Page 120 of Shrapnel

Noah wasn’t familiar with the weighted pain of failure. His life had been a series of maneuvers by people older than him—first Kurt then Luther. The first decision he made for himself had been to murder his uncle and look where that got him.

Murdering Luther had been easy. He deserved it. Taking up the mantle of White Sand Mesa had been easy because he had to. To save Kurt and Willow. To try and collect the fading remnants of his family.

Then the rest wasfine.

He was fine.

Every time that word left his mouth, he knew it was a lie—not even a very good one. Is it still a lie if everyone knows it isn’t true?

Every not-lie had led him here. To laying on his bedroom floor waiting for the inevitable burst of pain. Of retribution from the Mesas. He hoped it didn’t hurt. Maybe that was selfish, but Noah had always been an ungrateful brat.

The door banged. Noah peeked open an eye and snorted. No. Doors couldn’t just rattle in their frames. Someone was banging on the door.

It swung open a moment later. Because everyone in life justknewhow to pick locks.

“Jesus, Noah.” Elijah was there, his hands pulling at Noah. He felt boneless, flopping in his grip.

“Don’t you knock?” he slurred.

“I did,” Elijah huffed, picking Noah up and dragging him over to the bed. He sat him on the mattress. Noah’s spine wasn’t interested in holding himself up though and he crumpled.

“Usually when people don’t answer that’s a sign they want to be left alone.” He dragged out the last syllable, giggling when it refused to leave his lips.

“You don’t get that luxury,” Elijah informed him before disappearing and returning with a cup. “Drink this.”

“Blech water,” Noah complained. Elijah didn’t care, insistently holding it to his lips until Noah drank most of it. “Sloshy belly,” he whined, curling up on his pillow and nuzzling his face into the dirty sheets. Harvey usually reminded him to wash them.

He was so pathetic.

Noah’s consciousness faded in and out. He was pretty sure Elijah was doing stuff, mature stuff. But Noah was enjoying the sparks bursting behind his eyelids. Loving the way they spiraled and twisted in a laser light show.

He must have fallen asleep because he woke up. The room was dim, only the lamp in the corner giving life to the darkness. His throat ached and when he tried to sit up he felt like someone took a baseball bat to his head.

“Oh god,” he groaned, falling back to the bed.

He sensed Elijah’s presence before he spoke. “Would it be rude to say you deserved that?”

“Yes,” Noah mumbled, popping open one eye to look at Elijah. He was standing over him, arms crossed with so much loving judgment in his eyes it made Noah sick. Or maybe that was the hangover.

“Will painkillers and Gatorade make it better?”

Noah made grabby hands and Elijah gave him the items, helping him sit up so he could take the meds without aspirating. He wasn’t sure they would be as effective in his lungs.

The drink was cool. It iced his throat as it slid into his belly, sloshing around with the remnants of alcohol and bile. Noah couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Eating had seemed so exhausting.

Elijah sat beside him, pulling a knee up so he could face him on the bed.

“Talk to me.”

“No.”

“Noah,” he sighed.Lovingly.

Noah loved this man, but his disappointed dad's voice was starting to grate on him. He knew he had no right to be annoyed. Elijah was everything to him. Was everything he didn’t deserve. Even after all his nonsense Elijah was here, babying him. Taking care of him. Without waking him Elijah had managed to change his clothes and clean up the bedroom. But he just…couldn’t. He didn’t have the energy to say he was fine.

Elijah pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “You detained Jackson?”

Noah contemplated faking a seizure.