I owed a friend a Robert x Johnny story. Been a while, hasn't it? A dip into the old fandom is, I must admit, refreshing.
Disclaimer: Nothing.
-=Blood Loss=-
Eyes opened – that light, too fucking bright – it hurt – and it hurt everywhere else too. Or at least, it should have been painful, excruciatingly so, but there was nothing. No body, even if the room was full, no feeling – the loss of touch. The second of pain, he imagined upon waking, had already dissipated into his imagination, too many main arteries and nerves were severed. He could see and hear; it was overwhelming. But he could not move.
The doctors were rushing with medical precision; their money paid for this treatment.
He watched them and their bloodied gloves hover over the wound in his chest. There were so many holes, everywhere and the blood kept gushing, spurting like the fountain of life.
Scalpels, wires, needles, faces – why was he observing them from a distance when they ransacked his mangled body?
It hurt to watch.
''Johnny''
''What?''
His lips moved – they formed around letters, consonant, and vowels, to articulate his bemused state. He did not understand just yet – the morphine clouded his eyes. They burned though, scorching hot, but he could not smell the singeing scent of scarring. It was hard to tell that that was his face but he knew it was – the blood and the color of his hair, they blended around his battered countenance, blue and bleeding.
Johnny took a deep breath and realized that he was outside of himself and that Robert, sitting beside him, was holding his hand.
''What…what's going on?'' he demanded loudly, but his voice quivered unnaturally.
''What are you doing to me?'' No answer. Only stitches. ''What– why?''
Robert nursed his fingers with a delicate squeeze as he watched the doctors shock his own lifeless body with the electric paddles. Convulsions, spasms, but no reaction – the surge, he could not feel it, but it was disgusting. Those sordid trembles were fake and artificial.
They were injecting wires now, deep into his veins, a dripping solution that streamed into his blood. Another twitch, his muscles reacted, only once, forced, but there was not enough blood left inside him for his body to sit up and scream out the melancholy that suffocated him.
''Where are we? What the hell…is going on?''
''We're dead.'' Robert stated, but the cold, distant beeping sound of their respirators indicated differently.
They were alive, barely.
Johnny clutched at his heart; the attempt was futile – he did not feel pain, even as he watched the doctors ripped open his rib cage, massaged the pumping organ, and drained the blood.
Frantic – frenetic – frenzied – feverish – erratic – it was over, and they knew it. These were the last resonations; their final moments faded away with each tick and beep of their internal clocks.
''Fuck…''
Robert shut his eyes and grimaced. He could only turn away and to Johnny.
That was all there was left to do.
''Why?!''
Johnny grabbed his lover and stared into the depths that had never once cried. He sobbed as well, wretchedly, furiously, so utterly confused.
''I don't know, Johnny…I don't know what's going on.''
They were there, on the operating tables, induced, dormant, and awaiting the deeper slumbers. And yet, they clung to one another, barely shades of their remnants, pale, hollow, drifting slowly – the sway of life and death was sickening.
''Why are we forced to watch? I don't want to see myself die…I can't…we can't…''
''Then don't. Look at me, Johnny. Look at me.''
There was no peace, only panic, distortion, and the sublime reality of the cold end.
The doctors were trying. They cursed and shared the adrenaline that motivated their passion, but the dosage and shots were ineffective. No response, only dying blips on the screens beside them.
Such a lost cause, there was no fight – it was unjustly cruel. Their lives were too young to be fragmented, dissected, and left without any adhesive or staples. They were gone now, frustration, anger, and complications – the doctors stepped away from the bloodied tables and sunk back against the Hippocratic oath, to comfort their failure.
Robert caressed Johnny's face; both hands cupped the soft cheeks that were tear stained. He kissed him and held onto the last seconds. They could not count the duration of the intangible moment, but taste the love that never once parted from their touch.
It was always there, and until the very last instant, so were they.
But even they lost – lost so much more than just blood.
-=EndE=-
That was supposed to be drama, not angst. Damn it.