Carlos’s shoulder screams at him as he tries to push through the wall of bodies separating him from TK, but he pays it no mind; the screaming in his heart is louder as he remembers TK’s wide-eyed look before he’d shoved Carlos out of harm’s way.
Or, at least, out of relative harm. The shock of being pushed had caused Carlos to trip and fall, his shoulder slamming into a pillar on the way down, and his entire left arm now hangs uselessly at his side. It’s pure agony, but Carlos has been called to enough bar fights to know that his injuries will be among the least.
The same, he also knows, will not be said for TK.
Carlos hasn’t seen him since the second before he pushed him, but the fight—which had started, as these things tend to, with a small argument between drunk friends—has continued to grow until he can’t count the number of bodies involved. And TK had been right at the epicentre, caught up helplessly in the tidal wave of people itching to let off steam.
Someone slams into Carlos and his vision whites out, the pain in his shoulder radiating through his entire body. He stumbles and falls into another body, which grabs him and starts to drag him away. Carlos tries to fight against them, but he can’t push past the pain enough to get his feet steady back under him.
It’s only when cold, fresh air hits them that the body loosens its grip, though it keeps a supporting arm around his waist. Carlos blinks the stars from his vision and squints at the person keeping him upright, frowning as their face comes into view.
“Judd?” he mumbles. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving your ass apparently,” Judd says harshly, followed by a quiet admonishment that could have only come from Grace.
Carlos takes a deep breath, then steps away from Judd, the burn of agony having dialled down to a mere stabbing sensation.
“Me and Gracie were here having a quiet drink when it all started and we high-tailed out of there. What the hell were you doing getting involved?” Judd demands when he seems confident that Carlos isn’t going to keel over. “You of all people should know better.”
“TK’s in the middle of it.”
Judd’s eyes widen and anger flashes across his face. “Alright, then what’s he doin’ getting into fights. This ain’t going to end up well for him when the cops get here.”
As if on cue, the road leading up to the bar lights up with flashing blue and red lights, the sound of sirens piercing the air. Carlos feels a momentary spark of relief, but the noise from inside the bar brings him straight back down to reality.
“It was an accident,” he says. “We were just at the bar getting drinks when the two guys next to us started going at each other. It all escalated really quickly, and the next thing I know, TK is pushing me out the way, and he’s still stuck there. I fell; I haven’t seen him since.”
“Hence the shoulder.”
“Yeah.” Carlos nods and takes a step back towards the bar, only to be grabbed again. “I need to help him!”
“Honey, what you need is to let the cops do their job,” Grace cuts in, but Carlos keeps fighting to get free.
“I am a cop.”
“An off duty one with a dislocated shoulder.”
“I can—”
“You can’t.” Judd’s growl makes Carlos stop in his tracks, and Judd takes advantage of the moment to place himself firmly between Carlos and the bar. “You’d only make things worse, so what we’re going to do is wait here for the cops to sort everything, and then we’ll make sure your boy gets out safe. Okay?”
Carlos tries to drop his gaze, but Judd follows it, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “Fine.”
“Good. Now, come on.”
Judd starts to lead him over to where the emergency vehicles are pulling up, and Carlos frowns.
“What are you doing?”
“Think that shoulder’s gonna get fixed by itself? Plus, I figure you’re a witness, so.”
Carlos huffs, but he knows Judd has a point, so he lets himself be taken to an ambulance. He keeps his eyes firmly locked on the bar’s entrance, barely paying attention to what the paramedics are telling him. It takes a while for the sounds of the fight to calm down, but soon after that some of the uninjured and the walking wounded are being escorted outside, presumably to leave space for those who can’t be moved.
Carlos scans the group anxiously, each second that TK doesn’t appear making his heart sink lower and lower.
But then, he appears.
There’s blood on his face and he has a significant limp, but he’s there, he’s walking, he’s okay.
Carlos ignores the protests of the police officer trying to take his statement and sets off running, skidding to a stop just short of TK. He aches to take him in his arms, but he won’t risk making TK’s wounds worse, whatever those wounds are.
But TK has no such hesitations, and he practically collapses into Carlos. His left arm, now held against his body in a sling, objects to the sudden weight, but Carlos couldn’t care less; TK is back with him, and that’s all that matters.
“Baby,” he murmurs, running his good hand over TK’s back. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, you’re safe. Hey, hey”—he carefully pulls back, making sure to keep TK steady—“are you okay? Where does it hurt? Can you walk? Let’s get you checked out, come on.”
Judd helps him support TK as they make their way over to the paramedics, but they barely make it three steps before TK stops suddenly. Carlos looks back, his worry skyrocketing as he sees TK raise a hand to his head, his eyes seeming completely unfocused.
“C…Carlos,” he mumbles, voice slurring. “I—I don’t… Feels weird...”
And then, without warning, TK’s eyes roll back in his head and Carlos can do nothing but follow his dead weight to the ground.
“TK!” he yells, frantically feeling for a pulse—though it’s barely a relief when he finds one. “TK, can you hear me? Come on, baby, please.”
TK twitches, and for the briefest of seconds, Carlos believes he’s waking up. But then it happens again, and again, and Carlos is being pulled away by Judd as his fiancé begins to seize on the concrete.
“We believe the surgery was a success, and that we can expect Tyler to show some signs of improvement. However—”
“You don’t sound very sure.”
The doctor looks startled at Carlos’s interruption, and it’s definitely harsher than he meant for it to come out. But he’s on his seventh cup of coffee in as many hours, hours which he spent pacing a waiting room as TK was put through test after test before being rushed to surgery, where they apparently had to remove part of his skull.
Because it’s that bad. Because TK was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now he might die. It doesn’t make any sense.
So, yeah, Carlos is a little on edge, and seven hours of waiting have left him both unable and unwilling to hide it.
“As I have explained,” the doctor continues after a moment, “Tyler sustained a heavy blow to the head which ruptured several blood vessels in his brain. We were able to repair the damage, but we have no way of knowing what side effects the bleed may have caused. We won’t know until he wakes up, and I must caution you that this is far from guaranteed. Tyler was fortunate that he received medical aid so quickly, but the brain is a delicate thing and each case is different. We just have to wait and see.”
“But—”
“Carlos.” Judd tries to put a placating hand on Carlos’s shoulder, but he shrugs it off and turns away, his gaze going back to the bed.
TK is in exactly the same position as he was as when the doctor walked in, which shouldn’t be disappointing, but it is. Carlos wants this nightmare to be over already; he wants to prove wrong all the doctors who are saying they need to be realistic; he wants TK to be awake and whole and healthy.
But he’s not going to get what he wants for a very long time, if the doctors are to be believed.
He's trying not to.
After two days, Carlos stops hoping TK will be awake every time he walks into the room.
After a week, his back twinges with every movement he makes and his stomach turns at the thought of more hospital cafeteria food, but the idea of leaving is even worse.
After twelve days, the doctors start to repeat their warnings, and go so far as to bring up a ‘worst-case scenario’.
When they hit two and a half weeks without any meaningful change, Carlos takes a drive into the middle of nowhere. He sits there, alone in his car, and screams until his throat is raw, until his tears have run dry, and until he feels empty inside.
The drive back to the hospital is a blur, and though Carlos had convinced himself there was no hope left in him, seeing TK still sleeping when he makes it back is a blow he wasn’t prepared to take.
And so it goes.
When TK finally does wake up, three weeks, four days, and approximately five hours since that night at the bar, Carlos thinks that the end is in sight.
He doesn’t realise that it’s like a mirage, so close and yet still unreachable.
But, he realises, as he helps TK through physiotherapy and rehabilitation, as he ties his shoelaces or fills in the silences caused by memory lapses, he doesn’t care.
He’ll do this and more for the rest of his life if he has to, and he won’t complain. Because it’s TK, and Carlos would move mountains for him if that’s what TK needed.
To have him alive, Carlos would do anything.
