Chapter Text
Ever since the Walk things had changed. Yes, this was to be expected after seeing death first-hand, nearly experiencing it, and then, suddenly, being handed everything you could ever want, but this was different. The nightmares, the guilt, the aches were expected. The awkwardness was not.
Ray guessed it was one thing to be on the Walk together with the forced proximity and shared trauma, and another to be together in the After world together—no cameras, no audience, no rules.
It felt like what they had was largely left on that Maine highway.
Pete had, naturally, been there for Ray as he recovered in the hospital. Helping him get to the bathroom, nearly carrying him more than just providing a crutch, eating together—at times feeding Ray himself—and sleeping in the same room, once Pete himself was healed well enough, waking up intermittently through the night.
There had been instances through the cold, dark hospital nights where both Ray and Pete would wake at the same time, with or without nightmares.
Both of the boys had similar signs when they had their nightmares. Squirming, furrowed brows and clammy hands, and occasionally whimpering or sleep talking, which had been more prevalent in Ray’s nightmares.
Ray would often suddenly start to jerk in his sleep, making faces between disgust and fear, muttering things Pete had come to recognize. “Promise me… promise…” would be Ray’s dreams of Curley, the first man, or boy, to die. His dreams seemed to be his recollections of the people he couldn’t save on the walk, while Pete himself hadn’t had that kind of concern for the other boys as Ray had from the beginning.
Pete’s nightmares consisted of Art and Olson, of course, as Art’s rosary returned to Ray’s neck at some point in their stay, constantly reminding the two of them of their friend, while Pete never forgot about Clementine, already thinking of ways to get money to her, once the hospital stay was over and Ray felt well enough to travel. But largely, Pete’s dreams consisted of his own words, over and over, as he dreamt of Ray’s near-death on loop. “If you fall over I won’t pick you up,” ringing in his ears as he watched Ray drop to the ground. His dreams weren’t quite up to speed with the reality: Ray’s alive.
During Ray’s nightmares, Pete, trying his best to be gentle with the young man in the bed beside him, would get up from the visitor’s chair that had slowly been converted into his new bed, and lightly squeeze Ray’s shoulder, with whispers of “Ray, c’mon… you’re okay, you’re okay, c’mon compadre, wake up Ray, it’s over.”
After a moment of feeling Pete’s hand on his shoulder alongside his words and breath falling across his face, Ray would stir awake, seemingly in a daze at first, before he remembered he’s alive, in a hospital, not dying, with Pete. Wiping his face, whether it be drool, sweat, or tears, Ray would snap back to reality, giving the man leaning over him an embarrassed, but thankful, grin, telling him to go back to bed after thanking him.
In those brief moments, even though it hurt Pete to see his friend that way, that short smile would make it difficult for him to return to bed, or his chair.
Some nights they would be able to talk about the nightmares, other nights Ray would try to go back to bed instantly as Pete would spare glances over to him before seeing Ray’s breath slow once again with sleep.
Occasionally, on the nights where they talked about it, Pete still standing over Ray with a hand on his shoulder, Ray would have a wave of guilt, not unfamiliar to him when it came to Pete at this point, and would offer up a side of the bed.
“I’m sorry, we’re talking about my nightmares and how I’m feeling, and you’re still standing up,” Ray would always begin, reminded of the soreness the both of them had in their feet especially. Ray moved to the left edge of the bed, pressing his side against the railing of the bed while moving to snap down the right railing. “Here, sit down. You sure make that chair look comfortable but I know it’s not, Pete.” Ray said after he successfully took down the railing, looking up to Pete sympathetically.
“No, no,” Pete would shake his head. “I’m good here.. It’s just standing after all, not walking, even if that is my strong suit,” Pete would shrug off Ray’s offer as he smiled down at him. The truth was, his feet really did kill him. Both of them had lost a few toes, luckily not their whole feet completely. Apart from that, even getting up was a chore, as if their bodies were both trying to reject anything that could lead them to walking for so long again. Pete had to catch himself from falling most times he got up, even if it was to help Ray.
“‘M serious, lay down, Pete, for chrissakes. I can’t stand thinking about you standing up this whole time after everything. Just because I’m the one still in the bed doesn’t mean you are healed, too.” Ray argued.
“Doesn’t mean I was the one shot, though. You need the bed more than I do. I promise, I’m all good. I can sit down if I want to.” Pete tried to reason with Ray as he couldn’t help but look at where he knew bandage laid beneath Ray’s gown. He had seen, and tried to help, every time the Nurses came in and changed the dressings on the two wounds Ray had on his stomach, looking at Ray’s face as he would smile for support, or look away depending on how Ray was feeling that day.
Despite five days of sleeping on each other, constantly touching, and pissing and shitting in public, Ray still felt embarrassed in such an enclosed space as nurse’s would lift up his gown while the hospital bed’s thin bedding covered his lower half. On the good days, though, Pete would look over to Ray to provide some comfort, but ultimately finding that it was difficult to look away from Ray in this vulnerable position. He wished he could help him, he wished he could lean over him, whispering words of support and encouragement as he himself peeled away the bandages. He would be gentle, he would make sure Ray felt okay, he thought. He believed his heart raced at the thought of it because he cared, and it angered him watching some Nurse’s trying to rush through the process. He would be better.
“Pete. Just get in the bed, don’t make me have to pull the ‘I got shot card’ back at you. I know you must still be sore, too.” Ray looked to Pete again, unconsciously pulling his gown off his stomach slightly so the outlines of the bandages weren’t as obvious.
“Okay, okay, but y’know once you fall back asleep, I’m just going back to the chair, right?”
“Sure whatever Pete, just c’mon, don’t make me have to ask you again. It’s bad enough I’m asking you to bed with me,” Ray said with a grin. “Who knows if you’ve even showered yet.”
Pete scoffed at Ray’s joke. “Okay for one, I know damn sure I’m probably more clean than you, they can’t get everything while you’re in bed still, and two, I’m a delight to have in bed, let me tell you, Ray.” Pete turned and laughed to Ray as he adjusted the full length of his body onto the bed without nudging Ray too much. As it was, Pete was now on the bed next to Pete, one leg over the other, arms folded across his chest, looking over to the man next to him.
Ray shook his head and jerked once, exhaling from his nose, in a sort of laugh before remembering the pain his torso was in. “Fair point. But you’ve been in here so much, I don’t even know when you would’ve showered, if you have, that is.”
“I have, thank you, after they said I was good to go and I got banished from my bed, leaving me stuck here with you.” Pete smiled.
“Oh good, at least I’m not roommates with a guy still half covered in his own piss. But I guess I can’t talk, I was mainly out the first days I was here, I have no clue how clean I even am—sorry.” Ray said as his smile faded to a more self-conscious apprehension on his face, looking straight ahead.
Pete moved his hand to squeeze Ray’s shoulder again. “Don’t worry, you’ve seen worse days,” Pete sniffed “you at least don’t smell bad—yet. Maybe we can see about a shower in the morning.”
“It is morning.” Ray turned to Pete with a know-it-all smirk.
“Oh shut the fuck up, Garraty,” Pete shook his head and laughed. “You know what I mean.”
“That I do, Pete, yes, I do. The next check up will be in an hour or so, I’ll ask about it. I should be discharged soon… do you think? There’s not much healing left that needs to really be done here.. I mean… I can go home.”
“I think you’re right. They can maybe hold you for a few more days to be sure but, no signs of infection you heard the doctor say, and everything else can be recovery from home.” Pete agreed. But there was one issue in the back of his mind. What was home? And: did it include him?