A Twist in Fate, a New Life, a fault in our stars fanfic

This story is written for the WA Never in a Million Years Challenge. Here, something that the protagonist would never do is, well, have a lung transplant.

Hey ya'll! So yeah, here I am with another story for my dearest readers to enjoy. This is like an alternate ending to The Fault in Our Stars. You can understand it even if you haven't read he book.

Augustus Waters in this story has metastatic osteosarcoma cancer, which has affected only his legs and brain, not his whole body.

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Never in a million years had I believed my fate would twist and turn so much that there will arrive a time when it will be intertwined with Augustus Waters'. And by that time I would be so deep inside our little infinity that it will get impossible to separate us.

Augustus Waters died eight days after his prefuneral, at Memorial, in the ICU, when the Metastatic osteosarcoma, which was made of him, finally stopped his brain, which was also made of him.

Everybody had known that it had to happen sooner or later, but the news still came as a shock. Gus spent the last few minutes of his life with only his dad beside him. Paradoxically, while his heart struggled to pump that last round of blood into his veins, his mom was with the doctor, frenetically asking why Gus's heart rate was dropping rapidly.

And then there was me, lying in my bed at three in the morning, trying to shove away the feeling of an impending loss from my mind. So, by the time the dreaded call came at three-thirty, I had already gone numb. It was for the best, I guess, to be unfeeling towards the surge of emotions attacking me. At least for until I was stable enough to actually let the unbearableness of the situation sink in.

It was unbearable to even think about him, let alone talk about him with my parents. It was good that Gus's mom had already called dad, else the tears I had been holding in since the call came would have spilled out.

Grief finally got the better of me. I cried in my bed as I held my copy of An Imperial Affliction in my hands. The AIA was a reminder to me, and to everyone battling cancer, and to anyone else who has suffered the loss of a cancer patient, that death was sudden and dubious. So unpredictable that sometimes it can end in the middle of a

I read that last, half-finished sentence of AIA over and over, reminding myself to be serene. But it was so dumb, really, to try to avoid the pain that was slowly carving a hollow in my chest, so I decided that I had to face it. I dialed Isaac's number, hesitated, and then threw away my phone. I stared at the clock, and it seemed as if it was screaming at me to not let the time pass. So I went over, picked up my phone, and called Isaac.

When he got to know about it, Isaac cursed the world and the unfairness of life. I can never claim to have understood his relation with Gus, no; they were the best of friends. But when I heard his voice shaking, I knew I had found in him an ally to help me cope with the grief. Despite all the time we had spent together till now, I had never really discovered such a beautiful bond with him as I had now.

By the time I put down the phone, it was four-thirty in the morning. I got up from the bed, adjusted the cannula around my nose, picked up Philip – my oxygen tank – and walked out. To my surprise, I found my parents sitting on the couch, having a serious conversation.

When she saw me, my mom said, "Hazel, honey, are you okay?"

It was clearly understood that by the "okay", she did not mean her usual is-your-thyroid-cancer-making-you-want-to-die-or-is-it-just-making-you-want-to-kill-yourself. Instead, today the word questioned me if I was feeling well enough to not have a nervous breakdown in the middle of a conversation.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"We are all here for you, you know."

I nodded. I was not that brilliant a liar, I guess.

"We need to talk."

Talk? It was very unlikely of them to ask me to talk when they knew I wasn't in a mood to. And judging by the looks on their faces, the situation was pretty grave.

Wondering what it was all about, I sat down opposite to my parents. The silence that followed was uncomfortable.

Mom spoke up first.

"Well, Mrs. Waters called and-"

"I know it already, mom." I knew that they knew that I knew "the news", and I was I honestly surprised by the fact that they believed that they could comfort me. Bah. Even if God himself had come down to the mortal world, I wouldn't have let go of Gus.

"And," she emphasized, "she said he left a will."

"A will?" My mind was blank.

It was dad who spoke up this time.

"Yes, they found something written and signed on his pack of cigarettes. Augustus wanted to donate his lungs to you after his-"

He didn't say more because he had already started crying. My dad cried really often since I was diagnosed with cancer.

But I, no; I wasn't in any state to cry. I was just too numb, trying to let this new information sink in. So much anesthetized that I was afraid of coming back to my senses.

"Okay. So?" I asked.

"The test reports will come in a few hours, which will confirm whether the lungs can be donated or not. Are you willing, you know, to…?"

I considered. I was too much to handle at once.

But then I thought about Augustus Waters, his life, the time we had spent together, what he taught me about life and mortality, and about the life he wanted me to have by offering me his lungs.

And my decision was made.

How can I possibly have courage to defy him?

"Yes," I said.

Brine stung my eyes as I choked on my own tears.

Mom and dad came and sat beside me. They were crying too, except just much more horribly than me. I can understand what they felt, they won't suffer the loss I had felt. At least not until a few more years.

We went to the hospital at ten in the morning, where we met Gus's parents and Isaac. I confess, I was guiltily glad that Isaac couldn't see, else my puffy red eyes and disheveled hair would have made him make a mad dash for the door.

Mrs. Waters held my hands in hers and cried, thanking me for being a part of Gus's life till his end. She said that after the transplant, she would be elated to find another daughter in me. Mr. Waters didn't cry; he knew that if he shed a tear, his wife's heart would break.

The blood tests confirmed that I was fit enough to undergo the surgery, and that the lungs were well enough to be donated, though the doctors were a bit reluctant to do the operation. They didn't want to want to "waste" a pair of healthy lungs for a hopeless case like mine, and their reasoning was valid. I had received similar theories earlier too, when mom had applied for a transplant, but had been rejected.

After the X-rays, ultrasound, CT scans, lung biopsy, dental exams, pulmonary function tests, a mammogram, and about a hundred more tests, it was decided that the surgery will take place at nine in the evening.

The whole time, Isaac stayed with me, never letting me feel lonely. He was my new best friend. He understood me, because it was cancer that had taken away his eyesight. Our friendship was unlike mine and Kaitlyn's, who was my pre-miracle best friend; cancer had made us and our worlds drift apart. (Kaitlyn's and mine, not Isaac's and mine.)

I thought about the time I had spent with Augustus Waters as the nurses came and went, injecting immunizations into my system. Then I was given the consent form. The pen in my hand hovered above the blank next to my parents' signatures. I looked up, into my mom's shining eyes and my dad's tearful ones.

I wasn't particularly thrilled about the transplant; it simply meant more painful time for me to spend without my Gus. But the thought of getting united with him again excited me. And so I signed.

The sedative started its work as soon as I hit the operation table. The breathing tube in my throat felt, if not painful, uncomfortable. I tried not to move - trust me, stretching the catheters in your neck is not a great idea - and the anesthesia helped me. Soon, I slipped into a deep sleep.

I woke up in the ICU, with dozens of catheters coming and going in and out of me, which were connected to dozens of monitors showing my heart rhythms, oxygen levels, blood pressure and whatnot, the breathing tube in my throat hooked to the ventilator. In short, I was in a bad condition. Augustus would have made fun of me if he would have seen me like this.

"Hazel Grace Lancaster, earlier we had a total of three and a half lungs, but now we just have two," he would have said, and then smiled my favorite Augustus Waters' crooked smile.

Two minutes twenty-seven seconds later (I counted), my parents entered with a doctor. The doctor was chubby and going bald, maybe in his early forties. I don't know why I noticed these unnecessary details, but it was maybe because I wanted to keep my mind away from sad memories, which were trying to hijack my consciousness.

"Oh honey," my mom cried and ran to hug me, or whatever of me she could and was allowed to touch. My father just stood there, crying. He indeed cried a lot.

"Are you alright dear? Does it hurt?" She asked as she examined every inch of my can-be-touched body. I was sure my face was redder than a tomato. Did I mention I hated it when people act all gushy-mushy?

"I'm fine mom," I said.

I was fine, really, because my body didn't have the privilege to hurt as much as my heart did.

Most of the time I spent in the ICU was boring. Isaac would visit me regularly, trying in vain to cheer me up. I would mostly sleep; the antirejection meds made me drowsy. And all the time I didn't sleep, I would just gaze at the heart monitor, or I would re-read An Imperial Affliction.

Or I would stare unblinkingly at Augustus Waters' number, which he had written on the first page of The Price of Dawn when he had lent it to me. My heart ached every time I had the impulse to call that number, hoping to hear that familiar voice on the other end. But I knew it would just remain a dream to hear his voice for the last time.

I got out of the hospital nine days after the surgery, on the day of the funeral. All these days of physiotherapy had drained much of my energy; it was just the notion of breathing through Gus's lungs which was keeping my mind stable. And when I took my first independent breath, without the help of my cannula or Philip, I swore that I would thank Augustus Waters and God for gifting me this new life, however short it might be.

There were few people at the funeral, I guess there aren't many people who grieve when the world suffers a great loss. Most of the people present talked about Gus's bravery, or about his kindness. And as they spoke, I sadly realized that they didn't really knew about what type of a person he really was. I was glad to know that I was one of the privileged few who actually knew him, and about his unnatural cheerfulness and sacrifices.

And from my close observation of him, I was aware that he would have been mortified if he heard that people were regarding him as a "sweet", "polite", and "naïve" human being on the day of his funeral.

When it was my turn to speak, I talked about how grateful I was to be able to love Augustus Waters, about how he had given up his Wish so that I could have a chance to visit Peter Van Houten, about how much Gus loved The Price of Dawn and Max Mayhem, and about the courage he gave me to be appreciative towards my life. Of course, I talked about how I was forever indebted to him for letting me to breathe free.

Gus in his coffin looked like a beautiful piece of art. Lips as full and smooth as ever, making me want to kiss him once last time. My heart twisted. It brought me some relief when I noticed he had never looked so calm when he was alive. Satisfied that he was finally able to achieve peace, I bent as close to him as was socially acceptable, and took a deep breath in. His smell filled my new lungs, feeling like fresh grass and vanilla. It was overwhelming. I must have been in that position for a little too long, because the person behind me coughed a bit pointedly. Disappointed, I got up.

I never quite caught his scent again.

As my parents, Isaac and I drove back home, the tiny little fort I had built around me finally broke. I sobbed, choking on air; but no tears came out of my eyes. They were as dry as my throat. Isaac put his arm around me and patted my back, trying to soothe my uncontrollable sobbing. I was pleased that he didn't say anything; he knew just too well how I was suffering, and he also knew that no words would be enough pacify me.

As I cried, I wondered what good karma I had performed in my previous lives to be fortunate enough to meet an excellent person like Augustus Waters in my present life. And what good deeds I had done to be forever united with him.

So what do you think? Tell me in your reviews!

Word of the day: Pani

Meaning: Water

Pronunciation: paa-nee

Peace!