Months dragged on after that rainy nightmare in Billings, each one a mix of hospital smells, waiting rooms, and slow wins. Darren's world shrank to school-bus-hospital-home cycle, with Alex and Lisa keeping him sane through texts and quick hangouts. Dad's surgery went okay, no infections, bones knitting with those metal rods like some cyborg upgrade Dad joked about. Rehab started rough: physical therapy three times a week, Mike grumbling in pain but pushing through on crutches, then a cane. Mom juggled extra shifts at the diner to cover bills, Emily got quieter, helping more around the house without being asked.
Darren? He buried himself in routines homework done quickly so he could visit, garage chores taking over Dad's usual spot, even mowing lawns for extra cash toward medical stuff.
School blurred: Brock avoided him after rumors of the accident spread, Kayla sent a get-well card for Dad that made Darren blush in class. Science projects with Alex drone flights postponed, but they tinkered small, like fixing Emily's bike instead. Lisa brought casseroles from her mom, sat with him in cafeteria talking normal teen crap to distract.
"Your dad's tough," she'd say. "Like you."
Nights were hardest, staring at the ceiling wondering if dreams derailed permanently. NASA? Stars? Felt far when Dad winced walking to the bathroom. But Mike improved first steps without cane in PT gym, high-fives from therapists. Doctors marveled at his grit, "Mechanic's stubbornness," one said. Darren drove him sometimes in Mom's old sedan, learning patience at red lights while Dad critiqued his clutch work. "Easy on the gears, son treat 'er gentle."
Finally, discharge day came crisp autumn afternoon, leaves turning gold outside St. Mary's. Mike shuffled out on his own two feet—limping but upright, no wheelchair needed. Nurses clapped, Mom cried happy tears, Emily hugged his legs carefully.
Darren carried the duffel, heart swelling. "Welcome home, Dad."
The drive back to their small town was quiet joy radio playing old country tunes Mike loved, windows down letting in cool air. Home smelled like Mom's pot roast waiting, neighbors waving from porches with "Glad you're back" signs. First night, Dad tired early, but insisted on sittin' at the dinner table like old times.
"Feels good," he grunted, cutting meat slowly with his good hand.
Weeks settled into a new normal. Mike's limp eased with home exercises, garage reopened part-time him supervising from a stool while Darren or a hired kid did heavy lifting.
"Boss man now," Darren teased, handing tools. Dad taught more: brake systems, diagnostics with that code reader gadget.
"Life throws curveballs, but you adjust the timing," he'd say, wipin' grease.
Evenings grew cooler, stars sharper overhead. Darren snuck telescope time, but guilt nagged Dad's accident and a reminder that dreams cost. Applied to colleges anyway: University of Arizona astronomy program, essays about childhood nights and garage lessons blending mechanics with cosmos.
"Engines and orbits, both about motion," he wrote.
One evening mid-November, sun setting orange behind the fields, Mike called from the porch.
"Darren! Come here, son. Need a word."
Darren was in his room, sketching rocket trajectories in a notebook, earbuds blasting space podcasts. He paused it, trotted down. Dad sat on the old swing bench, cane leaned against rail, a blanket over his knees despite mild air. Limp still there but better he walked the porch loop daily now, building strength.
"Sit," Mike said, pating the spot beside him. Voice steady, eyes reflecting the twilight.
Emily inside helping Mom with dishes, house lights glowin' warm through windows.
Darren plopped down, swing creaking. "What's up, Dad? Need help with the Chevy tomorrow?"
Mike chuckled low, staring out at the darkening sky. First stars winking on Venus bright, maybe Jupiter rising.
"Nah, tools can wait. Been thinking months in that hospital bed give a man time to ponder. You too, I bet."
Darren nodded, picking at a splinter on the bench. "Yeah. Scared me bad. Thought... you know."
"Lost me?" Mike finished gentle. He shifted, wincing slight from the leg.
"Yeah, came close. Crane pins ya, world stops. But here I am, breathing, walking a bit better each day. Wanted to talk about that life, son. Father-son stuff I ain't always good at saying."
Darren swallowed, wind rustling leaves. Crickets chirping started up.
Mike leaned back, voice thoughtful. "See, when I was your age, dreamed big too. Not stars like you wanted my own shop chain, fixing cars cross state. But life don't go our way sometimes. Met your mom young, garage barely paid, kids came quick. Accidents, bills, detours. That crane? Latest curve. Hurt like hell, leg'll never be hundred percent aches in cold, limits jobs. But quitting? No sir."
He turned, eyes lockin' on Darren's. "Point is, fight for your place. Dreams slip, twist mine did. Thought I would a be big shot mechanic, ended small town with grease hands. But happy? Yeah, 'cause family, purpose. You NASA, planets that fire in you since telescope nights. Don't let my mess dim it."
Darren's throat tight. "But what if I fail? Or something happens like your accident. College far, money tight now with bills."
Mike nodded knowin'. "Fair worries. Life's engine seizes sometimes need rebuild. Remember Chevy we tuned? Smoked bad, but parts swapped, runs smooth. You're smart, kid. Scholarships, jobs garage pays you more now, save up. And failure? Part of it. I busted knuckles learning, businesses flop. But fighting builds character. Place in life ain't handed carve it."
Wind picked up, stars multiplyinh. Mike pointed up.
"Them stars? Been there forever, chaos birthing them. Asteroids crash, galaxies collide universe fights too. You spot patterns, calculate paths. Do same here. My accident taught me: cherish days, push limits gentle. Walked today farther than yesterday small win."
Darren blinked back wetness. "You fought hard in rehab. Inspired me."
"Good. Now you: that bully Brock, school pressures, my crap obstacles. But your brain? Weapon. Use it. Explore planets, sure but remember ground under feet. Family's your launch pad."
They sat quiet a bit, swing swaying lazy. Mike continued softer.
"Proud, son. Always. Even if detour to stars takes time. Life don't go straight curves, potholes. But throttle through, adjust course. Fight for what sets soul on fire."
Darren leaned head on Dad's shoulder careful.
"Thanks. Means lots. We'll fix the garage together, then I'll fix the skies."
Mike ruffled his hair like old days. "Deal. Now help old man inside supper smells ready."
Inside, laughter with Mom and Em, stories shared. Night, Darren telescoped stars clearer, resolve stronger. Dad's words echoed: fight for place.
Months healed body, chat mended spirit. Path ahead twisted, but he would navigate.
Next days, balance struck: school top grades, garage shifts earning nods from Dad, friends planning drone launches again. Kayla coffee date even happened awkward sweet, talking futures over mugs.
Winter loomed, but warmth inside. Life's engine purred anew, ready for acceleration.
Dad walked unaided soon, limp faint m
emory. Darren's applications sent, dreams aligned with reality's pull.
Universe waited, patient as stars.