Russel would never forget what he saw that afternoon in the closet.
It was 2PM when Russel returned to the house on Wobble street after a morning discussing some business with the record label. He opened the door and put his jacket on the coat rack. He noticed 2D's black jacket hanging there as well, and figured the singer must be home. He thought about going to ask how his night was—Noodle had told him that 2D had left with a lady friend—but the couch caught Russ's eye, distracting him.
The drummer's heart sped up as he looked around the room, trying to piece together what had happened. There were reddish brown spots on the couch cushion and back, and broken glass on the furniture and floor. The fire poker was on the ground beside the fireplace, and the ceramic table lamp was on its side, cracked. Russel crouched down and picked up a piece of green glass, carefully inspecting it. Then he noticed a trail of brownish streaks leading from the couch to the closet. He followed the trail and opened the closet to find a crumpled, still body.
Alarmed, Russ crouched again but couldn't see his band mate's face in the darkness, so he reached in and pulled 2D out by the waist. Illuminated by the afternoon sun through the cracked window in the door, Russ could see the blue-haired man's state. The left side of his face was swollen, the right side covered in dried blood. His shoulder was bloody too, and, most notably, he wasn't moving, even after being yanked from the closet.
Russ's heart quickened. No matter how many times he saw Stu hurt, he always panicked at the thought of 2D dying. Squaring with Murdoc was always a gamble, except there was no winning this game. The best you could hope for was an hour or two of pain. One of these days, D would end up in another coma, or paraplegic, or deaf, or dead.
"D!" Russel yelled, and grabbed Stuart by the shoulders, shaking him hard. "Wake up!" No response. Russel let the man fall to the ground and started patting his cheek. "Yo, wake up, wake up." He wouldn't stop until he knew the extent of the damage. He cautiously put a large finger to 2D's neck, and almost cried with relief when he found a pulse.
"D, wake up!" He called and slapped the unconsious man in the face. That earned him a groan, and Russ thanked his lucky stars.
"Are you ok? Can you walk?"
The singer lifted a palm to his head, and Russ noted the cut and bruise around his wrist. "Ow..."
"Talk to me," the drummer asked, firmly.
"I...how did I get...oh." Stu looked dazed and unsure.
"What happened?" Russ stood over Stuart, who started to get up on his elbows as Russ backed up.
"Oh. Uh...you...could probably guess," he joked with a dark smirk.
Russ was relieved to see his friend could still talk and move, at least, and he brought the man into a bear hug. 2D, who usually liked hugs, yelped and tried to push Russ off.
"Sorry, sorry," he said, and released the bloody man, who sat up. Russ felt that his forearm was damp, and looked down to see it was red with blood. Russel frowned. Russ was glad D was alive, but he still looked like hell and was badly hurt.
"I'm sorry," Russ repeated. "I wish I could have stopped him."
The singer pressed his palm to his bloody temple and closed his eyes. "You weren't there. I was. This is on me."
"It's on him, Stu," the drummer spat firmly.
2D was silent for a moment. He took his palm from his forehead and looked at it, then put it back.
"Then I guess there's nothing I can do."
Russ sighed. He would have to collect his thoughts for a more nuanced conversation with 2D later -and maybe a more direct one with Murdoc. "Come on," the drummer said, standing up and reaching a hand down to the singer. "Let's get you cleaned up."
The blue-haired man looked up. "Thanks, mate," he said and reached up to take Russ's hand with both of his own. He grimaced as he pulled himself up.
Sensing 2D's discomfort, Russel carefully placed his other hand on 2D's waist, supporting him. 2D leaned on his friend and blinked away a tear as they ambled carefully toward the bathroom. Stu was breathing heavily when he reached the toilet and sat down with an "oomf."
Russel soaked a hand towel in warm water and wrung it out, then handed the damp cloth to his friend. "Your face." 2D started wiping his face while Russel got the medical kit from behind the mirror and opened it, unsure of where to start on the younger man. "What hurts the most?"
2D stopped. "Ahhh..."
"I felt your back was bleeding? Turn around, let me see."
The singer rotated on the toilet seat revealing a red waterfall spilling from mid-back down to the pocket of his pants. Russel carefully lifted up the shirt, peeling the cloth from sticky skin, to reveal a deep cut surrounded by purple and yellow bruising. This was bad. "Damn, D!"
The singer flinched and slouched into himself. "What the hell happened, man?" Russel continued. "What happened to your wrists? Why can't you walk right? How can you let him treat you like this all the time?"
Stuart, still facing away from the other man, leaned forward into the towel, covering his face and quivering. But Russel was still angry. He was sick of having to stand by while Murdoc continually abused the singer, while Russ just had to wait for it to happen and pick up the pieces afterward. He was tired of being sensitive and acting like he should just respect their dynamic, or being afraid that his intervention would just make it worse. It wasn't his job to deal with this sort of endless cycle of blood and desperate hopes for recovery. It hurt him to see his band mates such a mess, and he always had to make tough decisions about how to deal with it. As much as it hurt him, Russel couldn't complain to anyone because he knew he wasn't getting the worst of it, and he felt alone and resentful keeping it inside. He had to maintain enough maturity to make up for everyone else's lack thereof. If only Murdoc could grow up and control his temper. If only 2D learned not to agitate the violent man.
Something needed to change.
The man on the toilet wasn't about to have a conversation, though, punctuating the silence that followed with soft, high-pitched gasps and trembling hard. Tears flowing into the damp fabric. This wasn't the time to ask hard questions, Russ realized, coming down from his tirade as his pulse slowed. He reached out and, very slowly, placed his large hand on the shoulder in front of him. It was strangely cold.
"I'm sorry."
Both stopped after each realized the other had said the phrase in unison.
Russel sighed. "Look, why don't you have a shower and I can patch you up later?" he suggested. "Maybe I should take you to the hospital...just don't worry about it for now, I'll talk to you after, alright?"
Russ felt a bony hand on top of his. 2D turned to face him, towel lowered, eyes puffy.
"Thanks, Russ. You really are the best friend anyone could ask for."