So pretty much, I was sitting on the couch tonight, thinking how I had nothing to do… then I was all like, "crap. I have the rest of a story to write. I'll get on that now…"
So here you go: this ain't mine.
Wilson sighed slowly, calming himself as much as he could. Randy had been administered immediately, and he silently thanked the gods that the hospital hadn't been overflowing with people. Randy couldn't have waited too much longer than he had. Though halfway there in the car, he had been greatly relieved when the middle Taylor boy began to cough. At least that meant he was able to get a bit of air, even if it was only a small sporadic amount.
His attention was turned back to the half filled out paper in front of him when the woman behind the desk made a wonderfully rude, "A-hem" sound. That's right, he was supposed to be signing Randy William Taylor in. People were bustling around him, totally unaware that there was a young boy gasping for breath only a few doors down the hall. But as the paused to think for a moment, there were probably hundreds of children, even younger than Randy dying all over the world. Why should anyone care more about this one than the others?
Because Randy was sweet, a good kid, and most importantly, Wilson loved him like his own. He would do anything for the Taylors.
He felt bad about leaving Brad in the waiting room, but he was not allowed to go in with his brother. The man took another long breath in and tried not to take such a small thing for granted.
Brad was staring desperately at the clock across the room. It seemed to be moving much too slowly, and yet if he took his eyes off of it, great chunks of time flew by. His heart was thumping abnormally loud and the feeling was making him slightly sick. How long had it really been since they were just running around, playing without a care in the world?
He turned his head slowly to the right and was surprised to see his neighbor at the front desk, filling out forms. Hadn't they let him stay with his little brother? Did that mean that Randy was back there all alone? The thought make him even more nauseous. And deep down in the pit of his stomach was bubbling guilt.
His thoughts were scattered, detached. His parents wouldn't even be home for another hour, what if they got really scared by the messy note they had left? What if Randy wasn't okay by the time they arrived at the hospital? Even worse, what if they were so rushed to get here, they were in an accident? "What if?" Was suddenly his least favorite phrase.
He was barely aware of Wilson's comforting hand settling on his shoulder.
"Wilson Wilson and Bradley Taylor?" The abrupt voice called Brad out of his reverie.
They stood as a middle-aged woman approached them. Her sandy blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she had a small smile upon her face as she came closer to who she believed were Randy's relatives.
"Hello, my name is Dr. Bloomer, are you Randy's family?" she shook hands with Wilson and smiled at Brad, taking in his stricken face and fidgety hands.
"Well, I am Randy's neighbor and this is his older brother. You see, their parents were not at home when the attack began, so Brad came to me for aid," Wilson explained, resuming his hand's position on Brad's shoulder.
"Ah, that was very smart of you Brad, I'm sure your brother thanks you for what you did," She replied, thinking that this would cheer up the boy. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect, but he wouldn't let her know that. "Randy is going to be fine, the attack wasn't particularly strong. He should have some bed rest and not very much physical strain for a while but there will be no lasting affects. Would you like to see him?" Dr. Bloomer directed the last part at Brad.
He nodded once or twice, his head whirling with the good news, yet his gut churning with anxiousness. The dreaded phrase returning. What if Randy was mad? What if he didn't want to see Brad? He couldn't live with himself if his own brother hated him…
He walked in the room and stopped immediately. Randy was lying limply on the large hospital bed, sheets pulled up to his chest. The nurses had propped him up almost into a sitting position with large, white pillows to help him breathe easier. His face was regaining color but still had an odd pastiness to it.
Randy's eyes were closed and it struck him how young his brother looked. Sure, Randy was a lot smaller than he was, but he just looked so little. The sight caused an odd little sound to escape his throat.
His brother's eyes snapped open, and his wheezy breathing hitched for the briefest moment. Brad took a small step towards the bed, waiting for any sign of protest. Randy was just staring at him with wide eyes, his face only portraying a slight curiousness. Taking this as a good thing, Brad closed the distance to the bed. He opened his mouth, but found it dry. The room was suddenly too warm and he found it impossible to meet his brother's gaze. He dropped his eyes to the sheets and shut his mouth.
The tension mounted the longer he stared at that one spot on the bed, the thought fluttered through his mind if I stare at it long enough, can I burn a hole in it? He didn't know what to say to Randy. He had landed his brother in the hospital and it was definitely his fault. What can you say to that? I'm sorry? I didn't mean it? Worthless.
Randy chose to break the silence; he reached out and tugged playfully at Brad's shirt. He looked up surprised to see a tiny smile at his little brother's lips. Their eyes met and Randy's smile grew.
"Hey Brad," He said, his voice quiet and scratchy. "Thanks for playing with me,"
With five words, he knew he had been forgiven. One tear of relief fell and splashed wetly on Randy's hand.
"Gross, I'm telling Dad you cried on me,"
I hope you guys liked it! I feel better now that I know I completed a story. I know it's only a twoshot, but I planned it that way. I thank you all sooo much for the wonderful reviews! I even got a private message from one awesome person yelling for me to finish it! I cannot tell you how much that meant to me!
Extra thanks to these guys cause they wrote more than just UPDATE!
Mrs. William P. Moseley
Hey Blondie! Thanks for the asthma tip!
Hey Numbah 1HPfan, please don't ever ask me that again, you made me die a little on the inside. Not really. I just love ya. Thanks!