Well, a few warnings: very angsty, not really slash slash but definite mentions of guy/guy love (: oh, and character death. I've never killed off a character before, thought I'd give it a go. Lyrics are How to Save a Life by The Fray and Boosh belongs to Noel and Julian (:
Please r/r! xxx
Going Under
Between the lines of fear and blame,
You begin to wonder why you came.
He was barely alive. He was pale and half-conscious and beautiful and barely alive. Howard hated seeing him like this. Thin tubes pumping drugs through his veins, the contrast of raven hair on white sheets making him look ever-paler, the flimsy material of the hospital gown settling on his body so Howard could clearly see the sharp, unhealthy angles of his hips and ribs jutting out. They said if he fell asleep now, there was a ninety-five percent chance he'd never wake up. They said he'd lost too much blood, that the thick glass went straight through his torso.
Howard did that to him. He blamed himself; of course he did. He was the one driving. Not Vince. Him.
He could still hear everything; see everything when he closed his eyes. His mind stuck on a loop like a cheap vinyl, playing and re-playing the moment he'd broken his best friend.
"Vince, stop sulking," Howard had smiled in an exasperated fashion, casting an eye over his sulking friend, watching his ridiculous pout grow. "Look, I'm sorry, but after that whole thing with the goat, there is no way I'm letting you drive. I mean, did you even pass your test?"
Vince's pointed face had emerged indignant from underneath his hat. "You have to take a test?"
Howard laughed and the two lapsed back into peaceful silence. They stayed like that for a while, until;
BAM!
The back left tyre hit a huge rock and the van swerved off sideways, rolling over and over and over. Howard's ears were filled with the noises of crunching trees and inverting metal and shattering glass and Vince's surprised screams. Then the van stopped rolling, coming to rest on it's side.
Lay down a list of what is wrong,
The things you've told him all along,
And pray to God he hears you,
And pray to God he hears you.
And now he's lying in a hospital bed, and his friend is sitting by his side, burning his hands with a plastic cup of tea he can't bring himself to drink.
"Vince?" Howard said quietly. The air was thick with guilt. Then came a reply, so un-Vince-like, Howard had to bite his lip to stop himself crying.
"Howard?"
Howard dropped his tea, clasping Vince's hand instead.
"I'm here, little man," he said, trying not to choke on his words. Vince forced his eyes open and gave a wonky smile.
"Hi," he croaked. Howard tried to smile, but it came out shaky and tearful and pointless.
"I'm sorry," he whispered jaggedly.
"What for? It's not your fault, Howard; none of this is your fault-" a raggedy cough cut Vince off, mid-stream, and he groaned, curling up. Howard ran a hand over Vince's face in a vain attempt to soothe him.
"Don't talk," he said weakly. "You'll be okay."
"Vince?" Howard had murmured. No answer. Howard turned his head, wincing as he felt a fresh cut on his neck.
Vince was curled up on his seat, blood covering his hands which were clutching at his side. The window to his left was smashed in, and a long, jagged shard of glass was protruding through the ripped material of Vince's t-shirt.
"Shit," he'd whispered. Howard's small eyes widened as he clambered over the gearstick and the handbrake.
"Fuck, Vince," he breathed, panicking. "Okay, you'll be fine, you'll be okay."
Trying not to show his panic, Howard dived into his pocket, shakily bringing out his mobile.
"Vince, you'll be fine, I promise. The ambulance is on it's way, okay? Vince, keep your eyes open!"
Vince moaned, lifting heavy eyelids. His big blue eyes were tear-filled and packed with desperation.
"Howard?" he choked, barely audible. "Howard, don't leave me."
"Shut up, you ponce, I'm not going to leave you," and then for the third time, he repeated; "You'll be fine."
Drive until you lose the road,
Or break with the ones you followed.
"We had some good times, though, didn't we?" Vince smiled weakly. Howard would've followed the younger head-first into a crimp, had the situation not been so fucking serious. Instead, he vigorously shook his head and placed a hand on Vince's cheek. He was ice-cold.
"Don't think like that, don't you fucking dare. There are plenty more good times to come, okay?"
Vince half-laughed, half-sobbed.
"I don't wanna die," he admitted, voice trembling.
"Shut up, you're not dying," Howard let a few tears fall. Vince's chest was barely moving and he was crying freely.
"I'm gonna miss you."
"Stop it," Howard demanded brokenly.
"Howard, I…"
He will do one of two things;
He'll admit to everything,
"Don't," the maverick pleaded. "Don't say it."
Not because he didn't want to hear it. He wouldn't be able to say it back, that's why.
"I love you."
Howard let a sob escape his lips and he nodded stiffly, swallowing. "I know, little man," was all he could say.
"Find another Vince, yeah?" Vince said so quietly Howard barely heard. And he didn't think he heard right.
"What?"
"Well, the Mighty Boosh has gotta go on some how. Get someone else, go out there, create some musical fusion, yeah?"
Howard choked back a hollow laugh. "Don't be a fucking idiot, how could I ever replace you?"
Vince simply smiled. And then he closed his eyes, and the machines around him began screaming, and Howard shut everything out apart from him and Vince.
"Vince?" he croaked. "Vince!" his voice rose in hysteria and he gripped his friend's limp hand tighter than ever. "Don't leave me, you can't fucking leave me, Vince, I love you!"
There.
Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend,
He said it.
Somewhere along in the bitterness, and I,
But it was too late.
"Vince," he whispered. "Vince, please. I love you. I love you. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou."
Would have stayed up with you all night,
Had I known
And he meant it. He said it over and over to the figure in front of him, but he didn't hear him, and it didn't bring him back.
It never would.
How to save a life.