"Garrett!"

I could barely hear my name over the loud music, turning around to find a very anxious-looking Randal. Frowning, I squeezed between everyone until I could reach the edge of the room where he was standing, having to strain to hear what he was saying. "Are you okay? Where's Alistair?"

He shook his head. "Your boy isn't good; I think he needs to go home." Grabbing my wrist, he tugged me toward the bathroom doors.

My head was fuzzy from the alcohol, but I stumbled in anyway, trying to figure out what was going on. It was quieter in here, at least, though the bass was still thumping through the door. "What?"

"Carlisle's sick," Alistair called out to me before Randal could answer.

Catching sight of my boyfriend sitting on the bathroom floor, resting his head against his knees, sobered me up a bit. "Is he hurt? Carlisle, hey…" I knelt in front of him, squeezing his shoulder until he glanced up at me. "Are you okay?"

Unfocused, he shook his head 'no', reaching to grab my hand but missing by about an inch.

Chuckling and realising he was completely trashed, I closed my fingers around his. "Let's get you home before we get kicked out," I told him, pulling him to his feet. He was unsteady and swayed in my arms as I held onto him. Saying goodbye to the others, I practically dragged him out, getting a little annoyed at how slowly he wanted to walk. He had done this to himself, after all.

Standing on the road to wait for a taxi, he sat on the edge of the curb, leaning against my legs as I stood behind him. He started to vomit out of nowhere, coughing up a lot of what he'd previously had to drink.

"For god's sake, Carlisle, what'd you do to yourself?" I was half grumbling, half laughing at him at this point; I'd never expected him to get to this level of drunk before and it kind of pissed me off that he'd decided to ruin any chance of a good night by drinking too much. I couldn't be too mad at him, though; it was probably anxiety driven.

Eventually, the taxi came, and I made him promise not to puke in the car, to which he nodded without understanding. We'd just have to take our chances.

"…don't feel good…" he whispered to me about halfway home, biting his lip. His fingers tightened exponentially around mine, and his cheeks flushed a light shade of pink.

Realising he was going to throw up, I quickly asked the driver to pull over. Carlisle was too out of it to open the door or unbuckle his seatbelt, and he had to wait until I'd done it for him to get free. He was immediately sick into the gutter, and I offered the driver a sorry smile in the mirror as we waited for him to get a grip again.

Thankfully, we didn't have to pull over a second time before getting home, but I was wary of him as we stood in the elevator again. He was leaning against the wall, bracing himself against the bar, and I had my arm behind him in case he slipped.

"Straight in bed," I instructed as I unlocked the door. I was fairly confident that if he sat down anywhere he would go to sleep and I wouldn't be able to get him down the hallway.

I brought him a sleeping pill, nudging him awake to take it; I couldn't be bothered dealing with him if he woke up again. He needed to sleep through the night. It was like having a fucking child.

He fell asleep again as soon as I left him alone, and I got in bed as well. I was a little bitter about the whole thing, and that would only get worse if I stayed up and drank by myself. I really didn't fancy us fighting when we were both hungover in the morning.

.

.

I only got a few hours of peace before Carlisle was up again. He had to keep hold of the wall to stop himself tripping over, until he made it to the bathroom. I heard him throw up, but couldn't be bothered going to his rescue; I was over the whole situation.

I must have fallen asleep, because the next time I looked at my clock, it was just after two AM. Glancing sideways, I frowned as I found that my boyfriend wasn't next to me; I didn't recall him coming back , either, and he was too clumsy to have done it without waking me up. I groaned and rolled out of bed – I couldn't call myself a decent human without making sure that he hadn't fallen over and decapitated himself.

It wasn't far from the truth, really. Kneeling on the bathroom floor, he was struggling to stay conscious enough to stay leaning over the toilet bowl without falling. He kept slipping sideways, eventually falling into the wall and knocking his head against it before I could stop him.

"Jesus." Leaning over him, I unfolded his legs from under him, making him sit up straight. He coughed, almost gagging but managing to keep his stomach contents down, thank god. His lips were faintly blue, and he was freezing to touch.

"…Gar…sick…" he mumbled, struggling not to fall asleep. He seemed to be choking on shallow breaths, and was very, very pale. It was no fucking wonder he was lightheaded.

"You need to breathe, Carlisle, take a deep breath."

"…don't feel good…" His words were so slurred together he was hard to understand, and he slid down to lie on the floor, too tired to do anything anymore. It took all of two seconds for him fall asleep.

I sighed and shook his shoulder, wanting him to wake up. Something wasn't right, and I wasn't sure that 'sleeping it off' was such a good idea right now. "Sit up." Moving him was pointless; he was compliant, but wouldn't hold the position once I got him up. "For fuck's sake, Carlisle."

.

.

In alcohol induced confusion, I ran a google search of his symptoms, finding nothing other than the usual 'will die immediately' diseases. It didn't help me try and figure out what to do with Carlisle, though.

I glanced down at him again; he hadn't moved, other than curling up a little more. He coughed, breliefly regaining consciousness, and although he managed to keep whatever was in his stomach down, I knew he wanted to be sick again. I was lost for what to do, crouching again to hold my hand against his forehead. He was getting colder as well, which wasn't good.

I was pretty sure that he needed a doctor, but I sure as hell couldn't drive anywhere, and an ambulance seemed like an over-reaction. Grumbling about needing to go out again, I shook him awake the best I could. "Carlisle, you need to get dressed."

He looked at me blankly as I tossed his jeans at him, not making the connection.

"Get dressed," I instructed again, trying not to get snappy with him. This was getting tiring very quickly. When my words had no effect on him, I forced him into it, and it was worse than trying to convince Kate to get dressed.

My frustration was almost overwhelming, and I threw his hoodie at him, storming out of the room to calm down for a minute. I didn't think I'd end up caring for an uncooperative child when we went out for a good time tonight. Now I was just really mad at him. Still, my anger subsided a little bit as I heard him throw up again; yes, he had done part of this to himself, but something else wasn't right as well.

He'd tried to wriggle his arms into the sleeves of his jumper by the time I went back to him, glancing up a me. "...I'm sorry..."

"I know," I sighed. "I'm taking you to a doctor, can you stand up?" Pulling the fabric over his head, I crouched in front of him. I wrapped my arms around his waist as he shakily got to his feet, and I was pretty sure I was the only thing stopping him from falling. Somehow, I managed to get him out of the apartment complex and onto the road before he really needed to sit down again.

This time, I didn't care if he was sick in the taxi; we could deal with the clean-up fee later, he just needed help. He leaned against me once we were sitting down again, freezing cold and far too pale.

"Don't go to sleep, Carlisle," I murmured to him, shifting my fingers through his hair. "You need to stay awake."

Groaning quietly, he ran his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes to try and wake himself up. "...where are we going…?" he mumbled, barely making sense.

"To hospital; we need to make sure you're okay." Hugging him seemed like a bad idea, and I tried to ignore the urge; it would only make him more sleepy. There wasn't much I could do as I watched the colour continue to seep from his cheeks. As we pulled up outside the emergency room, I made the mistake of reaching over, freeing him from his seatbelt and shoving open his door before I got out.

He wasn't thinking straight, and didn't wait for me to help him get up. Immediately, he tripped over the curb, falling onto his hands and knees.

"Fuck, are you okay?" Standing too quickly made my own head spin, and I stumbled a little as I crouched in front of him. There was blood on his hands as he sat back, and this time I couldn't resist, wrapping my arms around him. "Let's get you inside."

.

.

Carlisle was too out of it to respond to any of the questions that the nurses asked him, leaning against me and barely able to stay awake. My head was so foggy I was struggling to recall his birthday, what we'd been doing tonight and what he had swallowed. Frowning, I started to wonder if he'd taken his pills twice; I knew I'd given him one, but I couldn't remember if I'd made him take the other one as well.

As soon as I mentioned this to them and the fact that he'd had a bit to drink, they had us rushed through the double doors. It scared the shit out of me, but it did prevent us from having to wait for hours in the waiting room.

My head was spinning from the bright lights and constant movement around us, and I was quickly becoming aware of just how much I'd had to drink. The seriousness of everyone's voices made me want to cry, I reached for Carlisle's hand to find some form of comfort.

"He hasn't over-dosed," I argued hotly when they suggested it. "Not intentionally…"

He wasn't listening anyway, and clearly didn't know what was going on. They just somewhat pushed me out of the way, trying to get him to answers a barrage of questions that he couldn't because he was so sleepy.

My stomach rose as soon as I caught sight of the lure they wanted in his arm, and I tried not to vomit as they slid the needle under his skin. Carlisle didn't even seem to know they were doing it, but my legs felt wobbly under me. Thank god, he wasn't conscious enough to be in pain. Stupidly, I just wanted to talk to mum, wanting reassurance more than anything. Twenty seven, and still running into her arms as soon as something went wrong. Great.

The nurse touched my shoulder, getting me to look up at her. "Come and sit in the waiting room, I'll get you once all this is over. We don't need you passing out as well," she murmured softly, ushering me out of the room again. "He'll be alright. Make sure that you keep drinking as well, it'll help your hangover." Chuckling to herself, she handed me a paper cup, rolling her eyes at my guilty expression. This really wasn't helping the 'wanting my mother' thing.

I gave in as she walked away; it felt like my whole world was collapsing, and the alcohol was making everything far more dramatic than it needed to be. My fingers wouldn't stop shaking enough to cooperate as I tried to operate my phone, and I felt like I might puke as I waited for her to pick up.

She was groggy as she answered, confused. "Garrett, what's wrong? It's three AM, love."

I felt a little bad for waking her up, but hearing her voice helped to ease the lump in my throat. "M-mum...Carlisle's in hospital…" Somehow, I managed not to burst into tears, but it was coming.

"Is he alright? What happened?" She was more awake now.

"W-we went out, and we had too much to drink and they think he overdosed but he didn't-" I really was going to fucking cry. I swallowed a mouthful of water out of the cup, trying to fight the tightness in my throat. It didn't really work, and she saw straight through me.

"Are you drunk?" she asked bluntly, almost muttering to herself.

"Yes, but Carlisle's sick, and he's so cold...I don't know what to do…"

"Oh, honey. It'll be okay, he's in the best place for him."

"...you know that's what you told me and Eleazar when we had to put the dog down," I grumbled through tears, the ancient memory hurting more than it should.

"I guess so," she chuckled. The joke was over in a few seconds, and she sighed. "He'll be alright, Garrett. Do you want me to drive up and sit with you for a while?"

I really, really wanted that, but it was unfair on her. So was calling her at ridiculous hours of the morning. "...it's a long way, mum." It was almost a plea for her to come, but I was trying to force myself to calm down and stop being a child. An intoxicated, nonsensical child.

"I know, I'll be there as soon as I can," she promised.

.

.

Carlisle was fairly coherent by the time I was allowed to come back into the room, but he still didn't look good. He tried to smile when he saw me, but it didn't stick at all.

"Are you alright?" I didn't know whether I was allowed to touch him or not; I didn't want to cause him more discomfort than he already had. It was taking everything I had not to look at the IV in his arm, but I knew I'd end up on the floor if I did.

His face was hot, and I knew he was embarrassed about being so violently ill in public, still holding a plastic container the nurse had given him incase he threw up like it was a life line. Just from the way he was sitting, I knew he was in pain. I jerked the curtain closed around the cubicle, rubbing the back of his hand as he squeezed the bed. "Y-you can go, Gar..."

I shook my head at him, uncurling his fingers so he would hold onto me and not the sheets. There was already blood on the bedding and his clothing, presumably from the grazes on his hands. "I'll stay until they either admit you for the night or send you home."

He immediately grabbed me, although I was pretty sure it was involuntary and he just needed to hold onto something to take his mind off his stomach hurting. Curling up didn't seem to be helping much, but he shuffled up the bed to rest his head on his knees anyway.

"Are you going to be sick again?" I asked carefully, tracing circles with my fingertips against the small of his back. "Do you need a nurse?"

"No," he pleaded, shaking his head. "I'm fine, I just..." He was sick, but I didn't hit the buzzer, just waited until it was over before handing him another container. There was no point in doing it if it was only going to stress him out more.

"Slow down," I reminded him as he struggled to catch his breath. Hyperventilating was only going to make him feel more terrible than he already did. As selfish as it was, standing up was making me dizzy, and I sat in the chair next to the bed once he'd calmed down a little bit. It didn't take him long, really; he was still quite sedated.

My head was throbbing as my hangover set in, and I was squinting my eyes against the harsh white lighting. Good lord, I felt like shit. I didn't want to go home, though; not until I knew that Carlisle was safe. Not wanting to hold my head up anymore, I leaned forward against the bed, folding one arm in front of me as a makeshift pillow. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sounds of the nurses in the corridors and the beeping of monitors.

Carlisle slid his hand up my arm, lightly teasing the back of my neck as I tried not to fall asleep, playing with my hair and generally making it harder to stay awake. "Go home, Garrett, you need to go to bed," he murmured softly.

I shook my head, propping myself up on my elbows to rub my eyes. It felt like fucking sandpaper. "I'm not going anywhere until I know you're okay; I'm the one that gave you the pill in the first place." The guilt, coupled with my handover, was quickly making me nauseous, and my mouth was welling with spit and the need to throw up. I groaned without meaning to.

"I'll be fine now; just get some rest." He squeezed my shoulder, but his hold on me was still weak.

"I'm alright, Carlisle," I argued tiredly. He really was going to make me fall asleep, though, if he kept touching me.

"Come here, then." He shuffled over to the side of the mattress, trying to untangle himself from the IV and monitors.

Making sense that he wanted me beside him, I clumsily got up, perching next to him and slipping my arms around his waist to pull us closer together so that neither of us fell. He moulded himself to the shape of my body, resting his head on my chest as he curled up next to me. I folded one arm back over my face to block out the light, the other resting around Carlisle's shoulders. It helped to keep me calm; I could feel every breath he took while we were like this, and what little warmth he'd managed to get back was soaking into my body. There was no way in hell I was going to be able to stay awake now.

He kissed my neck, lightly trailing his fingers up and down my side. It was nice to have my hands on him again, and I was glad to keep the proximity we had with each other. I rested my chin on the top of his head, leaning back against the mattress.

It was then that a nurse threw back the curtain, not batting an eye at the position we were in."You can't drink and take your medication, Carlisle. Your doctor should have told you that when she gave it to you." Upon not getting much of a reaction from him, she addressed me instead, assuming he wouldn't retain anything at the moment as she explained that the reaction of the pills and the alcohol together was essentially an overdose, seeming the effects of both things complemented together.

I tried not to snap at her, feeling like she was blaming him for what had happened. Still, I managed to hold my tongue until she was gone again. "I'm so sorry I gave you that pill…I should have checked, and I thought that you'd just had too much to drink," I mumbled, squeezing him a little tighter. "I just wanted you to sleep properly, but…"

"It's okay, Garrett, it's not your fault," he assured me, hugging me as much as he was able to and more coherent than the nurse had given him credit for. "I should have thought about it before we went out…I do wish you would go home, though…"

I shook my head, refusing again. "You scared the shit out of me, I'm not going anywhere." Giving in to my need to go to sleep, I pulled him closer to me, resting my cheek on the top of his head and letting my eyes fall closed. "Love you."