He stepped into the hospital room. Everyone else was already there, Andrew and Allison, who were still happily dating. His own ex Claire. He was sure he had seen the parents out in the waiting room. But he ignored them all. All of his attention was focused on the boy laying on the bed, various tubes and wires were attached to his pale flesh. For once his hair was a mess, he donned a pale gown in place of his usual sweater. Nurses came and went, sometimes replacing whatever fluid he was hooked up to, other times just making sure he was still breathing.
It was a pitiful sight. A person with so much potential feeling so pressured, so alone, that he would swallow a total of twenty three sleeping pills in one gulp. John felt he should have known. Should have realized. Should have paid more attention.
Three months had gone by. Three months since they had all met. Three months since he had first tried.
Sure, using a flare gun couldn't have killed him, but this could've. If John, or rather anyone had looked past the fake grins, the fake laughs, maybe Brian would be at home, safe, instead of laying in a hospital bed, fighting for a life he didn't want to live. And John wouldn't feel like this was all his fault, even though he knew it wasn't. He would be in some ally, smoking cigarettes or doing drugs. Not here where he felt like someone had reached into his chest and was tugging directly at his heart.
And in that moment, he collapsed into sobs at Brian's bedside, begging forgiveness from the unresponsive boy, and promising that- if it was the last thing John Bender did- he would protect Brian.
And he did.
Brian woke up two weeks later.
The first person he asked to see was John.
The taller boy walked into the room and his eyes met those of the weak blond, before they welled with tears and he pulled Brian into an embrace, promising to help him and begging him to never leave him again.
Brian didn't know what brought this on, but he was thanking whatever did.