His world fell apart from under his feet.
Arthur's weak heart imploded on itself as his mind raced a mile a minute and his thoughts grew more and more unresponsive, "He's lying", "He's just playing another joke on you", "Nice one, Frog, cut the act", "He can't be dead…"
He wanted to say something, anything. His body craved to just speak but nothing would drift out no matter how hard he tried to force it. Arthur stared blankly at nothing in particular as his forest eyes quivered in shock and fear.
He needed to say something; he needed to do something, why was he just frozen there, why did he suddenly fell so dizzy and nauseous, why was Francis hugging him, why couldn't it have been someone else, why—
"What…?" Arthur released as his brain pressed on with the struggle of wrapping itself around the horrible situation. Francis slowly peeled himself off the shorter Englishman and peered at him in confusion.
"Arthur—"
"You're joking. You must be fucking joking," Arthur retaliated with a grim smile, "Alfred is perfectly fine; he has to be. I just had a chat with him before I left my house. He's alright, Francis, he is. He can't be hurt, I just… I… I just talked with him on the phone…"
The further Arthur went on, the less he began to believe the rapid words trickling mindlessly from his mouth. He felt his body begin to tremor, and soon he felt the warmth of calloused hands on top of his shoulders.
"Arthur, I'm not joking. He's—"
"Let go of me," Arthur snapped coldly. He glared viciously at the older man, who, in turn, lifted his large hands off the Brit's shoulders in shock. Arthur took a step back and shook his head briskly, "I need to go see him, I need…"
He was sprinting madly towards his car before he even had a chance to finish his sentence. Nothing felt real; Arthur was positive that this was all just a cruel, sick dream that he had slipped into, but each time his foot crunched down on the pavement, the truth of the matter plunged deeper and deeper into his veins.
He felt the cold metal of his car against his back within seconds as he leaned against it and scrambled hysterically for his phone. Sweat began to race down his paling face as he rapidly unlocked it, pressed Alfred's contact, and called.
One ring.
Two rings.
"Come on, come on, pick up you twit, please…"
Three rings.
"Hey, you've reached Alfred! Sorry I'm not around right now, but—"
With a clank, the phone collided with the black pavement and disconnected the call. Arthur stared down at it in mad disbelief with his lips parted in shock, eyes wide, and hands shaking violently.
"No, no, no… He can't possibly…" Words failed to grasp meaning in his jumbled mind as Arthur searched frantically for an answer. This wasn't real, it couldn't be, but it was. Oh God, this was reality and there Arthur was, frozen, with his mouth gaping like a fish while somewhere Alfred, his best friend, his love, was hurt, or even dead.
With a sharp gasp of realization, Arthur swooped down and scooped his phone into his hands. Without a final thought, the blond scrambled into his car and drove.
He never once even considered himself to be a man of God.
But as he drove wildly, blindly, and too quickly to the E.R., Arthur found himself repeating one phrase over and over again through shaking breaths. Was it to God or some other higher power? Was it to reassure himself and bestow a starving thread of hope to himself? Of that, he couldn't be sure. The only thing Arthur knew was the phrase with the most bitter taste that was stuck in his throat; the phrase that echoed repeatedly in his mind:
Please don't fade away.
Please don't fade away.
Please don't fade away.
Please don't fade away.
Arthur wasn't too sure how he managed to reach the E.R. in one piece, but he hardly gave it second thought as he swerved his car into a vacant parking space.
"Breathe, Arthur, breathe," he muttered and placed his trembling hands on his warm cheeks for comfort. The pep talk, unfortunately, proved to be nothing more than a failure and Arthur soon found himself sniffling at the wheel like a child. The tears escalated with each second that ticked by, and before he knew it, he was sobbing into his hands yet again. Nothing else mattered anymore; all his mind knew of was Alfred.
His best friend Alfred.
His love Alfred.
His hero Alfred.
His Alfred.
"You better be all right, you idiot," he gasped bitterly to himself with a sick chuckle, "or else I'll kill you myself…! You have to be okay. You can't leave me."
Trembling fingers grasped desperately at blond locks, and Arthur choked back a rather violent sob.
"Be okay, Alfred, be okay…" he whispered shakily to himself as if his petty wishes would change the outcome. With a final sigh, Arthur opened the car door and stepped out into the cold early afternoon air. A gentle breeze blew past him and nipped at his damp cheeks, but Arthur paid no mind as he paced nervously towards the E.R. doors. His only concern was Alfred; he was the only thing that ever mattered to him.
With more force than intended, Arthur swung open the large glass doors and was instantly greeted by the cold, sad scent of hospital rooms and broken hearts. The walls of the waiting room were painted snowy white and outlined with baby blue, and a few lively colored paintings were hung neatly upon the walls. Arthur grimaced; why was such a melancholic place like a hospital presented so innocently?
After taking a few hesitant steps into the room, Arthur was overcome with a sense of claustrophobia. The waiting room felt like a box that was slowly compressing him, and he felt as though he was surrounded by five hundred people instead of the five that were present. He began to panic as he heard the faint scream of the hospital gurneys as their wheels scrapped ruthlessly against the cold tile of the hallways and the horrific cries of pain from the poor victims of fate as the doctors and surgeons did God knows what to them, and oh Lord, Alfred was in there and—
"Arthur!"
The trance was broken. The blond blinked his tired eyes and wiped at the sweat that lined his forehead as he slowly returned touch with reality. The sad, worn face of young Matthew Williams in an oversized red sweater was staring back at him.
"I called out to you a million times, but I don't think you heard me… Are you all right? Erm, as all right as we can be right now…" Alfred's younger brother asked. Arthur stared into the dull lavender-blue eyes of his best friend's world with a hint of jealousy. He looked so… Broken. The Jones-Williams family was gifted with beautiful eyes that could sing a sing soul a thousand heartwarming melodies; both brothers held this trait magnificently, but Matthew's eyes seemed so soulless, as if they had lost what little hope and reason they had left to cling to.
Arthur realized that he has lost that.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine Matthew. I just forgot where I was for a moment. Is he all right? What happened?"
"He…" the Canadian pressed his pale lips together and held his breath for a moment in an attempt to regain his composure, "I got the call this morning. They said that a truck swerved into him and they collided head-on… I haven't seen him yet; he's been in surgery since I got here. I can't lose him, Arthur, I can't. He's my brother; he's all I have left. He might be an ass, but I love him…"
Arthur blinked down at the dark purple carpet beneath his feet as Matthew began to weep. He felt anger and resentment beginning to bubble up inside of him. He was aware of how selfish it was, but he couldn't help it. He was always jealous of Matthew.
"Why did you call Francis? Why didn't you call me? You have my number. I understand that you're dating that imbecile for some reason, but you should've called me. Alfred is the most important person in my life, Matthew, and I had to find out about this through Francis of all people!"
Matthew peered at Arthur with a look so fiery that the older of the two felt a pang of guilt storm his gut.
"They called our mother too, Arthur. She got here shortly after I did, and she could hardly stand to see me here. I was going to call you, mind you, but she refused to let me tell anyone what had happened because suddenly Alfred is her 'baby' and she didn't want anyone else to go near him. The funny thing is that she got tired and left about an hour ago; shows how much she cares about him… I panicked. You know what she did to me, Arthur. I didn't know who else to turn to because Alfred was all I had. So I'm sorry, but just be happy that you're here now."
Both men refused to pull away from each other's gaze. The Englishman watched fat tears roll from the other's eyes, and the Canadian watched the other's green eyes quiver in sorrow. It was a mutual understanding; no words needed to be slipped at that moment.
Arthur's knees gave out.
He crashed down to the carpeted floor and bit his lip, mentally scolding himself, begging himself not to cry again. Matthew was by his side in an instant and placed a caring palm against the shoulder of the man he had known for ages.
"I know that you and I have never really been on the friendliest of terms," Matthew whispered, "but I know how much Alfred means to you, I really do. I want you to understand that he means a lot to me too. I don't love him the way that you do, of course, but I still love him. I don't want him to slip away either. Alfred is strong, you know he is. He can pull through this; I believe in him and you should too. The three of us will get through this together, okay?"
Arthur nodded in bitter understanding and began to dry his eyes as Matthew rubbed calming circles into his shoulders. The pair sat in understanding silence for what felt like hours. There was nothing to say anymore. Minutes dragged on against the current of time, and soon the tears were bottled up yet again. As time crawled on pitifully slow, Arthur and Matthew moved from the floor to the weak comfort of the waiting room chairs and continued to play the waiting game. Time ticked by mockingly and dreadfully slow, and Arthur became numb.
It was half past eleven when a nurse wondered into the silent waiting room.
"Is there a Matthew Williams here?" she called uncertainly. Matthew and Arthur dashed to their feet and wasted no time closing the distance between them and the nurse.
"That would be me," Matthew exclaimed anxiously. The nurse was a short, heavy woman with a large chest and gentle eyes. She looked unbearably tired, and Arthur felt bad about all the work she must've gone through within the past four hours for Alfred.
"Very good," she glanced over towards Arthur, "and you are?"
"Arthur Kirkland, I've been a friend of Alfred's for years."
"Well, then, Mr. Williams and Mr. Kirkland, I have good news and I have bad news," she confessed, pulling up a clipboard into view, "Alfred is still breathing and is alive; however, he sustained very serious injuries. He was scrapped and burnt in multiple places throughout his body, but those should heal properly in time. Unfortunately, he fractured three of his ribs, his left arm was shredded, but thankfully the damage wasn't as threatening as it could have been; he received stitches and should be able to have complete function of that arm in time. He also broke his left leg and received large gashes to the right. Thankfully, he will be able to walk again, but not without the support of a cane or a walker due to severe trauma to his right knee…"
Arthur had heard enough.
Tears were swimming down his freckled cheeks like waterfalls, and his breathing was low and quick. Why did it have to be Alfred; out of all the people in this ungrateful world, why did it have to be him?
"Will we be able to see him soon?" Matthew asked. He was weeping as well, and he constantly wiped his pink cheeks with the long sleeve of his sweater as the tears refused to give in. The plump nurse, who had a nametag that read Katyusha, Arthur noted, glanced down at the clipboard in her fat hands and bit her lip anxiously.
"I do not like to be the bearer of bad news, but there has been further, more drastic damage done… When both vehicles collided, Alfred was shot from his motorcycle and hit head first against the nose of the truck. He was wearing a helmet, thankfully, or else the poor thing would be dead, but the damage was still done. Alfred has suffered from a traumatic brain injury, which is frequent with motorcycle accidents, and he is currently in a coma. We cannot be a hundred percent sure as of yet, but we suspect that damage has been done to his motor skills, his speech, and his memory… This is a very, very terrible thing, and I am so very sorry to you both; I hate this part of my job, but Alfred is extremely lucky—"
Arthur didn't want to hear anything about luck. The high pitched ringing in his ears drowned out the speech of the Russian nurse. This was far from luck, very far. Arthur failed to see how anything of the sort would even slightly be considered luck.
'This is it,' he thought, 'I am going to lose him.'
"No," he breathed as hot tears threatened his vision, "no, no, that can't be right. You can't possibly be serious. This is Alfred you're talking about; he can withhold anything… He…"
Lost green eyes lunged at Matthew for a sliver of reassurance, a glimpse of hope, a glimpse of anything positive, but all Arthur received was a slow shake of the head before Matthew buried his face in his sleeved hands and blubbered out sobs and tears.
This was all a dream. It had to be, this couldn't be happening, not to him, not to Alfred.
"Please," Arthur choked to Katyusha, "please let me see him."
Conflicted and influenced by the intense emotions of the men before her, the woman frowned, "I'm sorry Mr. Kirkland, but I cannot allow that."
"And why the bloody fuck not?" Arthur retailed loudly. Matthew's shattered pale eyes peeked over at the Brit, who was beginning to shake yet again as tears crept down his wet cheeks.
"Arthur, I think we should listen to what she—"
"I don't want to listen to what anyone has to say," Arthur snapped back, "I don't want to lose him, Matthew, I can't! I'm not going to stand here and hear false words about luck when he's in there dying! I need to see him one last time; I can't lose him, not again."
Arthur's quivering eyes panned on to nurse Katyusha, who was staring at both men with a look of absolute hurt and sorrow etched upon her round face. He wondered if she too felt the pain of losing Alfred.
"Please," he began softy, "just let me see him, if only for a moment. You don't understand how much he means to me, to Matthew, to everyone. Alfred is an amazing person, and without him, the world is dark. He's my best friend and he has been for ten damn years and I love him, oh God I love him and I never even got the chance to tell him…"
Watching two grown men sob into their hands for the life of one important man was more than enough to break Katyusha's heart down. The short nurse looked between both men; at Alfred's brother who was sniveling into the sleeve of his auburn red sweater and shaking his head in disbelief, and then to Alfred's best friend, who was gasping, shaking, and mumbling faintly to himself.
Alfred must have made quite an impact on so many people.
"All right," she decided softly, "I'll allow you both to see him, but only for a short amount of time. I don't like being the bad guy."
Never before had a hallway felt as narrow, as sickly, as utterly terrible as the hall that nurse Katyusha led Matthew and Arthur down. Despite being clean and well taken care of, the musty scent of sorrow just wouldn't trickle out of Arthur's nostrils. He felt ill to his stomach as they passed closed doors and crying families.
He decided then that he hates hospitals.
"It won't be a pretty sight, I'm afraid," nurse Katyusha warned as she stopped the taller men in front of a closed brown door, "Are you sure you both still want to do this? It might be better for all three of you to wait until his wounds aren't so fresh, or until he was woken up."
"No," Arthur replied sternly before the Canadian could, "no, I need this."
The Russian nurse nodded and laid her caring eyes upon Matthew, mentally asking him if he was all right with the decision as well. His long locks bounced as he gave her a nod, and she let out a lengthy sigh before slowly creaking the door open and allowing the pair inside.
It was an unreal sight.
A man who distinctly resembled the Alfred they knew and loved dearly was lying motionless on a hospital bed with his arms by his side and a thin, snowy blanket drapped over his body from his chest down. Alfred's gorgeous, sun kissed locks were shaven and replaced with bulky, ugly staples that penetrated his swollen pink head and held blotches of skin together. His defined, sharp face was red with skid marks, dried blood, and burns, and his lively, friendly blue eyes were closed off from the world. Alfred's chapped, red lips were parted slightly with a long tube snaking from his mouth that connected to another pair of tubes that were lodged into the nostrils of his bandaged nose, which connected to a band that wrapped around his face and connected to a tall, threatening machine by his bedside. His arms were rested on top of the blanket, and his left was swollen, red, and topped off with a row of stitches that zigzagged up his forearm. The rest of the damage was hidden away by the clean blanket.
It wasn't Alfred, it couldn't be him. This man looked nothing like the Alfred F. Jones that Arthur had spent the past ten years of his life learning to love. He didn't have the damn piece of hair that refused to lie flat, he wasn't smiling or emitting that dreadfully obnoxious laugh, he wasn't greeting Arthur with friendly, beautiful, electrifying baby blues. It can't be him.
"God help him," Matthew whispered through a weep from behind the Brit. Arthur couldn't take his stunned eyes off the limp body that was beginning to look more and more like Alfred.
His best friend Alfred.
His love Alfred.
His hero Alfred.
His Alfred.
"No," he breathed as he began to stagger towards the bed, "Alfred, this can't be you…"
The closer Arthur inched, the more the belief and reality of the ordeal seeped into his skin and dug into his bones until ultimately, he dropped to his knees beside the bed. His exhausted eyes traced every visible inch of Alfred's mangled body. Under the medical equipment, the staples, stitches, dried blood, and burns, it was Alfred. It was definitely Alfred, there was no use denying it any further.
The faint beep of the heart monitor matched the frequency of Arthur's beating heart as he finally realized that this was not a dream, Alfred was in severe condition, and there he was, lying limply right under Arthur's small nose.
"Oh my God," Arthur squeaked, "it's really you, Alfred… Christ, I'm so sorry. I've failed you countless times this past week. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry…"
Alfred was so close to him. Arthur could easily reach out and touch him. He ached to wrap his arms around the American, he wanted to press his lips against his mutilated face, as sick as it seemed. He longed for the familiar, warm, reassuring touch of Alfred; he wanted it desperately. With a sniffle, Arthur placed his shuddering hand upon the bedside, and suddenly they were back under the light post in their park. Alfred and Arthur were the only two people left in the world again; the presence of Matthew and Katyusha was no longer felt, the putrid, stomach twisting scent of the God forbidden hospital was no longer stuck on his tongue, the only thing that existed at that very moment was Alfred. Hesitantly, in fear that movement would shatter Alfred completely, Arthur's lips parted and he gasped out a whisper that could only be heard between the two of them:
"Come back to me soon… I miss you… I love you..."
First and furthermost, I would like to apologize for taking some time to update! School was kicking my butt, but luckily, I've been on summer break for a few days now, so I was able to update!
I would like to apologize for how many people I probably broke with this chapter ehehe.
There's a lot of parallels to the true story that this is based off in here, but some can't be told just yet because it would count as a spoiler! My memory on the ordeal is a little foggy, but if I recall correctly, my mom went to the hospital after her best friend got into the accident, and somehow managed to get inside his room by saying that she was a nurse there? I have no clue how that worked, aha, but she said that her best friend's girlfriend and his mother (who was abusive and awful, if I haven't said that already) were there too. His girlfriend recognized her but didn't say anything because she knew that his mother didn't like either of them, and thankfully she didn't recognize my mom. She told me that she knelt down besides his bed and said "Come back to me soon, I'll miss you", which breaks my heart every time my mom tells me that story.
I had to do quite a bit of research on motorcycle accidents and medical procedures for this chapter to be accurate... That was pretty grim aha, wasn't fun at all.
I hope to have the next chapter out by July, but it may come sooner or later, I can't tell ya. I hope you guys enjoyed, leave me some feedback! See you all soon!