A guest reviewer for another story of mine requested that I do a story of heartbreak. Armed with lots of coffee in my new Batman mug and Christmas cookies, I am going to try my best. I have (I think) one, maybe two, more stories that are partially written, but I need some morganders ideas. If y'all could just send me some, I would really appreciate it. If not, I'm probably going to have to read other stories and write my version of similar type events that happen in those (only using the basic themes of those stories, I don't want to steal anyone's work).
I've mentioned, in a couple of my stories, a background for Greg where he lost three friends in a car crash.
This is that story.
I listened to a song called Wolfsong (Music) - Denny Schneidemesser (that's the exact title from YouTube and this song is freaking amazing, i highly recommend checking it out) while typing this and, at points, I had to stop because I was getting too emotional. One of my worst fears is losing friends in a car crash and I wrote a story about that that isn't a fanfic if anyone is interested. I used those fears and emotions to influence my writing and I hope the message gets across.
I own nothing that you recognize.
From the desk of a twelfth grade nothing.
Enjoy!
It was just another night. He slipped into his jeans and a Guns N' Roses t-shirt and grabbed a sweatshirt – it wouldn't necessarily be cold after dark, but he knew his mom wouldn't let him go without one – before running out of his room. He slid down the smooth, oak banister to the ground floor of the house.
"Greg, what have I told you about doing that?" His mother asked rhetorically.
"To not to." He answered cheekily, grinning at her. She fought to keep from smiling as she knew it would only encourage him.
"Be careful, and you had better be home before morning." She said.
"I will, mom." He said, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Promise." His hazel eyes sparkled as he turned and ran out the door, closing it behind him.
"Teenagers." She shook her head at her over-active sixteen year old.
He ran out and reached the sidewalk just as Jeremy pulled up. The taller, older boy grinned in greeting. Jeff grinned from the front seat. Frankie threw open the back door for Greg.
"Come on, man!" Greg jumped in and they were off. Jeremy's brown hair was sticking straight up, as per usual, and his blue eyes shone in the setting, California sun. Jeff, who looked just like his older brother, laughed at Greg's joke about having to get home early for homework – they all knew that Greg could do his homework five minutes before class without having to stress at all. Frankie, dark brown hair and brown eyes set in olive skin, laughed and said something – most likely something derogatory – in Italian. The night went as most went. They laughed, listened and sang along with their favorite rock and roll bands, and had as much fun as they possibly could. There was no alcohol or drugs, they never needed those to have fun, and they left at around midnight.
They were driving home. They'd driven this road hundreds of times. Jeremy wasn't even speeding. They had the windows down and were just cruising, singing with the music and enjoying the night air.
That's when everything went to hell.
Suddenly, a driver, swerving in and out of both lanes, accelerated towards them. Jeremy swerved, and they went off the road. The car jostled them around and they hung on for dear life. They hit the tree, and the car died. The world went silent for Greg. One moment, there was loud music, screaming, tires screeching, and the engine rumbling. The next, there was the cool sensation of a breeze playing over his exposed skin. And silence. He longed for the world to make noise. He looked over at Frankie, and immediately wanted to look away. Blood covered his friend and he wasn't moving. Jeremy was slumped over against the wheel and Greg couldn't tell if her was breathing. Jeff looked much the same. All three of them were covered in blood. Greg looked down at himself and saw that his shirt was clinging to him wetly. He also noticed that it was getting more and more damp and his vision was getting darker and darker. His body hurt all over; it couldn't hurt to sleep for a little while, could it? He closed his eyes and surrendered to the numbness surrounding him.
When he woke up, he didn't hurt so much. He smelled disinfectant and his foggy thoughts connected that smell to a hospital. He opened his eyes with difficulty. It felt like he had been asleep for a week. He looked over and saw his mother dozing in a plastic chair beside his bed. He tried to push aside the scratchy sheets and sit up, but his mother was suddenly awake and crying as she cupped his cheek with one hand. A nurse ran in and started asking him questions. A doctor came in and started prodding him all over. He felt exhausted quickly after and could barely keep his eyes open. He let himself fall asleep again and hoped that the next time he woke up, his friends would be there beside him.
His hopes didn't come true. This time, there weren't so many questions and they left him alone with his mother fairly quickly. He looked into her face and asked the question that had been bugging him.
"Where are they?" She would know who he was talking about.
She did know who he was talking about.
He saw her eyes fill with tears and she covered her mouth with her hand. The tears spilled over and made silver tracks down her cheeks. She reached over and held his hand as she cried. He waited, tears forming in his own eyes as she sobbed wordlessly. When she managed to stop, his tears had escaped his eyes and he had been filled with fear of her answer.
"Sweetheart, they…they…they didn't make it." She choked out. "You've been in a coma for three months."
His head spun.
Dead?
Coma?
Months?
He laid his head back on the flat pillow and let the tears seep out. Before he knew it, his mother was holding him as he screamed his throat raw. He screamed for his brothers, for the boys who had accepted him into their lives and loved him as brothers would. He screamed for those boys who had always had his back, those boys who had defended him and gotten in trouble with him for senseless pranks. He screamed for Jeremy, the brother who had beaten up another kid because that kid had punched Greg in the stomach. He screamed for Frankie, the brother who had taught him how to laugh and how to love and appreciate everything life had to offer. He screamed for Jeff, the brother who had always been by his side since the day they first met, and who had done everything he could to help Greg accomplish his dreams, and who had taught Greg the meaning of being selfless. He didn't know how long he screamed their names, but he did know that as soon as he fell asleep he was plagued by nightmares of their faces.
He continued to have nightmares.
He went to their graves and sobbed for them.
He went back every year, and vowed to never stop visiting them on the day of their deaths.
He awoke in a cold sweat, screaming out their names. He pushed the covers off and walked down the hall to the bathroom. He splashed water on his face and looked in the mirror. He took in the dark circles under his eyes and sighed. He hoped nobody would notice, or at least, if they did, that they wouldn't say anything. He got ready for work and arrived an hour before shift.
"Hey, Greg." A voice spoke up. "You look kinda tired, are you sleeping okay?" Catherine asked.
"Yeah, Cath, I'm fine." He said. He had just gone to see them yesterday, so he had known that he would have nightmares.
"This have anything to do with the fact that you take off every year on June 29th?" She asked. He balked.
"Greg, it's my job to notice these things." She said. She put a hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah. It does." He said. "But I'm not really…I can't…I… I can't talk about it." He stammered.
"It's okay." She said softly.
"Whenever you're ready to talk, I'll be here to listen." She hugged him tightly and walked away. The rest of shift, no one asked if he was alright. He suspected Cath had something to do with that.
He walked through the door and closed it, immediately collapsing against it. He closed his eyes and let out a strangled sob as tears flooded down his face. He had been able to fight the overwhelming sadness the entire night, but he couldn't now. He had held it all together for as long as he had to. The case was just too similar.
Drunk driver.
Teenagers.
Swerving off the road.
One survivor in a coma.
Three dead.
Close as brothers.
He couldn't handle it now that he was alone. He sobbed for those boys. He sobbed for their parents, who could do nothing to bring their sons back to life. He sobbed for the survivor who would have to live with his friends' deaths. He sobbed for that boy's parents who wouldn't be able to save their son from the guilt that would consume him, or from the sadness that replaced his brothers in his heart. He sobbed for his own brothers. He sobbed for himself. He sobbed for his own parents, the people who loved him so much yet knew nothing of his pain. He sobbed for the fact that no one knew just why he hated guns so much.
He hated them because he had put one in his mouth every night for a month trying to work up the courage to do something. He hated them because they reminded him of how much pain he had been in.
He remembered his parents consoling him as he came to terms with things. He hoped that the boy lying in the hospital got more help than he had gotten. He hoped that this boy didn't go anywhere near as far as Greg had gone to rid himself of the pain. The scars were faint now, faded, pale lines on his wrist that he had put there. They were hard to see – you had to know they were there – but he felt them every day. He stood up and picked up his phone. He forced himself to stop crying as he dialed the familiar number.
"Hello?" A warm voice answered.
"Cath?" He asked, his voice cracking slightly.
"Greg?" She answered. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"Can I come out to see you?" He asked.
"You know you're always welcome to come see me." She reminded him gently.
"I think I'm ready to talk now." He said softly.
"I'll meet you at the airport, sweetie."
"Okay." He breathed. "And Cath?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for this."
Okay, so I don't know if I like this, but I feel like he would go to her about this type of thing. The first part is obviously pre-series, the second is maybe season five or six, and the third is thirteen or fourteen.
Reviews are love!
Thanks for reading!