A/N: This is based off an RP I did on MSPARP. Remember there are more underlying emotions that are portrayed when this story is not in the Pesterchum format.
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HOMESTUCK OR THE WORDS FROM THIS RANDOM JOHN I MET ON MSPARP. Btw, if you are the John from this rp, please PM me, I'd love to rp again! Sorry for being a sucky Dave, I was in the mood for Dave whump. /shot.
You don't know what your name is. Wherever you are, it is dark and cold. You are very tired, and very alone. Suddenly you remember. Eight goliath jocks are jeering at you. They say things like 'faggot,' 'Satan spawn,' 'worthless,' 'freak,' 'demon.' Scathing words that cut through your memory like butter make you double up in pain, wherever you are.
You remember pestering John for the last time, just to finally tell him what had been happening to you the past three months. You could almost feel the desperation that had leaked from his words. You regret causing him pain.
And your Bro- god, he's probably more pissed at you now then that time you accidentally spilled cheap Chinese sweet and sour sauce all over Lil' Cal. He'll have to sell all your stuff and plan your funeral and- oh geez, you've made such a big mess. Wasn't all of this supposed to have ended? 175 pills had been consumed; the doctors did all they could, but that is a hell of a lot of pills. What had they done, after pumping your stomach?
Oh yeah. Your bro told you that the toxins had entered your bloodstream. The docs were gonna give you a transfusion but no one had the same freaky blood type as you or something. They said your body would probably enter a coma and develop a high fever to try and kill/reject the pills. Bro told you that you might not wake up again. There was a mere 50% chance either way.
John… god, John. You don't even know exactly what to think about this. But then you remembered the goliaths again, and in a way, you are relieved it's over- it's finally over. Wherever you are, they can't get to you, you are safe, and you are untouchable. Then paranoia sets in. They had threatened to go after your bro- and John. You aren't all that worried about Bro, he can handle himself. But John…
What have you done? Not only have you done a seriously uncool thing- being a coward- you have left your beautiful, amazing boyfriend at the beefy hands of eight maniacs. You begin to panic before remembering Striders do not panic. You tell yourself, screw it no one is here to see you break, no one ever saw you break they just read your shitty typed apologies and final words and you think good, that its better this way, that you can't hurt anyone or bother anyone anymore.
Who are you kidding, you miss John, his goofy smile and adorkable laugh and his buckteeth, his crazy hair and stupid pranks that you laugh at anyway because they're *his* pranks, they make him who he is and you love who he is so much.
You miss your Bro, now you are never going to strife him again, and he even told you that you'd be better than him one day, and now you won't; you'll be dead, buried six feet under, or at least your body will be because you're freaking trapped in this vast expanse of hellish nothingness.
You miss Harley and her crazy affectionate hugs because dammit, you and she were clingy sometimes. You miss how she'd always fall asleep and have to put colored strings on her fingers to remember even the simplest stuff and just her cheeriness in general.
You miss Lalonde and how she analyzes you (or maybe it's just her being a good perceptive friend) and knows exactly what to say to make you feel like maybe you're not such a loser or a faggot or anything they ever told you. Because Rose Lalonde always could tell, although you never told her anything.
You've screwed up Strider… but wait.
You see something and hear something and now it's bright and everything is so heavy. And, and you feel it, it's so beautiful.
A second chance.
Your whole being felt as though John had taken a hammer to it repeatedly. Your heart was beating too loudly, and your breathing was too quiet. It took you a moment to find your eyelids, and as soon as you dare open them, you snap them shut. Way too bright.
A warm hand was loosely gripped in your right. Instantly you recognized the slightly callused fingers, the palm that fit so perfectly in yours. His deep breathing suggested he was asleep, so you remain silent, assessing your surrounding through your other senses.
It smelled too clean, too sterile. You faintly detected the scent of his shampoo, and it comforted you. An annoying beeping sound to your left kept time to the beating of your heart. You were alive, and apparently in a hospital. You could feel the lumpy pillow beneath your head and the cheap paper gown, all covered by scratchy, over washed sheets.
Your mouth tasted horrid, and again you distinctly remember having to puke your guts out earlier. After a moment you braved opening your eyes again. It took a few tries, but you adjusted fairly quickly. What you wouldn't do for your shades right now. You peer down to see that forever messy mop of hair that belongs to John.
He's snoring and gog damn it's adorable. You unintentionally shift closer to him and your body screams in protest. The monitor begins to beep a little faster and you groan softly. Your whole body hurts so badly… wait, why can't you feel your left arm? You try to wiggle your fingers. Nothing happened. Not even a little jolt of pain suggesting they even existed.
The monitor sped up a little more.
Your right hand twitches and John's snoring ceases. He flexes his own hand and opens his eyes blearily, blinking up at you before closing them again. Then they snap open and he squeezes your hand so tightly in shock you think he might have broken it.
Those beautiful blue eyes are staring at you, and after a split second he is hugging you tightly.
"Ow, Egbert." Your voice is hoarse and raspy from disuse. How long had you been out, exactly?
He lets loose a strangled sob into your chest, and you think your heart shattered right then and there. He pulls his face away and you see dark circles under those baby blues. He is crying, and it takes your years of poker face training to not cry too.
"Hey." You say lamely. Idiot. He half laughs.
"T-two weeks of waiting for you to wake up and all I get is a hey?" He sounds more relieved and tired than angry, you think. Boy did you screw up. You grin weakly.
"I was out that long, huh?" He nods.
"I- we thought you weren't going to wake up. A few times your heart even stopped. I was so scared, Dave." His voice has trailed off to a whisper and he is crying again. You hate seeing him cry. You snapped. The water gates flooded over and the two of you are crying into each other like there's no one else there even though you hear your bro outside talking to the doctor. You sob it like a mantra, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, John," He is kissing your face everywhere he can reach- your cheeks, your forehead, your lips, your nose.
You love him so much it hurts.
After a while you two are too emotionally exhausted to do much but lay in each other's presence. He is cuddled up to your aching sides, and you wonder why you can't feel your left arm yet. "Hey, John, what…. What happened while I was out?" you ask. Before he can even open his mouth to form a response Bro has walked into the room, shades off. Your breath catches in your throat at how…. How crappy he looks. His orange eyes, once bright with a sparkle, are now devoid of almost all emotion. His face is paler than usual, and had he lost weight-?
"Not much." Bro answers your question. His voice is so drained and he doesn't even attempt the poker face or stoic façade. All you can think is, 'I did this, I am hurting him, I broke him.' John shoots Dirk a nervous look, like he doesn't want the older male to say something wrong. You don't miss how Bro pointedly ignores your boyfriend.
"How are you feeling, Dave?" He didn't even call you little man like usual.
You wince as John shifts at your side. "Like I got hit by a bus," you reply honestly. You half expect him to yell at you for being such a moron, for bringing this onto yourself. He does no such thing of course. In fact, he gives you a tired grin.
"You were almost treated as such. Did you know Dave, your heart stopped three times? They almost couldn't bring you back." He says in that same weary voice, smile gone. You swallow down the lump in your scratchy throat.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Hey, little man," ah, there it is! "Can you do us a favor and try to move your left fingers?" he looks hopeful and John stares at you with big doe eyes. You shrug and regret it immediately. When your brain sends the signals to your fingers to move, they remain limp. You frown and try again. Nothing.
"Uh, Bro? Why can't I even feel lefty, let alone move him?"
They suddenly look a mix between devastated and heartbroken. What have you done now to hurt them? Bro steps forward slowly, as if you are a frightened animal that will try to escape at any sudden movement (and based on their expressions you feel like doing just that) until he is holding your left arm up for you to see. From the shoulder to the tips of your fingers, it is bandaged and hooked up to about a billion different machines. Your eyes widen in shock because that needle looks like it seriously hurts, and you can't feel anything, not even the tender way your bro is holding the injured appendage- nothing.
"What happened? I downed a bunch of pills, not slice my arms up." John winces at your harsh terminology and clutches your cheap paper gown tightly.
"Dave…there was an accident… you were so out of it, you got a fever of 106 in your coma…."
"That's a fatal temperature!" you cry out. He nods grimly.
"That was the first time your heart stopped. It was for eleven seconds before they resuscitated you with a defibrillator. A day or two later the pill concentrate was seriously rejected by your body and slowed down all of its functions. Your blood pressure dropped significantly and you got hypothermia. Your core temp then was only 82 degrees."
"Holy shit…" you whisper in awe. "But what does that have to do with my arm being all paralyzed and stuff?"
"The doctors… they required taking samples of your bone marrow. One of the surgeons freaking sneezed while extracting it and practically drove the needle all through your bone out the other side of your arm. And worse, it got infected. By now the pill concentrate is basically burned and frozen out of your bloodstream. But then there was an infection that affected your bloodstream, your skin, and your nerves. They were hoping the nerves could repair themselves quickly enough but I guess…they…they didn't."
Oh my God. Your bro… was crying… for the first time ever that you had seen. John, who must have heard this story before, still looked like someone had paralyzed his arm, not yours. You were silent for a moment. "Is there… any chance that… that it will ever be normal again?" Your voice sounded dead and this just made John and Bro- BRO! - flinch.
"I don't want to sugar coat anything-"
"Just spit it out!" you snapped, not regretting it. Who wouldn't be testy when given the news you'd just been told? Who?! Your bro knew this and just nodded. There were still tears, either unnoticed or ignored, running down his face.
"Probably not. But there is a chance, Dave. We can go to physical therapy, see if there's anything at all… I know a guy who was completely paralyzed from the waist down who regained full use of his legs after a few months of therapy…" he trails off when he sees your expression change.
You don't know what to feel. Angry, for doing this to yourself, and to the people that care about you? Sad, because of the pain you're causing? Guilty, for not carrying it through? You quickly banished that last thought. You supposed that maybe being strapped to the bed to prevent any further attempts on your life might have been necessary, after all.
"Is that expensive?" Bro physically winced at your question. You knew the answer. Even with all the double shifts he had been pulling lately, you knew money was tight. You couldn't imagine how expensive physical therapy would be.
"No… I made a mistake. I will have to live with it. Good thing I'm right handed, right?" Your attempt at humor fails miserably. It's not even ironic. You can see John starting to protest and cut him off quickly. "What if nothing works, John? What if we spend hundreds of dollars on trying to fix this arm and nothing works? What would that do? I don't think they give refunds."
"Dave, but what if it does work? Everything and anything would worth getting you 100 percent better." He argued. You give him a sad look. "I wouldn't bet on it. Things are tight. I've screwed up. I'll have to live with it."
You look at your bro and the two of you have a wordless war, your eyes doing all the conversing.
Dave, we have to get you better.
I'm not even worth it.
You will always be worth it.
I'm sorry. No.
Dave… stop being so stubborn.
I'm trying to help you.
You are not helping anyone. You need to get better. I cannot lose you again.
You want to cry again. But you don't. Instead, you remain still as the tension dies down. You give your bro an almost imperceptible, defeated nod. He nods back, just as discreetly. The whole exchange took less than ten seconds, John didn't notice.
The rest of the day passes by in a blur. You are told you have to stay for 72 more hours for suicide watch. You don't care. You are told your first physical therapy session is next Wednesday. You don't care. John and your Bro stay with you the whole time. That is something you care about. Rose and Jade visit. There are more tears and awkward exchanges. Rose is a good sister. Jade is an excellent hugger. Vantas shows up and he is surprisingly quiet. He then bursted into angry sad tears and punches your paralyzed arm. You actually wish you could have felt it.
Pyrope comes in when you only have twenty six hours, eight minutes and thirteen seconds left of your hospital stay. You were always very conscious of time and this is no different; it's like your body is a clock, counting down. You lie to yourself and say it is only counting down the stay. A second clock is counting and you try desperately to ignore it. She is a good distraction, a vibrant streak in the dull gray emptiness you feel when around the others. At least until she hugs you gently and whispers into your ear, "Please don't do it again Dave." Then she is gone.
The table at your bedside quickly fills up with cards, flowers, and candies from various people. Captor comes in and gives you a story about how he once attempted suicide. Karkat had stopped him, Captor says. "I wath in the middle of thlithing my writhtth open. He kicked the door down to get to me." That explained why Vantas was so upset when he saw you. He almost lost another comrade. You are actually surprised Captor had tried. He seemed happy enough. Then you remembered you were happy enough to everyone else before you did it, too. You thank him for his time and he understands.
Megido tells you to be strong. Leijon gives you a hug and tells you evfurrything will be okay. Maryam lectures you and scoffs at the tacky hospital paper gown you don. Her and Rose are perfect together. Serket laughs at you for failing. You can see she is shaken though. Zahhak calls you a pansy and Leijon actually scratches him hard enough he bleeds. Makara calls you his bro and says "You need some motherfucking miracles." You appreciate the sentiment, considering he is as high as a kite. Ampora comes in with Peixes and he says to you that he was sorry. He looked sorry. He didn't ever do anything but be a whiny idiot.
Peixes had taught you how to swim last summer. You two had gotten pretty close. She doesn't cry, but you can see the tears in her eyes. Out of everyone she deserved to cry the least; she had enough crap to deal with, what with her family issues. Her mother had a huge baking corporation and her older sister Meenah (totally awesome dickface) was living up to the expectations as a Peixes heir. Feferi was always too pressured and too stressed. You let her hug you gently and let her kiss your cheek.
She offers for you to come by her beach house any time you wanted, and the two of you could go swimming in the sparkling water. You accept, thinking maybe you'd take her up on that offer if the opportunity would arise before you suppressed inner clock finished counting down.
Jake, Jane, and Roxy come. There are sad looks, hugs, and tears again. Roxy is much too drunk this time. She half sobs into your chest, "Whydya do ti, Davey? Ya shouldn't… SHOULDN'T STEAL THINGS! You tired to take yourself waya form us!"
That strikes a nerve, and for the third time since you've been in the hospital, you cry again. They are there to support you. Jane and Jake have to carry Roxy to the car when she passes out. You did this.
Nitram comes. You find out this is the former paralyzed boy your brother knew that regained the use of his legs. He is slightly stuttered and nervous, especially when he sees a spider on the floor. He tells you the doctors never expected for him to walk again, that he'd be a cripple forever. He was in a wheelchair for seven months before being moved onto crutches for almost a year. "And now," said Nitram, "I am the second fastest runner on the track team." You tell him that's pretty impressive, and he sees through you. He pats your arm- the one you can feel- and replies, "It was worth it- the waiting, the frustration, the cost."
You want to believe him, but he isn't you. You aren't worth anything.
There are only six hours left of your visit. John comes in with your breakfast. Shitty hospital food sucks. You haven't eaten much since you woke up; most of your nutrients are being administered via IV. This has everyone worried even more, and that is just one of the few things you don't care about.
"Dave, I have pancakes. And eggs. And even apple juice!" John says, trying to tempt you with that delicious nectar. You take that, at least. The food remains untouched.
You are tired. So, so tired. You want to sleep forever. You don't want to leave anyone behind. You don't know what you want anymore.
No, that's a lie. You don't want to hurt any more people. You don't want to be weak and pitied. You don't want to die. You want to kick some asses. You want to cry and scream and punch someone in the face. You want to grow old with John and marry him and make love to him (not in that order.) You want to have a smuppet trap sprung on you again. You want to feel loved. You want to go swimming with Feferi. You want to regain use of your arm. You want to make things right between you and Karkat. You want to throw an awesome party showcasing your sick beats.
You want to be strong for Aradia, get to know Sollux better, have evfurrything be alright for Nepeta, dress in the hottest clothes for Kanaya, make terrible GIFs and comics with Terezi, show Vriska that sometimes it's okay to drop certain tough facades, show Equius that you are not a pansy, give Gamzee all the miracles he deserves, and you want to tell Eridan to stop being a douche and realize people do in fact care about him. You want to get better for Nitram, to be post-paralyzed along with that Latino kid.
You want to give Roxy back what you almost took. You want Jake and Jane and Jade and Rose and your bro to never have to worry about you. You want the two clocks inside of you to shut the hell up so you can enjoy all of your time, all of it, without being so conscious of it.
You want so many things and it makes you sick and want to throw up. Unfortunately, when you try, there is only dry heaving. The acidy taste in your mouth is disgusting. Thankfully John is holding a bucket for you (oh, the horror!) and is stroking your back soothingly. You are at an awkward angle, being strapped to the bed and all. He is giving you a concerned look. That makes you dry heave stomach acid again.
You get to leave this godforsaken hellhole in thirty five minutes and eighteen seconds. When you mutter this out loud John looks shocked. "How- how did you do that?"
You shrug. "I've had a lot of free time."
Ten minutes and seven seconds later your bro comes in to tell you that you are being released early. "They need this room for an incoming car crash victim. We're leaving now. Well, as soon as you can walk. I'd imagine lying in bed for over two weeks would make your legs unsteady." You just nod.
A security guard has to come into the room as you are unstrapped by the doctor, who explains that the guard has a tazer to keep everyone safe, including you. You think it's highly unnecessary and quite ridiculous. The doctor carefully helps you sit up and you grimace as he unhooks your IV and everything else. Then he changes the bandage on your arm. You don't look at the wound. You don't want to. He hands you your clothes and leaves the room. You ask the guard to turn around. He says no.
You change in front of him anyway. Your dignity was stripped the moment you told John in that Pesterchum chat that you had a bottle of sleeping pills in your hand. When you go to stand up you crumple to the floor, swearing like a sailor. John and Bro are allowed in and grip you under your shoulders. The second attempt ends like the first. Your legs are like jelly and refuse to cooperate. Finally you are forced into a wheelchair. This upsets you. Your arm is paralyzed, not your legs.
You know it is only temporary and that you are being childish, but you can't help it. You pout as you are wheeled out. You think, actually, that this behavior is relieving to your boyfriend and brother. At least you aren't brooding on the single clock that is counting down in the recesses of your mind.
Shit, now that you acknowledged its existence it is ticking louder. Too loud, much too loud. You are drowning as it tick tocks through your senses. You don't pay attention to John or Dirk as they lift you into the car. When did your eyes close? You don't like sleeping. You don't like the nightmares. Or rather, lack of. It is just that same place when you dream, the place where you first arrived after your attempt. It is terrifying.
But you are tired and you crave silence, so you let your eyes slip shut on the drive home. You can feel the looks Dirk is giving you through the rearview mirror, but guess what? That's right, you don't give a fuck.
Twenty seven minutes later you arrive at home in a state of half-awareness. Dirk lifts you out of the car bridal style and you curl into his muscular chest. He is warm.
"Jesus, the kid is freezing. And light. He's lost weight." You hear John open the door to your apartment complex. People start swarming around you. You ignore them as best as you can. Your bro takes you to your room. John pulls the covers over both of you, wiggling around so he is holding you close. A single tear slips out of your eye when he kisses your hair and whispers, "I love you Dave."
You bring it to yourself to reply to him. "I love you too, John."
But you knew you had a long way to go before things would be alright.