== Be the bloody guy
Your name is John Egbert and holy shit bullet hurt. But let's learn a little more about you, shall we? You were mute. Ever since you were born, and every day since. You also wore thick glasses, therefore marking you as the largest nerd in this entire school. With the clear evidence of your boyfriend, Dave 'Motherfucking' Strider, you weren't the straightest guy. Back to the present though, as important events were unfolding. There will be more to learn about you at a later time.
Currently, your hands were moving at…well they weren't moving. You couldn't feel them, your back was pressed rather uncomfortably against Dave's chest. Dark red blood, nearly the color of his eyes yet not quite, bubbled up from all three wounds in your own chest. His lips were moving, but you couldn't hear a single word. Your head tilted up slowly to watch your blubbering blob of a boyfriend. You attempted to decipher what he was saying but you were just…just so tired. Only a few minutes you wanted to assure him, darkness tinting your vision as if you were wearing Dave's shades. Another grin wormed its way onto your lips and you slowly slid into the welcoming arms of darkness.
== Be the bloody guys' boyfriend
Your name is Dave Strider and holy shit this wasn't happening. Holy shit nonono why were his eyes closed nope nope nope definitely not. You just wanted to curl up in a little hole, rocking yourself slowly because holy motherfucking shit why did this have to happen? Gently, or as gently as you could while cradling John against your chest, you peeled off your hoodie and pressed it against the bloody mess that was his chest.
But then he was getting taken away. What no give him back, Dirk you shithead give him back you're going to hurt him. You heard someone sob and you're pretty sure it was coming from you. What no, you weren't crying because Striders didn't cry. Your piece of shit brother holding all that mattered to you and why his head was like that and why wasn't his body moving and oh god this wasn't supposed to be happening, they weren't supposed to go after him. They weren't supposed to touch him fuck fuck fuck.
Blue and red flashes filled your vision and a small bloodied hand shifted in front of your vision and no you weren't crying. Striders didn't cry.
A hand landed on your shoulder, causing you to jump in a way that you would never admit. You turned to glare at whoever it was, only to be grabbed and pulled off the ambulance platform. You fought and fought against the unseen person. Rushed words past by but you weren't paying attention because then the ambulance was pulling out of the spot, driving away and arms were wrapped tightly around you and you… couldn't… breathe.
== Be the bloody guy again
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== Alright, be the anime shades guy again.
Error not available.
== OH MY FUCKING GOD
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
== Be the guy with the weird accent.
Finally! Not that you were waiting for this or anything. Your name is Jake English and it's about bloody time you got an introduction. Currently you were standing in a hospital next to your uncle and two blond chaps, the ones you had seen earlier in the high school, sitting in various spots around you. Now, it may not seem like it, but you were panicking. Your hands were shaking, foot tapping rapidly on the ground. A gloved hand landed on your arm, causing you to jump a little as you looked up. Eyes covered with strange triangular lenses scanned you, or at least you assumed they did. You attempted to move away from the touch because it was starting to get uncomfortable when gentle arms wrapped around you.
"O-oh! U…um." You stammered because (a) you didn't know this person, and (b) this was a hug, an actual hug. When the awkward embrace ended, you could feel your cheeks burning with a blush, only receiving the smallest of smirks in response. "Who…who are…what's your name?"
"Dirk, Dirk Strider." A voice with just a brush of a Texan accent replied, one hand reaching out to yours. Hesitantly, you put your own in his and shook it twice before letting go once more.
"Jake English." You smiled a little as he nodded, moving back to his seat with who you could assume was his younger brother.
A high pitched squeal followed by a quiet shush interrupted your thoughts, a blur of bright green and dark hair flinging itself into your arms. Gingerly, you wrapped them around the shaking figure that was your younger sister, Jade Harley.
You situated yourself in the hard plastic chair as the other figure, her best friend Rose Lalonde, sat beside the two silent Striders. Quiet questions drifted up to your ears, causing you to sputter out a response. Careful eyes watched the unmoving swinging doors, the silence only broken by the labored breath of…well everyone.
When the doctor came in, what seemed like hours had already passed. The youngest Strider sprung to his feet and knocking his sunglasses across the room; your eyes widened at the hollow clatter, pulling yourself to your feet alongside Dirk. Connecting your gazes, you stepped forward as the doctor began leading the shaking boy down the hall.
== Be Dave
Well fuck. So there you were with a dying boyfriend, an idiot bro, and a stuttering mess of a strange British dude. Your hand was wrapped tightly around your passed out loser of a boyfriend, eyes squeezed shut. He's just sleeping, he's just sleeping, he's just fucking sleeping. You shakily brushed hair from his closed eyes, swallowing hard. Oh fuck why does this always happen to you?
Carefully removing your hand from his, you stepped away and closer to the budding relationship between your bro and John's…cousin? Dirks gaze flitted over to you with a raised pale blond brow, watching your slow approach. A silent conversation passed between you two, full of small smirks and hand motions. With a satisfied noise, he and Jake quietly stepped out of the stark white hospital room. Slowly, in a way that you would never do if he was awake, you crawled into the bed and wrapped, yes wrapped, yourself around your boyfriend. Because you, Dave Strider, was a total loser and needed your fellow loser boyfriend. Hands clenched tightly around Johns shirt, you buried your face against his shoulder. "You're such a little shit, you know that?"
Faint noises answered which, of course, caused you to straighten up. Gently, so very gently, you shook him. More noises. "Holy fuck…"
Your eyes widened considerably as your hand struggled to find Johns. Carefully, you traced the hollow of his pale cheeks and across his lips. Oh fuck why did everything shitty have to happen to him, this wasn't supposed to happen, they weren't supposed to even look at him because they knew, oh they fucking knew, that you would kick their asses. Dark lashes fluttered at faint kisses pressed to his brow, causing the smallest of smiles to spread across your face.
"John…" You whispered softly, blue flashing under black, lips parting to reveal large buckteeth. When his eyes finally, finally, opened, you nearly screamed. Quickly enveloping your boyfriend in your arms, you kissed across his entire face. Holy shit don't scare me like that again you shithead. Fuck fuck fuck. Your eyes squeezed shut tightly to show that no, you weren't crying, you weren't shaking what the fuck nope. Soon you felt a hand running through your hair, smoothing down your spine and resting on your hips. "Shithead."
John laughed his cute little soundless laugh, causing you to curse the day that someone dared to try and take away from you. Your body curled around his again, moving to cradle his in an effort to keep him close. Pale hands tightened around yours as if to sooth your practically fried nerves. As raven black hair brushed against your trembling chin, you allowed yourself to relax, if only a little bit. He's real, this is happening. A faint touch trailed across your cheeks, noting the definite wet trails on them. Carefully, very fucking carefully, you brought him tighter against your chest.