Disclaimer: This story is being written for enjoyment only. I do not own any of the characters and no profit is being made from it.
Damaged Goods- Chapter One
A/N- This story picks up at the end of Alfred/Nate's confrontation with Reva and Jonathan (though the GL version has yet to air) and goes on to explain Jonathan's continuing struggle to deal with the long term effects of his father's abuse upon him.
His first conscious thought was that his head hurt. Not the dull ache that usually accompanied the start of a nagging headache or a hangover, but a sudden onrush of pain that began at the base of his skull and radiated forward. Lifting his hand upward to cradle his aching head, he heard a weak moan, not realizing it was his own. Wincing he squeezed his eyelids shut in defense to the increasing throb that kept in time with the rapid heartbeat within his chest. Then suddenly he coughed, a harsh, racking cough, as his lungs exploded in pain, reawakening the fire that burned within his chest and causing him to double over in agony upon the gurney he was stretched out upon. The rancid heat of bile filled his throat only to be followed by the God awful taste of briny phlegm which left his contracting lungs. He tried to control its rise, but his weakened body would not cooperate as his mouth flew open to expell this violent assault, which washed over him.
Luckily, someone had been aware of his present distress as a plastic emesis basin was unceremoniously thrust beneath his mouth to contain the traitorous heaving affecting him. A disembodied hand seemed to hold him upright, supporting his powerless body until the last of this painful retching and coughing, affecting him, subsided. Then he was settled back upon the gurney, while a cool cloth wiped his face clean of any remnants left over from this sudden bout with sickness. Its initial dampness felt welcoming, as it brushed against his ailing flesh, reminding him of a time, long ago, when Marissa had comforted him likewise. He had been suffering from a severe bout of stomach flu, and she had remained by his side, nursing him into the long hours of the night, even though Alfred had accused her of coddling her young son.
"Mom?" He cried out longingly, though his effort at speech came out as little more than a harsh whisper.
"No, Jonathan, " A worried voice answered him. "Aunt Reva is with the police."
Police?" He questioned bewilderedly as he began to struggle upwards.
"Yes, she and Uncle Josh needed to answer a few questions. They'll be back soon. Now please just lie back and relax. Let the EMT's help you." The sweet natured voice responded as it cracked with emotion.
'Police? Josh? Reva?' His sluggish brain whirled as he tried to process these vital pieces of information the familiar voice had given him. 'Where was he? What had happened? Why did he feel so damn awful? Had there been an accident? Had he had too much to drink? He remembered being in a car…the glaring headlights of a truck as it bore down upon him…but then no more…"
"Argh!" He moaned as his forced remembrances came to an abrupt halt with the returning onslaught of pain.
"Jonathan?" The now panicked voice rose in alarm before turning to direct the force of its concern in another direction. "Do something! Please! He's in pain!"
"If you could just step back, Miss Winslow, so we can start another IV and insert this oxygen canula to aid his breathing. Unfortunately we can't use a mask since your young friend here is still bringing up the water in his lungs and stomach. We won't be able to administer any pain meds either until the hospital clears him of any head trauma."
"But he will be alright?" The young blonde questioned anxiously.
"We're doing all we can for him." One of the paramedic's answered brusquely as he moved her aside to resume his treatment of his young patient.
Jonathan's confusion turned to panic as he felt the biting sting of something sharp cut into his arm. He drew back reflexively before lunging forward as if to escape from this perceived threat of pain.
"He's becoming combative." A terse voice above him shouted as a stronger weight than his own bore him back down against the gurney beneath him in an attempt to stop his rising struggle. The sudden forcefulness pressing him backwards towards the portable cot brought back to him the fuzzy remembrance of the sodden, grey t-shirt, he had been wearing this day, which now clung to his clammy flesh, while the equally dark tendrils, which covered his damp head, adhered to his skull from both the effects of the water, he was pulled from, and the blood streaming from the head wound he had sustained before plunging into the water. He arched against the pillow beneath him in continued defiance.
"Relax, Jonathan, Relax!" The commanding voice above him instructed. "You're only going to hurt yourself further. You've been injured in a boating accident. We're doing our best to offer you assistance, but you can't fight us."
"Please stop it! You're hurting him!" The female voice beside him cut in frantically.
"We're doing the best we can, miss. Now please step back! You're only getting in the way."
"Jonathan?" The frightened voice cried out.
"Tammy?" Jonathan choked in response as another violent bout of coughing set in and the swirling world about him began to blur even further as images of a boat taking off from a pier, the frightened face of his birth mother, and the malicious sneer of his adoptive father swam in and out of his consciousness. And then there was pain, and the splash of water and he was sinking, sinking, sinking deep beneath the murky depths of the lake surrounding him. The coldness of its water seized hold of his body. He struggled to get back up to the surface, but his body refused to cooperate. His arms and legs would not move. They seemed captive to the raging pain which flared throughout his body. The darkening waters about him were now tinged red as well from the blood flowing from his injured body as he sunk even further beneath its suffocating depths. He tried to hold on. He tried to help himself, but he was paralyzed, though this time not by fear.
It was as if his body was no longer his own. It was betraying him. Until finally he could hold his breath no longer and his mouth burst open instinctively to draw in air to his oxygen starved lungs. Instead they filled with the brackish water from lake engulfing him. Slowly his shocked eyes began to drift close in reaction to this unwelcome assault upon his senses, while his heart fought frantically to sustain his failing body and an eerie buzzing filled his head. The stunted movements of his leaden arms and legs gave up their ineffective struggle as his body at last began to rise towards the surface. His last shreds of consciousness were abandoning him along with the heavy burdens that had so long held him captive as his torso drew level with his head and his body moved into the position of a dead man's float. He was free at last as his troubled spirit sought its final escape from the tormented prison of its human confines . His last fleeting thoughts were not directed towards his own imminent death, but towards those whom he'd be leaving behind.
'What was it that Alfred had said earlier? That he would dump his useless son in the middle of this lake and his decomposed body would wash up upon its shores? He had taunted Jonathan even in the end that no one would give a damn when it did. They'd all say good riddance to the long troublesome menace. Yes, Alfred had finally succeeded in doing what all the others in Springfield had been unable to accomplish…almost from the time he had first come to this town…to be rid of him for good.
Alfred had always threatened him with this over the long years of their acquaintance as father and son. He had told him that one day he would kill him. It had long been his slated fate to die at his father's hands, and today was the day that Alfred had chosen to succeed in carrying out this long held threat. Perhaps this was for the best, for no one would miss him. No one would grieve his death or make note of his departure, though it frightened him as to what would become of the others now that he would no longer be able to protect them from Alfred's evil ways. He had grown to love them, though he had fought tooth and nail against it…He had come to love Tammy and Reva, and even grudgingly Josh, though his love had gone unreciprocated by all…
'No, God, no! Please stop Alfred before he harms anyone else! Perhaps his death would be enough to appease his father's thirst for violence. Perhaps his father would at last be satisfied and take the money he had stolen for him from Reva and Josh and leave Springfield for good. Perhaps the God, whom he believed had long ago abandoned him to this miserable existence, would at last be satisfied with his life alone. "Stop him, please!" His failing brain struggled to shout out. "I'm going to die, but please don't let him bring harm to anyone else! Let it be me alone, for my life has never amounted to anything… I am worthless… I am nothing ..."
"Jonathan?" Tammy's voice called out again.
"His b.p. is dropping!" The paramedic working over him called out to his partner in sudden alarm.
"Jonathan!" Tammy cried out once more as she ignored the EMT's earlier warnings and rushed forward to grasp hold of Jonathan's cold hands. "Jonathan, please," She pleaded towards the now barely conscious man. "Hold on! Hold on to me!"
TBC...
Author's Closing Notes... I would appreciate if you let me know what you think of this story, and if I should continue with it. Thank you:)
