The week that Sam was unconscious in the hospital might have been the longest week of Wes’ life.

He had split his time as evenly as he could between being at the hospital with Tom or in Tom’s stead; and being with John when Sara needed to go to the hospital or have a break. He’d stopped into the bank a few times to do a little work, but mostly he used his saved up sick time in order to be wherever the Carlisles needed him to be.

Wes hadn’t thought twice about the decision. His best friend needed someone and Wes couldn’t imagine anyone else taking that responsibility. It wasn’t like Tom’s dad was necessarily known for his paternal instincts.

He was lucky, too, that he had the time to take off of work. Tom had had to dip into his vacation time in order to be at the hospital as much as he was. Wes would’ve easily and willingly done that, but Tom had already told him that he wouldn’t allow him to use that time in this situation.

Which Wes kind of thought was shit. This was a messed up, weird situation that was definitively never happening again—so what if he used up a little vacation time? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Tom had someone with him and Tom’s kid also had someone with him.

And, well—it kind of mattered that Sam was alive.

Jesus Christ.

It still felt weird to think that.

Wes wasn’t sure he'd ever really get over the churning guilt of not believing that Sam was in danger in the first place. It burned within him every time he saw the sunken way that Tom’s face fell when he told him that Sam still hadn’t woken up. It burned him every time he thought about it.

By day four, he was starting to accept it as just a part of his ideology now. He believed in good music, in family, and in feeling guilty as fuck for not believing his ex-crush and best friend’s brother was maybe M.I.A. in the military.

“Deborah.” Wes nodded at the nurse who sat behind reception. She was a little nicer than the others he’d met, though to be fair, her morning shift seemed a lot nicer than the hectic and annoying evening and overnight shifts. Still, he was fond of her.

Wes sat a black coffee on the counter, winking. Deborah laughed. “Thank you, handsome.”

“Of course.” He took the other two coffees over to where Tom was pacing by the window.

Tom had barely gone home since his brother had been shipped over to the hospital. At Wes’s demand, he was going to go home and at least shower and say hi to his son this afternoon. Even if it fucking killed him, Tom was going to go home.

“Hey, man.” Wes passed one of the coffees to Tom, who jolted a little at his sudden presence. Tom smiled, accepting the hot to-go cup.

“Hey. Thanks.” He lifted the cup before taking a long swig. Wes winced; considering how his hand was burning just from holding the damn thing, he didn’t think the coffee had cooled enough to drink. Oh well.

Tom pulled the cup away from his mouth, letting out a harsh breath to let go of some of the heat.

Wes leaned against the wall, crossing his arms as Tom continued to shift uncomfortably, staring out the window. The view wasn’t really one that should have grabbed his attention: Wes knew without turning his head that it would just be cars, buildings and boring, gray boxes. They had both spent their fair share of time at this window.

“Feel okay enough to drive?” Wes asked, pulling the lid off his cup. He blew on the drink, watching the steam and his breath blow away.

Tom looked at him sharply, frowning. “Yeah, about that. I think I should stay.”

Wes raised an eyebrow. “Do you now?”

“Yes.” Tom nodded emphatically. “I just think it’s better if I stay here.”

Wes bit his lip before letting it go with a pop. Nope. “Better for who?”

“What?” Tom’s face broke into shattered surprise. “For—”

“For your brother? He’s asleep and the doctors don’t think he’s going to be waking up anytime soon. For Sara? She misses you. For John? Your son who you haven’t seen in days?”

Tom deflated. His shoulders drooped and his face pinched in a truly horrible way. Wes regretted his tone instantly.

“Look, man—”

“No, you’re right,” Tom sighed, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I need to go home for a little bit.”

Wes took a long drink from the coffee, bobbing his head in agreement. Tom continued.

“I guess it just feels like—what if he wakes up, you know? But, no, you’re right.”

“Hey.” Wes clapped a hand on Tom’s shoulder, squeezing gently before dropping his arm. “I’ll be here. I’ll call you if anything happens. The guy so much as twitches in his sleep and I’ll call you.”

Tom smiled. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that.”

Wes lifted two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

They finished their coffee in silence, Wes watched Tom who watched the window as if it had anything new to offer him.

Eventually, Wes decided that Tom couldn’t put it off any more and practically shoved his best friend out the door. Tom reiterated his demand to be updated immediately and went to tell the doctor that Wes needed to be updated if anything happened and he was the only one there.

Wes wasn’t sure if that would actually work, considering every time he was there the doctor refused to speak to him directly, but he didn’t care much. If it made Tom feel better, that was all that mattered.

Wes settled into a chair, flipping open a magazine he knew he wouldn’t actually read. He’d spent enough time in the waiting room to know every magazine cover to cover. But he also knew that if he kept a magazine or something in front of him, the other random waiting family members and loved ones would be less inclined to start small talk.

Wes didn’t mind small talk all that much on a regular day; but asking someone about their sick or injured loved one was a little too much for him. Everyone had their hospital limits and Wes figured out early into Sam’s stay that that was his.

He pulled out his phone and texted Sara, letting her know that Tom was on his way and asking her to please text him when Tommy got there so Wes knew he arrived safely. Sara replied immediately with a string of emojis that detailed her relief and approval.

Wes had always been fond of Tom’s family but spending time with John and Sara outside of Tom had been a new experience for him. It made him love all of them a little more and create the smallest of aches for a family inside his own chest.

Wes leaned a little lower in the chair, letting his fatigue settle into his head and chest. Dr. Plymouth knew who he was by now—at the very least, Deborah knew he was here for Sam Carlisle. If he took a quick power nap, they’d wake him up if anything happen.

And if Wes dreamt of cousins playing in the backyard and an arm wrapped around his waist, well, that was his own business.

* * *

Sam had woken up.

He had woken up, he had been awake, he had looked and seen and spoken.

Holy fucking shit, Sam had woken up.

Wes felt like he was vibrating. His body was shaking and his blood was so goddamn ecstatic and he was vibrating.

He hadn’t seen Sam, of course. Sam was still in the ICU and Wes was only just shy of a nobody to Sam, so he hadn’t been allowed in the hospital room, regardless of his conscious state. But Tommy had been in there and he’d told Wes about how he’d just been standing there and all of a sudden, Sam was awake.

Wes could barely breathe.

He hadn’t really considered the idea that Sam was going to wake up.

He knew he would, of course. He knew that Sam was healing and the quasi-coma he was in was just his body’s way of healing and dealing with the pain. But still, he’d been asleep for so long that Wes was really getting used to the doctor just enthusiastically telling Tom about blood pressure and shit.

He hadn’t expected to be halfway through a conversation about the pros and cons of broccoli with Deborah and have Tom run through, yelling to him about Sam waking up.

Apparently, he’d said Tom’s name. Well, not really, not clearly—but his eyes had flown open and he had gurgled a horrible sound and Tom was convinced it was his name. Wes believed it. The doctor urged him not to get ahead of himself.

But how could he not? Sam was waking up.

He’d panicked and the doctor had to put him back under with medicine in order to stop him from having a goddamn heart attack, but apparently that was normal and okay and not something that Tom needed to be worried about.

Tom worried about it anyway.

He decided quite seriously that he was not leaving the hospital again.

Sara had understood but been displeased; Wes offered to go over again to smooth the issue.

So Wes was driving away from the hospital even though Sam had started to wake the fuck up because it didn’t matter if Wes was there or not. He wasn’t allowed to be around but he could actually be helpful back at Tom’s house. So he was driving back to Poplar.

His skin was still vibrating.

The drive back took longer than he thought it would, with the way traffic slowed and dragged against his clock. He kept tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel and listening to music a little too loudly.

He got into Poplar by mid-afternoon, his jitters starting to recede a little. The drive to Tom’s house was second nature and he pulled into the driveway without really stopping to think.

Sara peeked out from the window, her small face brightening. She waved at him.

The door was unlocked so Wes let himself in, calling out to John who tottered into a standing position when he saw him.

“My little man! Come here,” Wes sunk to his knees and hugged John, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. “Daddy says hello.”

“Hi,” John said back just as strongly as Wes had. Sara laughed from her seat on the couch.

“So,” Sara said, propping her chin on her fist and raising an eyebrow. She had her hair in a knot on her head and one of Tom’s old sweaters hanging off her frame. “Boy Wonder woke up.”

Wes grinned, half playing with the blocks that John had dragged over to him. “Yeah.”

“That’s—“ she shook her head, face bright. “I kind of can’t believe it.”

“Me either,” Wes admitted.

Sara leaned back, resting her head on the top of the couch. “I’m so freaking glad.”

Wes laughed. “You’re telling me.”

Sara laughed, too, before clearing her throat. “So, Tom said he went back to sleep like right after? The doc medicated him or something?”

Wes nodded, high-fiving John when he knocked the tower of blocks over. The baby giggled happily, clapping his hands together.

“Yeah,” Wes said. “I guess he freaked. Dr. Plymouth said that’s normal though and no one should be worried.”

“When do you think he’ll, well, you know,” Sara waved her hands in the empty air in front of her.

Wes shrugged. “Wake up for real? No telling. Should be soon now, though, since apparently this means his body is ready to be awake. His head has just got to clear up enough now.”

Sara nodded, clicking her tongue in contemplation. John sat to full attention, watching his mother and then trying to replicate the sound.

“It’ll be good to have them home,” Sara said softly, nearly to herself.

“What, your fake husband isn’t good enough?” Wes gestured to himself. Sara laughed.

“Oh, Wesley. You’re a hoot.”

Wes rolled his eyes. “Ah, what a lovely, masculine description.”

“Ooh, speaking of masculine.” Sara sat up, shifting until she was sitting cross-legged and tapping her fingers together. Wes watched her warily.

“Yes?”

“I hear you had a very… masculine date the other day.” She laughed when Wes couldn’t help but have his jaw drop.

“How the hell do you know that?”

Sara winked. “I have my way.”

“What is that, witchcraft?” He dodged the pillow thrown at his head.

“No. I happen to do yoga with Ashley, your boss slash matchmaker.”

Wes groaned, laying on the carpet. John crawled on top of his body, tugging at his hair. “Is it sexist to say all women talk to each other when it’s fucking true?”

“Yes,” she answered, “now spill.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Sara nodded. “You are my designated fake-boyfriend, a role I’ll remind you that you happily volunteered for, and fake boyfriends dish.”

“About their dates with men?”

“Sometimes.” Sara nodded sagely.

Wes glared at her but gave up quickly. “I don’t know what you want to know.”

“Everything. What’s his name? Do you like him? Will you see him again?”

Wes huffed out a breath. “Nick. I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“There were so few details in that, I kind of feel like you never even started talking.”

Wes grabbed John by the sides, heaving himself up and flipping him upside down. He squealed in delight and Wes sat him in his lap, handing him a block to play with. John began to gnaw on it in earnest.

“I just—I don’t know. He seems nice.”

“But you’re not that into him?”

“I was, kind of, I guess. I was into the idea of being into him. And he seems really great.” Wes hated the feeling of his cheeks heating up, burning red to embarrass him even further. He hadn’t really talked out loud about his—his feelings—in a long time. Or, at least, not to anyone but Tom.

These goddamn Carlisles, even just the honorary ones, were starting to pry a lot. He was going to have to work on becoming more aloof.

Though that would probably have to wait until after one of them got out of the hospital and he didn’t feel the need to help out and spend every moment he could with one of them.

“What about him makes you not into him?”

Wes pretended to be distracted by John, mulling over the question. It wasn’t so much about not being into Nick but rather being unable to not be into someone else. Even when he thought for sure his feelings and crush were over, Sam occupied eighty percent of his thoughts. It didn’t seem fair to spend time with Nick when Wes was just hoping that one day his feelings for him matched his feelings for someone else.

Nick was awesome. He didn’t deserve someone that didn’t genuinely care that he was awesome.

“It’s not about him,” Wes said slowly. “It’s just about me, I guess.”

Sara hummed. “Is there—someone else or something? You've not really dated in the whole time I’ve known you. At least, that I’ve noticed.”

Wes swallowed around the growing lump in his throat.

He loved Sara. She was like a sister to him and it was fair to assume that Tom had already told her about his assumptions about Wes and Sam. And he was sure that if he asked her not to, Sara wouldn’t tell anyone about any of this. She was a good person.

But his whole body seemed frozen at the idea of admitting, truly admitting, to the thing he’d been hiding for fucking years.

“It’s complicated,” he said finally. She nodded.

“Yeah. Love usually is.”

Wes fought against the water curling around his throat. When he took a deep breath, words spilled out in the form of waves.

“It’s just, I don’t want to—to be into the person that I am into and I’ve been trying so hard to not be and I don’t know if that makes me a shit person or not, but the idea of trying with someone else just seems—subpar.”

He hated saying it out loud. God, he sounded like a dick.

He peaked a glance at Sara, wondering if she would see what an asshole he was.

She looked as sympathetic as always. “That’s not you being a shit person.”

“Sure,” he said. “It makes me great that I’m willing to completely ignore a great guy because he’s not the asshole that I’m in—into.”

Sara uncrossed her legs, frowning. She grabbed a couple of toy trucks and ran them towards John, playing with him and speaking softly to him for a few minutes. Wes watched them.

Something curled in his chest. He hated it.

“Did Tom ever tell you about how we got together?”

Wes rolled his eyes. “Your eyes locked from across a crowded room and destiny was created by the intensity of your love. I’ve heard the romantic spiel.”

Sara’s laughed boomed out. “Is that what he tells people? Oh, man. That’s hilarious. I was, like, obsessed with him. And he couldn’t have cared less.”

Wes dropped the block he was holding. That was not how Tom told the story.

“I mean, apparently, he could have. Apparently, he tells me now, that he was just as into me as I was into him. But at the time, God, I thought he didn’t know me from Eve.”

Wes cocked his head to the side, listening. Sara smiled softly at him, continuing.

“And I felt so freaking dumb, too, for liking him as much as I did. For so long! God, it was embarrassing. And then one day, I just decided, Sara, hey, no. You’re not this love struck idiot. You’re not just going to sit around and wait for someone to decide you’re worth his time. So I decided to stop liking him, not because I didn’t feel for him any more, but because I needed to start feeling for me.”

“What happened after that?” Wes couldn’t tear his eyes from her.

Her expression shifted from hard to soft, a small smile pulling her lips.

“One day, we were both at this stupid carnival or something and he just—he walked through this huge group of people and he grabbed my hand and he said, Sara, I very much would like to kiss you now. It was the most formal he’s ever been with me. Really misleading, to be honest.”

“What did you say?”

She laughed. “Nothing! I kissed him! I might have decided not to like him intellectually but physically and emotionally? I wasn’t dumb enough to ignore that opportunity.”

Wes couldn’t help but chuckle with her. He shouldn’t have expected anything else.

“So,” Wes cleared his throat, ignoring the blush crawling up his neck. “You think I should get over—this person? Just decide it and let, like, fate take over?”

“No,” Sara said emphatically. John stopped playing, startled by his mother’s harsh tone. She smiled at him and he went back to playing. “When Tom and I finally talked about it, this stupid crush I had for so freaking long, you know what he said?”

“What?”

“He said, woman, why wouldn’t you have just told me? We could have saved so much time.”

Wes frowned. “He already knows.”

Sara shook her head. “I don’t think he does. I don’t think he really does, you know, not the full way that he needs to. If he’s anything like Tom,” she raised an eyebrow and Wes realized with startling clarity that she knew exactly who they were talking about, “he doesn’t need you to insinuate your feelings. He needs you to kiss him. He needs to know.”

Sara picked up John from the floor, untangling his hands from the shirt he had wound around his arms.

“Wesley, don’t waste time. Because the worst case scenario is you being painfully honest and him saying no. And then you can look at all the Nicks you might see and not think what if. Tell Sa—this guy.”

Wes blinked rapidly, his head churning.

“You’re a really good friend, Sara.”

She laughed. “Oh, I know. You’re an okay fake-boyfriend.” She winked. “But you’re a really good friend, too.”

—

Splitting his time between the hospital and Tom’s living room became like second nature. He could make his way to the parking spot he always occupied in the hospital’s lot with his eyes closed; he could make a toddler and his mother lunch without even taking a break in his rendition of whatever Disney song John wanted to hear.

He was becoming really fucking good at this routine. Going back to the bank when Sam woke up was going to be hell.

He slipped through the hospital’s door, signing his name in and slapping on a visitor’s tag before weaving past nurses and doctors and other family members to find his waiting room on the second floor.

He heard his name before he even walked through the sliding doors.

“Oh, Mr. Adams!” Deborah called for him, waving her hands.

Wes hid a yawn behind his hand, changing his route from a chair in the waiting room towards the reception desk. “Hey, Deb. Don’t have any coffee right now.”

She waved her hand. “Oh, don’t be silly. I have news.”

“You know I don’t like to gossip, Deborah,” he teased.

The older woman slapped at his chest, shaking her head. “No, no. This is news that is very pertinent to you, Wesley.”

Wes perked up, eyes widening. “Carlisle news?”

“Carlisle news,” Deborah confirmed. “He’s been moved to a regular room. Out of the ICU. He’s even allowed visitors now, you know.”

“What?” His voice was too loud, drawing the attention from other people in the waiting room.

Deborah grinned. “I asked Tom if I could tell you.”

Wes fought the grin that was trying to climb out of his mouth. “Oh my god. Well, thanks! Do you know which room?”

“214,” she said, nodding her head towards a hallway. “You’re officially allowed to visit.”

“Holy shit,” Wes muttered.

Deb laughed. “Indeed.”

“Thanks, Deb!” Wes rapped his knuckles on the counter, shooting her a quick grin before heading off towards the room that she had told him.

It had been a full week since Sam had gotten out of surgery and three days since his talk with Sara. Since then, he’d spent most of his time with John, since she needed to be able to run errands and have a few hours to herself before they both eventually collapsed from exhaustion. But since it had been a while since either of them had seen Tom, who steadfastly was refusing to leave the hospital, she had sent him out of the house this morning with a strong, mothering hand.

He couldn’t help but wonder now if she had known about this transfer.

The jittery bones were back full force.

Wes was going to see, really see with his own eyes, that Sam was okay. Or, at least, okay-ish. Awake maybe. In the same room, at least.

Holy fucking shit indeed.

He almost laughed. He had spent so much time thinking about what he’d look like, what he’d sound like, what he’d say—and now, Wes was going to be able to see him.

If for nothing else, he was kind of ecstatic about not having to sit alone in the waiting room. He’d be able to sit with Tom while they waited for Sam to wake up.

Once he was awake, he'd go home and leave the brothers to their own. But until then, he’d keep darting wherever Tom needed him to be.

Wes wondered if he’d get to say hi or if he even should. It had been so long since they’d seen each other. He didn’t know if Sam would even want to talk to him—it wasn’t like he’d had any pressing urge to talk to him before.

Not fair, Wes harshly reprimanded himself. He shouldn’t be getting mad about old wounds when Sam was in the hospital healing from very fresh, very real ones. He didn’t get to be that selfish right now.

He found the room easily. 214.

He froze outside of it, hand on the doorknob.

There were voices—very distinct, very Carlisle men voices.

If you think you can be nice, I’m sure he’d be glad to see you.

Sam’s answering voice came back, clipped and prominent. It knocked the air out of Wes’s lungs.

I don’t actually give a shit. Wesley can come, or not. Whatever. I’ll be nice.

Wes dropped the handle as if it burned him. He stepped backwards until his back hit the wall on the opposite side of the hallway.

Well. Fuck.

It wasn't like Wes was expecting a warm welcome or anything but shit, he didn’t think that Sam would be so—callous.

God damn.

It wasn’t like he had thought that Sara was completely right or that he would be able to just show up and then have everything be as perfect and magical as Sara made it sound. He didn’t expect a miracle or anything.

But he didn’t expect to hear such venom in Sam’s voice either.

Suddenly, Wes was hit with a startling, horrifying idea: What if he really, truly had misinterpreted that entire experience? What if Sam not calling didn’t speak to Sam being a jerk but Wes expecting him to call spoke to how fucking dumb Wes was?

What if this thinly veiled anger was what Sam always had?

Why was he so mad?

Wes wanted to run down the hallway, past Deborah and the waiting room, drive past Tom’s house in Poplar, and just hide away in his dark, shadowy one bedroom apartment. He wanted to pretend like he’d never even met Sam.

Briefly, he wanted to pretend like he’d never even come to Poplar.

I don’t give a shit.

It wasn’t like Wes didn’t know that. He knew that Sam didn’t give a shit. So why did it hurt so goddamn badly to hear? Why did it feel like a sharp, piercing pain in his chest to have him sound so hateful towards him?

It didn’t matter. If Sam didn’t give a shit, then Wes wouldn’t. He wasn’t here for Sam, he was here for Tommy.

A tiny part of him hissed that he was a liar. Wes studiously ignored that voice.

Wes startled when the door opened.

“Oh! Hey!” Tom said, closing the door behind him. “You found us!”

Tom stood taller, his expression happier, than he had since he’d told Wes he was worried about Sam all those weeks ago. He grinned and came over, giving Wes a quick one armed hug, clapping him on the back.

“Deborah told me,” Wes said. His voice sounded low and rough, like he’d scratched the inside of his throat with gravel before he started talking. It felt that way, too.

“Awesome, she’s the best. I’m just on my way to find Dr. Plymouth—you’ve seen him?”

“No, sorry.” Wes crossed his arms before deciding the motion looked too defensive and he dropped them to his side. “I just got here.”

Tom nodded, looking between Wes and the door. “Did you—did you wanna go see him?”

“Oh,” Wes swallowed heavily. “That’s okay, I’ll let him rest or whatever.”

Tom frowned. “He’s been resting a week. He’s fine.”

Wes shrugged. “The body needs a lot of sleep for recovery.”

“Dude, don’t worry about it. I think he’d be happy to see you!”

Un-fucking-likely, Wes thought. He struggled to keep the scowl off his face.

“Besides,” Tom continued, “I don’t really want to leave him alone but I really need to find Dr. Plymouth and let him know that Sam’s even awake.”

Well, shit. Wes bit back a sigh. “Yeah, of course, man. I’ll sit with him for a while.”

“So glad you’re able to now, huh?” Tom laughed. “God. Sam’s awake. Weird.”

“Good,” Wes corrected.

Tom grinned. “Right. Good.”

Wes couldn't help but smile back. His insides felt like jello but Tom was so happy. He couldn’t help but be thrilled. “Have you told Sara?”

Tom raised his eyebrows. “You think that woman would ever forgive me if I didn’t text her the second he actually noticed I was in the room with him?”

Wes snorted. “Solid point.”

“Thanks for being with them so much,” Tom said. “I really appreciate it. I couldn’t have dealt with this—well, any of this stuff, if it wasn’t for you, man.”

Wes waved his concern away. “No, man, it’s no sweat. I wouldn’t have it any other way. You'd do the same for me.”

“You’re too much of a loner for me to do this for you,” Tom joked.

Wes rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

They grinned at each other for a second before Tom jumped, looking both ways down the hallway. “Right! I’m going to find the doctor. You’re good here?”

“Super good,” Wes promised.

Tom nodded, shooting off down the hallway. “Good man!” he called back.

Wes rolled his eyes and when Tom turned down the hallway, he inhaled deeply.

“Okay, Wesley,” he muttered to himself. “Time to stop being such a fucking wimp.”

If Sam doesn’t care, then I don’t care, Wes reminded himself.

He exhaled heavily and then went and knocked on Sam’s door.

He cracked it open when he heard a grunt of a reply.

“Sam?” he asked softly, stepping into the room.

Here we fucking go.