Oh, wow, first Simpsons story for me. ....yay....
Let's see.....unnecessary angst, character death, sibling fluff, character death, OOC Bart, and did I mention the character death?
Just so you're warned. .......why do I get the feeling any reviews I get will be to tell me to delete this? ....oh well.
Simpsons is not mine, obviously. But, don't worry. Even if it were, I'd never let this happen on the show. Ergo the FANfiction status.
It's kinda funny, Lise - when I try to see it again in my head, figure out where it all went wrong, I never see you hit the ground. You go out the window, waving your hands and screaming then it, I dunno, kinda skips, and I see myself running down the stairs to help. Not that I could do anything. Homer managed to call 911 - that's right, he finally remembered the number - and got a cold washcloth, while Mom did CPR. The patio looked so much more beautiful with you there, eyes closed and surrounded by your blood. It sounds gross, but, well, it's true. Nothing I've ever seen before was so devastatingly beautiful.
Geez, I sound like one of those weird people you read - you know, Dickenson, those people.
It was all my fault, I know that. But that prank was supposed to be for Homer, his thick skull would've protected him. It was all so idiot-proof that only he could've set it off. Tell me, Lise, how did you do it? I mean, you're a damn genius! I should've thought twice, I guess, but, no, I had to be myself and now here I am, waiting for you to wake up. The nurse says I need to leave at some point, but I don't think so. I mean, I already left on Tuesday for dinner and a trip to the library. Yes, library. No, I'm not delirious. I got out all your favorites. If you wake up, they're in my backpack. I guess I could read them to you - you know, in case you got really hurt. God, I don't even want to consider that. You gotta wake up ok. Hell, I'll let you hit me a few times too.
Look, Lisa, please wake up. I need help - a lot of it. And I don't just mean in school. I mean it, something's wrong with me. You've been in a coma for almost a week and I can't feel anything - not even guilt. There's kinda a buzz and every now and then I end up crying - but it's like someone just took a needle and sucked out all my feelings. You know what I mean, right? Hell, I'm no good at this.
I don't know how much it means coming from someone who doesn't feel guilty, but here it goes: I'm sorry, Lisa. I'm sorry.
(---)
Principal Skinner purposefully walked to Room 208 of the hospital. It had been a week since the accident. He had only a few details from the newspaper, but, from what he understood, Bart Simpson had tried to kill his sister. It was too hard to believe. Though Bart was a troublemaker to the highest degree, he wasn't a murderer. Speaking of Bart, the boy hadn't been to school since the accident. He supposed that, if he was lucky, he could get two birds with one stone and Bart would be there as well. No matter what, he really should be at school. It was easier to keep an eye on him.
Except for Lisa, the room was empty. There was a cold, sterile feeling, one Principal Skinner would have never associated with the bright girl in front of him. At her bedside was a hard, plastic chair - for visitors, he guessed. He walked over and sat down. The chair was still warm, which struck him as a bit odd.
"Principal Ski-i-" The familiar voice was cut off a loud yawn. He turned his head to see Bart Simpson in the doorway, one hand holding a steaming mug of black coffee. The boy was a mess, to put it kindly. His face was dirty, his clothes looked like they hadn't been changed in weeks, his spiky hair drooped, and his eyes had lost their familiar mischievous glint.
"Bart Simpson?" he questioned not daring to believe his eyes. The boy nodded.
"You're in my chair." Well, that explained why it was still warm. Without a word, Principal Skinner got up (Why? He was the adult here, after all) and let Bart sit down.
"...I didn't know you liked black coffee."
"Hate it." Bart took a sip and shuddered. "Couldn't find any cream in the nurse's lounge." Principal Skinner arched an eyebrow.
"Bart, look, I know you don't want to leave your sister - and, heck, your GPA is better than ever now - but, by federal laws, you need to be back in school."
"Don't wanna go." He took another sip. "Wanna be here when she wakes up."
"Bart, she may never-"
"She WILL wake up!" Bart twisted in his seat so fast he dropped the coffee. "I know her, she's not gonna let this keep her down, she'll wake up! You'll see!" Principal Skinner stepped back, the coffee puddle spreading rapidly.
"Bart Simpson, if necessary, the police can take you and force you to go to school."
"Let's see them try."
(---)
The next morning, Mrs. Krabappel opened the door and stepped back as Officer Lou dragged in a squirming, protesting Bart Simpson. "Thank you again, ma'am." Mrs. Krabappel "Ha"ed in reply and watched at the officer handcuffed Bart to his desk and then walked back to her. He handed her a little bronze key. "You know, for the end of the day." She shrugged and took it, watching Officer Lou leave. She then closed the door and went up to the chalkboard.
Bart sat in his chair, slumped forward, eyes unfocused. Milhouse looked at his friend with concern.
"Bart?" he whispered. "Bart, you ok?" His normally-energetic friend remained silent. It was actually rather disturbing.
As Mrs. Krabappel wrote on the board, she heard a scraping sound. She ignored it - until there was another scraping sound. And another.
"Ok, what is-" She turned around and stopped. Everyone around Bart had moved his (or her) desk away. The boy didn't even notice. "....ah." Disconcerted, she went back to the board and accidentally began writing something different than before. No one bothered to point it out or laugh at her; for some reason, it didn't feel right.
For the rest of the morning, Mrs. Krabappel had to admit that she had never had such an easy time teaching. No one was making rude noises or trying to talk over her. It turned out to be a bad thing, though, because it ended the class an hour before recess.
"Ok, um..." She thought. Well, if she gave them busy work, she'd have to grade it. "Just....lay your heads down on your desk or something until the bell rings." She walked over to the windows, opened one, and lit up her cigarette. Why did Bart have to return to the classroom? Why?
Then she heard sobbing.
Turning, her cigarette fell from her mouth when she saw Bart crying, looking both confused and morbidly depressed. Milhouse was the only daring to get close.
"Y-you ok, Bart?" Bart didn't answer. Mrs. Krabappel edged back to her desk. Maybe she could call the office, let them handle it.
"Haw-haw!" She looked at Nelson, who was pointing at Bart. "You're crying!" That was true - but only for about two more seconds before Bart leaped from his seat, running to get the bully. Milhouse reacted, grabbing Bart by the back of his shirt even as he swung his fists.
"I'll kill you! I'LL KILL YOU!" Despite the tears on his face, it truly sounded like he meant it. Nelson backed away.
"Um, sorry?" Nelson's apology did nothing to calm down Bart. Mrs. Krabappel decided she definitely needed to call the office. Anything to get Bart out of the room.
(---)
Expulsion. The word no longer meant anything to Bart, except that he was leaving early. Fine. He needed to see if the library had the Babysitter Twins collection. He knew Lisa liked them.
Opening the door, he hardly noted the eerie quiet. Except for the librarian and janitor, the place was empty. He walked over to the fiction section and began glancing along the titles.
Still no. How long could they be out for? Shaking his head, Bart began his walk back to the entrance - and stopped. What was THAT book? He ran over with more energy than he had shown all week and took it off the shelf. Flipping through the first pages, he finally smiled.
THIS was what he needed.
(---)
Homer and Marge sat next to the bedside of their daughter, watching for any signs of life. Maybe her hand would twitch...or her eyes would open....or anything.
"Lisa....c'mon, honey, wake up. Daddy's got a pony for you!" Homer smiled, hoping it would help.
The monitors didn't even spike once.
Homer groaned, slumping over in his chair. "Oh, honey! C'mon! Please! We miss you!" Marge sighed, looking around. Well, at least Bart had finally left. Granted, it was because the police were making him attend school, but it was a start. It was bad enough that Lisa was in a coma. She didn't want to lose her only son as well.
(---)
"Hello, how can I help you?" The receptionist peered down at the boy.
"Room....208...wanna visit..."
"Oh, yes." She checked her computer. "Lisa J. Simpson. Her parents are in there-" She did a double-take. "Oh, hi Bart. Just go on back, ok?"
"Thanks." He walked past her. She watched him. He looked even worse than before. Those long nights and days probably hadn't helped him. She honestly felt bad for the kid.
That was when he collapsed in the middle of the hallway.
"DOCTOR!"
(---)
The book lay open in the center of the carpet, its text visible for all to read:
"The spells ahead are not recommended for beginners. These spells are very dangerous and, if a mistake is made, the amateur spellcaster may die. Or worse..."
(---)
Marge heard a beep, looked up, and gasped. "Homer! Look!"
"Huh?" He looked at the monitor. There was a spike. And another. "WHOO-HOO! C'mon, Lisa!"
(---)
"He's not breathing!"
"Go get his parents!" The receptionist ran to complete her task while the doctor began CPR. "C'mon...stay with me!"
(---)
"One such example are karmic spells. Karmic spells are perhaps the trickiest spells to attempt. That, combined with their need for a sacrifice, makes them highly unpopular. Many times, the story has been told of a person trying to heal a terminal condition of a family member..."
(---)
Five minutes......ten minutes.....he was running out of time. The brain wasn't going to get enough oxygen if this didn't work soon. "COME ON!"
(---)
More spikes. Marge and Honer watched eagerly.
"Oh, Lisa, sweetie..." Marge was beaming. Then a nurse stepped in.
"Mr. and Mrs. Simpson?" She was panting.
"Yeah, one sec. C'mon, Lisa!" Homer grinned. The nurse hesitated.
"Does your son have any medical conditions we should know about?"
"Nah, the boy's healthy." Homer waved a hand dismissively. Marge looked up in alarm.
"Why? Did the school nurse call?"
"He's here. He collapsed in the middle of the hallway with no heartbeat. Dr. Kent is trying to resuscitate him."
"My baby!" She jumped up. "Homer, watch after Lisa. Bart needs help!"
"Got it." Homer watched Marge run out of the room, closely followed by the nurse.
(---)
"...and, to do so, sacrificed their own lives."
(---)
"COME ON!" He pushed down on the chest once more before putting a finger on the boy's neck, over the carotid artery.
Still no pulse. He sighed.
"Nurse, call time of death."
"Time of death is 3:12."
(---)
Lisa slowly opened an eye. Wait. Where was she?
She glanced at the clock on the wall in front of her. Digital. She could faintly make out the time.
3:12.