Two Idiots and a Cape

Chapter 32: Wakey Wakey, Eggs And- Well, You Know The Rest

Mike jerked in his seat, back and chest aching in equal measure. He'd snuck out of his room to see Ed, truthfully a little proud of the feat, and had been sitting in the uncomfortable bedside chair for about two hours now. It was late, well past visiting hours, which meant he and Edward were alone, nothing but the beeping of the heart monitor and Edward's steady breathing filling the silence. They'd been in the hospital for nine days, and Mike was at a frustrating in-between of being sore and achy and weak while also full of restless energy. He was driving the nursing staff up the wall, and Carla had already threatened him physically twice, but he couldn't help it. It felt like he was getting better and Edward wasn't, and that was beyond unfair. Pam, bless her, had already called Edward's family and filled them in. She didn't tell them everything, obviously, just that Ed had gotten caught up in a villain attack and that while he'd be ok, they should probably come and see him. Mr. Maes had promised to be there as soon as possible, and Micheal sort of dreaded their arrival. How could he possibly face these kind people whose son he'd nearly gotten killed? After all, this was all his fault. Lindsey– or Visne– or whoever you wanted to call her– had been after him. No matter what she might have said, at the end of the day, she was out for Micheal's blood, and Ed had just gotten caught in the crossfire. There was a knock at the door, and he flinched, turning his head to see Edward's doctor, Dr. Robert Wilson, standing with his arms crossed.

"I'm not leaving," Mike said, but Dr. Wilson shook his head.

"Oh, I figured, I'm not here for you. I'm here to check on him. Nurse Bree will handle you herself, I imagine." Mike was a little surprised, but he wasn't going to argue if the doctor wasn't going to throw him out. Dr. Wilson checked the monitors and IV, eyes glancing over the bandages with a pleased hum.

"He's doing well." He said. Micheal snorted, his thumb rubbing over Edward's hand.

"Yeah, looks like it." Dr. Wilson smiled, of all things, and nodded.

"Yeah, I know, it doesn't look like it to you, but he is. A few days ago, he was on a ventilator, then an oxygen mask, and now he has a nasal cannula. And his bruises are healing nicely as well. It's all about time and rest. We think he'll wake soon, judging by his increased brain activity." Mike knew all these things, but it was nice to hear again.

"You're right. Thanks. So... I can stay?" Dr. Wilson smirked.

"Is there anything I could do to stop you?" That made Mike smile.

"Nope."

"Then I won't waste my time. Good night, Mr. Karlstin."

"Good night." The doctor left. Mike sighed, turning back to Ed, whose eyelashes twitched. Mike leaned forward, yellow eyes wide.

"Ed? Hey, c'mon, open your eyes." Edward's hand jerked a little in his own, lips parting and mumbling something, but he didn't wake up. Mike grinned, however, because whatever Ed had said had sounded something like 'hotdog,' and it was the best thing he'd heard in a while.

"Hotdog." Carla deadpanned. Mike nodded excitedly.

"Yes!"

"...And... What is that supposed to mean, exactly?" Truthfully, Carla was beaming on the inside, but she had a reputation to uphold, so she fought to keep the grinning to a minimum as Mike flapped his hands animatedly, sitting in his bed with breakfast set out on a tray in front of him. It was largely ignored, not that she could blame him. It was supposed to be oatmeal, milk, and a banana, but the oatmeal looked like chewed-up cauliflower, and the banana looked too ripe. She'd have to get him some real food if she had any hope of him eating.

"He threw a hotdog at Lindsey as a distraction– Don't ask– and last night he said hotdog! He really is waking up!" She nearly snorted orange juice out of her nose at the thought of Lindsey getting a hotdog to the face. Nice one, Ed. She swallowed painfully and smirked, glancing at her friend.