FicWad

Now wearing a simple white lab coat that had been hastily donned over his torn and dirty clothes, Dr Benzedrine studied the chart before turning his attention to the bed's occupant. Pushing his hand through his fine blond hair, he sighed heavily.

At the bedside, taking Patrick's, temperature stood The Guv'nor. On the opposite side of the bed, refusing to leave, Pete sat on a visitor's chair, one knee drawn up to his chest, his arms crossed around it. Sitting in silence, he rocked slightly back and forth on the chair waiting in quiet impatience for any good news.

“Thirty-six,” The Guv'nor frowned. “What's normal for these people?”
“These people?” Pete snapped, scowling at the insensitive phrasing.
“I'm sorry,” he conceded with a slight nod, “I don't know how to refer to you.”

A moment's pause confirmed in Pete's mind that there wasn't a simple phrase that even he could think of. One thing he was sure of - he was not particularly enamoured of being called a Normal Worlder either.

“No, you're right, sorry, I'm just…” Pete shook his head; it was irrelevant. “It's thirty-seven, typically, but he's usually about thirty-six-point-eight.”
“That's very precise,” The Guv'nor raised an eyebrow.”
“We always have to have medicals before a tour; he's always the same temperature, without fail. It's a bit of a running joke. We fluctuate a little, but he never does.”
“I'd expect it to drop a little, so I'm not worried.”
“Would you be if it was your son in that bed, not just someone who looks like him?” Pete quizzed him with an unintentionally harsh tone.
“That's not fair!” Benzedrine cried, replacing the chart on the end of the bed and walking to join his father.
“Actually,” The Guv'nor spoke slowly, “it is. In fact, it's a very fair question.”
“Well?” Pete pushed glumly.
“This young man had more reason than any of you not to help my boy…”
“Father!” Benzedrine intended to object yet somehow the conviction was missing from his tone. The word was almost spoken out of feeling obliged to protest but felt he truly had no right.
“Silas,” The Guv'nor raised an eyebrow as he turned his head to look down at the weary young man. “You used your powers to scare and intimidate him into doing what you wanted, you even threatened him, didn't you?”
“How did… how…?” Benzedrine stammered wondering how he could possibly have known.
“Don't underestimate me, Silas,” The Guv'nor shook his head. “But when you needed his help, he didn't hesitate, none of them did.”
“It wasn't just me,” Benzedrine protested, but even if he did, he knew the argument would carry no weight with his father.
“I know! I'll be punishing Marcus too, don't imagine I've overlooked anything!”
“Punishment?” Benzedrine asked nervously; the wealth of possibilities available to The Guv'nor to make his and Sandman's lives miserable was numerous indeed.
“But for now, this young man is more important. Now, go find out what's keeping Donnie; we need that information.”

The Guv'nor heard a choked gasp behind him and opposite he saw Pete's eyebrows raised in impressed curiosity. Turning, he saw Donnie, standing just inside the open doorway, unable to raise his eyes to meet Benzedrine's. In his hands the large melon-sized ball of hate pulsated gently in his hands.

“Damn!” The Guv'nor whispered as his eyes moved from the black, shimmering ball to the pale, shocked features of his son. “Silas,” he began comfortingly. “I can take it from here.”
“No,” Benzedrine struggled to find his voice, even for that one word. Clearing his throat, Benzedrine nodded slowly, trying hard to dispel the stinging sensation behind his eyes and trying to swallow the lump that was threatening to choke him. “I'm okay.”

An awkward silence hung in the air, even Pete, who hadn't the slightest clue what was happening, realised that now was a good time to remain silent. Overcoming his curiosity over the purpose of the glowing ball, Pete rose to his feet and walked to the now visibly trembling Dr Benzedrine.

“What can I do to help?” he asked giving the man's shoulders a gentle squeeze.
“Er… yeah… I…” Benzedrine paused trying to control his breathing and racing thoughts. “There's a machine in the corner of the room, Donnie knows how to use it, but he'll need to recalibrate it first, it's ah… a little more than… it's a two man job.”
“What about you? What will you do?” Pete rested his hand on Benzedrine's arm.
“Me?” Benzedrine glanced back towards Patrick, still unconscious and hooked to a ventilator. “I need to get more ingredients for the antidote. I don't think I have enough.”
“Will that take long?” Pete asked with concern.
“Oh, no,” Benzedrine shook his head raising a faint smile from Pete as he noticed the doctor was no longer trembling and seemed more able to concentrate. “We have it in stock, I just need to get more. Pete…” Benzedrine paused. “He'll be okay, I'll make sure of it. I won't let anything happen to him.”
“Thank you,” Pete's smile broadened and he patted Benzedrine's arm reassuringly. “I'll help Donnie.”

Watching as his son left the room, The Guv'nor joined the pair at the machine in the corner of the room.

“Is he sure about this?” The Guv'nor asked with a deep frown.
“Sure enough to be utterly crushed. I've never seen him so unhappy. I've never seen anyone so unhappy!” Donnie replied shaking his head, distraught at the memory.
“I was so wrong to deal with it the way I did. I thought keeping them from hurting each other physically they would work things out eventually. I just made things worse.”
“What's that black thing?” Pete finally asked the question he had wanted to ask since he saw it.
“That's how much he hates me,” Benzedrine replied.

All three men turned to face the newly returned Benzedrine, his arms full of jars and bottles. Suddenly feeling self conscious and realising that they could see that his eyes were red and slightly puffy, Benzedrine turned to the table near the wall and placed the bottles down on a clear area.

“What do you mean? How much he hates you?”
“Pete,” Donnie warned. “Leave it. I'll explain as we measure it.”

Pete frowned as Donnie pulled him to the back of the room. He hated feeling like that they were walking on eggshells round Benzedrine. He wanted to help and pretending not to notice couldn't do it. If he was anything like Patrick, he knew exactly what to do.

“Look… Silas,” Pete began, joining him at the table. “I can't pretend that I know how it feels to see so graphically how much someone hated you, but I know how much that same person loves you now and if he could make a ball to show that, it'd be way bigger than that! Okay, so he screwed up. He's like me. I make the worst mistakes, I overreact, I get into situations that I can't handle and I usually come out worse, physically, emotionally or both. And maybe this is one of those times for him, but he loves you more than he could possible show you. Don't dwell on this. It's not even real any more.”

Benzedrine's throat tightened at the words. Nodding briefly, he took a sharp intake of breath before throwing his arms around Pete and pulling him into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” Benzedrine's voice was muffled as he spoke with his face buried in Pete's shoulder.

Almost immediately, an alarm sounded next to the bed. Pulling back, Benzedrine's eyes widened in shock.

“No! This shouldn't be happening!”
“What? What's happening?” Pete's tone mirrored Benzedrine's.
“Silas, start mixing the antidote. Donnie, calibrate and measure size, weight and density, I want a Concentration reading in the next two minutes,” The Guv'nor barked orders.

Filling a large syringe with a clear liquid, The Guv'nor started the injection into Patrick's neck, made all the more difficult as the singer began to convulse. The network of purple strangling his veins now reached down his chest and back and up his neck as far as his chin. The injection arrested the spread of the purple threads upwards, shutting off the alarm as he slowly settled once more.

“That's the last injection I can give him, we need the antidote, quickly! If they reach his brain, that's it, we can't stop it.” The Guv'nor alerted them, grimly.