Offside

“You shouldn't do that,” I told her.

“Well, sometimes shit just comes out of my mouth,” she told me, “and I don't control it.”

I chuckled a little.

“So what did you say?” I asked again.

“The first time?”

“Sure.”

“Well, it was about three days afterwards,” she said. “I was in the hospital the first night—just for observation—but I had been coming back every day to sit with you in the ICU. You had already been through…um…three surgeries, I think. They were still keeping you in the coma on purpose then, and I read somewhere that people in a coma might still be able to hear you if you talked to them. So…I talked to you.”

“What did you say?”

“Um…” She blushed again. “I told you I was here and that I was thinking about you. I think I thanked you for saving my life about four hundred times, kind of alternating that with being pissed off that you did it because you were hurt so bad. I told you I needed you…and that I loved you.”

She said the last part very quietly.

“I love you, too,” I told her.

She smiled and bit her lip.

“I know.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, he had been in there, mostly looking over your chart and whatever between his rounds,” she continued. “He told me there was no point in talking to you—that the whole idea you might be able to hear me was ridiculous, and I should just go home.”

Yeah, that sounded like him.

“I told him I'd leave when you left, and he apparently didn't like that idea. He started telling me that if it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't be here in the first place, and maybe you would wake up sooner if I wasn't there.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her fingers played with mine.

“I kept it together that time and just told him I was sorry you were hurt but that I wasn't going anywhere until I could thank you properly. He told me I should be apologizing to you instead and walked out of the room.”

“That was the first time?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed, “the second was a lot worse.”

“Go on.”

She sighed again.

“He was talking to the doctor…um…Winchester?”

I nodded.

“They were talking about your injuries and about your back, especially. That's when Doctor Winchester told your dad you, um…might not walk again. Your dad was really, really upset about that and called for a second opinion. When the other doctor said it was too early to tell, but that you'd definitely be going through a lot of rehab, your Dad kind of blew a gasket.”

That surprised me. Dad never made mistakes like that—getting upset in front of other people and showing his temper. He was always cool in public.

“He yelled at the doctors for a bit. Then when they left, he turned on me.” She gripped my hand a little tighter. “You should have come out of the coma by then. They weren't keeping you sedated anymore, and you should have woken back up, but you hadn't. When he started blaming me again, I snapped.”

She went quiet for a minute. I could feel her dread in the pit of my stomach.

“What did you say?” I finally asked her.