You Could Be Anywhere, a big time rush fanfic

A/N: Guys, this is what happens when I spend hours writing one comedy fic. I turn around and write this. This is the result of six thousand words in a few hours. LJ CHALLENGES STEAL MY SOUL.

Disclaimer: Unless BTR is on HBO, it doesn't belong to me. The title is based off the song Anywhere by Empires.

You Could Be Anywhere
(By This Time Now)

When you woke up in the hospital, when you first get a grasp of both your senses and reality, there's always that horror, that plummeting of your stomach and you plead to God over and over again that you're not there, this is all a mistake, right? A dream? A hallucination? Anything.

James has no idea what the fuck happened.

He has to backpedal, has to think really hard. Okay. Okay. First thing's first, he has to take a mental catalogue of what's wrong with him, why he's here. He's in pain, so, there are a few options. He's not sick, at least not with a cold. He can breathe pretty fine. Well, no, his chest hurts every time he inhales, but that's got nothing to do with a cold.

He works his way from what he can see.

Left arm in a cast, an IV in his other arm (he grimaces at that). Um. His head is pounding. Concussion? Maybe—he's gotten them before, hockey. His face feels tender, he's probably got quite a few bruises. He pulls the sheets back to see stitches running up the inside of his thigh. Green and shining, there are thirty-two of them. He blinks. How could that have happened?

Making a face at the print of the hospital gown, he pulls the sheets back over him and settles into the pillows.

Surprisingly, he's not panicking. He can't really figure out why—usually he flips a shit if a hair is out of place on his head. But he's a little woozy.

Morphine?

James lets out a breathy groan, closing his eyes. Tries to figure out what happened. He feels so lightheaded.

Stay with me please you have to stay with me okay don't go don't go.

His eyes snap open.

What the fuck—

"Ah, James," someone says, and James whips his head to see a doctor, swathed in dark blue scrubs and a coat, holding the telltale clipboard and the plastered on smile of those who make a living giving people the worst news of their lives. "Good, you're awake. How do you feel?" The words are plastic, hollow and unfeeling. Words that have been spoken so many times that there's no worth to them any more.

How he feels?

Confused. Hurt. Sore as all hell. Who gives a flying crap.

"I'm fine," he lies, and the doctor looks almost like he wants to roll his eyes.

"James, how do you really feel?"

"Like crap," he admits. "What exactly…?"

The doctor bobs his head once and says, "I'm sorry James, but I've got to keep moving, I'll be back later, alright? The nurses will take care of you until then."

Thanks for nothing.

The gasps are getting louder now, panting whimpers and sobs and his chest is heaving and James presses his hand against that chest and whispers. Because he can't think. Can't breathe. But he's not hurt bad. But he is. He is. There's blood running down his face and out of his nose and James wants to wipe it away with his fingers, that's his blood he needs that he needs to live he has to.

He has to live he can't go he can't he can't.

Not yet never he can't go.

James startles awake and it takes him a while to touch his cheeks, to feel the salty wet rolling down his skin.

He can hear the nurses whispering, poor dear poor dear, and he can't figure out why. He's a bit battered, but he's not broken, he's not destroyed.

He's just a little beat-up.

That's all.

Don't you dare—

James I can't—

Yes you can you have to—

I-I can't—

Don't go—

James is sick of waking up crying and wondering who this person is.

Help him please oh God please not me not me you have to help him please!

Son calm down—

Please help him!

He's in V-fib—

Don't cut his sweater that's his favorite sweater why won't he wake up please you have to wake him up!

He was in a car. That's all he remembers. He was in a car and then there's this flash, pain, blood—

Carlos.

The name is a brand, like fire, and James thrashes, throws off his sheets, the IV drags a long thin line down his arm, but he doesn't care, he doesn't care, Carlos, oh God, Carlos—

Hands are everywhere, holding him back, fighting and pushing but he doesn't care, he fights back and he pushes back, no one is going to stop him from finding Carlos and making sure, he has to make sure—

A prick and he stops, spins, falls into black silence.

Poor dear, I think he remembers now.

Does he know?

I don't think so.

Does he know what?

Kendall is there. His eyes are dark, sad. Logan stands next to him, clinging to the hem of Kendall's shirt like if he doesn't, he'll get lost and he won't find his way back home.

No one will tell James anything, they won't, but Kendall and Logan will, they're his best friends and they have to see how much he needs to know. It's more than a desire, or a want, it's killing him, and cold unfeeling doctors can't see that. Kendall and Logan can.

He always can.

"What happened?" he asks, and they exchange a glance.

"You guys were in a car accident," Logan says softly, voice tinged with pain.

"I got that part," James snaps a little, because this is bullshit, bullshit, why won't anyone tell him? "What happened."

Silence.

"Where is he?"

Kendall pulls on his sleeve, picks at a spare thread. Logan looks away.

James tells them to leave him alone.

"You know what's nice about it?" He smiles. "It stops hurting after a while."

James shakes his head. "It never stops hurting."

"Well, okay. It stops hurting so bad. You just sorta drift for a while, you know?"

"What did you do?"

Another smile, a softer one, a sadder one.

"I was looking for you."

James isn't quite sure what to do with himself.

He suspects, at the very least, but he'll never believe it.

"There's different kinds of love, you know." He twirls a lock of James' hair, smirking when his hand is batted away. "What? I'm being lovey-dovey. You should like it."

"I do. Natural reaction."

"But anyway. See, you can love hot dogs, right? Hot dogs are awesome, you can say 'I love hot dogs' and it can not mean anything. Or you could say I love you to a friend when they just did you a huge favor. But that doesn't make you soul mates."

"Your point being?"

"My point, ass, is that I think God wanted there to be lots of different love in the world, like, He wanted all of His creations to love each other, but then you have the 'I love you' that means something else."

"The soul-mate-lovey-dovey I love you?"

"Yeah. The I-want-to-be-with-you-forever love. The kind that makes your heart ache."

"When did you get to be all philosophical?"

He reaches out and tugs James' hair again.

"When I met you."

James wonders when it actually does stop hurting.

The ceiling hides pictures in it. James thinks maybe that's what the construction workers wanted. To give poor, lonely, heartbroken people a chance to find solace in something other than their own thoughts. He finds a dolphin, a fat man eating a sandwich. A palm tree, a snowman. He stares at the ceiling until everything blurs and he can't find the shapes anymore.

"James?"

I'm right here I've got you I won't let go I promise don't let go okay?

"James."

I've got you.

Kendall sounds serious enough that James turns his head to look at him.

"Yeah?"

Kendall swallows.

"You heard it wrong," he whispers. "We thought—I mean. It's not what you think."

Promise?

"He's not… he's not dead, James. Just… lost. Not there right now."

I promise I won't ever leave.

Kendall shakes his head. "The doctors said that… he might not… they said it was better if you didn't know." His eyes are pleading. "I can't look at you like this anymore, James, c'mon."

I c-can't breathe—

Just hold on, okay?

James looks up at him, can't think, can't breathe, but then voices the first thing that comes to his head.

"I can find him."

Walking with a huge gash running down the length of his thigh is harder than James thought it would be. But it's not like he cares. He leans heavily on Kendall, clutching at his shirt, one step and step again and why can't he get there fast enough? The wall screams letters at him, ICU and he feels dizzy.

"James," Kendall mutters, "this isn't a good idea."

"I don't care."

"I know you don't care. Dude, I'm not trying to stop you. I'm warning you."

James can't help it—he jerks hard at Kendall's shirt and gets in his face.

"What if it was Logan?"

Kendall's breath catches.

James lets go, feels pain in his chest at the look on Kendall's face.

"I thought so."

People always look small in hospital beds.

This isn't right. He doesn't remember Carlos being this small. He's small, but not this small.

James wants to hold him close, want to feel the heartbeat and the breathing and the blood pumping and everything that makes a person alive, but his head hurts and burns and the ground tries to swallow him whole.

"You're an idiot," he snarls angrily, arms crossed. James doesn't think he's ever seen him this angry before. "What the hell did you think you were doing? You could've hurt yourself, you dumbass, you're lucky Kendall was there!"

"I was trying to find you," James whispers.

Something softens in his face, and he reaches out and cups James' cheek.

"You did, man. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Logan is the one who ends up telling him what happened, at least in terms of how battered he is. He relays what the doctors told Mrs. Knight.

"Um, you were pretty okay," he says in that tone of his, that I'd-rather-be-anywhere-else-but-I'm-here-for-you-anyway tone that James attributes to him. "You broke your arm and when you were crawling out of the car you caught your leg on the broken window." He points at James' thigh. "And you hit your head really, really hard. That's why you couldn't remember anything."

Logan knows he doesn't care about himself.

"C-Carlos…" he falters, picks at his nail, and soldiers on. "Carlos was worse off. He got caught between the door and the seat. Um. He…" Logan's voice breaks and James wonders how Logan ever thought he could be a doctor when he feels so raw, so powerfully for other people. "His chest nearly collapsed. His leg was broken and um. He was bleeding. A lot." Logan doesn't seem to notice that he has tears running down his face. "Th-they had to shock him in the ambulance. A-and he won't wake up."

James needs to throw up.

Logan shakes his head, gets up and wipes at his face, a sob bursting out of him. "God, James, I'm sorry, I shouldn't—be crying. Not in front of you, man, I'm sorry."

James really, really needs to throw up.

Logan buries his head in his arms, another sob tearing from his throat, and James wishes he could just take everyone's pain.

"Yeah, it hurt," he scoffs. "Like it wouldn't hurt. But you were there. I knew I'd be okay."

"How could you just think something like that?" James demands, and he receives a bewildered look.

"You promised," Carlos says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and maybe it is.

The next time James visits Carlos, he's in a wheelchair because the doctor is an asshole and won't let James just take the pain. Carlos is just as still, just as small, just as broken as the last time, but now James has nowhere to pass out, nowhere to fall and it's like gravity is pushing in on him anyway.

He won't wake up, but James reaches out and wraps his hands around Carlos' fingers like maybe that's all it will take.

"Well, Mr. Diamond," the doctor says, perusing his stupid clipboard, "I think you're well enough that you can go home for now. Just take it easy, don't exert yourself and we'll see you in a few weeks to take out the stitches.

James nods.

Are you still discharged if you plan on staying anyway?

I love you I love you please stay please stay don't close your eyes don't do it.

Kelly puts her hand on his shoulder, shakes her head. She won't look at the bed, but he sees her eyes sparkle with unshed tears.

"James, you need to eat."

"I will," he says, but the lie sounds hollow even to himself.

I c-can't—I can't b-breathe, James—

You'll be okay I promise.

"You don't have to stay, you know. You can leave."

"I didn't leave then. I'm not leaving now."

James brushes his lips against the scabbed knuckles, whispers into the skin.

"I love you." He feels his heart ache, tries to hold down his sobs. "And not like hot dogs."

The monitor next to the bed beeps.

I'll find you I promise.

Kendall and Logan are there, too, and they sit with him for a while. Neither of them say much, and neither does James.

Frankly, there's nothing to say.

The doctors shake their heads. The nurses sympathize.

Only Logan and Kendall get it.

I l-love you—

Stop talking just keep breathing okay?

Y-yeah b-but I… I w-wanted to say it.

His eyes are brown and bloodshot, tired and pain still lingering but they sparkle when they lock with James'.

James smiles.

"Found you."

fin