a/n so I should really be working on something else but I read another one of those prompts that hit me and made me go 'oH MY GOD THIS IS A THING THAT i HAVE TO WRITE' soooo…I'll link and just straight up copy and paste the prompt (in case the link stops working) in at the bottom to avoid spoilers. This story doesn't actually follow the prompt anymore, anyway. I think it's growing TW: major character death, cancer.
Disclaimer: I don't have the skills to be Hussie.
And the Earth Keeps Spinning
You've been here for nearly a week. A while week of test after test after test, and each time they drew more blood, made you piss in a cup, or put you in some big fancy machine, you just ended up waiting for one of your doctors to shrug his or her shoulders, frown, and explain in fancy words that they still didn't know how to stop it. They still have no clue how to save you.
You're hooked to an IV and a few other machines, resting against the fluffy pillows and staring at the tiny TV with the colors that are just a little bit off in the corner of the room.
Your cousin, father, best friend, and boyfriend have been taking turns staying with you. You almost wish they would leave you alone…just for a little bit. You're so exhausted, all you want to do is be able to cry without bothering them. You want them to think you're strong, not that you're too scared and weak to deal with this. You're thankful that your boyfriend, Dave, who had taken the place of your best friend, Gamzee, a few hours ago, had already fallen asleep. You weren't in the mood for a rap batter that you knew you'd lose unless he purposely did poorly to make you feel better, or another conversation about his comics or really any conversation. You didn't want to talk.
A woman wearing a rusty red shirt under a white lab coat knocks on your door, and you look towards her. Her full lips, red as blood, are twisted into an awkward smile, and her brown eyes are filled with sorrow. Eyes that say that they found something bad. "Nitram?" She asks quietly, and you nod.
She walks in, glancing at the sleeping form. Dave's mouth hung open and he snored slightly. She watches him for just a second before running a hand through her long mass of curls.
"The news isn't very good, I'm afraid…" She hugs a clipboard to her chest, "Would you like me to wake your friend up?"
You shake your head quickly. You want to hear it alone. "Just tell me, please."
She nods, "The last scan revealed that you've got cancer."
You nod. That's…well, it's okay. People survive cancer all the time.
"It seems it took us quite a while to catch it, too." She pulls out a copy of the scan and passes it to you.
"Um…" you stare at it, looking at all the bright spots. They riddled your body; your arms, legs…there was even a small spot in your brain, and several on your torso.
"The lighter areas are tumors," she confirms your fears.
You're covered in them. You're a fucking Christmas tree, and tumors are your ornaments. You look down at yourself, then back at the image. That's you.
"Will I be able to make it?" You ask quietly, blinking a few times.
"I'm sorry…it isn't very likely. There is still a possibility, though, and we'll fight with you through the whole thing. There are several treatment options we can talk about, once your father is back. We promise, we'll do all that we can to ensure you a long life."
You nod, rubbing the back of one of your hands over an eye. You pass the image back to her, "Can we talk about that, uh, later?"
She nods as though she understands everything. How could she understand what you're going through? How could she possibly know what it's like to be so close to death?
She leaves soon after that, and you spend the next several minutes crying silently. You try to get as much of it out as you can, and then you pull yourself together and watch TV. All of the crying exhausted you, and after a while, you find yourself falling asleep.
You can only hope that it doesn't look like you were crying. You don't want Dave to know. You don't want your dad or Rufioh or Gamzee or any of your other friends to know. You don't want more pitying looks, you don't want 'if you want to cry to somebody…' you don't want any of it.
You want to go back to normal. You want to be healthy. You just…you want to have a few more hours to pretend that you're going to be okay.
You hate this. You really do.
a/n The prompt was: post/73762902592/your-muse-has-found-out-they-are-going-to-die-within and if you want to know what it says without the link(or if the link breaks) it reads: Your muse has found out they are going to die within the next week. How does your muse tell mine the news?
It was from angsty-askboxmemes and submitted by an anonymous user. So yeah it was meant for tumblr but who cares? It gave me an idea.