Go Rest High On That Mountain Title: Go Rest High On That Mountain
Authors: sevs_lil_secret and unbroken_halo
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company belong to JK Rowling.
Pairing: Damon/Grant and Marion/John
Rating: R
Summary: Damon receives some shocking news and it turns his whole world upside down.
Warnings:TISSUE WARNING Character death, descriptions of medical conditions
AN:Set Late Summer of 1991, the year before Severus meets the Wolffes.
Go Rest High On That Mountain
Damon paced up and down the hall outside the emergency room, waiting for the doctor, his mother, Grant or someone... anyone to come out and tell him what was going on. After a frantic call from his mother, he had raced to Wheeling. Receiving not one but two speeding tickets and finally a police escort he arrived, only to watch as the ambulance took off with his father from their home.
He couldn't understand it. Just this past Sunday they had had dinner with his parents and nothing seemed amiss. His father had been in good spirits as they talked and laughed while his mother and Grant bickered good-naturedly as they prepared dinner.
He looked up as the doors opened and shook his head, going back to pacing as a nurse wheeled a woman on a gurney passed him.
Grant looked at Marion as they both listened to the doctor that was treating John, the woman just stared blankly at the wall as she listened and Grant wondered if she was going to be all right. Hell, he wondered if he himself would be all right. How could this man, this man that had been the backbone and pillar of the Wolffe family, be lying in the other room with a machine breathing for him? It just didn't make sense.
Marion thanked the doctor and asked if she could go sit with her husband and Grant watched the door close behind her before he turned to go break the news to his own husband.
Walking into the waiting room and having his husband search his face for news was one of the harder things Grant had had to do over the course of their marriage, but telling him that his daddy was dying would probably be the hardest.
"Damon... we need to go talk somewhere quiet," Grant said gently as he laid his hand on the man's arm and looked at the other people in the waiting room.
Damon stared at his husband, shaking his head. "Just tell me." He said softly. "Tell me right now." He grabbed Grant's arms and shook him gently. "What's wrong with him?"
Grant nodded once and looked his husband in the eye. "I'm so sorry Damon, but it's lung cancer and it's inoperable."
A cold chill washed over Damon as the words Grant had said filtered through the white noise in his mind. "Cancer." He closed his eyes and shook his head.
"They're wrong." He said flatly. "Go back in there and tell them try again. Daddy doesn't smoke. He can't have lung cancer." He swallowed and shook Grant again. "Go tell them he doesn't smoke, Grant. It has to be something else." He trailed off, eyes still closed as he held onto his husband, fingers gripping Grant's arms tightly.
Carefully, Grant manoeuvred Damon to the nearest chair and sat him down gently. "Damon, baby, listen to me," he said softly as he let his hands rest on Damon's arms. "I read the test results myself... they aren't wrong."
Damon shook his head again as he allowed Grant to push him down into a chair. Opening his eyes, he looked up at his husband. "No, you read them wrong. Make them do some more tests." He looked frantically around the room then back at his husband. "Mama will tell them, Grant. Where is she? He doesn't smoke. It can't be that." He couldn't force himself to say it again.
"Damon, it's far enough along that it's showing up on x-ray. One lung is completely filled with the cancer. I know he doesn't smoke, his doctor seems to think it may be something he was exposed to during the War," Grant said as he watched his husband, one hand slipping to the inside pocket of his jacket which held his wand. He didn't know what the man was going to do. "Mother Wolffe is in with him now."
Damon groaned. "You are lying to me," he said softly, pinning his husband with a glare. "Don't lie to me, Grant. I'll find out for myself because I know it can't be true." He pushed Grant out of the way and stood, stomping towards the emergency room doors.
Grant watched Damon go, a tear slipping down his cheek as he sat there in the waiting room for a moment before getting up and finding the hospital chapel.
Damon shoved at the doors and stepped into the highly active ward, looking around for the perfectly coiffed blond hair piled atop his mother's head. There were people everywhere and she had to be around here somewhere. Wading through the crying children, vomiting women and bleeding men, Damon finally found her sitting beside a bed with a broken man on it.
The patient, connected to all sorts of machines Damon didn't recognized, only bore a passing resemblance to the man he had seen on Sunday. He watched the man's chest constrict and jump as the ventilator breathed for him. The beeping of the heart monitor surrounded him; combined with the buzzing in his ears, set his head to pounding with the knowledge that his husband hadn't been lying. "No."
He turned from the pair of them and looked out over the sea of people again whispering. "No."
Overhead, the PA system called for doctors and nurses. The sound reverberated through his body and he whirled back around staring at his parents again. "NO!"
John opened his eyes as Damon yelled and Marion jumped. Frustrated and in pain, he raised one hand up to his boy and motioned him to come closer. If only he'd managed to just slip off into the woods and die peacefully while hunting or tending some mundane farm chore, he thought that that might have been easier on his family. Anything had to be easier than seeing him like this.
Unable to speak for the damned tube down his throat, he looked at Marion and tried to smile reassuringly at her, he needed his family to be strong for each other.
Damon stared at his father for a moment, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, sir." He said softly. He stepped forward, stopping just behind his mother and placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mama."
John reached up for Damon to come to him, his lips moving around the ventilator tube, he needed to calm his boy.
Damon paled as he watched his father's lips move, the deep voice he'd come into himself when grown was silent and that frightened him more than he cared to admit. Carefully he stepped passed his mother, stopping at the end of the bed. "You want a pen and paper?" He asked softly. "Grant told me what's wrong."
John frowned as he looked at his frightened child, a low gurgly growl coming out of him as he patted the bed and motioned for Damon to come to him, snapping his fingers and pointing to the floor next to him.
Damon jumped at the sharp snap and moved almost imperiously to his father's side. "Yessir?" He croaked out softly. Nearly sixty-five years old and still he obeyed his father's commands without a protest, he thought idly as he looked down at the man in the bed. He swallowed and willed back the scream that was tickling his throat. "Yessir?" he asked a little more steadily.
John looked up at him, reaching out to snag his fingers in Damon's shirt, pulling the man down so that his child's head was resting on his chest. Gently, he stroked the blond hair and patted Damon's back, wanting badly to tell him it was going to be all right, that he didn't need to worry.
Damon gasped as he was pulled down and closed his eyes listening to the whoosh and clicks of the ventilator breathing for his father. He swallowed again as the big hand ran over his hair and back. Kneeling, he wrapped his arms carefully around the older man, curling his fingers into the hospital sheets around his father.
Marion watched her men, tears streaming down her cheeks. She knew she would be lost without her John and prayed that whatever deity took her with him when the time came. The doctor had told them it wouldn't be long, maybe three months, but John would get to go home on oxygen.
"Damon, baby, where's Gracie?" she asked softly as she reached out to twine her fingers with John's as they stroked their only child's head.
Damon sighed and rubbed his face on his father's chest before sitting up. "I left her outside, Mama. Did you want me to send her in here?" He stood, making a show of wiping the knees of his jeans, not looking at his parents.
"Yes, she'll need to help me get things ready for your daddy to come home. Explain things to me so that I understand them," Marion said as she looked at her son, so much like his daddy.
Damon nodded and walked out of the curtained room in a daze. He pushed through the emergency room doors and stared around the waiting room, looking for his husband. Not seeing him he began walking the halls, somewhere in all of this, his little husband would be found. He headed for the cafeteria first. He took the stairs needing a reason to move and be occupied.
@@@@@@@@@
In the chapel, Grant was on his knees, his hands folded in prayer as he'd gone back to what he'd learned at the mission school on the reservation, the priest next to him praying quietly for John as well.
@@@@@@@@@
Damon frowned as he looked around the cafeteria at the people eating and talking. Not seeing Grant, he turned and stormed away; the laughter and voices of the people echoing in his ears. The one voice he wanted to hear though had been nearly silenced. He so wasn't ready for that yet. His father was still a young man and had been healthy all his life. Mental images of the older man played across his memories as he walked. He had always thought it was the ones facing death that had their lives flash before their eyes but still the scenes played on and on.
He ground his teeth together as he opened the doorway to the stairwell, heading for the chapel. He wouldn't be surprised to find his husband there. Grant had a tendency to turn to that when things got particularly hard in their marriage.
He supposed it came with his childhood although why he went back to a faith that had mistreated him so as a child always boggled Damon's mind. He stood outside the closed doors to the hospital almost afraid to enter. He hadn't been in a place of worship since he'd been married.
The door to the chapel opened and the hospital chaplain walked out to leave Grant to his prayers and Rosary. He'd done what he could to comfort him.
Damon eyed the priest as he passed and looked into the chapel. "Grant." He called softly; weary of disturbing some of the other people kneeling at the pews.
He swallowed and leaned into the doorway. "Grant." He said a little louder and more firmly. His husband could come out, for there was nothing that would make him enter the sanctuary.
Quickly ending his prayers, Grant got to his feet and slipped out of the pew, stopping to genuflect before going to Damon. "Sorry, I didn't know you were looking for me," he said quietly as he followed Damon out into the hallway, the tears on his cheeks having dried leaving tracks on his face. Damon sighed and shook his head. "Mama wants you." He ran a hand over Grant's head and down his braid before stroking his husband's face with one finger. "I'm sorry." He whispered softly.
Grant raised his hand to catch Damon's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You don't have to be sorry to me," he said just as softly as they turned to walk back to find Marion. "Did you see him?"
Damon nodded as he twined their fingers, ignoring the people passing them in the hallways. He needed the quiet touch and strength of his little husband. "I shouldn't have said those things to you." He said quietly. "He tried to talk to me."
"It's understandable Damon, I understand," Grant said as they walked along. "He's been trying to talk since they'd let us in. He was demanding to go home while ago." The small man chuckled softly as he thought about the way John had been writing his demands and sticking them in the face of anyone close enough.
Damon watched their feet as they walked. "Is it safe for him to go home?" He pushed the door open for his husband and waited. "Mama wants to talk with you. I'll wait for you out here."
"In a day or so when they get him stable, he should be alright to go home," Grant said as he pressed his hand against Damon's cheek and then went to find Marion.
@@@@@@@@@
Damon took a deep breath and stood outside his parent's bedroom door. The nurse he'd hired to help his mother said his father had been agitated this morning so he had rearranged his schedule and drove up to the house. He knocked softly and opened the door just a crack, swallowing as he spied the wasted man on the bed. "Da?"
"Come in," John said gruffly as he reached for one of his ever-present flannel shirts. "Get me my boots, boy." Pointing to the closet he waited for his son to bring him his boots. He wanted some time out of the house with Marion and nurse what's her face hovering over him.
Damon stared at his father. "Yessir." He walked across the room, grabbing the boots and knelt in front of his father, helping the older man slide his feet into the footwear. "Are you certain you need to be getting up? Mama and Victoria are sitting in the kitchen."
He looked up at his father. "Mama said you made the girl cry."
John fixed his son with a stubborn glare. "I'm dying Damon, not dead yet. That woman doesn't seem to get that particular fact. I'm not going to lay in this damned bed and mold, I want to get out whilst I still can and do things I want to do. Now, get my squirrel rifle and take me out to your place. I want to go hunting."
Damon bit his lip as he looked at the floor. He took a deep breath. "Da, we can't go hunting without Victoria and your oxygen." He looked up at his father. It was a pretty lame excuse and he knew it but within just a few feet his father would be wheezing and near collapse before they even got out to his truck.
"I'm taking my damned oxygen Damon, but that bitch ain't going, now get my gun," John demanded, a cough starting and racking his frame as he waved his son to the gun cabinet. After he caught his breath and spat a gob of phlegm into a tissue, he looked at Damon.
"I can sit on your porch and pick them out of the tree."
Damon nodded and stood, resigned to the fact that his father was going to get his way regardless of their trying to help. "Yessir," he said softly.
Reaching up on the wall, he pulled down the key to the cabinet and took out the old .22 rifle. He grabbed a box of shells and closed the door. "Grant will be happy to make some squirrel dumplings with your haul," he said softly. "He's been hounding me to go hunting because they are getting in his feeders." Damon turned back to his father and smiled weakly.
"Don't look like you're going to a funeral Damon, let's just have a good day," John said as he watched his son. He knew he'd have fewer and fewer days that he'd feel like getting out of bed and just wanted to spend some time with his boy while he could. "Grant's home, then?"
Damon nodded. "Yes, he's home today or he was. Let's hope the practice hasn't called him away while I've been gone." He set the gun across the bed and pulled out a case from behind the cabinet, placing the shells inside on the foam before laying the gun out beside them and snapping it shut. He smiled at his father again. "You do know Mama and Victoria will follow us."
John smiled and nodded. "I know, but they can take Marion's car. I want to go through and get a Big Mac on the way and I don't want to listen to your mama's bitching," he chuckled as he pointed at the wheelchair that sat folded in the corner. "I'll need that thing, you don't need to be trying to lift on me."
Damon nodded and unfolded the wheelchair. At this moment in time he didn't need the knowledge that he could pick up his father weighing on him. It was bad enough seeing how emaciated the man had become. He wheeled it over to the bed and draped the oxygen tubes over the back of the chair then held out a hand to his father. "I take it you'll want fries and a Dr. Pepper with that as well?"
Grasping Damon's hand, John hauled himself up and then pivoted to drop heavily into the wheelchair. "And a chocolate shake, maybe even some of those chicken balls," he laughed as he looked up at his son while he put his feet on the foot rests, out of breath, but happy.
Damon shook his head and bit his lip as he laid his father's rifle across his lap. He grasped the handles of the chair and wheeled John out of the room. "Mama," he called out as he neared the front door. "I'll be back later." He opened the door and pushed his father out on to the porch. "I've got Da." He slammed the door and nearly raced down the wheelchair ramp before either woman could come after them with their wands.
John cackled as he heard the shouts from the women in the house. "Come on Damon, get moving before those bats fly the belfry!" he cried out, his voice thin, but strong in the early fall air.
Damon snorted but pushed his father's wheelchair all the more faster. His mother was going to hurt him once she caught them. He skidded to a stop just beside his truck and opened the door for his father, not even thinking as he lifted him, the gun and the oxygen tank into the truck before giving the wheel chair a lift as well into the bed. Running around the front of the truck, he slid behind the wheel and looked at his father as he started the truck. "I hope this is worth it, Da. She's going to tan my hide," he laughed as he pulled the seat belt across his father's lap, clicking it before backing out of the drive.
John's pale cheeks were rosy and his eyes twinkling as he looked over at his boy. "It's worth it Damon, it's worth it. Your mama is a good woman, but sometimes I just have to slip out and do some tomcatting," he said as he looked out the windows at the passing scenery. "Your Grant isn't too bad now, is he?"
As they neared the McDonald's before the highway, John pointed at the golden arches. "Now I want something not good for me at all."
Damon shook his head and pulled off the freeway. He steered the truck into the fast food drive thru lane, ordering the burger, fries and shake his father desired as well as a large Diet Coke for his husband. The bribe couldn't hurt. He looked at his father as they pulled around to the window and waited in line. "No Da. Grant's been a patient man. He deserves better alot of the time I think but he's stuck around." He took a deep breath, looking away as he sighed. "You certain you can eat this stuff?"
John snorted at the question. "What? Is it going to kill me?" he laughed bitterly as Damon paid for the food and passed it over to him. "I'm sick and tired of the sick person food that damned nurse keeps trying to stuff down me. I figure I'm going, so I may as well eat whatever I want." He stuck a few hot fries in his mouth to demonstrate and smiled as the hot, greasy potato almost melted in his mouth.
Damon choked on his laughter. He never thought his old man could be like this. "Just making certain, Da." He pulled back onto the freeway; speeding through the miles back to the house he'd grown up in and made his and Grant's home. Pulling up into the gravel drive he sighed when he spotted Grant's Mustang. He honked the horn, letting Grant know he was back.
Stopping next to the cherry classic car, he turned off the truck and waited for it to finally diesel out. "You want the front or the back porch, sir?"
"Where are the varmints the thickest?" John asked as he lovingly patted the rifle case that leaned up against his leg.
Grant peered out the window shaking his head; Marion had called the moment Damon had pulled out of the driveway. Coming outside, he walked over to where Damon was getting the wheelchair out of the back of the truck. "Your mother called."
Damon grimaced then turned and looked at his husband as he sat the wheel chair on the ground. "Da wants to thin out your squirrel problem. You can finally have them dumplings you've been wanting." He looked at his husband. "How far behind are they?" he murmured softly as he opened the door and took the gun from his father, passing it to Grant for a moment as he helped his father from the truck.
"Maybe twenty minutes," Grant said softly as he leaned down and gave the old man a hug and then laid the gun across the man's lap.
"John, if you don't mind, I've got squirrels coming out of my ass in the backyard," Grant said cheerfully as he stepped behind the wheelchair and began to push John carefully around the to the back of the house. "Damon, could you get a blanket to put over your daddy's knees?"
Damon shook his head as he watched his husband wheel his father away, their conversation fading as he walked up the porch steps and into the house. He grabbed the throw from the back of the couch and pressed his face into the soft material, howling out his frustrations for a moment.
He lifted his face and sighed, feeling somewhat better for releasing the tension slightly. He made certain the blanket was dry and warmed it with a charm. Taking the blanket out to the two men, Damon handed it to Grant. "I brought you a soda, Grant." He smiled at the small man and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
Grant took the soda and nearly dropped it as John carefully aimed and dropped the first squirrel. "Thank you Damon," he said with a smile and then laid the throw over John's legs.
"John, do you want me to fetch them for you?" Grant asked as he sipped at his soda and watched the man take careful aim at the next little beast.
John felled the little animal and shook his head. He smiled up at the little man. "That's what Damon's for, Grant. You go in and start us up some of them dumplings. I'll have you a slew of the critters in no time." He took aim once more and took out another little nut hording menace. "Go get them beasties for Grant, boy. I'll wait until you are clear again before firing."
Damon stared at his father for a moment then jogged out to pick up the little creatures.
Grant laid his hand on John's shoulder for a moment. "Would you like a chocolate pie for dessert?" he asked as he heard the distinct sound of a car coming up their driveway.
John smiled up at his son's husband. "Make it good and sweet for me, Grant. Marion and that bitch nurse are spoiling all my fun." He lifted the little rifle and took aim as Damon hopped up the steps with the three squirrels, tails clenched tightly in his fist.
Grant nodded and smiled to both of the men. "Damon, I'll go and stop her from having a fit if I can. Do you want me to bring you both out some coffee?" he asked as he heard their front door open and edged to the kitchen door.
Damon nodded and hung the squirrels up across a line that ran out from the porch. "I'll get them skinned and brought in to you, Grant." He placed a quick kiss to Grant's mouth and murmured across his lips. "Thank you."
Grant smiled as he went into the kitchen. He didn't even bother to go out into the living room. "I'm in here Mother Wolffe," he called out as he measured out coffee and filled the coffee maker with water. He was ready to do what needed to be done to ensure Damon had a day with his father.
Marion pushed her way through the swinging door, hands pushing at her hair. "Where are those men, Gracie? Don't you try and stop me either. They about gave poor Victoria a heart attack, screaming out of the drive like that." She opened the cabinet and began taking down the coffee mugs to help. "I swear one of them will be the death of me."
At the sound of a shot being fired, Grant just nodded to the back porch. "He and Damon are having an afternoon together, Mother Wolffe. I'm going to make squirrel dumplings and chocolate pie for supper, would you mind helping me with the pie crust?" he asked, hoping to keep the woman busy, thankful he didn't see that nurse.
Marion's face crumpled slightly and she nodded. "Of course, honey. We have to keep them happy if they are hunting for us." Opening the doors to the cabinets one at a time she stared at the dishes and things before closing the cabinets. "Victoria quit after Damon took off with John, Gracie and I have no idea what to do. This is the third nurse since we've brought him home that's quit." She said softly.
Waiting for the coffee to get done, Grant turned and led his mother-in-law to sit at the table, sitting down across from her. "What exactly do you need the nurse to help you with?" he asked softly. "Bathing, dressing, physical therapy? Or do you feel safer with someone there with you?"
Marion blinked slightly and twisted her hands before covering her face. "Someone there to be with me when he finally goes." She whispered softly and began to cry. "I can't make it without him Gracie."
Grant wrapped his arms around the woman and rocked her gently. "Let me talk to Damon. Maybe you would feel better coming back here to stay with John? I mean it was your first home with him..."
Marion clung to Grant as she nodded slightly and cried on his shoulder. "I don't know how much longer I can watch him waste away Gracie." She sat up and wiped her face, drawing her wand and fixing her face with a slight wave. "I couldn't impose on you and Damon, honey." She sniffled slightly and placed a hand on his cheek. "Thank you, sweetie." She twisted her ring and stood.
"Now, we've got to get their dinner started, Gracie. John will have a whole mess of them squirrels soon enough." Her voice cracked as the rifle sounded again and she cleared her throat. "Can't keep the Wolffe men waiting, you know how they are." Grant kissed her cheek and stood to pour two cups of coffee. "I'll be right back," he said as he slipped out the back door and nudged Damon's arm.
"I need to talk to you for a moment," Grant said as he handed him the coffee mug.
Damon took the coffee from his husband and nodded. He leaned down and kissed Grant's cheek before taking a sip. "Just a minute, Pet." He set his cup on the railing of the porch and walked out to the squirrels his father had felled. He hung them with the others then re-loaded his father's rifle for him.
He took Grant's arm and led him over to the first of the squirrels, pulling his knife and began gutting the small critter. "Let me have it." He said softly.
"Your daddy's nurse quit and your mother is losing her mind. She's afraid to be alone with him," Grant said softly as he stepped out of the way of a flicked entrail. "I was thinking that maybe they could come and stay with us?"
Damon continued to skin the little creatures. He thought about what Grant had said. "I don't know what you want me to say Grant." He looked back over his shoulder at his father. His father's eyes searched the trees as the oxygen hissed and he turned back to his husband. "I want them both to be as comfortable as possible."
"I do too, I just thought that maybe they'd be comfortable here and that he wouldn't need a nurse," Grant said as he laid one skinned carcass to the side and watched as John shot another out of the hickory tree.
Damon nodded. "Thank you, baby." He said softly. "Just tell me what you need and I'll make it happen." He looked back over his shoulder at his father once more and shook his head before returning to the squirrels.
"Do you want me to ask him?" Grant asked as he leaned against the porch railing. He knew he'd need to rearrange his work schedule, but he'd make sure Marion was never there alone with John.
Damon hung his head for a moment. "I'll talk to him. Don't know what I'll say but I'll make certain he doesn't try to kill all three of us." He looked up at his husband once again. "Is she really bad off?"
Grant nodded and put a hand on his husband's arm. "Are you all right with them being here and your daddy dying here?" he asked softly so John wouldn't overhear them. "I'll make sure I take care of whatever nursing needs to be done."
Damon took a deep breath, shrugging as he thought about it. "He was born in these walls, Grant. I see no reason why he shouldn't be as comfortable as possible when he goes." He looked at his husband. "Thank you, Pet. You don't know how much that means to me."
Grant picked up the squirrels that were dressed and then kissed his husband's cheek. "I'll go talk to your mama," he said softly as he turned and went back into the house, leaving Damon alone with his father.
Damon went to fetch the new kills and sat down on the bench next to his father's wheel chair. "Still got quite the aim on you, Da. Don't think Grant will have a problem any longer if you keep this up."
John smiled over at his son and laid his rifle across his lap. "What's got you looking so down, Damon?" he asked as he watched his boy. "I know Marion's here, Grant's keeping her busy I assume."
Damon nodded and reached for his coffee. "I'm fine, Da. You feeling all right? Can I get you anything?" He looked at his father. "You done drove off another one." He smiled at John and sipped his coffee again.
John looked at his son and sighed. "I hate having some stranger trying to take care of me," he said with a growl as he sipped at his own coffee. "Damon, I need to talk to you about your mama."
Damon nodded. "I'll take care of her Da. I promise."
"Good, cause she's not all there any more," John said softly, painfully as he thought about the woman he loved and the way she'd started to forget things and talk about Damon as if he were still a little boy. "She's going to need someone."
Damon stared at his father. He swallowed and looked out across the expanse of the back yard. He knew his mother was getting to be a bit absent minded but... He refused to think about it. He could only handle the failing of one parent at a time and right now his father took top priority. He knew his mother would more than likely follow his father shortly after his death. There was no way he could see her living much longer without him. However he wasn't ready for that just yet. "What do you mean not all there?"
John looked out over the mountain and sighed. "We've been to see a specialist, son. She's got that Muggle disease, old timer's or something like that," he said as he reached out and patted his son's leg. "I'm sorry Damon." Damon closed his eyes and tried to remember how to breathe. Within just a few short weeks his whole world had come crashing down around his feet and not one constant he'd deemed stable still stood. He bit his lip and swallowed hard. "Does that mean she's dying too?" He asked softly. "Da, I don't know a damned thing about shit like this. You should be telling Grant."
"Shhhh, come here," John said as gently as he could, pulling Damon to sit down at his feet and rest against his legs. "Your mama isn't dying Damon, she's just... getting more eccentric than she was. You know I never meant to die on you like this."
Damon snorted and leaned heavily against the older man's legs shifting as he felt the diminished size against his body. Trying desperately not to give into the childish urge to scream out at the world, he sighed and cleared his throat. "Shit happens, Da. You've told me that often enough."
John ran his hand over his son's hair and nodded. "That it does boy, that it does. I want you to know I've always been proud of you, no matter what you did. You grew up to be a hell of a man," he said as he looked out at the trees.
Damon choked slightly as he closed his eyes, relishing in the feel of his father's hand running through his hair. "It's all Mama's fault; she cursed me some fifty years ago." He wrapped one arm around his father's legs and laid his head on his lap. "I'm sorry I put you and Mama through hell and back." He said softly.
John laughed softly as he soothed his son. "You weren't that bad. I never had to go get you out of jail that should count for something. There's so much I should have said Damon and I'm sorry I didn't."
Damon looked up at his father, shaking his head. "Don't do this, " he murmured. "I'm not ready Da. Not today."
John nodded and let his hand rest on his son's cheek. "I'm glad that bitch quit," he muttered with a smirk.
Damon closed his eyes and leaned into his father's hand. "I'll make certain the next one's better looking when she comes to give you your sponge baths."
"I don't want another stranger looking after me," John said gruffly.
Damon nodded. "Grant's offering to take care of you and Mama, if you'll let me move the two of you back here." He said softly then chuckled. "I don't think you can run him off and he's meaner than the last nurse was."
"You want us to come and stay here?" John asked, weighing the suggestion in his mind. "I think I'd like that. I grew up in this house, you know."
Damon nodded. "I know. We'll put you and Mama in the big room downstairs." he swallowed. "I want you to be comfortable, Da."
"That was my parent's room, you know," the older man said, a far away look in his face. "I was born in that room, seems only fitting to die in it."
Damon bit his lip and nodded, not knowing what to say. He took several calming breaths before speaking. "Grant's done it up real nice. We'll set you and Mama up in it and Grant and I'll take care of you both." He tightened his fingers in the blanket wrapped over his father's lap. "I'll keep taking care of Mama when you've gone too." He murmured softly
John nodded. "I'd like that. Thank you, I'll try not to be so demanding on you two. I know you'll look after her."
Damon looked up at his father searching his face. It wouldn't be long now; he could feel it in his bones as he looked at his father. He swallowed and smiled at his father. "I know you won't Da. We'll get you settled in today, I promise."
John nodded slowly as he patted his son's head. "That's a good boy Damon, thank you," he said and then began to cough. His gaunt frame was racked with painful shudders, the rifle slipping from his grasp and clattering to the ground.
Slowly, the coughing quieted and John pulled his hand from his mouth, glancing at it once before trying to drop it to his side to shield Damon from it. "Take me in, son," he rasped, his hand clenched in one leg of his now loose fitting jeans.
Damon scrambled to his feet. "Grant!" He left the rifle laying on the porch as he stood and drew his wand. He levitated the chair some and grabbed the oxygen tank, pushing the chair towards the kitchen door. "Hang on Da." He murmured as he steered the chair into the house to his husband and mother.
Grant rushed to the door at Damon's cry, his own heart clenching as he got a look at John. He knew that they couldn't let Marion see her husband like this and waved to Damon to hold on for just a moment.
Thinking quick, he turned back to Marion. "Mother Wolffe, would you mind terribly going up to our bedroom and getting Damon's medicine? It's in the bathroom on the sink, the blue bottle," he said as he gently propelled the woman out of the kitchen. As soon as she was safely gone, he turned back to open the door to let the two men in. "John, are you are alright?" he asked softly as he knelt down in front of the man. "Damon, could you get me a clean, wet washcloth?"
Damon practically shoved the chair at Grant and went to do as he was asked. He dug in the drawers looking for a washcloth as his husband took control of his father. He swallowed as he turned on the water wetting the cloth Grant had asked for. He passed it back to Grant and stood there waiting on further instructions.
John coughed into his hand once more and looked at Grant. "Damon, go help your mother and take your medicines. You remember what we talked about a moment ago, son."
He waited until Damon was gone as well and showed Grant the blood streaked phlegm on his palm.
Grant nodded as he looked at the sputum and then took John's other wrist in his hand to check his pulse. "Are you in pain?" he asked softly as he laid the man's hand back in his lap and then took the washcloth, cleaning the bloody mess away carefully. "Has this happened before?"
Grant knew it for what it was, John was getting worse rapidly, two maybe three weeks were all he had to look forward to and the younger man was determined his father-in-law would be as comfortable as possible.
"Yes to both questions. All week. I tried to hide it from that damned nurse and Marion. That's why I called Damon." John met the dark eyes of his son-in-law. "I know it ain't gonna be much longer."
Grant wouldn't lie to the other man; he had far too much respect for him to even consider it. "No, it won't be. A few weeks maybe," Grant said softly. "I'll call the doctor and order a morphine drip for you to make you comfortable, alright?"
John nodded. "Just get me settled, please. Damon said my parent's room was done up real nice. I think I'd like to lie down for a while in there."
"Okay, I'll have Damon bring down some sweats for you to wear, I think they'd be more comfortable than jeans to rest in," Grant murmured as he stood and moved to push John's chair out of the kitchen and to the bedroom that he and his wife would be staying in.
"Damon," Grant called out as they reached the living room, "would you bring down some of your sweats please?"
"Sweats, gotcha." Damon yelled from the upstairs bedroom. "No Mother, I've got the potion right here." There was silence for a few moments. "I'll be down in a minute with them, Grant."
John snorted and shook his head. Looking up at Grant he sighed and held out a hand to the small man. "She's got the old-timer's, Grant. Damon will need help with her." He stopped and tried to take a deep breath of the oxygen, wheezing around the hissing of the machine. Finally catching a good breath he waved them forward. "Let's go, Dr. Wolffe. I'll do without them for now while he wrestles with her."
Grant nodded and sighed, this was not going to be easy on Damon. In all respects, he'd just lost both of his parents in one sick, fell swoop of fate. "We'll make certain she has everything she needs and is happy, John," he said softly as they entered the bedroom.
Grant moved the wheelchair to set alongside the bed and then turned the covers back. "Are you cold?" he asked as he knelt to take the man's boots off.
John shook his head. "Just tired, Grant. Just so tired." he closed his eyes and leaned his head to the side on his shoulder. "Thank you Grant," he said softly. "You've been a good son-in-law. I'm real proud of you."
Grant smiled sadly. "Thank you sir. I'm going to put you in bed now. I need you to tell me how much of the transfer you think you can do yourself," he said as he carefully took the older man's feet from the footrests and then swung them back out of the way to make transferring to the bed easier. As an afterthought, Grant pulled his wand from where it normally sat in his back pocket, quickly warming the bed and bedclothes with a simple spell.
John looked at him with pain filled eyes. "I can't, Grant. I spent it all today. That was the last thing I wanted to do before I gave in. I spent the last day hunting with my son. I know I won't be getting up again until they cart me out of here. So use your wand, son."
Grant put his wand in his back pocket, not comfortable with using magic to pick the old man up. "Hold on a moment John, alright?" he murmured as he moved the chair around a little and moved the oxygen canister. "I'm going to move your cannula for just a moment, and then I'll put it right back."
Waiting for the man to nod, Grant carefully and quickly removed his nasal cannula and then quickly lifted the once larger than life man in his arms, pivoting to lay him down on the bed as gently as he could. "There you go," he murmured as he replaced the man's oxygen and smiled at him. A cough rattled his frame and John clenched the bed sheets. He tried to breath in the oxygen to help him stop the coughing spell, finally moving the oxygen mask out of the way to spit out the bloody sputum. He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes, sucking heavily on the oxygen. "Thanks."
He tried to scoot down in the bed then gave up. "I'll take that morphine now if you will."
"Let me get you propped up more before I call," Grant said as he worked an arm under the man's bony shoulders, lifting him enough to pull two pillows under him. "Easier to catch your breath now?"
Grant reached for the telephone that was on the bedside table, dialling John's doctor's number from memory. After speaking softly for a few moments, he nodded to his father-in-law and then hung up the phone. "Doctor Wilson is going to make arrangements for one of the doctors at Blue Ridge to take over your pain management and someone will be here shortly to set up the morphine for you. In the meantime, I'm going to run down to the hospital and pick up a few shots for you in the interim. Are you going to be alright until then?"
John nodded. "Thanks." He looked up at Grant. "Hurry please. I want to be asleep before Marion sees."
"I'll take her with me," Grant said as he turned to leave the room, meeting Damon in the hallway.
"I've got your daddy in bed and I'm going to the hospital to get him some morphine. Someone will be coming to the house to set up a direct drip line for him today," he said as he took Damon's arm and leaned against the wall for a moment.
Damon nodded and drew Grant into his arms, clinging to the other man. "Thank you." Breathing heavily and trying to remain calm, he held on to his little husband taking and giving strength to him. "Next time call me when you need help. I'm going to call Tom and have him run the bar for a while."
Grant stroked Damon's back, nodding. "I'll make arrangements at the practice as well, he doesn't want a nurse coming in. Can you see if he needs the bathroom or would like to change?" he asked as he paused for a moment. "Would you rather I do that and you go pick up his medicine?"
"I'll help him, Pet. They probably won't give me the medicine." Damon tipped Grant's face up and met his eyes. "Be careful. Call me when you get there and before you leave."
"I will, I'm taking your mother with me," Grant said as he pressed a kiss to his man's lips and then went to find his mother-in-law.
@@@@@
John lay in the bed half awake, he'd been living in what was now his son's home for nearly two weeks now, but it was all running into a haze for him. He knew he was uncomfortable, but he'd wait for someone rather than risk a coughing fit if he tried to call out to get someone's attention.
Damon knocked on the door to his parent's room with his knee and toed the door open. "Da, I got you something to eat." He pushed into the room and set the tray down on the nightstand. He bent and helped his father sit up some more, adjusting his oxygen and the IV line to the drip. "Is that better? Blink your eyes once, don't try to talk."
John rolled his eyes and glared half-heartedly at his son, a weak chuckle sounding in the quiet room. "I'm not dead yet Damon," he murmured and turned his head to look away from the younger man. "You need to use your wand again." He pushed at the blankets that were bunched down at his waist. He was certain this had to be the most degrading part of dying, the inability to control his own damned body.
"You still shouldn't be talking." Damon pursed his lips and drew his wand. "I told Mama to stop pouring water on you to wake you up." He waved his wand, vanishing the mess and drying the sheets. "Is there anything else I can get you? Grant took Mama out shopping."
"What am I eating?" John asked, turning to face his son once more, knowing he'd have to tell him that he'd have to feed his father and then he wondered if he could just wait for Grant to come home. "How long will they be gone?"
"They just left and you know Mama when she gets to spending money, there's no telling when they'll be back." Damon sat on the side of the bed and moved the tray over his father's lap.
"Grant made some chicken and dumplings. We also have red potatoes and snap beans and honey cornbread. That sound good to you?" He stretched and placed the napkin under John's chin. Grant had told him he'd have to help the older man eat. Taking a deep breath, he looked at his father and smiled. "I brought your hot sauce for everything too."
"Grant's a good cook, it's no wonder you're getting fat," John teased as he did his best to push himself up more in the bed, nearly setting off another coughing fit as he did so. "Help me, will you, son?"
Damon moved the tray and stood, waiting for the coughs to subside. Wrapping his arms under John's, he helped the older man sit up even straighter in the bed. He wedged more pillows behind him before carefully leaning him back once more. "How's that?" He mock glared down at his father. "I'm not fat... just fluffy."
John nodded and then smiled at his son. "That's alright, you've earned it," he said weakly as he looked over the tray of food. "How's your mother doing?" John moved to pick up the cornbread, breaking off a piece to slowly put in his mouth.
Damon moved the tray closer and cleared his throat. "Dr. Wilson's got her on some new meds. She seems to be all right with these. Those last ones just made her sleepy all the time." He stirred the chicken and dumplings, watching the steam rise from the creamy soup.
John nodded as he swallowed. "I've been worried about her," he said as he closed his eyes. "I'm full Damon, I'm sorry. I think I'd like to sleep now."
"I understand." Damon nodded and looked at the blanket. "I promise she'll be taken care of, Da." He stood and picked the tray up. "You want to lie back down again?"
"Yeah," John breathed, his breath harsh and shallow, rattling in his chest, a death wheeze. "You're a good son, Damon."
Damon swallowed and set the tray to the side, once again helping his father scoot down in the bed. "Thanks Da," he murmured and pulled the blankets up to his chin before adjusting his oxygen again. "You want the pain button?"
His father nodded wearily, not opening his eyes, wishing his wife were here one last time. "I love you, Damon," he mumbled just as he felt the cool plastic of the pain button being pressed into his hand. Fumbling with it for a moment until his thumb hit the trigger, John grunted softly before blessed, almost painless sleep took him.
@@@@@@@@
Marion rolled over in the queen size bed and looked at her sleeping husband. She ran her finger across his pale brow, brushing aside the dark chestnut hair. Waiting for his blue eyes to open, she continued to caress his face. She knew what was coming. The doctors made her seem dafter than she was but she wasn't stupid. She knew her John's time was short. "John, honey. Would you like your coffee this morning?"
With a huge effort, John took a breath and opened his eyes, smiling weakly for his lifelong sweetheart. "I'd like that, babygirl," he rasped as he raised a hand to smooth her soft cheek, his eyes searching her face almost as if he were trying to memorize it for all eternity. "So beautiful."
Marion smiled, tears gathering in her eyes. "So handsome." She gently took his fingers and pressed them to her lips. "It's okay to go, John. I know you are tired. I'll make certain to take care of Damon."
John nodded tiredly. "I know you will. We raised a good boy, Marion," he said softly, trying to keep his eyes open. "Get my coffee, babygirl and have Grant come here, I need him."
Marion swallowed and pressed her lips to his forehead one last time. She sat up and slowly drew back the blankets, trying not to let the cold air in. She covered him back up and drew on her dressing gown. She could hear Grant and Damon moving around in the house and opened the bedroom door.
She padded out to the kitchen and smiled at her son and his husband. She bent and kissed the top of Damon's head as he sat at the table then moved over to Grant as he stood at the stove. She leaned in and kissed his cheek then pulled down a mug and poured John's coffee. She clenched the mug tightly in her hands.
"Grant, John would like to see you." She turned and walked out of the kitchen, knowing he would follow her.
Grant swallowed, he'd had a feeling all night that John was going and now, now he didn't want Marion to see what he knew he was going to see. As they neared the closed bedroom door, Grant reached out and took the woman's arm, drawing her back for a moment.
"I'll take it in Mother Wolffe, would you go make sure Damon's breakfast isn't burning?" he asked softly as he took the coffee mug from her tightly clenched hands. He watched her turn and go back down the hall before he opened the door and walked in.
John opened his eyes a little and nodded to the dark haired boy that had been part of his family for such a long time. "We need a doctor present so they don't cut me up," he gasped painfully. He too had had a feeling.
Grant took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes sir, we do." He crossed the room, setting the mug down on the bedside table and then taking a seat in the chair that was drawn close to the bed. Reaching out, he took one of the old man's hands in his own and rubbed the cold, cyanotic fingertips. "It'll be soon John, are you in pain?" Grant asked softly, fighting back his tears.
John shook his head and gave the younger man a last smile. "Take care of them." He closed his eyes and took several breaths before a hollow rattle of air escaped his chest one last time.
Grant bowed his head and said several prayers for his father-in-law, tears streaking down his cheeks as he clung to the man's hand. He looked up at the clock on the nightstand and took a deep breath, muttering softly to himself, "Time of death, eight twenty-three a.m."
Standing up, Grant carefully arranged the man's hands over his chest and pulled the blankets up before he went back into the other room.
Damon sat on the couch, holding his mother on his lap as she cried. He rocked her slowly as one would a small child, trying to keep his grief at bay. He ran one hand over her hair and focused on the fact that it was the first time he'd ever seen her without makeup and her hair not sprayed to perfection. He squeezed her tighter to him and rocked with her, waiting for Grant to return.
Grant stood in the doorway of the living room, looking at his husband and mother-in-law for a long moment before going to kneel down in front of them. "He's gone," he said quietly.
Marion's sobs increased in volume as Damon nodded at his little husband's words. He held out one hand to Grant, clasping it tightly in his own. "Thank you Grant," he closed his eyes and buried his face in his mother's hair.
Moving slowly, Grant stood and put the hand that held his own on Marion and then went into the living room where he called the hospital and then the funeral home to come pick up the body. He knew he'd have to go in and sign off on John's death certificate and the mere thought of it made his blood run cold.
Returning to the living room, he sat down next to Damon. "They'll be coming shortly to... pick him up," Grant said gently. "You might want to say goodbye..."
Damon nodded but didn't move from his place on the sofa. He continued to rock his mother, clinging to her as she sobbed. He reached out and grabbed Grant, dragging him to him as he held on to both of them, his chest heaving.
@@@@@@@@@@
A lone bugle cried out Taps for its lost Marine son.
Two Marines hefted the flag from the casket and began folding it to its tidy triangle. It was reverently passed down the line of Marines. The captain of the Guard turned and handed the widow the folded flag. "Mrs. Wolffe. May God be with you in this time of sorrow."
Marion held the flag to her chest as she nodded at him. She turned and looked at Grant, reaching out to take his hand. She stood as the dulcet tones faded away.
Damon tipped his lid to his mother and nodded to his husband, leaning down and grasping the handle of the casket.
Go rest high on that mountain Son, your work on earth is done Go to heaven a shoutin' Love for the Father and Son
His voice was strong when it rang out in the parlour. "Forward, March!"
The first of three shots rang out from the seven-man rifle guard, sending off Major John Nolan Wolffe, United States Marine Corp, Retired.