devon watched him stumble over himself in a disgusted type of amusement. “alright, easy string bean, wouldn’t want ya to hurt yourself.” devon knew he could just give the guy a list, get him off his own back, but he decided to have some fun with it. “i sold a lot of shit on prom night. and i could tell ya, but ya know, that’s a violation of seller-client confidentiality. i’d be breaking trust. but out of the kindness of my heart, because your bitch is in the hospital, i’ll make you a deal. you give me somethin’ i’ve been wantin’ for awhile and i’ll give you a very detailed list of who bought what.”
because your bitch is in the hospital––
peyton blinks like devon’s words are a slap to the face. he told himself he wouldn’t engage, wouldn’t let the other guy’s antics get him flustered. but his hands stop their faint shaking and curl into fists by his side. gentle golden eyes spark; anger settles there. “ i’m sorry, ” he clips, nearly interrupting devon as he finishes his proposal. “ keiran died. cassandra’s comatose. and you’re telling me seller-client confidentiality is an issue here ? ” for the first time, he meets devon’s eye without looking away. “ dude. with all due respect –– which apparently shouldn’t amount to very much –– the committee formally requests a list of names. there’s no bartering. there’s no deal to be made here. ” peyton squares up his shoulders and narrows his eyes. who does this guy think he is ? “ how about... this. you divulge the names. and the guard won’t find out about your attempted obstruction of a murder investigation. ”
“ hey, pey. “ monty called softly as he stepped into the room, a hot cup of tea in hand and guilt spread across his face. it was a common expression around the clinic, so he tried to give the other a smile. they were both too exhausted for much more.
“ did they, uh… did they make any progress ? “ he wanted to say so much more. i’m sorry. i’m sorry you had to take me home. i’m sorry i was too drunk to be there for me when you needed me. i’m so fucking sorry.
peyton’s been... trying to breathe. he just sits in the chair beside cassandra’s bed and inhales. exhales. watches. like if he so much as blinks something terrible will happen and he’ll miss it.
forty five minutes. they’d been apart just forty five minutes. she was–– she was supposed to meet up after; he was supposed to pour salt and vinegar chips into a bowl and pop some toll house dough in the oven and pray not to burn it, and–– and––
peyton's hands tangle and untangle, wrists circling restlessly above his lap. his fingertips still tremble and his chest heaves, but in this room, he’ll keep on sitting, because his father isn’t here to press his palms against peyton’s ears and shield him from his own panic. he bites his lip and saws and waits and waits and waits for cassandra to wake up. because she–– shit, she has to.
HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE.
monty’s voice permeates through cottoned ears. it’s muffled, like peyton’s trapped underwater, and all he can hear is his own racing heartbeat as he uselessly pounds against the glass.
“ u-uh–– ” a sharp inhale. he sits up more, blinks away the ever-present tears stinging at his waterline. monty’s figure is blurred and god, peyton doesn’t know how much longer he can hold his shit together.
peyton’s hands ball to fists.
“ n-no, ” the word’s barely audible. barely a breath. every time he blinks, he sees b-blood and tire tracks and that hand––
“ what if–– ” he can’t even SAY it.
peyton’s collarbones jut in and he presses shaky fingertips against his elbows. digs. barely stifles a sob. the ceiling lights blur.
devon crosses his arms and pushes his tongue against his cheek. he’s not a genius, not even close, but he has a feeling he knows where this is going. “yeah, what about it? wanna know my whereabouts, mister police officer?” he tilts his head. “did they send you or did you volunteer for this one? i was expecting visser, honestly.”
peyton’s heart leaps into his throat. devon’s already on the defensive –– and he hadn’t intended his question to come off anywhere close to that way. “ no, i–– ” he sighs. even the angle he intended isn’t exactly glamorous. “ i was just... i’m–– ” peyton shakes his head and looks away for a moment. collects himself. “ i’m just trying to rule things out. drunk drivers, or–– or influenced ones. ” it’s stupid. this is stupid. he’s on the comittee; he’s not on the guard. but grizz has been busy mending other aspects of this town, and peyton feels like... he has no choice but to do this. better him than someone in a letterman jacket. someone who can easily be scapegoated into an enemy.
“ did you sell to anyone ? on prom night ? ” he meets devon’s gaze, palms spread by his sides. “ no accusations. no bullshit. i just... we’re trying to piece all this freaky stuff together. ”
devon had just arrived back at his place and hadn’t realized there was someone waiting for him until he happened to look up. he pulled a headphone out of his ear. “ya lost or do ya need something.”
devon’s a surprisingly tricky person to track down. peyton’s spent the greater half of this afternoon searching for the guy, making sure to help out others in his travels. once he finally locates him, an uneasy squirm crops up in his stomach. he’s always kept his distance, only really approaching the other boy to follow up on late class dues each year.
“ not lost, ” he answers curtly, but not with malice. he’s got to play this right, play this polite. it’s the only way he’ll get any answers out of west ham’s resident dealer.
“ i actually... wanted to talk to you. about. ” peyton clears his throat. his fingertips buzz and he wills that impending worry away. “ about prom. ”
the first thing tess had done when she arrived at the hospital was look for peyton. she didn’t have the time to wait for monty to show up. all she could think about was that peyton was alone. even if he was with people, if it wasn’t her or her brother, he wasn’t really.
she ran ahead of grizz but with one look into the room she spun around, stopping him before the door. she couldn’t prepare peyton, couldn’t protect him, but she could help grizz. she told him it looked really bad and that he needed to stay calm and breathe. she walked him in and realized peyton hadn’t even been in there. she waited until grizz was ready to go see keiran, making sure he was okay to do that on his own, and then went looking for peyton. she found him outside at the exit closest to cassandra’s room.
his phone was only inches from his face at this point and she had to literally pull the phone out of his hands to get his attention. she clicked it into lock and put it into her pocket before pulling him into a tight hug. she was afraid to look at his face because she knew it would break her heart. what could she say? she wasn’t going to tell him it was all going to be okay, that cassandra would be okay, because she didn’t want to tell him something that ended up not being true so she said what she knew was. “i’m here. monty’s coming. we’ve got you, whatever you need, okay?”
a few people didn’t confirm receipt. which means they don’t know and peyton’s responsibility as a committee member is to keep this town informed, so he dials one of three numbers –– miles vernon’s –– and wills the guy to just, please, for the love of god, pick up. the dial tone rings and rings and rings. peytons stands beneath fluorescent rows of lighting and tries to keep still. his fingertips patter against his thigh.
he’s still dressed in his prom attire, bow tie half undone : he feels like he’s suffocating, but his trembling fingers can’t get the stupid thing untied, so it lingers around his neck in a tangled half-knotted mess. he scrubbed his hands clean but his gold vest is streaked with red.
his lips form an ever-rolling mantra of pickuppickuppickuppickup.
the idiot doesn’t. peyton hangs up. dials again.
he has to pick up. he has to confirm receipt; he has to let peyton know he knows, because–– because––
voicemail.
fuck you, leave a message––
peyton’s throat constricts. he opens his mouth to run through the script again. he gets as far as, hi, this is p-peyton pellegrino and something ha–– before the phone’s not in his palm and he half thinks he’s dropped it again.
but then arms swing around him, tight. and peyton can’t tell if the room’s shaking because he’s shaking, or connecticut suddenly gets earthquakes. his fingertips press against tess’s sweatshirt and he wrenches his eyes shut. fights impossibly hard not to cry.
peyton tries to anchor himself to her. her voice. her breathing. tess’s heart beats against his chest and he intakes paced breaths, in out, in out, inout, inout, and tries to match. it’s not working, but he’s trying, a-and––
“ tess, ” he finally gasps, and holds tighter. a mix between a whimper and a cry escapes his chest before it’s crushed in his throat.
“ i-i-i–– ”
hi this is peyton. peyton pellegrino. something happened somethinghaphaphaphap.
peyton clenches and unclenches his jaw, trying to steady his breathing by just not breathing at all.
something happened to keiran and cassandra. cassandra. CASSANDRA. CASSCASSCASSCASSCASSCASSCASSCASSCASS
his nostrils flare and CASSCASSCASSCASSCASSCASS and he tries to CASSCASSCASSCASSCASS breathe but nothing’s CASSCASSCASSCASSCASSCASSCASS––
a sob.
he holds tighter.
hannah’s screams still rattle his bones and keiran’s DEAD and cassandra’s COMATOSE and he’s drowning, he’s SINKING, he’s trying to hold on and god, it’s his fault, it’shisfaultit’sallhisfault. it’shisfaultit’shisit’shisfuckit’shisfaultfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfu––
“ s-s-s... sorry, ” he wheezes. sorrysorrysorrysorry. he’s sorry. it’s his fault.
hannah couldn’t breathe. who the fuck decided to take him from her? who the fuck let them? why would this happen? she had no one else in the world who understood her like her twin, no one else who had been through what she had, no one else who could even hold a candle to all things he did for her.
she was no one without him. no one else mattered. no one else could compare.
she’s blinded by rage. grief. is there a difference?
she smacks his hand off her and shakes her head like a lunatic. “so?! what happened?” it doesn’t make sense. nothing makes sense. “a hit- a hit and run. you think it was a hit and run?” she pauses, chest heaving. “who found him? why didn’t they do something?”
it was a selfish, stupid thing to say: ‘i’m sorry.’ it’s not about you. it’s not about anyone but her and him, these poor twins who were born together and supposed to stay together. what was she meant to do without him?
her breaths shuddered and suddenly someone was sobbing—no, that was her. “do something!” she shouted, begged, prayed to the heavens. he couldn’t leave her. that wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
who found him ?
BREATHE.
why didn’t they do something ?
peyton feels his skies descending. hospital air becomes smog and it’s all he can do not to choke on nothing. his chest stutters and his hands wring and wring and wring.
“ i–– ”
BREATHE.
he can’t say it. how can he say it ?
why didn’t he
DO
SOMETHING ?
he didn’t know, he didn’t know, ohgodhedidn’tknow. she won’t believe him if he says it. how could she ? cassandra was barely breathing and his hands were shaking and he thought– hethoughthethoughthethoughtheth––
he thought KEIRAN was, TOO.
“ there w- there was no car at the scene, ” he supplies, because it’s the only thing his lips can form. “ w-we’ll find who did it, but it’s–– it could’ve been–– an accident. ”
BREATHE. BREATHEBREBREBREBREBREBRE––
cassandra was barely breathing and his hands were SHAKING––
“ i found them. ” his hands go numb and the sensation spirals up his arms. his neck stiffens and his chest ACHES and he stutters, stutters, stutters through each breath.
“ it was me. cassandra wasn’t–– she wasn’t–– ”
she wasn’t answering her phone. shewasn’tansweringherphone and peyton was getting nervous and he should have, should have, should have known something was WRONG, but he took his own advice and calmed down because prom was a lot, and cassandra did a lot, and she said she’d TEXT HIM when she was––
but she DIDN’T.
and he LONGBOARDED.
and those FINGERS.
“ she wasn’t answering and i went–– i thought... maybe cleanup, but... ” peyton sucks in air. like water. in his lungs. hannah doesn’t want to hear this. she doesn’t want to hear, and he can’t say, and his body can’t feel and-and-and :
“ i didn’t know, i... ” BREATHE. keiran was breathing. WAS he breathing ?
“ we d-did what we... what we could, we... we b-brought them here, i–– ” it wraps around his throat. the ghost hand. the fingers. they wrap and crush and wrap and crush and peyton doesn’t know what to say because he can’t say or move or think or breathe––
peyton’s eyes well with tears. he swallows and gulps and swallows again but nothing helps and he’s in too deep, and oh god, keiran’s dead and it’s because of HIM.
“ w-we tried, ” he squeaks. his hands quake. the hospital lights SWIM. “ a-and i’m so sorry. ”
peyton covers his face because he can’t do anything else. he digs the base of his palms against his eyes and wills it all to stop.
allie looked up at peyton’s voice, but only for a second. she has to find that little bottle or evertyhing—everything—is screwed. she hadn’t realized peyton had even left, but she shakes her head when she notices the water he’s holding.
“i don’t want one,” she says, moving to her phone so she can ask robbie to go look for the meds at their house.
scraping her hands through her hair, she pushes out a breath and goes back to cass’s purse, just in case. please let me have missed a pocket. peyton asks what she’s looking for and allie gives him a look. “her meds. she needs them even if she’s-” it’s hard to get the word out. but she has to. “in a coma.”
she shrugs helplessly, exasperated at his questions. she has too much on her mind right now to make him feel better about this whole thing. everyone feels like shit. their parents aren’t around anymore. allie has to take care of her sister.
“i guess, if you know where she would’ve put them.” she finally looks up and sees the expression on his face, the shock. “her heart condition… she didn’t tell you?”
peyton debates pressing the issue–– allie’s been here for hours; she needs to keep hydrated. but he figures... it’s not his place. not really. a-and–– and he can’t handle another outburst. he’s just come off checking on hannah, and... he doesn’t have access to his meds right now. he has to be careful; he’s already teetering on the brink.
peyton clasps his hands in his lap and presses his thumbs and index fingers together. it’s a grounding technique his dad taught him, in grade school, when the panic attacks started getting worse. focus on your fingers touching; make it a competition. your thumbs want to beat each other, and so do your pointer fingers. yeah, just like that. just focus on the game.
it’s his last resort. and it half-works. it doesn’t clear away his racing mind, speeding heart, or shaking hands, but... it’s something. it allows peyton to focus outward and offer the support allie needs.
but then–– her heart condition.
“ heart condition ? ” there’s no time to spin about it. but the shock blows his eyes wide. his fingers stop pressing. jesusfuckingchrist. they are so in over their heads.
“ i-i–– ” he shakes his head, focuses on the matter at hand. allie has enough to handle without him going into a panic right now.
“ no. she never told me. is it–– serious ? ” he tries to cut the question off but it comes out anyway. he tries to cover it up by posing a more task-based one, as if it’ll lighten the reality of their current situation. cassandra’s situation.
“ would she have brought them with her to prom ? maybe they’re–– maybe they’re at home ? or, or... in another bag ? ” and then an idea claps him across the back of the head. peyton’s eyes widen a bit more. “ vicky, ” he blurts, without context.
“ ––her parents’ pharmacy. ” his spoken words fragment but his mind spins forward like crazy. “ wh-what’s she on ? do you know ? ”
he needs sleep. he needs his own pills. but this is so much more damn important. he could cross town. he could track down those meds. he could–– he will. because––
he should have been there SOONER.
peyton will do whatever he has to. whatever she needs.
cass was okay. thank god cassandra was okay. of all the ways and times and places over the years she’d thought she might lose her sister, she always had her parents there. someone else new what to do. there were doctors and nurses and people who hadn’t just skimmed a goddamn textbook till they found “coma”.
she tried to remind herself it wasn’t anybody’s fault. well, someone’s, but not someone here. she can’t get mad at them if she needs their help. and she needs their help.
“where are they?” she murmurs to herself miserably, dumping out the contents of cassandra’s purse. no meds. no stupid meds.
she wasn’t going to die. she couldn’t die. allie needed her. everyone needed her. “cass, where did you put them?”
peyton’s hands don’t feel like his own. after carrying cassandra and keiran into this clinic, they have yet to stop friggin’ shaking. the news bearing’s over. everyone’s informed. cassandra’s stabilized, keiran is... peyton swallows and shuts his eyes mid-step. he feels like he’s going to be sick.
the hall threatens to swallow him whole but he counts each step aloud, rasped whispers, just enough to keep himself present and grounded a-and... it’s not working but he pretends it does. pretends like his eyes aren’t stinging and his hands aren’t floating and his arms aren’t tingling, and ohfuckinghellohjesuschristhecannotpanichere.
allie. right. he snatches two water bottles from the opened lobby cooler and continues on his way, the coolness presses against his palms. his chest still heaves but it’s something, it’s something, as he takes a breath and steps into the room where cassandra lies.
“ allie, hey, i brought–– ” he raises one of the poland spring bottles but stops mid-sentence. his eyes flit to the monitors at cass’s bedside and he quickly corrects his gaze to the floor.
breathebreathebreathebreathe in out in out inoutinoutholyshit in out.
peyton grips the bottles tighter and presses his lips together. he can’t collapse into this. not here. not now. the steady beep of hospital machines soundtracks a long breath in. he lets it whoosh out from his lips. it’s then he notices allie’s hands rummaging through something.
the purse.
peyton places the water bottles aside and kneels down beside her, trying his best to bury the panic and exude ease.
“ hey, are you l-looking for something ? ” breathe. peyton’s hand hovers an inch or two from the younger pressman’s shoulder–– he doesn’t want to startle her. but he wants her to know he’s here.
hannah had just made it home on duck’s arm, showered for over an hour, and was ready to crash when peyton called her. she didn’t even know she had his number. when was the last time they even talked?
it crossed her mind that maybe she wouldn’t answer.
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but she did. “peyton?” her voice was all confusion. his wasn’t much better. “why do you need me to come to the clinic?” she was starting to get nervous. was it blue? keiran? what happened? questions raced through her mind, but she was already pulling her shoes on and heading out to their dad’s car.
she didn’t remember when exactly she hung up on him. nothing he said would’ve prepared her anyway, so it didn’t really matter.
everyone was looking at her when she walked ran in. like something was wrong with her. but it wasn’t her. she was starting to realize, ever so slowly, that something might have happened to her brother.
“what’s going on?” she asked the nearest person, voice low and dangerous. the right answer was nothing. everything’s fine. the wrong answer… was not a smart move.
and then she saw him. just his shoes. she was at his side, hand on his leg, his arm, his shoulder. and she thought her knees might buckle when she saw his face- their face covered in blood and ripped apart and lifeless. her hands balled into fists, gripping his clothing tight. “kee-” she couldn’t breathe. she couldn’t move. she couldn’t think right. how did this happen? this wasn’t right. he was okay. he had to be okay. that was her brother.
her brother.
that wasn’t her brother anymore.
she stood over him until her hair was dry, her sobs had turned to dry heaving in horror. how can somebody… just… not be there anymore? “what the fuck happened?!” she yelled at the room. “who did this? why didn’t somebody do something?!”
death calls weren’t in his job description. but peyton finds himself stood in the lobby of the clinic, dialing his way down a list of new ham’s residents : family first. after his phone call with hannah, he manages to get through to allie. grizz. darby. will. he sends out a mass text to those not immediately connected, because... after a while ? he just can’t say those words any more.
[ MASTER TEXT ] hit and run outside prom venue. cassandra and keiran are in icu. critical condition.
that’s before anyone’s declared the latter dead. and then that news reaches him, and peyton... peyton can’t type any more. his phone clatters to the floor and he struggles to pick it up with trembling fingertips. cassandra’s... stable. comatose. but keiran ? keiran apparently died on impact.
hannah whirls by and more people sift in. low-hanging heads. nervous glances. nobody knows what to do, and most are looking to him. he found them.
but that doesn’t mean he’s any more prepared for this.
peyton swallows the panic in his throat and fumbles his phone to his pocket. it almost makes it, before it clacks against the floor again and skids three feet down the way. he can’t ––
so he leaves it. turns on his heels and speed walks down the hall, to where cassandra’s on life support and keiran––
his breathing labors but peyton screws his eyes shut. wills it down. this is not the time. this is not the place. he has to stay grounded, because there is no other choice.
hannah screams. her brother’s dead on that table. and if peyton had just gotten there a little sooner––
“ hannah–– ” he approaches, against his better judgment. he can’t do this right now. he can barely keep himself on two feet. but somebody has to.
“ n-nobody was there. except for them. ” peyton takes in a shaky breath. he rests a hand against her shoulder, and kicks himself for it, as if a stupid gesture’s going to mean shit right now.
“ i-it... we think it was a hit and run. ” someone’s got a shoe on his throat. peyton strains to speak, pulse thudthudthudthudthudTHUDDING in his veins.
“ i’m so–– ” his vision tunnels. peyton blinks and fights it. “ i’m so sorry. ”
keiran had gone a bit overboard with the drinking, even he could admit that, but he made a few attempts to sober up before it was all over. he knew he had a meeting with a certain blonde broad after the fact, and he didn’t necessarily want to show up blubbering drunk. so, downing a second bottle of water and nibbling on a cracker, keiran pulled out his phone, making sure the rattling pill bottle was still in his coat pocket.
new message to: cassandra: hey, found some, meet me by the street after everyone’s gone.
with that, keiran finished off the bottle and made his way through the dwindling crowd, waiting for the last few stragglers to make their way home so he could get this over with. he promised blue he’d be home within the hour, so his deadline was coming up short.
