Work Text:
When you wake up, your mom is squawking something at your dad, to which he responds with a hum. You hear something along the lines of '—nsive, you know! Besides, the dear doesn't look like she wants to talk, now does she', but by the time you've blinked yourself into consciousness, it's already flown out of your brain.
Damn, it's bright in here. You whine at the brightness, and pinch your eyes shut again. Fuck that. You notice a significantly lower amount of pain than you remember, though. That's good. Means they didn't fuck up any vital organs again.
"Wocky, I know you're awake, don't even try to fake it." Yep. That's mom.
You squint at her. She laughs. You join a second later, even if it's not as forceful as your laugh usually is. You're still half-asleep, really.
Your eyes adjust to the lights, and the first thing you notice is that the room feels smaller than it did when you came in. You vaguely remember something about the nurses having to shift around patients because it seemed like everyone was getting hurt lately, but you guess that went out the door, too.
The second thing you notice is your dad, because it's pretty hard to miss the guy. Then your mom, but you've already taken note of her with your Squint Of Spite. The third-technically-fourth thing you notice is a curtain cutting the room in half.
You must have made a face, because your mom rattles off an explanation about how the staff had roomed you with another person around your age who'd be in recovery for about the same as you, to make room in the rest of the wing.
Said person apparently didn't want to be talked to, or something. Apparently your dad had tried and just gotten ignored entirely. You could deal with that. It's not like you were here to make friends.
You'd be here for around a week, maybe a week and a half, because they wanted to make sure you didn't fucking die or something.
Your attention span was starting to wane again. A week or longer in the hospital didn't sound fun, but you guessed it had to be like that. You may like the idea of death a lot less than your actions lead people to believe. You'll deal.
Mom and dad stay for a while longer until they have to go home. Dad needs to head to work again soon, and mom is still working on the wall. You don't get why your family had to make such a large gate. You do like it, though. It's fucking cool.
You send them on their way and contemplate heading to sleep again. A few nurses come and go, checking the vitals of you and whoever the hell is on the other side of the curtain.
You don't actually give in to your curiosity until day three, which is a whole new record for you. You wait until you're sure they should be awake, since the nurses talk to them, and until you know the nurses won't be back for another hour and a half.
"Hey, 's it okay if I open th' curtain? It's kinda weird bein' in a room with someone and not knowin' them, yeah?"
You don't get a verbal response, but you do hear a bit of rustling. Eh, close enough to a yes. You scoot so you're sitting on the edge of your bed, and you reach out and move the curtain to the side a bit.
Your mom wasn't wrong. She really doesn't look like she wants to be talked to.
On the other side of the curtain sits a girl. She's sitting at the edge of her bed, too, just kinda... Staring at you. It's kinda creepy, really. The blue hair and the hospital gown make her look like she's made out of the hospital itself, all blues and cream colors.
"Hey. Name's Wocky. Yours?"
No response. She's just got this blank expression. Okay, you know you said you thought she looked creepy, but she kinda looks scared herself.
"You don't get a lotta visitors, 'uh? What'd'ya do? Run away?"
She sorta stares for a few seconds and then shakes her head.
"Addict?"
Another head shake.
"Foster kid?"
There's a little bit of a pause, like she's wondering that herself, but ultimately she shakes her head again.
"You don't talk, do ya?"
Another shake.
"That's okay. So, y'ain't a runaway, or 'n addict, or a foster. Ya piss off your family?"
A shrug.
"Ey, even if ya did, it's shitty of 'em not to visit. I fucked up 'nd didn't listen to my old man, 'nd now I've had two heart surgeries. Talk about wack."
The same blank look, but you can tell she's listening. You end up talking to her for the rest of the day. It sorta sounds one-sided, but you can tell she's part of the conversation, too. She nods and shakes her head and shrugs. She doesn't make any humming sounds like your dad, but you can understand her.
She's a pretty cool friend. You'll have to catch her name some time.
By the time you two are released, you've made a friend in Vera Misham. She doesn't talk, at least not to you or anyone else. She doesn't have many expressions, and relies on the blank one. She'd been poisoned, and would be headed to jail for a few months in a couple of hours. She didn't get visitors because no one had known she existed before her trial, and her dad was dead.
Mom and dad thought she was nice, anyway. And she was! You, mom, and dad had decided to wait with her until the police showed up with proof of her existence, signed her out, and hauled her off. It kinda sucked. She was fun to talk to.
You make a deal with her that when she's released from the slammer, you two will meet up again. Well, you'll head to her house. She hates going outside. That's why no one knew she existed.
Vera lived a few blocks from you, so it wasn't gonna be hard to stop by and say hi. You got your driver's license a little while ago, so maybe you'll drag her out of the house for a ride. Couldn't be good to be all cooped up all the time.
You talk to her until the cops get there, and before she leaves, she finds a pen and scribbles a little doodle on a scrap of paper and hands it to you: a smiley face with 'see you' next to it.
You grin and nod. "Seeya, Ver."