Hey guys! Sorry for the delay...had a nice case of writer's block hehe. But i'm all good now! Thanks for the reviews, and i promise more soon! tata!


Chandler didn't talk to Joey, nor did he go home the next day.

The tingling that he had felt in his foot, the tremors that had taken over his hand, had turned out to be the beginning of a full blown seizure. Grand Mal Seizure, they had called it. Chandler didn't really give a damn what it was called. All he knew was that the tingling and tremors had gotten worse, a sharp pain had shot through his head, and then he was waking up six hours later with Rachel sitting next to him, a haunted look on her face. Chandler hadn't had to ask what had happened. The look on Rachel's face, and the memory of what had happened just before, had been enough.

Rachel had been crying, he could tell. He hated that he made her cry, but he knew he couldn't help it. It wasn't his fault that he had a brain tumour. But it was his fault that he had tried to kill himself.

No.

Not kill. Help.

He had tried to help his friends.

Dr. Phillip's had come in soon after. Chandler hadn't even been aware that she was around; he vaguely remembered her name being mentioned once or twice, but hadn't thought that she would come see him. Of course she would, he had reprimanded himself. She had promised him another check-up. What better time to do it then when he was already in hospital?

Chandler had sat, surprisingly patient, through all of her tests. He hadn't enjoyed her shining a pen light in his eyes, but he had still sat there. She had told them that he was pretty much the same as he had been the other day, except for a few minor differences that the seizure had caused. She had then told Chandler that he would be spending an extra night there. Chandler hadn't been happy; he wanted nothing more to get out of that place, and go home. He missed his bed. He missed the apartments. He missed Monica's cooking. Hell, he even missed Joey – though he was still angry at his friend. He hadn't listened to Chandler; had acted against his wishes. A part of Chandler hated him for that, but he knew he couldn't stay mad at Joey forever. He was, after all, his best friend. But Chandler knew that, the next time Joey acted against his wishes like that, there would be no forgiving.

Dr. Phillips had given Chandler some pills to take, and told him to take it easy for the next couple of days – while he was in the hellhole they called a hospital. Chandler had been tempted to throw the pills in her face, and that had bewildered him. He wasn't the type of person that would do that; that would be so rude. But he was, after all

crazy

the voice in his head reminded him. He had lost it, he wasn't acting rationally. His brain was telling him to do things that he was against; telling him things that he was certain was not real. His brain was making him do things that he did not want to do –giggle, scream, open shower curtains – and Chandler had not had any choice in the matter. He had done it without having a say in the situation.

Thankfully, he had had a choice when it came to the pill throwing. His brain had told him to, and Chandler had resisted, keeping the pills in his hand. He had been proud of himself; he had stood up to his brain and won.

If only he could keep that up.

Dr. Phillips had left, and Chandler had stared down at the pills in his hand. He hadn't been listening to her talking –too busy contemplating throwing the pills – and he wasn't sure what was in the tiny little capsules. Were they meant to stop his seizures? Stop his headache? Get rid of the damn dreams? Make the brain tumour go away? Or save his friend's life?

Chandler had no idea; it could have been any of those options. That's how much he had not been paying attention. He had looked up at Rachel, searching for an answer, but she had merely smiled and handed him a paper cup, filled with water.

Chandler had shrugged, and taken the pills. If Rachel was okay with them, then he was okay with them.

He slept that night; restless but dreamless.

The next morning when he woke up, a thought occurred to him. It had been a few days since his last dream. Sure, he had seen other things, but the dreams had been absent. This thought should have pleased Chandler, but it instead left him with a feeling of unease and dread. Many people would assume that this meant the dreams were over; not Chandler. He knew that the dreams would return, stronger and fiercer this time round. Chandler was sure of it, simply because it was him he was talking about. Bad things happened to Chandler.

Many people would assume that the dreams were over, if they were in his situation. And they would most likely be right; because it would be happening to them. They had good luck. Good things happened to others.

Not Chandler.

No.

He was a bad luck charm. Rachel had tried to convince him otherwise, but he knew it was true. He was a bad luck charm. Bad things happened to both him and anyone who came near him.

He was tempted to try and kill himself

No. Try and help his friends

once again, knowing that them staying near him was too dangerous. But Dr. Mackenzie's words kept rushing back to him, making him reconsider. If he did try to help his friends - try to save them by hurting himself – who would be there to look after them? That thought stopped Chandler from grabbing the next plastic knife he was handed – plastic could still do a lot of damage – and slicing into his wrist once more. That thought stopped him pulling off the bandage around his wrist and tearing at the stitches that he had not seen, but knew were there. That thought stopped him from breaking out of the room, running up the long flights of stairs and leaping off the tall building.

But most of all, that thought stopped him from completely losing his mind. He still stood on the top of those damn walls, leaning precariously over the edge, but the thought of his friends made him keep his balance.

It was odd really; the one thing that had made him try to kill himself

help his friends

was now the one thing that was keeping him fighting for his life. Chandler had giggled at the thought, realising how ironic it was. He loved his friends; he would do anything for them. If he needed to die to help them, he would – and had tried. But now, he needed to live for them. He just hoped that Dr. Mackenzie was right; that him living was the best thing for all of them. If the good doctor was wrong, then Chandler would be quite annoyed – and his friends' life could be in danger.

Chandler prayed that Dr. Mackenzie was right.

His friends had come in early that morning, just like the morning beforehand. Chandler had noticed the shadows beneath their eyes, the constant yawning. They tried to hide their tiredness, but Chandler saw right through their façades. He hated that he was the person who made them look like that, but considered how they would look if he tried once more to help his friends – and succeeded this time. With that thought in his head, Chandler ignored their tiredness and attempted to enjoy their company.

Joey had stayed home once again, and Chandler had been glad. He secretly missed his best friend like crazy, but was still angry at him. Plus, if Joey had come, Chandler knew that he would have had to talk to him, and he wasn't sure if he was ready. Talking to Joey – forgiving Joey – was a big step; one that Chandler knew would be difficult. He had to prepare for it, had to think it through.

Breakfast had come, and it had looked slightly more appealing then yesterdays. Phoebe had still slipped him some secret junk food, and Chandler had once again been more then grateful. The breakfast may have looked slightly more appealing, but it was still a long way from what most would consider actual food.

Chandler had smirked once more at the plastic cutlery. He wasn't sure why he found them so amusing; perhaps it was the fact that he knew that if he really wanted to hurt himself once more, then plastic knife would work just as well as the knife in his bedroom had. It would take a lot longer, and would hurt a hell of a lot more, but Chandler knew that, if he wanted to, he could.

Not that he was going to.

His brain was telling him that maybe he should; maybe the good doctor had been wrong, but Chandler had once again ignored the persistent voice. He was getting better and better at doing that.

Dr. Mackenzie had arrived soon after lunch, and they had talked. Chandler had told him how the seizure had made him feel, how annoyed he was to still be in the hospital. He had told the psychiatrist that he was not going to hurt himself again; that he was going to listen to the doctor and protect his friends in a way that involved him not dying.

He had told Dr. Mackenzie that he had ignored the voice in his head, and listened to what his heart told him. He knew that it sounded cliché, but the doctor seemed both satisfied and impressed with his answers.

Chandler had been relieved when Dr. Mackenzie had told him that he would be going home tomorrow; just as long as the hospital gave him the all clear. The doctor had been adamant that Chandler see him every other day and Chandler had grudgingly agreed. He didn't want to do that, but he knew that the alternative was a prolonged stay in this hellhole called a hospital. Or worse, at some mental asylum.

Chandler decided that he would much prefer to go home, and that is why he agreed.

The rest of the day passed quickly; his friends once more entertaining him with their memories and life experiences. Once again, they tried to top each other for most outrageous story, although no one could beat Phoebe. She was, after all, the Queen of Weird.

His friends had stayed well into the night, reluctantly leaving him at the nurse's persistence. They had promised to come back in the morning; to get him ready to come home with them. Chandler had grinned at the thought of going home, and his grin had grown when Rachel had gently kissed him goodbye. He couldn't wait to get home; couldn't wait to crawl into bed – maybe with Rachel – and sleep between his own sheets. He was still terrified of sleeping - the fear of having dreams still haunting him – but that fear had been pushed into the corner of his mind. The same corner where he pushed his insecurities and his fears; his secret loves and secret loathes. That corner had been useful over the years, and now it had another use.

With the fear of his dreams hidden, Chandler now began to worry about something else. He would be going home tomorrow; wanting to sleep in his bed. To do that, he would have to talk to Joey. It was a big step, and Chandler still had not had any time to deal with it. He would have to tomorrow.

Chandler had shrugged off the thought of Joey, letting sleep wash over him. He could worry about everything tomorrow.

He was going home. That was all that mattered.

He was going home.


"I'm okay Rach," Chandler said once more as they slowly walked up the stairs.

"Okay, I was just checking," Rachel said yet again, curling her slender finger's around Chandler's hand. Chandler smiled at her, squeezing her hand gently.

"You've been 'just checking' every two minutes for the last hour and a half," he reminded her. Rachel blushed.

"She's just looking out for you Chan…in the neediest way possible," Ross said from behind them, teasing Rachel gently.

"Have you got all your pills?" Monica questioned suddenly, searching through Chandler's bag. He rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to answer.

"Yes Mon, he has all his pills. Just like last time you asked. Or the time before. Or the time before that," Phoebe cut in, winking at Chandler as she wrapped her hand around his arm.

"I was just checking," Monica muttered, echoing Rachel's earlier comment. Chandler smiled once more, feeling happier then he had in days. He was out.

He was out of that damn hellhole, and nearly at his front door. The doctor's had kept him in the hospital later then he had wanted; only discharging him at around 4:00. Apparently they had wanted to run a few tests before they let him go, and had given him a full physical after the tests. Chandler had not enjoyed either of those, and he had never been so glad to climb into a cab in his life. He had watched the hospital as they drove away, delighted to leave, but annoyed by the fact that he would soon have to return. He did, after all, have a brain tumour. Add that to his dreams, seizures and wrist slicing, and he was sure that he would be back there in no time. Not for the wrist slicing though. He didn't intend to do that, not anymore.

Chandler loved his friends deeply, and had always been very patient with them. He was glad for that, because had he been a different man, he was sure he would have jumped out the cab and ran away from them as quickly as possible.

They were in overprotective mode; Phoebe being the only normal one. Monica had been checking to make sure he had everything with him, while Rachel had been checking if he was alright every five seconds. Ross had been teasing them both the entire time, but he had also been giving Chandler frequent glances, making sure he was, in fact, fine. When they had gotten out of the cab, Ross had placed a protective hand on Chandler's back, and Chandler had seen the way he had looked at anyone who came near them. His friends were in overprotective mode, and Chandler was happy they cared so much. But, he knew that if he had to put up with it for another hour, he really would run away from them. He loved his friends, but there was only so much he could take.

Thankfully, they reached the hallway outside their apartments and Chandler stared at his doorway longingly, albeit a bit apprehensively. Joey was behind that door. He would have to face him. He wasn't sure if he was ready for that.

"Well, Chandler, why don't you go and have a shower and clean up a bit? Get that hospital smell off of you?" Rachel suggested with a twinkle in her eye. Chandler glanced at her for a moment, then looked over at his other three friends. They were all nodding, and Chandler suddenly realised. They were trying to make him talk to Joey. He sighed.

"Okay," he reluctantly agreed. Rachel grinned, and gently pushed him towards the door to apartment 19.

"Okay! Come over when you're done, and I'm sure dinner will be ready. Right Mon?"

"Right," Monica confirmed Rachel's assumption. Chandler smiled slightly, then rested his hand on the doorknob. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Hey," Joey said quietly as Chandler shut the door behind him. The Italian was sitting at the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. Chandler glanced at the time, frowning. Cereal, at this hour? He supposed it was Joey he was talking about.

"Hey," Chandler said in return, his left hand reaching up to nervously play with Rachel's good luck charm, which still lay around his neck. He glanced down at his bandaged wrist and flushed, quickly jamming his hand into his pocket. He wasn't sure why he suddenly felt so embarrassed about it; perhaps because it was Joey.

"How are you feeling?" Joey asked, concern shining in his dark eyes.

"I'm okay…I'm feeling a lot better then I did," Chandler answered, glancing over Joey's shoulder, at his bedroom. His bed. His clothes. He couldn't wait.

"That's good…" Joey trailed off, looking uncomfortable. Chandler cleared his throat, glancing once more at his bedroom.

"I-I was just gonna take a shower, and then go over to the girl's apartment for dinner. Care to join me?"

"For the dinner, or the shower?" Joey joked, although he still looked uncomfortable. Chandler laughed awkwardly.

"Dinner. I shower alone."

"Okay," Joey agreed. Chandler nodded.

"Okay…I'll just go have my shower."

"Okay," Joey said once more. Chandler nodded, then walked past his friend. That went well, he thought sarcastically as he approached his closed bedroom door. You might as well have just brushed him off altogether.

At least he is coming to dinner, Chandler countered his thoughts, his hand reaching for the doorknob. That's a start, don't you think? I can talk to him later. We have-

Chandler froze, a sudden sense of dread washing over him. He couldn't go in there. How could he have thought that he could go in there?

There would be blood, and the knife, and the memories. He had tried to kill himself in there. The blood…he couldn't face the blood. He couldn't face the knife. And he most certainly could not face the memories. He couldn't, wouldn't, mustn't.

Chandler pulled his hand back, as if burnt. What had he been thinking? That he could walk back in there, and everything would be fine? That everything would be back the way it was; no blood, no knife, no memories. The sheet would be soaked with his blood, the carpet too. Tear's sprung to his eyes, and Chandler wanted to wipe them away

He couldn't, wouldn't, mustn't

but he found that his hand was frozen, mere centremetres from the handle. He could hear Joey's panicked yells, his own hysterical sobs, and his angry words. He had screamed at Joey; saying horrible, horrible things. And Phoebe had been there. She had already witnessed her mother's suicide, and now she had seen that? Chandler's frozen hand started to shake, and he felt the hot tears stream down his cheeks.

The blood and the knife would still be in there, he was sure of it. He couldn't face that. He couldn't, wouldn't, mustn-

"Joey?" Chandler heard a voice whimper, and after a moment he realised it was him. "J-Joey!" Hands grabbed him, pulling him away from the door.

"Chan? What's wrong?" Joey asked, his voice urgent. He had been sitting with his back to Chandler, and had grown concerned when he had not heard the door opening. Chandler had whimpered his name just as he was turning around to investigate.

"Chan! What is it?" he asked again, his voice louder this time. Chandler was staring at the closed door with a look of horror on his face, his lip trembling violently.

"I-I…I can't," Chandler whispered, his voice thick with tears. Joey frowned, glancing at the door once more. Why couldn't Chandler go in there? "The…the b-blood, and the knife…I can't!" All at once, Joey understood, and he wrapped his arm around his best friend's shoulder.

"It's okay Chan," he soothed. "We cleaned everything up. Me and Ross did, the other day. It's all back to normal. The blood and the knife are long gone." Chandler shook his head and Joey tightened his grip as Chandler's stance wavered. Joey lowered his friend to the ground, sitting down next to him.

"T-The memory isn't…I can hear you…you were so scared," Chandler sobbed, leaning into Joey's embrace. "I was screaming at you! And at the hospital! I'm so sorry Joey…god I am so sorry!"

"It's okay," Joey whispered, stroking Chandler's hair. "I'm not angry with you. I'm just glad that you are okay."

"But I'm not," Chandler confessed tearfully, shaking his head. "I thought I was…but I'm not! God, Joey, what am I going to do?"

"I don't know Chandler," Joey admitted. Chandler nodded, burying his head into his friend's neck.

"I'm such a mess," he murmured. "Lie to me?"

"It's gonna be okay," Joey whispered after a painful beat. He felt Chandler's body relax slightly and it killed him. He knew that it wasn't going to be okay.

But still, he lied.