A/N -again thanks to all of you for your encouragement. I hope I don't let you down!

Previously….

Dean walked to the kitchen area and something caught his eye on top of the trash bin; a small, but empty, bottle of vodka. He looked over at his dad who had what appeared to be a Coke in front of him.

He suddenly felt sick. His dad was drunk.

Chapter 11

Dean knew his father didn't drink and he knew there was a reason his father didn't drink. Seeing his bleary-eyed attempts at a conversation just confirmed his fears. Dean marched over and took the Coke from his father.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" Greg shouted.

"You're drunk!" Dean pointed out.

Greg glared at him.

"What's it to ye?" Greg snapped.

"Dad, this is wrong. You've been sober….like, for ever. Why are you doing this?" Dean asked, growing emotional.

"I'm celebrating!" Greg replied. "Celebrating life, Son."

"Dad, come on. I'll make some coffee," Dean suggested.

"You do that," Greg said, reaching for his crutch. "I'm going to bed."

Dean watched as his father wobbled dangerously as he limped to his room. As soon as he was out of earshot, Dean picked up the phone and called Ed.

"Oh, hi, Dean. You looking for Clark?"

"No, Mr. Lane, I need your help," he said nervously.

"Sure, what can I do?"

"It's Dad. He's acting weird. He broke up with Marina and now he.…he's drunk," Dean stammered.

"He's what?" Ed asked in disbelief.

"Drunk," Dean reiterated.

"Ah, jeez," Ed said, scratching his head. "Okay, I'll be right over. Pack a bag. You'll come and stay here tonight."

"I can't leave him alone like this," Dean told him.

"He won't be alone," Ed reassured him.

By the time Ed arrived, Dean was in a bit of a fluster. He had been banging on the door of Greg's bedroom and wasn't getting an answer.

"What's going on?" Ed asked, as Dean returned to the door.

"He's locked the door and I don't know if he's passed out or just ignoring me. He won't open up," Dean explained.

"Greg!" Ed shouted and then listened for an answer. "Greg, Buddy, just let us know you're okay."

"Get lost, Eddie. I don't need you here," Greg replied, making his feelings known.

"Greg, Dean is going to spend the night at my place, okay?" Ed told him.

Greg didn't respond. Ed gave Dean cab fare and the teen reluctantly left Ed to deal with his dad.

"He'll be okay," Ed promised before he left. "I'll straighten him out."

"Thanks," Dean said, as Ed shook his hand and pulled him into a brief man hug.

Once Dean was gone, Ed walked around the apartment. He saw the cola in the glass and sniffed it. He could smell the vodka. He also saw the empty bottle on the top of the waste bin.

"Ah, Greg."

Then he noticed the open bottle of painkillers on the coffee table. He hoped Greg hadn't taken them with the alcohol. He returned to the bedroom door and shouted through it.

"Boss? Greg?"

No answer.

"Aw, come on! It's just you and me now, Greg. Open the door."

Again no reply.

"Greg! I swear, if you don't let me in, I'll break it down," Ed threatened.

Still no sound. Ed was starting to get worried.

"Okay, have it your way," Ed said, standing back and then putting his shoulder to the door. The lock gave relatively easily.

Greg was sprawled on his back on the bed, eyes closed, his crutch strewn on the floor.

"Greg!" Ed cried as panic grew within him.

He knelt on the bed and took Greg's pulse. It was sluggish. He lifted his eyelids and saw his eyes were bloodshot, his pupils constricted.

"Greg, wake up," Ed ordered, slapping his face quite hard. "Come on."

Greg opened his eyes and made an unsuccessful attempt to focus. As he did, Ed sat him upright.

"How many did you take, Boss?" Ed asked.

Greg just looked at him with a confused expression on his face.

"Painkillers, Greg. How many?"

"A few. My leg was killing me. Hey, it's not anymore," Greg scoffed with a stupid smile on his face.

"No, you idiot. Of course it's not," Ed said angrily. "Get up. Come on, up!"

Ed hauled Greg to his feet, put his arm over his shoulder and helped him to the bathroom.

"You gotta throw up, Greg. Booze and pills….not a good combination. What were you thinking? You stupid…..," Ed said, biting his tongue while manoeuvring him awkwardly into the bathroom. "Come on, in you go."

"Leave me alone," Greg muttered as Ed led him to the bathroom. "I'm tired, Eddie."

"I know you are, Greg, but it's either in here or the emergency room," Ed told him.

Greg still wasn't sure what all the fuss was about. His mind was clouded courtesy of the alcohol and prescription pill combination.

"Fingers down your throat or else I'll do it for you," Ed insisted.

He stood over his friend as he sat on the bathroom floor and forced himself to vomit. Much to Ed's relief, it worked and Greg began to throw up and once he started, he continued heaving until his stomach was empty and he was dry-retching. Greg then started to tremble and Ed could feel the tremors wrack his body as he held him.

When Ed was convinced that he wasn't going to be sick any more, he helped him back to the bedroom and put him into bed. Greg was still drowsy and wiped-out.

"What are you doing here?" Greg asked, as Ed leaned over and covered him.

Ed didn't reply. He was seething.

"Thanks, Buddy," Greg said, blearily.

"Sleep it off, Greg," Ed growled.

He went out to the kitchen and opened Greg's refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. He should get Greg to drink it, he thought, and returned to the bedroom.

"Hey, Boss. Drink this," Ed said, putting his hand behind Greg's head and raising him. "You'll thank me in the morning."

Greg drank as much as he could stomach and lay back down and closed his eyes. Ed watched Greg sleep, his anger eventually turning to pity for his friend. Life had dealt him such a cruel blow and Ed felt bad for expecting him to take it on the chin and get on as though it has never happened. He knew Greg was strong and had presumed that he was coping well. How wrong he was. As Greg slept, Ed went out to the living area and checked the cupboards for booze. He doubted that there was only one in the house. He checked all the likely hiding places and the unlikely ones too, but couldn't find any more.

Later that night, Ed called Dean just to let him know that his dad was okay. Once he'd hung up, he returned to the bedroom to keep an eye on Greg while he slept. He was worried that he might vomit again in his sleep and choke. So he maintained his vigil the whole night.

When Greg woke the next morning, he was more than a little surprised to find that he was looking at the back of a bald head. He wondered why Ed Lane was asleep on the other side of his bed. Greg's head was pounding and he had a vague recollection of what had happened the previous night. He rolled over onto his other side. The movement on the mattress woke Ed.

"Greg, you okay, Buddy?" he asked, jumping up.

"Been better," Greg mumbled in reply.

"I bet," Ed agreed as he got off the bed.

"What time is it?" Greg asked.

Ed looked at his watch.

"Almost 7am," he told him.

"Oh, man," Greg groaned, as his head pounded. "Have you been here all night?"

"Yep."

"Thanks, Eddie," Greg told him. "You should probably get going. You're working today, right?"

"I'll be calling in sick," Ed told him. "I'm not leaving you alone after last night."

"What do you mean 'after last night'?" Greg asked sounding a little confused.

"Well, let's see. The booze – yeah, that concerned me, but mixing the booze with the pain meds, now that really has me worried. I spent all of last night wondering if my best friend had tried to kill himself," Ed told him. "So, maybe you could tell me WHAT THE HELL YOU WERE THINKING?" he yelled.

Greg was taken aback by Ed's rage.

"And in front of your boy!" Ed continued. "You selfish son of a b…..." he bit back the word.

"I'm sorry, Eddie," Greg managed shamefully.

"Sorry? Well, that makes it all right then," Ed replied sarcastically.

"Ed, I'm not sure what happened, but I didn't try to….you know. I swear. I was in pain. I had to make it stop. The meds weren't helping so I had a drink. I guess I had more than one," Greg explained.

"More than one? Greg, I found an empty bottle in the trash. When I found you, you were close to losing consciousness. Do you even remember me making you get sick in the bathroom?"

Greg sat up on the edge of the bed and hung his head in shame. He vaguely remembered being in the bathroom and getting sick, but had no recollection of getting back to bed. He felt mortified and ashamed. He had been weak. He had been given the vodka as a gift from one of his neighbours for helping him out over a year ago. The neighbour was oblivious to his battle with the demon drink and was just innocently trying to thank him. Greg knew he should never have kept it.

"I'm sorry," Greg said once more.

He didn't know what else to say.

"Let's get you in the shower," Ed said, taking his friend by the elbow and guiding him to his feet.

Greg didn't argue. He barely spoke. He knew he had reached rock bottom. After he had showered and dressed, Ed made him sit down for breakfast. Greg turned away from the plate of eggs the Ed put down in front of him on the table. He was feeling pretty rough.

"You get them down you," Ed said, quite insistent.

Greg tried and managed to eat a little. He sipped his coffee in silence as Ed ate breakfast beside him.

"I should call Dean," Greg said, breaking the silence.

"He'll be on his way to school," Ed pointed out.

"Oh, yeah, of course," Greg said, quietly. "Did you call Marina?"

"Nope," Ed replied. "I think you've put that poor woman through enough, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Jeez, Greg, you really have no clue, do you? You blew it, Buddy. She's head over heels in love with you, Dumbass, and you went and told her that she would be better off without you," Ed informed him. "Way to go!"

Greg exhaled deeply and closed his eyes, shaking his head. What had he done? What in God's name had he done?

"Right, if you're ready, we'll go," Ed said, standing up and putting his plate in the sink.

"Go? Where are we going?"

"An AA meeting. There's one at 10am in Bloor Street. I'll get your coat," Ed told him.

"I don't know, Eddie. I'm not sure I'm up to it just yet," Greg replied.

Ed looked at him, surprised and disappointed at his reluctance to go.

"Greg, when was the last time you left this apartment?" Ed asked him.

"Eh, I don't know. A couple of weeks, maybe?"

"God, Greg, you need to get back out there. Live again. You survived, remember?" Ed reminded him.

"Ha!" Greg laughed. "Survived. You say it like it's a good thing. It's not all it's cracked up to be, Eddie. My life? Here's a taste of my life; I see Donna's face every time I close my eyes, the pain in my leg never lets up, I have no energy, I've lost my job- my way of life, my seventeen year old son had to pick me up off the bathroom floor yesterday, for Christ's sake. It sucks," Greg told him, with tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. "Sometimes, I wish I didn't survive."

As he said that he looked into Ed's eyes. He saw shock and disappointment flash in those eyes and felt a sense of shame for what he had said. So many people hadn't survived that day. He turned away and stared at the table top, feeling guilty.

Ed, on the other hand, had no idea that Greg felt that way. How could he be so blind and not see what was in front of him? The impact of Greg's shooting had left more than physical scars. He felt guilty for not noticing how much Greg was struggling. He had visited with Greg and they had talked so many times, but like most men, they never really discussed anything of weight. It was usually the Maple Leafs, the boys or work.

He felt as though he had failed his friend. He decided on the spot that he would not let him down again. If his friend needed him, he would be there, no matter how long it took. Ed walked into the hallway and made a quick call to work to inform them that he was ill. He didn't mention Greg, knowing that he wouldn't want the team to know what had happened.

He walked back out with Greg's coat in his hand and threw it at him.

"Let's go," he said enthusiastically.

Greg looked at him for a second, then put the coat on, reached for his crutch and got awkwardly to his feet. Ed didn't hang around or offer to help him. He was going to have to be tough on his former boss to get him through this, no matter how hard it was. Sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind.

To be continued...