[Prior's awake, for days. He's not always at Byerly's bedside, there are other places he has to visit, and other people wanting to stop by and see the man who's out like there's an apple wedged in his throat, too. There is no apple, of course. Even fairytale logic's too simple for this. Doctors are among the visitors, and every vital statistic and possible treatment's been checked and tried and given up on. Nothing they can do. He's there and not, lips parted, drifting somewhere out of reach.
Prior lays down beside him, sometimes. Head on his chest, a hollow facsimile of other nights that have lasted through to morning, just warmth and conversation. He catches fragments of sleep here, mind dipping into something dark, distant and unreachable.
The rest of the time he paces. The rug by the window has a track marked into it as everything in Prior tells him to keep moving except his heart, which tells him he can't leave.
Eventually, nearly crazy with fear and frustration, he chases out the last well meaning well wisher and tells Miles to keep the door closed and everyone out 'til morning at least. No exceptions.
The sheets feel stiff and too cool when Prior lays down on them, curling in against Byerly's back, close enough that his breath brushes the nape of his neck as he settles.]
I'm sorry. [He's said it to a silent room so many times and it still comes out a little choked.] I'm sorry, baby. You would have killed me if I hadn't called. And maybe you will for this, too, but I can't just leave you in there.
[It takes a long time to fall asleep, listening to his own rough breaths overlaying Byerly's slow, deeper ones.
And then a door opens into darkness. An ocean, or - something. There's a light behind Prior, blinding, until he steps forward and it slams in his wake. He's standing in dark water up to his ankles, with a vague feeling that it should be closer to his chin. In a moment his eyes might adjust enough to be better aware of his surroundings, but for now-]
Huh. Well, if I'd known I would have dressed for the beach.
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Prior lays down beside him, sometimes. Head on his chest, a hollow facsimile of other nights that have lasted through to morning, just warmth and conversation. He catches fragments of sleep here, mind dipping into something dark, distant and unreachable.
The rest of the time he paces. The rug by the window has a track marked into it as everything in Prior tells him to keep moving except his heart, which tells him he can't leave.
Eventually, nearly crazy with fear and frustration, he chases out the last well meaning well wisher and tells Miles to keep the door closed and everyone out 'til morning at least. No exceptions.
The sheets feel stiff and too cool when Prior lays down on them, curling in against Byerly's back, close enough that his breath brushes the nape of his neck as he settles.]
I'm sorry. [He's said it to a silent room so many times and it still comes out a little choked.] I'm sorry, baby. You would have killed me if I hadn't called. And maybe you will for this, too, but I can't just leave you in there.
[It takes a long time to fall asleep, listening to his own rough breaths overlaying Byerly's slow, deeper ones.
And then a door opens into darkness. An ocean, or - something. There's a light behind Prior, blinding, until he steps forward and it slams in his wake. He's standing in dark water up to his ankles, with a vague feeling that it should be closer to his chin. In a moment his eyes might adjust enough to be better aware of his surroundings, but for now-]
Huh. Well, if I'd known I would have dressed for the beach.