Arty stared down at the boy in the coffin and relief so strong it hurt her surged into her heart. Not dead. Whatever he was, he was still there and there was hope and she could live with that. Her head fell back, loose, on her aching neck, and cool tears raced down her face, wetting the hair at her temples. She felt Nathan, more than heard him, behind her, and then she was hugged by Audrey, who she knew because Audrey’s arms only came around her waist since she couldn’t comfortably reach any higher. Ross was too relieved to be angry at her, too stunned to yell and ask her what the [i]fuck[/i] she’d been thinking storming an altar, and Arty looked back, and there was Matt, his vacant eyes going wide and wider as something emerged within them. 

And then Arty noticed the blood on her hands, and that she’d managed to rip off one of her fingernails scratching the casket open. That was about when it started to hurt, and she cussed and dropped into a crouch, clutching her throbbing fingers. 

---

 [b][u]Eaton General Hospital[/b][/u]

Arty winced as the emergency room doctor dabbed antiseptic on her fingers and wrapped them in gauze. The doctor had given her a strange look, as if she couldn’t decide whether to praise or scold Arty. Technically the girl had saved her friend from being buried alive, but she had hurt herself badly in the process. Clearly a judgment on the matter wasn’t forthcoming and the doctor went away without saying much at all. Flexing her bandaged hands, Arty glanced back at the others. 

Noah had been rushed to the hospital and was currently occupying a trauma room with his family. Matt hadn’t been allowed in, despite protests, and he was sitting numbly on an institutional green sofa. Every now and then he would dash a hand across his chest like his heart hurt. He looked like the victim of a bombing. Arty suspected they all looked like that. 

Arty sat down beside Audrey to wait for more news. So far, the outlook was far from bright. Noah hadn’t been autopsied or someone would have figured out he was alive sooner, but he had been kept in a very cold mortuary for several days and had been nailed into a coffin. His heartrate was erratic and his blood oxygenation was low. A specialist had noted that, without oxygen, many of his brain cells had died. Even if he woke, it was unlikely he would be the same person. He might not wake up at all. 

Which was worse? 

Arty knew, for her, it was worse if he never woke up. The twilight of his ‘death’ had nearly destroyed all of them; facing it again was not possible. She couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t. If she had to go to Death’s door herself and drag him back kicking and screaming, she’d do it to spare everyone the agony they’d already gone through. Bravado was easy for her. 

Matt, shell-shocked, gradually lifted his head. He glanced at Nathan’s hand on his shoulder and eventually met the other boy’s eyes. He didn’t say anything, but he twitched a smile, which was far more than he had done since Noah ‘died’. It felt unfamiliar to him, like he’d forgotten how, and for a long moment he blinked and sighed and got used to feeling again. The numbness he’d fallen into had taken him so completely he felt like he’d been asleep. Across from him, Arty was studying her mangled hands with interest; she’d always been injured somehow, from a busted bone to scrapes and bruises, and it was oddly comforting to see her toughing it out. 

Audrey was next to Arty, looking frazzled and close to crying. Her nose was red. Matt opened his mouth, and although he didn’t speak loudly his voice was distinct in the silence. “A.” It was only a childhood nickname, but it was all he could really say just then. He had spent days in a depression so deep it had consumed him, and coming out of it was a struggle. He shut his eyes and reached up, patting Nathan’s hand.