Chapter Text
Wednesday, January 7th 2026
It's been a week since New Year’s, a week since Avery was the only person to witness a man's death in Minecraft of all places, and with no way to contact his family or even the authorities, Avery felt (and still feels) utterly useless.
It's not a new feeling. He's been feeling useless since he was 7, when his parents spent their evenings yelling at each other. He'd cry while his older siblings tried to stop them. Useless. He's always been useless.
He closes his eyelids and takes a deep breath, forcing his brain not to go there right now. He rubs his eyes and frowns as he stretches his arms over his head. The clock reads 3:32PM, which means he slept, or at least was in bed trying to sleep, for 14 hours.
(He's lucky if he gets more than 3 hours of shut-eye per night these days, as he's plagued by memories of that night every single time he rests his head on the soft pillows of his bed.)
He walks into the kitchen to get some water, paying no mind to the fridge despite his body's clear protest. He can't bring himself to eat, his stomach twisting at the mere thought of food. He's been skipping meals for 6 days, and today won't be any different. His mom will force him to eat plenty tonight anyway. Speaking of, he definitely needs to shower before going over to dinner. Avery leaves his now-empty glass in the sink, and makes his way towards the small bathroom in his even smaller apartment.
When he gets out, it’s around 5.30pm. He's supposed to be at his mom's house at 7.00pm, so he still has lots of time. Despite the nausea, he decides on eating at least a granola bar or something before his stomach decides to eat itself for sustainment. He'll need to get over there one way or another, and falling face-first on the concrete from exhaustion doesn't really sound so inviting.
He just ends up reheating his leftovers from who-knows-when, as that's the only thing left in the fridge. He turns on the TV, meaning to hear the news, but he just ends up scrolling on his phone for what could have been anywhere from 5 minutes to an hour. He finds that having plenty of stimuli to distract him is good to bury his own thoughts. Although, maybe, if he can think about that, this method is not really efficient, is it?
In the background, the reporter sets aside the papers about a robbery that happened this morning, right in the middle of Sacramento. “Moving on, a 22-year-old man named Derek Hutchins-"
Avery’s head snaps back towards his TV. “-is currently in a coma after being found unconscious on New Year's Eve. His family is—”
His ears start ringing.
The realization sets quickly, way too quickly.
Derek's alive. Holy shit. He's—
Avery can barely hear the name of the hospital — it's not even a 30 minute walk from his apartment, God bless — before grabbing a jacket and storming out. He runs down the stairs, paying no mind to the other residents going in the opposite direction. He reaches the bottom of the complex, and just keeps running.
He covers the distance in 23 minutes and immediately heads up to the front desk. He asks for Derek's room number, and a lady with practiced kind eyes inquires about his relationship with the patient. “We’re…friends.” He says, out of breath. She gives a sympathetic look, nods, and tells him where to go.
He runs again and ends up in front of a white door in a white corridor with minimal decorations, small fake plants, neutral-colored posters and slightly aggressive lightning. There's a small waiting room outside, that really just consists of some uncomfortable-looking chairs placed together.
Avery stops abruptly. A girl is sitting on one of the chairs. She has dark skin and long goddess braids that reach all the way to her waist. She can't be any older than 18, he thinks. She's wearing a large, off-white striped sweater and baggy dark jeans. Her knees are pressed tightly against her chest, and judging by her puffy eyes, she's been crying for a while. Avery only realizes he's been staring when she shoots him a look.
“Can I help you?” She's trying to sound put together, but her voice is slightly shaky.
“Uhm— sorry. I’m here for…uh- Derek. Hutchins. Derek Hutchins.”
“...And you are?”
“Right! I didn't introduce myself yet—sorry—I’m, uh- Avery. Me and Derek are… friends.” Nice going on hesitating on the word “friends”, Avery. Great. Amazing. She totally doesn’t think you’re a weirdo now.
“Oh, uhm, alright.” she sniffles a bit, wiping at her eyes. “My name's Diana, I’m Derek's younger sister.”
“Oh. I didn't know he had a sister.”
“And I didn't know he had a friend named Avery.” Diana says as she turns back towards the door, chuckling awkwardly. “That sounded kinda rude, my bad. My Ma’s inside right now. You can, uh- go see him when she's done, if you want.”
“Don't you wanna go in?”
“...I’d…rather not.” She says, preventing another sob from surfacing.
Amazing job, Avery. Terrific, actually. “Shit- I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have…”
“No- no, it's not…” The girl shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath to ground herself. “It's not your fault. You can go before me, I don't mind.”
“...Alright, thank you.”
“You can sit down as well, don't stand there. My mom will be a while, and you look tired as hell.”
“I'm fine-”
“Sit.” She taps the spot next to her. Really bossy for someone who was crying, like, 2 minutes ago. “I know you're embarrassed, and you don't know what to say, but I can tell this is as hard on you as it is on me. Sit down.”
He nods, mouthing a “thank you” before doing as he's told. The two fall into an awkward silence, but Avery doesn't feel like filling the space with meaningless conversation like he usually would. This really doesn't feel like the time nor the place.
This guy is odd, Diana thinks.
Her brother never told her about an Avery, which is weird, because they talked about everything. He has big eyes in a deep blue color, tan skin and bleached curls with green tips that frame his face perfectly and fall right on his shoulders. His septum and left nostril are pierced, and so are his ears, even though he isn't currently wearing any earrings. The light gray sweatpants and the blue jacket he’s wearing over a slightly cropped white t-shirt signal he came here in a rush, like he ran out of the house as soon as he found out what happened to Derek. He must care about him a lot seeing he ran over here, but why wouldn't her brother talk about him if they’re friends? She wonders if, maybe…
“Are you and Der close? He's never mentioned you.”
“Oh, uhm… not quite, I guess. We only knew each other for a couple of weeks before… this. It makes sense he's never talked about me.”
“Mhm, got it.” So they met when Derek had already started being more distant and acting weird, basically.
Since mid-October, he hadn’t been replying to her messages. It started small, like only replying at the end of the day. In November he went radio silent, straight up leaving her on delivered. She knew he wasn't the best texter, but this had never happened before. Her mom insisted he was just busy with work stuff, that he told her so on November 1st. The messages were there, Diana saw them. He’d asked his mom not to worry and said that he would have been too occupied this month to come visit.
Derek didn't text like that. He didn't write a single, completely punctuated message, he divided the information in calculated, smaller sections and sent one text at a time. He rarely even used periods, yet her mom called her paranoid.
She gave her the benefit of the doubt. She kept sending him stupid messages, not really looking for an answer, and in fact she never got one. Despite how busy he was, he had time to make a new friend, apparently. Just who is this guy?
“And how old are you?” Suspicions aside, maybe Diana could take advantage of this to know what actually happened to Derek in these last two months. Her brother doesn't have many friends, so Avery was probably one of the only people he was talking to those days. “Ah, sorry if I'm asking too many questions- guess I need something to get my mind off of…you know.”
“It's okay, don't worry- that makes two of us. I’m 20, but I turn 21 in March.” Avery gives a small, awkward smile despite his extremely obvious anxiety, which she notices in the way his leg bounces up and down. “You?”
Avery forgot how much he hated small talk. He hasn't met anyone new in so long (not counting Derek, but they really didn't have time for small talk) he barely remembers the basics of human conversation between two strangers. To be fair, he doesn't really remember the basics of human conversation in general. He doesn't get out much, and hanging out with friends is like putting four monkeys (him included) in a room and watching them interact, so they don't really count towards human experience.
“I turned 16 a couple of months ago.” Diana replies, reminding him that he was very much in the middle of talking to someone, and maybe he should be paying more attention.
“That's nice, are you gonna get a car?”
“Derek was supposed to take me shopping for one once Christmas break ended but…I guess it's gonna take some more time. Do you drive?”
“Not a car. I have a bike.”
“Oo, yeah? Derek’s a biker, too. Did you know?”
“Oh- I, I didn't— plus,” Why the hell am I stumbling over my words oh my god Avery get it together. “I'm— I was talking about an actual bike, not one of those big motorcycles and stuff.”
(His dad forbade him from ever getting near a wheel again since he almost destroyed his car three times in two weeks after getting his license, and motorcycles scare the hell out of him. Yes, he skateboards. Yes, he can do sick tricks. Yes, he's scared of motorcycles. Sue him.)
Diana replies with something like ohhhhhh yeah that makes more sense and makes a comment about him looking too soft to be a biker. He promptly ignores her. “Well, to be honest, I had a bike. It’s being repaired right now.” He adds. “The handles randomly came right off while I was heading back home some weeks ago. It’s taking longer with the holidays and all.”
She snorts mockingly. “What do you mean randomly? Are they not held together with, like, screws or something?”
“Wish I knew.” He rolls his eyes. “Guess I’m just unlucky, huh?”
“Unlucky doesn’t cut it, man. So what, you’ve just been walking everywhere?” She says, still giggling.
“I use my skateboard to get around, although it's not that good for long distances, and I certainly can’t show up with a skateboard everywhere.”
“I can imagine.”
“Dee, what's all this noise out here?” He almost falls out of his seat as a woman gets out of the room in front of them and looks directly at Diana. She's speaking Spanish, he observes, but her accent is different from the one he grew up hearing.
“Oh, nothing, Ma,” Diana replies (in English) while getting up and walking towards the figure. Avery mirrors her movements. He can see the woman clearly now. Her curly hair is slicked back in a low bun, her dark circles very prominent under her glasses. “I was just talking to Avery. He's one of Derek's friends, he came to visit.”
“Uhm— Hello, nice to meet you.”
“You speak Spanish?” Diana asks as she turns to him.
“Yeah, I’m half Colombian- I’m a bit rusty, though." He says. He'd be way more confident in his own mother tongue— well, second mother tongue, if he and his father had exchanged more than ten (nice) words in the last few months.
“What's the other half?”
“Diana,” Mrs Hutchins interrupts, gaze stern. "Don't be rude, you just met him. I apologize for—”
“Oh- no! it's okay, I don't mind.” Avery waves a hand dismissively between them, before turning back to Diana. “My mom’s Korean.”
The woman shoots her daughter a look as she opens her mouth to add a follow up question. “It's nice to meet you too, thank you for coming to see our Derek.” She says before Diana can speak, taking Avery’s hands in hers.
His lips perk up at the contact. “It's the least I could do for him, ma’am, really.”
She smiles warmly, tears forming through her lashes. Stress, probably. “Are— Do you… wanna go in?” She says, and it sounds like she changed what she was going to ask mid-sentence, causing Avery’s brows to furrow slightly in confusion before actually realizing that she asked him a question.
“Oh, uh, yes. If it's okay with you…” He starts as the other releases her hold on him and moves aside to let him in. He goes towards the room, but stops in his tracks. “...Mrs Hutchins?”
“Yes?”
“What did the doctors say?…about Derek, I mean.” He asks. The woman's gaze drops to the floor. Diana turns her head away. The idea that it’s not his place to ask forms in his brain too late, unfortunately. Someone’s son and brother is in the hospital because of him and he thinks he has the right to ask about him. He doesn’t even know him that well. He shouldn't be here. “Oh- you don't have to tell me, I probably shouldn't have asked anyway— it's a difficult moment and…” Useless. Again.
“We found him in front of his computer around midnight. He wasn't answering our calls and we got worried. When we got there he wasn’t breathing. He— there was blood coming out of his ears and nose. The doctors don’t know what caused it… but, they told me it's a miracle he's even alive right now, that they don't know if he’ll wake up and when… nor how.”
“How?”
“Not many things send you straight into a coma. Most of them have a long lasting effect, even after the patient recovers. Some of his brain functions could be affected, but we won’t know until he regains consciousness.”
Some of his brain functions could be affected. The words repeat themselves in his mind. Avery’s heart feels heavy in his chest, tears starting to pool at the bottom of his eyes. The words die out in his throat, so the only thing he can do is nod and turn back towards Derek's hospital bed.
The air feels heavier as he walks in and lets the door close behind him. He takes a couple more steps, and then he sees him.
Derek, hooked up to dozens of machines, a mask over his mouth and nose to help his breathing. Everything stops and suddenly Avery understands exactly what Diana meant when she said she'd rather not see him. Looking at him and knowing that this has happened because of Avery himself is nauseating. He should be in Derek's place. It was always meant to be him. His arms go numb at his sides, his knees feel like jelly, and he decides to sit down before he could pass out. He grabs the plastic chair from the corner and scoots it closer to Derek's bed. Sitting here, in front of him, he gets to look, really look at the man who saved his life.
He notices the piercings first. Lots of them. They have all been replaced with those plastic clear ones, but they're still pretty easy to spot. One's on his right eyebrow, and there's snakebites on his mouth. He has one helix and two lobe piercings on his right ear, a double helix and three lobes on his other one. He’d probably look way cooler if he were wearing actual, proper jewelry, Avery thinks. He has dark skin as well, although he's paler than Diana, more sickly. Long, unkept dreads reach over his shoulders, and the red dye on them is fading back into the dark brown they once were. There's moles on his face, one right above his mouth, one on his cheek. The slight muscles on his arms suggest he was way stronger before he was forced to stay seated in front of a screen for god-knows-how-long.
He wonders how he'd react to seeing Avery cry right now. Would he chuckle, pat his back and dry his tears? Would he make fun of him? Or maybe say something so dry and awkward he'd end up laughing?
Sitting here, now, Avery realizes he doesn't know Derek. At all. The thought makes his head spin.
Derek knows everything about him. He knows nothing. Isn't it ironic? He's crying for someone he doesn't know. His father would call him pathetic, and he'd be right. He is pathetic.
Crying isn't what makes him pathetic.
He's pathetic because he's a hypocrite. He's crying for something he caused. Something he could have prevented if he were smart enough, fast enough, sharp enough. The idea that he could've saved Derek has been stuck in his mind since the morning of New Year’s, when everything caught up to him. And even if he's alive, it doesn't make the feeling any better, especially now that he can see him laying motionless in a hospital bed, after his devastated family held his hands and said that it's as hard on him as it is on them not knowing the reason Derek's here in the first place is Avery himself.
He lays his head on the bed subconsciously, an arm under his forehead as he continues to sob. His other hand lands on the sheets, accidentally touching Derek's wrist with his pinky. He sobs harder.
He feels weird, extremely weird.
He's unconscious, physically unresponsive, whatever. He knows that much. He heard it from the doctors some time ago, but he can’t remember when. A week maximum, or so he believes.
Despite that, he feels conscious. He can hear what people say. He can think. He can smell. He doesn't think it's just normal for coma patients to have this level of awareness (The brain of a person in a coma continues to process events from the environment, for example the footsteps of someone approaching or the sound of your a loved one’s voice–), and maybe it's connected to the fact that he knows everything. He knows who and what is there, despite him not being there cognitively.
He can't see, but he can tell what's around him. He can sense the plant in the corner (Pothos, or Epipremnum aureum, is a popular, evergreen vine known for its heart-shaped leaves up to 100 cm long and 45 cm broad. Native to Southeast Asia, it is often called "devil's ivy” due to its—), and the light blue curtains on the windows. (Hospital curtains and linens are predominantly blue to create a professional atmosphere. It has been discovered that the color blue reduces stress, lowers heart rates, and helps staff manage eye fatigue—).
He can also speak, or rather his brain is telling him that he could also speak if he wanted to, but when he tries to his mouth just won't produce any sounds, (The vocal cords, also known as vocal folds, are folds of throat tissues that are key in creating sounds through vocalization. The length of the vocal cords affects the pitch of voice, similar to a stringed musical instrument—),
and, God, his head hurts so bad. (A headache, also known as cephalalgia, is the symptom of pain in the face, head, or neck. It can occur as a migraine, tension-type headache, or cluster headache. There is an increased risk of–)
Stop that.
Stop what?
The thing you're doing.
Well, what am I doing, Derek?
He groans, or well— tries to, at least. Telling me things about Pothos or voice chords or whatever. My head is exploding. We're already in a coma, I’d prefer you not interfere further.
I’m doing no such thing.
Are you serious right now?
Yes. Like always.
You're irritating, have I ever told you that?
The sentiment is mutual.
Look—
A loud vibration. Derek feels it. His ears ring and feel like they're about to start bleeding, again.
Fuck- Stop!
What now?
The ringing! Jesus Christ! Stop it— It’s— Stop!
That's not my doing. It's coming from your “reality”.
What?
It's a phone. Someone's phone is ringing, genius.
Then why is it so loud!?
How am I supposed to know? It's your hearing, not mine.
So you're not enhancing the sound on purpose?
The King laughs, actually laughs. That's not what I said.
You—
“Hello?”
Derek's heart jumps in his chest. (Figuratively, he hopes, otherwise the monitor would pick up on it and send the sudden spike in his heart rate straight to the doctors).
Avery?
Yes. That is the Vessel, indeed. Although, he seems rather—
Wait, shut up.
“Hi, mom.” He says through sniffles, in Korean. Derek never learned Korean. He doesn't question the fact he understands it. He knows why. “...Oh, uh, sorry, I’m just-”
A long pause. “I know— I know, I’m sorry. It's just- my friend is in the hospital…I went to visit him. Sorry for not showing up to dinner with you and dad, I swear I'll come by next week.” (A lie. Next week he'll be here again, and his mother will call once more and he'll say the same things he’s saying now, and she will stop pressing, but—)
I told you to stop. I don't care. I want to hear his voice.
How rude. Telling a God what to do.
Dude, shut it.
Dude?
“Yeah, I just found out.” Pause, sniffle. “No, mom, I'm not making this up! He's in a coma, it's serious.” Pause. “Ugh- listen. Check the news, you'll believe me… yes. Yes, I swear… Okay- yes, he's—” A longer pause. “Mom! Don't- it's not like that— what? I’m not lying!”
What isn't like that?
Eavesdropping?
No, he just happens to be speaking in my immediate proximity and—
So you want me to pry in the boy’s business? A truly despicable request, Knight.
…Forget it.
“Alright. Yes. I’ll see you next week. Yes, bye, love you too. Yes, mom, I- no, why would I– yes, don't worry. Okay. Yes, mmh-mh, bye.” He hears as Avery hangs up, puts his phone in his pocket, and sighs loudly (dramatically). He brings a knee up to his chest and rests the side of his face on it. His tear-stained gaze never leaves Derek's face. Then, out of nowhere, he whispers. “...Is your mom like that, too?” But no matter how hard he tries, Derek doesn't hear anyone answer.
Is there someone else in the room?
No. Only the Vessel.
Who's he talking to then?
You.
“Well, probably not. She seems so sweet. And nice. She has kind eyes. But then again, you had to get it from somewhere, I guess.”
Hah! You? Nice? Kind?
‘Cause you're oh-so-generous.
“...Well, mom is too, she just… worries too much. Or maybe she just wants to be all up in my business all the time. Or both.” A small breath escapes his lips, not quite a chuckle.
He seems distressed. Is this what parental relationships bring upon humans? frustration?
What about ‘shut the fuck up’ can't you understand?
Everytime you say that you ask me a question right after. I supposed—
Avery sighs again. “I don't even know why I'm talking to you.” He lays back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. “You can't even hear me.” (Scientific research shows—) “...I honestly can’t even tell if you’re really here or if I’m actually going insane. Genuinely, I— Christ. Fuck it.” He mumbles as he extends his hand and slowly puts it on top of Derek's.
Then everything stops.
The whispers in his brain die out for the first time in weeks. Maybe months.
He can’t make out the words of the old man three cities away yelling at his son for skipping class. He can’t hear the lonely beeping of the smoke alarm in an apartment in Bulgaria going off while no one’s home, can’t hear the dog barking at the other poodle across the street in Sydney. His mind doesn’t notice the weeping of that child in Italy crying over his mother’s grave, nor the one of the toddler whose ice cream just fell down in Tokyo. There's not a single mockingbird singing in France. Not to him, at least. The neighbor’s kids aren't playing soccer in front of his grandma’s house, and even if they are, he doesn't know it.
Everything is just— still. Like it should be.
“...Guess you are here. Sorry, needed a reminder.”
A real chuckle this time. It's the only thing Derek can hear.
He’s heard every sound in the universe, but this, he decides, is the most beautiful one.