Sorry folks… I've been having a trying time in terms of being able to force any work out of me. (Been bitten by the Melancholy Bug).

For the record, this is only a friendship fic, so any slash-averse individuals need not worry.

BlackAmethyst123 - In complete and absolute earnestness, I would like to know what you meant in regards to your comment about descriptions. Was it the content of the description, or the description itself that bothered you? Was it heavy, out of place?

In all honesty, I really wasn't feeling too happy when I posted it and with how things have been lately, I haven't gone back and read it. So I don't know if it's crap or not, and would like to.

Dil always thought that he'd be a wreck in an emergency. Honesty was important to him and he wasn't going to say he'd be a cool cat in a bad situation purely for ego's sake, and prior to today he'd have assumed that if Tommy was ever shot protecting his best friend, that he would be a useless mass of jelly. But as Tommy slipped out of consciousness, he suddenly found himself controlling the situation.

"Chuckie, call 911. Make sure those sirens knows where to find us. Kira, I need your coat in case he goes into shock and get something underneath his feet. Then call my mom and dad and let them know to meet us at the hospital." He snapped out. They stared at him, not quite present, still reeling over what had just happened. "NOW!"

They shook themselves. Kira shrugged out of her jacket and lay it over Tommy, her thin hands shaking violently. Dil kept Tommy's head in his lap, kept pressure on the wound. He watched as Chuckie fumbled with the phone, eyes darting to Chaz's body in the driveway and he had to fight to keep his own gaze away from the corpse.

The ambulance was taking forever to get there and Tommy was getting paler by the second.

He was on the verge of hysterical anger when they finally, finally arrived and then Dil found himself spewing forth information he hadn't registered consciously. He chattered off about the gun, the wound, his brothers blood type, their health insurance and more until finally the EMT hushed him as they loaded Tommy into an ambulance and gestured him aboard, just as three police cars pulled to the front of the house. One EMT spoke rapidly with an officer, who got back into his patrol car to follow them. Dil glanced out the back window as they pulled away, eyes falling on Chuckie who had dropped to the cement, face frozen.

Dil turned back to his brother who lay pale and unmoving on the cot while the EMT's moved quickly, efficiently. His ears were buzzing, heart still pounding a near erratic tempo in his chest.

Well, he thought dryly, at least now he knew he'd be able to keep his head in an emergency, if only to keep from losing his mind.

It was hard not to look. Seeing it once was more than enough, but his eyes kept sliding back, drawn by some morbid magnetic pull. It was already burned into his brain, the image of his father raising the gun, putting it to his head. So vivid and yet, he felt as though he were dreaming. As if all the oxygen was gone and he was just floating in a vast emptiness where only he and all his imaginings existed.

The cops were trying to ask him questions, but he could barely breath and then suddenly, his stomach heaved and pushed away to retch on the ground. A female officer, knelt next to him, rubbing his back while her partner stepped away. They'd tried to keep him and Kira apart to get both of their stories, but Kira ran and crouched next to him, fingers curling around his hand and he leaned in to her. His mother. She wiped at his mouth with her sleeve and the simple action sent a fresh cascade of tears down his face. It'd been so long since he'd felt so cared for.

Once calmed, they both stood and his eyes drifted once more to his father's dead body (dead) and he saw that one of the officer's had covered the mangled skull with their jacket. Blood stained the once pristine driveway, spreading down the concrete to the road. Chuckie's eyes soon became riveted on the blood that was Tommy's and he had to fight back the bile that burned in his throat and mouth. He was assaulted by the images of what had just occurred. Of watching Tommy run, the brief fight cut short by a gun shot. The look of shock on Tommy's face when he realized, the look of terror on Dil's, on Kira's, and, for that brief second, his father's.

He'd known from the beginning that this would happen. He should've stayed away. He should've left the second he got the chance. He'd brought this upon the only people who were kind enough to let him back in, to accept him as family even after he'd been gone for six years. What had he done to them? And for what? Ruined their lives so he could pretend he was normal for just a few days. His gut roiled again and he swallowed hard, trying to ease back the bile.

"I've got to see if he's okay." He stared at his mother, pleading, "Tommy's gotta be okay."

She turned to the police officers and spoke, her normally polite voice taking on an almost hysteric, bossy tone and suddenly they were being ushered into the back of a cruiser and heading to the hospital.

When they arrived, they found Stu and Didi in the waiting room, white knuckles gripping white knuckles. When Didi saw them, she jumped up and Chuckie had to fight the urge to turn around and run but she only opened her arms and hugged the both of them, whispering fiercely into their cheeks, "I'm so glad you're both okay!" Her voice was tremulous and Chuckie forced himself to return the embrace, guilt and anguish fighting in his gut, his heart aching in his chest. He felt like a traitor. A bad omen. A black cat that crossed their path and didn't even have the good decency to continue on his way. Something awful and disgusting. He didn't deserve their love, their care or concern, and yet he stayed and took it from them.

Stu came and hugged them both as well as he told them what the doctors had said. Tommy had lost a lot of blood, there were arteries that had been hit and needed to be fixed. It would be hours before they'd know anything. The only thing they could do was wait. Dil was donating blood. He and Tommy had the same blood type and he had wanted to do something to help.

Chuckie waited, unmoving, unspeaking as Kira held tight to his hand and spoke comforting words to Stu and Didi. Someone went for coffee and pressed a cup into his hand. Magazines were passed around and he stared at a picture of some actress or singer while his thoughts were ran rampant in his mind. What if Tommy died? How could he live knowing that he had caused the death of the very person who had saved his life? And so many times? He shivered at the thought of watching Stu and Didi's faces fall.

He should have stayed gone.

And then suddenly, a doctor was walking toward them. Stu and Didi stood, as did Dil (when had he returned?) and Kira tugged him to his feet. His insides quivered as the doctor began to speak, muscles tensing as if to turn and run as he repeated his inner mantra, I should have stayed gone.

Sorry if there are any awful typos, I just wanted to hurry up and get this to you guys before you abandoned me for good. Eek. Last chapter by Saturday, I promise!