Vincent fell asleep one the way home.
Despite everyone’s best intentions, things seemed to be worse at home.
The first thing Cid did was pick up the medicine at the pharmacy and apologize for sticking Shera with watching Vincent so often. The first thing Shera did was throw away all of Cid’s cigarettes and dump the beer down the sink, having decided everyone was going to follow the diet the doctors had put Vincent on. The first thing Vincent did, after a very long nap and help putting his arm back on, was vomit, blame himself, and then go back to sleep.
That—plus refusing pain pills and, half the time it was offered, food—was all Vincent did for the next week. The doctors wanted him on antibiotics for an extra week, thanks to the notes on how his arm has been surprisingly vulnerable. He was on two different antibiotics, both of which had him vomiting nearly the entire time he was awake. Cid was wondering what the point of giving them to him was when he didn’t seem to keep them down long enough to work.
Vincent stayed in bed and did little more than brood and sleep; Cid was sure he did both most of the time.
He wasn’t happy with the pills. He wasn’t happy with throwing up. He never said anything, but Shera insisted she and Cid take turns taking care of him thanks to the looks he was shooting both of them.
Cid could deal with the looks, as well as the silence, and being spit up on, but once Vincent called him Hojo in his sleep, Cid moved to the couch. Shera had no problem with it, but insisted Cid wear more than just underwear. Vincent stopped talking.
Shera and Cid quietly argued over who had it worse and whom he needed more; Vincent silently listened to them and worried about the fact that the doctors were working him off Valium.
He just wanted the pills to stop. He just wanted to stop throwing up. He just wanted to stop ruining things for everyone.
He just wanted Cid.
He just wanted to be normal, and constantly wondered why he couldn’t be.