 

Larry Murphy stepped in front of Evan. He had red eyes, and his nose and cheeks were tinged pink. Evan hadn’t actually seen Larry cry but he knew that he had. His fingers were gentle and efficient as they knotted the tie around Evan’s neck. He tied a four-in-hand. Evan normally tied a half windsor. He gently tugged the knot into place at the base of Evan’s throat, then patted Evan’s shoulder gingerly. 

“There,” He said. “You’re set.”

Evan looked briefly at Larry. “Th-thanks,” He said. 

“Of course.”

Zoe was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Cynthia was sitting his mom, their hands clasped tightly. Evan’s mother had needed to buy a new dress. Heels. 

She hadn’t flown here for a funeral. 

“It’s time,” Zoe said. 

They followed her lead. Evan moved slowly, mechanically, as if compelled by a force outside of himself. 

There were so many people. 

So many people, filling in the rows and rows and rows of seats. 

Watching them as they walked inside. 

Evan wasn’t really there. 

He wasn’t really there. 

He couldn’t be at Connor’s funeral. He couldn’t be. He didn’t want to be here. 

His mom held his hand. Gave it a tight squeeze. He knew that his dad had offered to fly in from Denver, but Evan had said no. 

Carl had never even met Connor. 

How did he know that…?

Evan didn’t actually remember having a conversation with his dad about it, he didn’t. He just knew, had this sort of hazy certainty.

This wasn’t real it wasn’t real…

Evan blinked a few times because. 

Connor was looking at him. 

That was impossible. 

Because Connor was in a casket at the front of the room, he was in a box that Evan was walking towards. 

But he was also in the crowd. 

He looked… 

Like himself. Not emaciated and too pale. Not with huge dark circles under his eyes and several days of stubble. 

He looked like Connor. Evan’s Connor. In skinny jeans and a blazer that always made him look so damn good. His hair tied up in a slightly messy bun. His eyes warm and beautiful and…

And imaginary. 

Evan was imagining him. Again. 

Stop it. 

“Come on,” Evan heard Connor say quietly. “Come on, Evan, look at me. Please look at me.”

Connor looked straight at him. Evan looked back. 

Pretend. He was pretending. 

He couldn’t be doing this now. He flinched away, turned his head, dropped his gaze. They were nearly at the front now. Evan was supposed to follow Zoe up to the casket. 

The casket they would be closing soon. 

Evan had never been to a funeral with an open casket before. 

He wished that wasn’t changing. He hated the sight of Connor in that box. 

“I’m right here,” his mom said to him quietly. “I’ll be right here.”

He murmured his thanks and took his place beside Zoe, gazing into the casket. The Connor inside better matched how he had looked in the hospital. Hair down. Face pale. Cheeks sunken. 

Eyes closed. 

Evan had never seen this suit before. 

And the tie was Evan’s own. Maroon. Connor liked to pull him in for a kiss with it. 

He hated that they’d put him in a tie. Connor never wore ties. Never. 

But when his family insisted, Evan gave them one of his. 

Bury it. 

Evan wanted to bury it. 

Zoe touched her hand to the varnished wood, and looked at Evan. “It’s really fucking hard to find a casket that’s kind of punk rock. Goth? Sure. But like medium punk? Really fucking hard.”

Evan tried to smile at her. Smile at her joke. She was coping with humor. She was coping and he wasn’t. 

He wasn’t. 

The officiant approached to speak to Zoe and Evan as Cynthia and Larry stopped at the casket. Evan couldn’t hear what the woman was saying, like her voice was coming to him from underwater. Like his ears were full of cotton. Evan just nodded when he saw Zoe nod, smiled a little when he saw her mouth shift or move. 

He was distracted because he kept looking at Connor. 

The other one. The one in his mind who was standing among the crowd, almost blending in, and always looking right back at him. 

Stop it, Evan commanded himself. 

Zoe looked at him, her face concerned. “Is something -?”

He shook his head. “There’s just. A lot. Of people.”

“Yeah,” Zoe said. 

Evan thought there might have been a saying about crowded funerals. He didn’t fucking know. 

More and more people start to arrive, and the venue begins to fill up, and Connor’s not sure what to do with himself. Not sure what to do, where to stand. Is he supposed to sit? Who does he sit with? 

Who the fuck do you sit with at your own funeral?

And then people start to look at a side door and Connor’s aware with a horrible stabbing in his chest that his family has arrived. 

There are his parents, clasping onto each other like he’s never seen them before, not even when he was younger, when they were actually married and in love. His dad is holding his mom protectively, like he can somehow keep her safe from the grief, and he is walking in the room with his head held steady, silent and stoic, just like Connor pictures him in his head. 

His eyes are red. 

He’s clearly been crying. 

There’s Zoe, in a black dress and a blazer, and she’s holding her head steady, just like their dad, but there’s so much grief in her face, so much. 

And there’s Evan. 

He’s with his mom. He’s wearing a black suit, a suit he doesn’t wear that often, as he usually favors charcoal, navy, light grey… other colors over black. 

Connor knows, somewhere deep inside him, that this Evan will never wear that suit again. 

It’s a weird feeling, knowing this. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but he knows it, as certainly as he knows that he can’t breathe fire and the sky is blue and this is his funeral. 

He looks… hazy. Blank. Like he’s not really there, like he’s not really anywhere. 

Connor looks straight at him. 

“Come on,” he finds himself saying softly to himself. “Come on, Evan, look at me. Please look at me.”

Evan looks at him. Flinches. 

Blinks. 

His shoulders sag. 

He looks away. 

Connor’s heart feels like it might be disintegrating, crumbling away inside of him.

Evan follows Zoe to the front of the venue, to where a coffin is sitting on some kind of stand. It’s this deep, dark, nicely varnished brown, almost red, and it’s kind of nice, Connor thinks. Zoe looks at it, rests her hand on it for a moment then says something Connor can’t hear, and Evan kind of nods and tries to smile, this horrible, fake attempt at a smile, which is over almost before it begins. 

There’s a woman Connor doesn’t recognize in a pantsuit, hair pulled back into elaborate braids, holding some kind of folder, who comes over to Zoe and puts her hand on her shoulder. Zoe nods and Evan’s standing there, nodding a second after Zoe nods each time, and Connor just knows that he’s going through the motions, he’s just putting on a show. 

Evan’s gaze keeps drifting. 

To Connor. 

Connor wants to do something, to make some kind of big scene, but he can’t, he just can’t, somehow. He wants to run up and tell Evan that he’s here, that he’s real, that he’s so fucking sorry, but he just… he can’t. 

He thinks about it, and his legs won’t move. 

Like someone else is pulling the strings. 

Something else. 

Connor doesn’t fucking know. 

Chapter Text

There were so many damn people. 

Evan sat beside his mom. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder. She said he had been so brave. Evan wasn’t brave. 

If he was brave he would be here, actually be here, be present. If he was brave, he wouldn’t be hallucinating a secondary Connor among the crowd of mourners. 

The casket had been closed. 

It clicked shut with an awful finality. 

Zoe and the Murphys took their seats beside him. Evan didn’t deserve to be in the front with them. With family. 

The officiant began to speak. 

Evan couldn’t focus. Instead he looked around. At the displays of photographs, just a little too far away for him to see properly from this vantage point. Connor had teased him that he probably needed glasses. Called him old. 

Then he fucking died. 

The display of photos was nice, Evan supposed. Pictures of Connor throughout his life on display for the world. Connor with goofy ears and missing teeth. Connor fast asleep while Zoe stuck a finger in his nose. Connor with slightly shaggy hair, scowling and showing off his driver’s license. Connor in a dorm room, sitting beside a boy Evan didn’t recognize, with a bi pride flag hanging behind them. 

The Murphys all together at Connor’s high school graduation. Then again at Zoe’s, though their smiles in that one were tighter, more forced. 

Connor with Edgar on his shoulders. 

Connor and Evan and Edgar on Thanksgiving. 

Connor and Evan and Andi at some weird fucking theatre production because apparently they went to those now.

Connor with the bookstore kids at the holidays. Connor introducing someone at an open mic at The Little Book Nook. Connor with Gladys and Martha at the disastrous opening party. 

Evan and Connor, together, a dumb selfie snapped after brunch one weekend that Evan had posted on Instagram. Because for a minute he was a normal man with a normal life. A boyfriend he loved. He’d asked for the photo so easily, so cavalier, thinking that he and Connor would have years of stupid selfies together, that this would be just one of many. 

Evan tried to focus on the photos on display. But they couldn’t hold his gaze. It kept being pulled back to the Connor of his imagination who was watching the proceedings with a pained expression on his face. Watching and looking horrified and sad and Evan wanted to ask him if he could please, at least, as a hallucination, do him a favor and sit with him. 

Because, really, what good was it hallucinating if your hallucination didn’t help?

“I don’t think I can do this,” Evan said to his mom. 

“You can,” She said, squeezing his hand. “You are.”

The service, or whatever you call it, begins. The woman with the braids is talking, saying something about celebrating Connor’s life, and this absolutely, one hundred percent cannot be happening. 

Connor looks around the room and sees more and more faces he recognizes. There’s Sabrina and Graham. Sabrina’s openly sobbing and Graham looks devastated, his arm around Sabrina protectively, clearly trying to keep his shit together for her. Every now and then he blinks, scrunches up his face like he’s trying to stop himself from crying, and wipes at his face with irritation, which just makes Connor sad. 

Andi’s sitting with Margot and Eddie, who both look like they can’t quite believe this is happening. Margot and Eddie exchange a couple of words every now and then, Connor notices, but they’re not really paying attention to Andi, they’re not really looking after her, and that’s… not fair, Connor thinks. 

Someone should be looking after Andi. 

She’s sitting four rows behind Evan. 

He can see Evan. 

God, he looks so fucking wrecked, and Connor did this. 

He did this. 

He wants to go over to him, he wants to drag him away, to tell him that Connor’s real, that Connor’s here, somehow. That maybe he’s a ghost, or an abandoned memory, but he’s here and he’ll stay if Evan wants him to. 

The moment the thought is fully formed in Connor’s mind, he realizes how cruel it is. 

How cruel it would be if Evan were the only person who could see him. 

If he stayed, an apparition, that only Evan could see. 

It’s…

It’s too cruel for words, the idea that he’d be haunting Evan. 

Haunting the man he loves. 

Connor looks around and sees more and more faces. Lots of customers from the bookstore - some he knows well, some he only remembers in passing. There’s the guy who always gets travel books but never goes anywhere and the kid who plays the banjo at open mics sometimes. There’s the little old lady who buys books for her grandkids and laments the youth of today’s reliance on technology. The young adult author whose first book Connor had genuinely loved, read dozens of times, and their partner, the singer with the blue hair and the fluffy dog. There’s the pair of teenage boys who spent hours together in the sunshine spot last summer and reminded Connor so much of what he and Evan might have been like if they’d actually become friends a long, long time ago. 

There are his suppliers, people he’s worked with since he bought the store, Marco and Caroline, sitting together looking somber. Friends from college, all sitting together - Andre, Dave, Mikhail, even his old roommate Joel who he doesn’t think he’s seen since he moved back to Ohio to help look after his mom who’d gotten sick and needs full-time care. Joel looks older and completely, one hundred percent exhausted, like he hasn’t slept in days. 

In the back row, there are other people Connor vaguely recognizes and it takes him a moment to realize that these are people he’d only ever seen photographs of before. These are people whose books he’s edited, who are here because of his work with Leatherbird, which is…

Well, he’s been so busy with The Little Book Nook that he’s kind of been neglecting his other business recently. It’s jarring, a little, to see the authors there. 

It’s even more jarring when he realizes that among those authors is Jenny. 

Jenny, who looks a little awkward, like she’s not sure if she should be there, but stoic and respectful, like the rest of the group of authors, and it occurs to Connor that in this universe, he doesn’t know Jenny Parson at all. 

That should make him sad, he knows, but instead he’s just kind of relieved. 

He royally fucked up there. 

Completely and utterly fucked up.

Connor looks up to see that the woman with the braids has sat down, and Maureen has taken her place at the front of the room, next to his coffin, holding a book. Her hair is mint-green and freshly colored, and Jax and Leslie are standing either side of her. She’s holding the microphone, and her hands are visibly shaking.

“I’m Maureen,” she says, her voice so small. “This is Leslie and Jax, and we work at The Little Book Nook with Connor. He was…” She closes her eyes for a moment, and Jax wraps their arm around her protectively. She opens her eyes and looks out into the crowd. “He was more than just our boss. He was our friend. He looked after us. I…” She straightens up her shoulders, blinks a few times and continues. “When I was seventeen, I came out as trans to my parents and they kicked me out. For a long time, I didn’t have any family. And then I started working at The Little Book Nook, and Connor… he’s always looked out for me, made me feel like I belonged, made me feel like there was a place where I could be myself and that would be okay.” 

Connor feels every word like a stab to the chest, like a punch to the gut. 

Maureen takes another deep breath. Jax holds her closer to them. 

“Connor told me once that he wanted to make sure that The Little Book Nook was a place that felt like home to people, because it did to him,” Maureen continues, and Connor’s finding it hard to breathe, because he remembers this conversation, and this hurts to hear, hurts to remember. “I don’t… I don’t know if he realized that The Little Book Nook felt like home to people because of him . Because he made people feel like they mattered. And…” She sniffs, and keeps going, Leslie holding onto her other hand tightly, Jax’s arm wrapped around her. “It’s going to be really hard to do this without you, Connor. Really, really hard? But we’re going to do our best. We’re going to try and make people feel like they’re home in your bookstore, because you always did, and we want to do right by you. We love you, and we miss you, and… the three of us, we picked out a poem for you, and I’m going to read it now.” 

Maureen turns the page in the book she’s holding, takes another steadying breath and begins to read. 

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Connor can’t do anything. He can’t do anything, all he can do is stand there, in the back of the room at his funeral, watching as his closest friends cry and read a poem and talk about him, and he can’t do anything but watch, can’t do anything but stand there and leave them alone with their grief, because he’s not really here. 

Evan watched as Maureen, Jax, and Leslie made their way to the front. Maureen spoke, but Evan barely heard her words. 

Edgar should be with them.

It…

How had he not thought of that?

The cat should be with them. He was as much a part of the bookstore family… Edgar should be with them. It wasn’t fair to exclude him just because he was a cat. It wasn’t fair. 

But then again, what about this was fair? 

What about any of this was fair?

Evan knew he was being watched by the Connor his mind had made for him, but he avoided looking back because he couldn’t make a scene at Connor’s funeral. Connor’s funeral, now with bonus Connors. 

Evan almost smiled to himself. 

He was so sick. He was seriously sick in the head. 

What the fuck was the matter with him?

He needed to be present. 

His mom kept saying that to him. “Let yourself feel this baby. It’ll hurt worse if you don’t.”

Evan tried so hard. Not to be hazy and half there and distracted. He tried so hard not to be crazy and trying to talk to ghosts he had invented. He blinked hard and did his best to listen to Maureen. Watch her lips move, take in her soft voice as she read a poem aloud. 

Emily Dickinson was full of shit about hope though, Evan thought. 

Hope wasn’t resilient. 

Hope was dangerous. Painful. 

Had Evan never hoped, this pain wouldn’t be so great. Had he never hoped, he wouldn’t be sitting at a funeral with two versions of his dead boyfriend lingering around. If he hadn’t been so stupid as to hope, he might have avoided Connor all together, he might have never felt this. 

He had told Connor once that he didn’t regret it. How they had met again, fallen in love. 

Evan realized now how fucking wrong that was. He regretted everything because Connor was dead, really dead. He wasn’t going to respawn in Andi’s bathroom, he wasn’t going to wake up and come back and try again. He wouldn’t loop he wouldn’t get hit by a bus or fall down stairs and be fine in a few minutes. 

He was just gone. 

Except for in Evan’s broken mind. 

Chapter Text

The service really isn’t long at all. Aside from Maureen, only a few other people speak. Joel and Andre tell a couple of PG-rated stories from college, including the memorable occasion where the three of them tried to walk through the McDonald’s drive-through but the guy at the window wouldn’t let them order because they weren’t in a vehicle, so they broke into the drama department and stole a wheelchair from the props room, as a wheelchair is technically a vehicle. 

Connor appreciates that neither of them mention how high they all were at the time, though from some of the laughter in the crowd, he’s fairly certain most people got the memo. 

Then Zoe’s at the front of the room, her head held high, almost defiantly. 

Their parents flank her on either side. 

Connor’s heart aches for them, aches watching them, remembering how he had been so sure at the age of seventeen that the Murphy family would be better off with just three members. That everything would be better without him, that he was a dark stain on the otherwise perfect family, that without him, they’d get to have the life that his bullshit had deprived them of. 

He doesn’t think that now. 

He wishes he could do something. 

Something, anything. 

He wishes he could hold Zoe’s hand while she did this. 

“Some people say that having a sibling means always having a friend,” says Zoe, her voice steady and even. “Whoever said that probably didn’t have siblings.”

There’s laughter in the crowd. A sad, choking sound. 

“Connor and I were not always friends,” Zoe continues, looking out into the crowd. She looks… calm, almost. “For a long time, we didn’t really like each other all that much. We fought and we yelled and we took low blows at each other, we said things designed to hurt because we knew each other so well.” She flinches a little. “I thought we did. I thought I knew my brother. I thought I had him all figured out, and the person I thought he was? He wasn’t someone I wanted in my life.” 

Connor swallows hard. 

Zoe closes her eyes, then opens them again. 

“But it turns out that I didn’t know Connor at all,” she continues, her voice getting stronger. “Not really. Over the past two years, I got to know the real Connor, because he met someone special, someone who understood, someone who saw him for who he really was and brought out the best in him.” 

From where he’s standing, Connor can see that Zoe’s looking straight at Evan. 

“I spent years without Connor,” says Zoe, tears streaming down her face now. “Years not really knowing him. Years not realizing that underneath the pain and the loneliness and isolation and bad brain chemistry was someone incredible. Someone who cares so damn much, who wants to make things better for people. Someone who’s been through hell and come out the other side not expecting that just because he went through it, everyone else should have to. Someone who’s been through hell and wants to make sure no one else has to feel that way. Someone who’s created an environment where people feel safe, who has taken something he’s passionate about and made it his whole life, who wasn’t afraid to put in the work and do what needed to be done to make things better, not just for himself, but for other people, too.”

Zoe blinks once. Twice. Keeps looking straight at Evan.

“Evan, you gave me my brother back,” she says, and her voice is shaking now. “And I am so, so, so sorry he’s gone, it’s not fair to you or me or anyone who ever met him, because he deserved more time to be who he was always supposed to be. Who you helped him become. I… I don’t know what happens after we die, I have no damn clue, I don’t even really understand what happened to him…”

Zoe breaks down crying. Their mom wraps her arms around her and holds her tight, and they stand there for a moment, before Zoe pulls away, wipes her face and holds up the microphone again, eyes blazing with determination. 

“I don’t know any of that,” she continues, her voice ragged. “But I know that he loved you, Evan. You were the love of his life. And nothing will change that.”

Evan finally heard the story about Connor and Andre, the wheelchair, and the McDonald’s drive-through. He didn’t even know one of the guys telling it. His name was Joel. He said he had been Connor’s roommate at Columbia. 

Evan had never met Joel. 

He didn’t know…

How much else about Connor would he be forced to learn only after Connor was gone? How the fuck was that fair?

Then again how the fuck was any of this fair? His boyfriend was dead and Evan was also imagining him. This was bullshit. 

Everything was bullshit. 

Zoe and her parents got up from their seats. 

Her parents. 

Not hers and Connor’s anymore. Not really. 

Funny how fast his mind had made that switch, that adjustment. Funny. 

Only it wasn’t funny at all. 

Evan fiddled with the end of his tie. His mom steadied his hands. Evan wasn’t speaking because he had no voice he had no thoughts he had nothing to share. If you stuck a microphone in his face he would just scream until his voice gave out. He had nothing to offer. 

Zoe was going to speak. 

Evan wanted to turn off his brain. He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to be here he didn’t want to feel this. 

“Let yourself feel this,” His mom had said. 

So he tried. 

Zoe took the microphone. Her voice was steady, calm, even. She should give TEDtalks, Evan thought.

Was he clearly thinking about something else? Yes. 

What the fuck was coping?

“Some people say that having a sibling means always having a friend. Whoever said that probably didn’t have siblings.”

People laugh, this sort of sad chuckle of agreement. 

“Connor and I were not always friends. For a long time, we didn’t really like each other all that much. We fought and we yelled and we took low blows at each other, we said things designed to hurt because we knew each other so well. I thought we did. I thought I knew my brother. I thought I had him all figured out, and the person I thought he was? He wasn’t someone I wanted in my life.” 

Had Evan read this speech ahead of time, he might have suggested she soften that. Not that Zoe was a soft person. Not that she sugarcoated things. But he might have suggested… Not that. 

Because he didn’t want Connor to hear it. 

Imaginary Connor, living in Evan’s brain. 

Who wasn’t real.

Stop it.

“But it turns out that I didn’t know Connor at all. Not really. Over the past two years, I got to know the real Connor, because he met someone special, someone who understood, someone who saw him for who he really was and brought out the best in him.” 

Zoe looked right at Evan. 

She looked right at him. 

Fuck. 

Fuck fuck no. 

No she… 

He hadn’t agreed to that, he didn’t… She shouldn’t be talking about Evan. Evan didn’t matter here. He didn’t. This was Connor’s funeral for fuck’s sake she shouldn’t be talking about him. 

She shouldn’t be giving him any credit. He didn’t do anything. He’d killed her brother. He’d gotten him killed. He had gotten Connor killed and now he was hallucinating at his funeral. 

Zoe began to cry. She talked about all of the wonderful things about Connor that the world was going to miss now that he was gone. She cried. 

Evan cried. 

He didn’t want to… 

He couldn’t hear this. He didn’t want to hear this. 

Zoe looked at Evan directly. 

He wished she wouldn’t. 

He didn’t deserve her kindness. Evan had gotten her brother killed.

“Evan, you gave me my brother back. And I am so, so, so sorry he’s gone, it’s not fair to you or me or anyone who ever met him, because he deserved more time to be who he was always supposed to be. Who you helped him become. I… I don’t know what happens after we die, I have no damn clue, I don’t even really understand what happened to him…”

Zoe broke down crying. 

Evan’s mom held his hand tightly. “Baby you need to breathe,” She said gently. 

He wasn’t breathing, Evan realized. He wasn’t breathing. He was holding his breath because he didn’t deserve to breathe he didn’t deserve to exist not after what he had done.

“I don’t know any of that,” Zoe finally said, her voice ragged but still strong.  “But I know that he loved you, Evan. You were the love of his life. And nothing will change that.”

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Evan didn’t bother to wipe his face. He looked back at Zoe, kept his eyes fixed on her… Fixed on her and not on the other Connor who was moving around in the back of the room. He owed her. He owed it to Zoe to return her gaze. He owed it to her not to be distracted by some silly delusion. Not right now.

Connor can’t stand this anymore. 

He can’t. 

He can’t he can’t he can’t be here he just can’t. 

He turns away as his sister sits down, turns and tries to head for the door. 

“Hey man.”

Connor turns suddenly, almost violently, as he hears a voice he thinks he knows. 

There’s Otis, his guitar slung over his shoulder, wearing the combat boots he and Evan gave him over the winter. 

“This isn’t real,” Connor says, suddenly remembering. “You’re the proof that this isn’t real. I’m not really dead.”

“You’re not,” says Otis, looking sympathetic. “But you could be. You almost were.”

“But I’m not,” Connor insists. “I’m not. I woke up, I… they took me out of the fucking ICU, I’m okay now. It’s all okay.”

“I’m so fucking sorry, dude,” says Otis, and he sounds genuinely upset. “But this isn’t going to just be over like that. It was too close a call to get away without any fallout. Way too close a call.”

“Why does this keep happening to me?” Connor asks desperately. “Why do these fucked up things keep happening? To me, to Evan? What did we do to deserve this?”

“Nothing,” says Otis simply. “The universe is just… a dick, as far as I can tell.” He winces. “I… I thought I was getting better. I really did.”

Connor frowns. “What does that mean?”

“None of this is fair,” says Otis, and punches him in the face. 

The gathering of people cleared gradually, after the pallbearers carried the casket out of the building. To the hearse. Everyone trickled out slowly behind the Murphys, Evan, and his mom. 

Evan’s hallucinated Connor was nowhere to be seen. 

He was almost angry about that. Like, if he had to be imagining this, couldn’t his fucked-up mind let him hold on to his imaginary boyfriend until the end of the day? Like some fucked up twist on Cinderella?

Or Casper? The Christina Ricci one. 

Evan had always liked that movie. Ghosts finding love appealed to him as a kid. 

That was fucking saying something.

He was supposed to be present but he couldn’t be present. He was distracted and crazy. Evan was absent and strange and he just wanted this to be over. 

He couldn’t let himself feel it because he felt too much else. Guilt. Shame. Sorrow. How could he be present, how could he sit with this, let himself feel this when there was so much else to feel?

Evan and his mother followed the Murphys to the limo they were taking between the funeral venue and the cemetery. It was a nice day, so they had opted for a graveside service. 

The ride was quiet. 

“That was beautiful Zoe,” Cynthia said at length. 

“Thank you,” She said softly. She looked at Evan, her eyes blazing, saying something only he couldn’t interpret what it meant. 

Evan wished she hadn’t said those kind things about him. He wished she hadn’t mentioned him at all. 

Evan didn’t deserve the things she had said. The credit she had given. The thanks. 

He didn’t deserve her kindness. 

He was the reason Connor was gone. Maybe not directly, but he knew it to be true, in his core, in his bones. If he hadn’t caused the loops then Connor wouldn’t be dead. 

It was his fault. 

“Zoe,” Evan, finally finding his voice as they stepped out of the car at the cemetery. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I… can I talk to you for a second?” Evan asked. 

“Is something… What’s up?” Zoe looked worried. 

Evan’s eyes flooded. “I… Shouldn’t be here.”

Zoe looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

“This is my fault.”

Zoe’s face fell. “No.”

“I’m the reason he’s dead,” Evan went on. “I know it… I know it doesn’t make sense but. If I… If I’d gotten to him sooner. Gotten him to the hospital sooner. If I’d… If I had been there… or I hadn’t made him sign that fucking will… If I…” His voice broke. He cleared his throat. “It’s my fault. My fault.”

“No,” Zoe said, her voice gentle. She pulled Evan into a hug like he was a fragile, breakable thing. “No, no, Evan. This isn’t your fault. None of this… You did everything you could.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. I fucked up, I failed him. I failed. I failed him… I could have been there more… I -”

“You did everything you could for him. You loved him. This isn’t your fault.”

“I love him,” Evan said, desperate, pleading, begging her to understand. 

“I know you did.”

“No,” Evan said. “I do. I love him. Still. I love him now. I love him.”

“Okay,” Zoe said. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

Connor’s at the side of an open grave. 

His grave. 

They’re lowering the casket, they’re covering it with dirt and…

Connor’s here, somehow. 

Across the grave, he can see Evan flinch, look at him with this defiant expression, almost like he’s offended. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Connor says, not knowing what else to say. 

Evan looks even angrier at that.

Connor just stands there and watches as people say their final goodbyes, as his parents and his sister and Maureen and Leslie and Jax say goodbye to his coffin, unable to move, and Evan’s there, standing next to his mom, just looking… furious. 

Soon, it’s just Evan and Heidi, standing there. 

And Connor. 

“Can I have a moment alone?” Evan asks his mom, never looking away from Connor. 

Heidi squeezes his hand, then nods. Kisses him on the cheek. 

And then it’s just Evan and Connor. 

Standing either side of a hole in the ground. 

It’s quiet for a moment, until Evan breaks the silence. 

“Fuck you.”

Connor sighs. “That’s… fair, I guess.”

Evan lets out this harsh laugh. “I mean… fuck, if I’m going to be stuck with the hallucination of my dead boyfriend, can’t you at least be fucking consistent? Where the fuck did you go?”

“I have no idea,” Connor confesses. “Otis punched me in the face.”

Evan looks at him. Laughs that harsh laugh again. “Otis is just a guy with mental health problems,” he says, looking at Connor challengingly. “Just a guy who went off his meds. None of that… none of that stuff we thought about him was real? None of it. He told me. When you were in a coma, he fucking told me.” Evan glares at him. “He came up to me. Thanked me for when-when we gave him that backpack? The day after your birthday? He was going to go to the bookstore and buy a book with his first paycheck. To thank you for it.”

Connor doesn’t know what to say. “Fuck.”

Evan looks even angrier, if possible. 

“How dare you be here?”

“I’m sorry-”

“Connor’s dead, the love of my fucking life is dead but I-I-I get you? I get a ghost? What kind of fucked-up consolation prize is that?”

“Evan, I’m sorry,” Connor says, as forcefully as he can. “I never wanted… I tried so fucking hard, okay? I tried so hard to get back to you.”

Evan just glares. “Bullshit.”

“I did!” Connor insists. “I fucking did, I… I let some weirdo scientist who died and died and died, just like us, inject me with LSD and put me in a salt tank and electrocute me to try to get back to you. I… fuck, I got into a bathtub full of ice and let the same guy stop my heart, just to try to get back.”

Evan frowns. “A bathtub full of ice?”

“Yeah,” says Connor, trying to explain. “It… fuck, I’m still cold, it’s still so fucking cold, I’m always cold.”

As he says that, something shifts in the air. 

He feels like he’s taken a bite into aluminum foil. 

Something isn’t right. 

And then he remembers. 

“Otis said I’m not dead,” Connor says slowly. “That this isn’t real.”

Evan just stares at him.

The casket was lowered into the ground. 

Cynthia was sobbing so loudly, Larry was practically holding her up, and all Evan could feel was fury, total and complete anger. Not at Cynthia. 

At Connor. 

Specifically, the one looking at Evan from across the grave. 

Fuck him. 

Fuck this imaginary… thing. 

Cynthia was putting her son in the ground. Zoe was losing her brother. Larry never repaired things between them. All of these people were missing Connor, mourning Connor and this hallucination had the gall to show up again. 

Fuck that. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Hallucination Connor said. 

Evan had to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from leaping across the grave and battering this figment of his imagination to a pulp. 

Because that made sense. 

Fuck, his brain was a nightmare. 

People cleared, one by one, until it was only Evan and his mother left at the graveside. 

Evan and his mother and his hallucination. 

“Can I have a moment alone?” Evan asked his mom, his eyes never leaving the face of this imagined thing wearing Evan’s boyfriend’s face. 

She squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek, but then his mom strode away.

Leaving Evan and Connor to stare at each other from either side of the grave Connor was just buried in. 

Talk about impossible situations. 

Evan spoke first, unable to hold back. “Fuck you.”

Connor sighed, like he was… expecting it.  “That’s… fair, I guess.”

Evan laughed, caught off guard, and the noise that escaped him was caustic and biting. Of fucking course. Of course he would be charming and fair. Of course he would sound exactly like Evan’s Connor, the real one, the one in the box in the ground. Fuck him. Fuck him. He hated him he hated this he hated everything. He hated that he was here at all, he hated that the hallucination of Connor had left him alone. Evan felt his anger bubbling over, “I mean… fuck, if I’m going to be stuck with the hallucination of my dead boyfriend, can’t you at least be fucking consistent? Where the fuck did you go?”

“I have no idea,” Connor answered, and he sounded genuine. He sounded sincere. “Otis punched me in the face.”

What kind of fucking bullshit?

Evan laughed again. 

His brain needed to work on deciding what he did and didn’t believe. It was exhausting for Evan to try to keep up anymore. “Otis is just a guy with mental health problems. Just a guy who went off his meds.” Like Evan was. And now he was hallucinating. But that went without saying. He was, after all, talking to one such hallucination. “None of that… none of that stuff we thought about him was real? None of it. He told me. When you were in a coma, he fucking told me. He came up to me. Thanked me for when-when we gave him that backpack? The day after your birthday? He was going to go to the bookstore and buy a book with his first paycheck. To thank you for it.”

Hallucination Connor looked upset. “Fuck.”

Evan saw red. He simply saw red, there was no explanation, one moment he was a person and the next he was boiled down to an essence of pure rage. Inside he was screaming boiling over with hate, but outside his voice was ice cold,  “How dare you be here?”

“I’m sorry-”

Evan couldn’t, wouldn’t let this thing speak to him more. It wasn’t fair it wasn’t fair it wasn’t fair.  “Connor’s dead, the love of my fucking life is dead but I-I-I get you? I get a ghost? What kind of fucked-up consolation prize is that?”

“Evan, I’m sorry. I never wanted…” The power behind his voice faltered. “I tried so fucking hard, okay? I tried so hard to get back to you.”

“Bullshit.” Evan glared at him.

“I did!” Connor looked like he might cry or ball his fists and beat at the ground like a child having a tantrum. He looked beside himself. A wild range of emotion for someone who wasn’t real.  “I fucking did, I… I let some weirdo scientist who died and died and died, just like us, inject me with LSD and put me in a salt tank and electrocute me to try to get back to you. I… fuck, I got into a bathtub full of ice and let the same guy stop my heart, just to try to get back.”

As if there wasn’t enough confirmation, Evan knew without a doubt now that he had Officially Lost It. That made no sense. No damn sense. “A bathtub full of ice?”

Connor hated bathtubs. Because he had tried to kill himself in one in high school. He hated bathtubs. Connor had the tub in the apartment above the bookstore ripped out and replaced with a shower because the tub bothered him sometimes. Connor would never just climb into one.

Connor nodded, looking a little… desperate. To explain. To be believed. It was almost lifelike, almost real, almost human. “Yeah. It… fuck, I’m still cold, it’s still so fucking cold, I’m always cold.”

That…

Wait.

Something… something in the back of Evan’s mind was trying to work itself loose. Something… Something important. Something that was different. 

Why was Connor cold…? Because he was dead. Right? Because he was dead?

Evan stared at this imaginary Connor.

He stared and stared and stared.

“Otis said I’m not dead,” Connor said, forming his words deliberately and slowly. “That this isn’t real.”

Evan stared. 

He stared and stared. “No, that’s… No. I watched you die. I watched.”

“Did you?” Connor pressed, his voice urgent. “What do you remember?”

“I… I held your hand. I said my goodbyes,” Evan said, still trying to remember. “I said goodbye. I said… I said if you had to go then you should. I. I said it was okay if-if you let go, and-and Zoe called the doctors… And you died.”

“No!” Connor said, insisted. “No. I didn’t. I… Evan, I think this isn’t real. Because I think I woke up.”

“No,” Evan said. “No that’s impossible.”

“Evan, please.”

“No,” He said, ignoring Connor’s ghost. “You’re not real. You’re… you’re a trauma response, a… You’re not here. Not really.”

“No,” Connor said. “But neither are you.”

“You’re dead,” Evan said. Whispered, almost, his head buzzing and swimming. “You died.”

“But you don’t remember!”

“I.. Shut up,” Evan barked. “No. You died. I went to your funeral and-and I loved you and… And you died. And. And I’m gonna die soon too.”

“What?” Connor said, shaking his head. 

Evan’s shoulders sagged. 

He felt like he had been carrying this weight around for weeks. Months. 

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” He said. “I’m so tired. So tired. I just want to be with Connor.” When the ghost tried to protest, Evan pressed on. “My Connor. The real one. The dead one. I want to be with him and I’m going to be soon.”

“But how…” Connor’s eyes popped wide. “No.”

“It’s okay,” Evan said his voice almost trying to be… soothing. Kind. Understanding. Of course this hallucination didn’t want him dead. It needed him to exist. He would be kind. He would be soft, gentle about the truth. The truth that Evan was going to die. The truth that he was going to kill himself and soon. He’d be gentle. “You’re not real. It’s gonna be okay for you. Once I die.”

“No.”

“It’s been building for weeks,” Evan said. “That’s part of why you’re here, isn’t it? Because I want to die again.  I’ve been thinking about it since he got sick… It’s got to happen. Soon.” He gave Connor an almost smile. “Not that it’s not nice to see you it’s just that…. You’re not real. You’re not him. And I want to be with him.”

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” says Evan, and he looks like he’s being crushed, that he’s carrying a weight that’s too heavy for him, and it hurts to watch, it hurts so fucking much. “I’m so tired. So tired. I just want to be with Connor.” 

“I’m-”

“My Connor,” Evan interrupts. “The real one. The dead one. I want to be with him and I’m going to be soon.”

Connor doesn’t…

He can’t…

“But how…” 

It lands. 

What Evan is saying lands. 

“No.”

Evan looks… resigned. There’s something in his voice that’s almost gentle as he continues. “It’s okay,” he says, like he’s trying to make this better, like he’s trying to make Connor feel better about the fact that he’s just admitted he’s going to kill himself. “You’re not real. It’s gonna be okay for you. Once I die.”

Connor’s horrified. 

Completely horrified. 

He can’t…

He doesn’t…

“No,” he says again. 

“It’s been building for weeks,” says Evan, and it’s like the weight he’s been carrying lifts, and he almost looks relieved. Relieved to be saying this, relieved to be getting it off his chest, and Connor can’t take it. “That’s part of why you’re here, isn’t it? Because I want to die again.  I’ve been thinking about it since he got sick… It’s got to happen. Soon.” 

Connor tries to say something. 

Tries to figure out what to say. 

But he’s stuck. 

Evan’s face twists into something that might be a smile. “Not that it’s not nice to see you it’s just that…. You’re not real. You’re not him. And I want to be with him.”

Connor just stares. 

Feels his eyes start to sting. 

“No,” he says again, his voice ragged, broken, because this is…

This is unacceptable. 

He refuses. 

He fucking refuses to lose Evan again. 

“I won’t let you,” he says, moving toward Evan, walking across his own grave, and reaching out to grab his arm. 

It goes right through him. 

His hand goes right through Evan’s arm. 

Evan just looks at him, his face soft. His voice soft. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me,” he says, so gently. “It was always going to be like this. I am always going to be like this.”

Connor’s eyes open as someone shakes him roughly awake. 

“Connor. Connor, hey.”

Alex is standing next to his hospital bed, looking alarmed. “Are you okay?” 

Connor’s heart is going way too fast. 

It’s set off the monitor. 

He’s alive. 

He’s alive he’s alive he’s alive.

He-

“Evan.”

“He’s right here,” says Alex, gesturing to Connor’s other side, where Evan’s moving, blinking sleepily, like he’s just woken up. “And apparently, decided it was time for a nap.”

Evan’s eyes open wide. 

He looks around the room. 

Looks at Connor. 

Looks at the monitors which are still going nuts. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, sounding genuinely terrified. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Connor repeats over and over again, but Evan’s looking more and more freaked out, and soon Alex is focusing on Evan because he’s having a panic attack, he’s having trouble breathing, and Connor can’t do anything he can’t he can’t he can’t fuck fuck fuck

It feels like forever before his heart monitor slows back down. 

Before Evan’s breathing evens out. 

Alex looks freaked out. Completely freaked out. 

“You need to go home and get some sleep,” she says to Evan, frowning. “I’ll call your mom.”

Evan takes Connor’s hand and kisses his knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Connor feels something in his chest loosen at Evan’s words. 

Alex doesn’t look impressed. “Evan. I’m serious. I’m calling Heidi.”

Evan looks at Alex challengingly. 

Opens his mouth like he’s going to argue. 

Then… doesn’t. 

Just.

Doesn’t. 

Connor feels his chest ache and tighten again. 

Evan shrugs. Nods. “Okay. Fine.” He presses another kiss to Connor’s knuckles. “Get some more rest. I love you.”

Evan leans in and kisses Connor’s cheek softly. 

So softly it makes Connor want to cry.

And then he’s gone. 

Chapter Text

“You had another panic attack?” His mom said, rubbing Evan’s back. He shrugged her off, because the action reminded him too much of his nightmare, his horrible far too realistic dream about Connor’s funeral.

Fuck he felt sick. 

“Baby, you look pretty pale.”

“I’m fine,” Evan said, breathing through his nose because he didn’t want to throw up in front of his mother. “Please stop babying me.”

His mom drew her hands back, looking… hurt. 

Shit. Evan didn’t want to hurt her. Shit. 

She was just all over him, hovering and scared and… He got it. He’d seen it, in Cynthia and Larry’s concern for Connor. He’d seen that fear and sadness, he had seen it. He understood abstractly that his mom would have that reaction to him struggling. He got it. She cared, she cared so deeply that she had dropped her whole life to help him through these past few hellish weeks. His mother loved him. 

But he didn’t fucking deserve it, and he wished she would back off. 

He didn’t deserve it. 

Evan was selfish and awful. He’d been drinking and sleepwalking his way through the last few weeks. 

Evan would have let Connor die without seeing him. 

He was going to let him die without seeing him. 

Evan’s mother had to convince him to go say goodbye to the love of his life.

She had seen right through him, seen how cowardly and pathetic Evan was. She saw it all and if not for her… 

Evan didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about any of it, think about how unworthy he was of all of this care and love from his mother, from Connor… 

He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t. He wanted to shrug it off, duck out of it, dodge it because it made his insides squirm with guilt. Fuck he was so… 

He didn’t deserve this. 

“Look I… I haven’t been sleeping well. I fell asleep when I was visiting Connor and. I had a nightmare and when I woke up his heart monitor was going haywire, okay? I freaked out. It was… I’m fine. I just got scared.”

“Okay,” She said, nodding. “Okay.”

“I’m handling it, okay?” Evan said. “I’m trying. I’m handling it.”

His mom nodded. “I know you’re doing your best, sweetheart.

“I really am,” Evan said. 

Though he really couldn’t be certain if he meant it. 

“Why don’t I make you some tea?” His mom suggested. “Help you get some sleep?”

“Yeah,” Evan said. “Thank you. That would be good, thank you.” He settled back onto the sofa. He chewed at a hangnail, pulling on it until it bled. 

Shit. 

Shit. 

He pressed a kleenex to the blood, stared as the little cells of white tissue turned red. 

Evan swallowed hard. 

This was why when Alex told Evan to go home, he didn’t fight her. All Evan did was fight, he fucking argued for a living. He could have convinced her. He could have made a case for him staying. Because Evan had wanted to stay. He didn’t want to leave Connor, at all, but he couldn’t stand to be there, in the same space as him, knowing without a doubt that he wasn’t good enough for him. 

So he didn’t fight. 

It wasn’t right for Evan to keep fighting for Connor when he didn’t deserve him.

Connor was… so good. So good. And so alive and real and he cared so much. All of the things people had said about him in Evan’s dream about his funeral? It was all true. Connor had worked hard to build a home and a community for queer people. He loved so fiercely, so genuinely, and especially the people and things most often discarded. Because Connor didn’t deal in bullshit and loved what needed loving most.

Stray cats. A pair of little old lesbians. Homeless guitarists and eccentric nudist artists. Abandoned trans kids with shitty families. His devoted and hurt sister who had devoted her life to helping kids with mental health stuff. His mom who had sacrificed a lot of her happiness for her family. His father who was cold and distant and probably didn’t deserve it. Connor loved hard, and loved those who needed that kind of love. The unwavering kind.

Workaholic lawyers with mental health problems.

Evan wasn’t good enough for Connor. 

Because Evan was just like this. He was broken and selfish. He put his own needs in front of everyone else’s, constantly, and couldn’t even be grateful when people cared about him. 

And he was always going to be like this. 

He was always going to be like this. 

Fuck.

Connor doesn’t dream the next time he sleeps. 

Or if he does, he doesn’t remember it. 

Not like the last one. Not like his funeral. 

Not like watching the people he loves mourn him, not being able to reach them, to say anything, to talk to them, to do anything but watch. 

Except for Evan. 

He could talk to Evan in the dream. 

Evan could see him in the dream. 

And Evan…

Evan was going to kill himself. 

The Evan in the dream was going to kill himself, because he wanted to be with Connor. 

Connor, who was dead and buried. 

Connor, who’d left him behind. 

But that was a dream. Just a dream. 

Connor keeps telling himself that it was just a dream. 

It just… felt so real. 

Especially knowing how impossible it is that Connor’s alive right now. That he’s awake, he’s talking, he’s responsive… it’s medically impossible, they tell him. 

A medical impossibility. 

His mom says it’s a miracle. An answer to prayer.

Connor’s not sure what it is but he doesn’t know if it has anything to do with prayer. Anything to do with some kind of benevolent higher power listening to his mom, listening to the desperate pleas of a parent who doesn’t want to lose her child. 

It would be nice, Connor thinks, if he could reliably believe in some kind of god’s willingness to intervene on his behalf, but there’s been too much in his life he can’t explain, too much that’s unnecessarily cruel - too much that doesn’t make sense with the way he’s been taught the universe works.

The universe is mysterious and arbitrary and has it out for Connor. 

And Evan. 

Evan’s not okay, he’s not okay, Connor knows it, deep in his bones. And it makes sense that he’s not. It’s understandable that he’s not okay. Connor barely survived losing Evan in the other universe, barely survived without him, the only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that Evan was alive in this universe, that there might be a way to get back to him. 

He’d had hope. 

Evan… hadn’t, Connor is starting to realize. 

Because Connor should be dead. 

He should be in the ground, starting to decompose by now. 

Christ, that’s fucking dark. 

Evan said goodbye. He let him go. They were moments from pulling the plug when Connor got back, clawed his way back into this reality, freezing and spluttering, confusing the fuck out of every medical professional there and once again, sending Evan’s whole world into flux. 

In the dream, Evan said that he wanted to be with Connor. 

So he was going to kill himself. 

Because Connor was dead. 

Connor hates it, he hates it so much, he hates it he hates it he hates it. 

But he understands, because…

Fuck, wasn’t he about to do the same thing?

Wasn’t he preparing to do the same thing? 

Get back to Evan or die trying, he’d said to himself, back in the other reality. 

Without thinking about how it might affect his sister. Andi. His parents. Martha and Gladys. 

All those people at his funeral, there to pay their respects.