Carlisle POV

The afternoon had only been made worse by Alistair's arrival. Positive by this point that I was having a heart attack and definitely not waking up the next time I passed out, I couldn't make sense of why they were bickering. Garrett refused to let me out of his sight - not that I could move on my own - but it had resulted in my having to stay on the couch so that he could see me from the kitchen while he made dinner. It was turning my stomach to even think about.

And then Al had turned up - the chaperone, apparently. He'd dragged me back to bed, and I tried to find the energy to tell him I was going to puke. His decision to crouch down in front of me, leveling us, really didn't seem wise while I was unbearably nauseous. The words wouldn't come out.

"What'd you take?" he murmured to me. His hand drifted, first checking my pockets, confiscating my phone before starting to tug up my sleeves when his search didn't turn up anything else.

The feeling was fading from my fingertips as the dizziness consumed me. It took all of my concentration to reply to him. "Hmm?"

He rolled his eyes, his barely-contained temper flaring. "Medication, Carlisle. What have you taken? You were like this when you overdosed."

"Haven't, Al."

"Bullshit," he hissed back. "You're exactly the same - don't lie to me." He was pulling on my clothing so hard it hurt. "Have you harmed yourself again?"

"N-no, I-I-" I hadn't but his question instantly made me as guilty as if I had.

He was rarely harsh with me, as abrasive as he could sometimes be, but the way he touched me now was painful, tugging the more I struggled against him. "Garrett may be dumb enough to believe you, but he didn't look after you last time you did this. We're not going through this again, do you hear me? I swear to god, Carlisle, if you've still doing it, I'll have you admitted to a psychiatric unit faster than you can fucking blink-"

I was too tired to argue with him. l let him rip the bandages off - the same ones he'd put on - and grumble as he realised his effort had been for nothing. I didn't resist as he did another sweep of my pockets, watching as he flipped my phone from it's case, finding nothing in my belongings. "I have to throw up." The sentence came out surprisingly well.

"What have you done to yourself?" he asked again. "Is Garrett not keeping-"

"Nothing, Alistair. Stop it; it isn't that- I'm gonna be sick." Panic was setting in again, my heart hammering as I tried to get my torso upright. My stomach was twisting painfully against my ribs, tight and rolling, worse once my feet were on the ground.

I couldn't stand. The cramping had given way to tearing, fiery spasms making it impossible not to double over. It never felt like this. Not this bad.

And then the vomiting started. The pressure in my head was throbbing from the exertion, Al still demanding to know what I'd exactly swallowed to make me ill.

It was happening - I was going to faint, and I wasn't going to wake up.

.

.

"It dissolves in your mouth, baby, you don't have to swallow it." The first thing I became aware of was Garrett trying to feed me something as he knelt on the ground beside me. A tablet. "It'll help with the nausea - I guess we missed a dose." His hands were shaking so violently he was fumbling to get it out of the foil, his face pale and tear-streaked when my eyes finally focused. "I'm so sorry." He forced a deep breath as I let him give me the pill, sniffing a little as he tried to calm himself down, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. "That takes half an hour to work - I googled it. I can give you pain relief as soon as we're sure you won't throw it up."

I wasn't dead. We were still at home. Still in bed. Except the blankets had been ripped off me and Alistair had backed off enough to hover from the doorway. Gar was smoothing my hair back from my face before I realised that it was happening again, the contractions trying to force up non-existent stomach contents.

"Breathe," he murmured softly. "You keep holding your breath."

"Hurts," I got out.

"Did you have pain relief before you left the hospital?"

I made the mistake of shaking my head before I thought it through. I was still stupid enough to hope that he hadn't caught it. Of course he had, though.

"Garrett, he's taken something; you can't give him more," Alistair intruded from the doorway. "He looks exactly the same as last time." His words sounded tinny, sharp and echoing while he was a few feet away from us. And the room was so dark. The light above the bed burned, but I couldn't see through the shadows in the corners, could barely see Al. Garrett nudged me back against the mattress as I tried to push myself up.

"There's no way; he doesn't have access to anything," he grumbled back. "He wouldn't be in agony if he had."

"You're going to kill him."

"I can't leave him like this, Alistair; it's only tylenol." That came out as a snap, his palm brushing over my forehead. "Try not to move too much," he whispered. I hadn't realised that I'd been trying to move at all until he'd attempted to still me. He caught my hand as it tangled in the fitted sheet, rubbing my fingers. "Carlisle."

"You'll destroy his liver; don't you know what a paracetamol overdose can do?" Al needled again.

I couldn't stand it. I'd take anything if it would take the pain away; it would be worth feeling horrible if it didn't hurt so bad - unconsciousness wouldn't be unwelcome. "I didn't- I haven't been taking the pills at the hospital, a-and-"

Neither of them understood. "I believe you; you haven't been out of my sight since we got home," Garrett assured me overtop of the scoff coming from the doorway. Stroking my cheek, he pressed his lips to my forehead as the shaking got the better of me again. "What time are your meds due?"

"I'm not- I haven't been having them; they're making me sicker, a-and I don't feel like me anymore when I take the antipsychotic, and I'm not getting better-" The sharp ache in my middle started to radiate down my thighs as the pain made me squirm, the bed suddenly unbearably uncomfortable and the sheets burning against my skin.

Alarmed, his spine stiffened, his hand tightening around mine. "You're not taking anything? You're refusing your medication?" Panic leaked through in his voice. "Carlisle-"

"I don't want to go back to the hospital." The dread that welled up didn't help the nausea at all. "I'm going to die there."

"You aren't going to die, Carlisle, you're just sick," he chided, choking on the words anyway. "But you need to take what the doctor has prescribed for you." Glancing at Alistair, the two of them had a hushed conversation, too quiet for me to hear over the pounding in my ears. I knew it was going to result in them shoving tablets down my throat.

"Please, Gar, it makes me so sick; don't tell them - I can't take it anymore." I couldn't breathe. The walls were too close and my clothing was too tight. I shoved Garrett's arm away from me as Alistair disappeared and returned to hand him a container of pills. "No- no, it's going to make me dizzy and I'm going to throw up- I don't want that fucking pill, Garrett, I'm not taking it!" The shaking made it impossible to push away from him, and I wasn't sure if I'd managed to raise my voice. My throat burned all the same. I childishly tried to scramble back from him.

He was quiet. "It's just the one medication that you have a problem with, then? It's not all of them?" he asked over my pants for breath, catching my hand on the bedding.

"Just the antipsychotic, but I can't remember which one it is because my medications have changed so many times, and they always give them to me in a cup and all the pills look the same and I can't think, a-and-" It didn't matter how hard I tried to twist away from him - I wasn't achieving anything. "I'm not crazy!"

His attempts to soothe me cut off suddenly, and I knew he was upset with me now. He withdrew his hand with a heavy sign, sitting back on his knees, but didn't seem outrightly angry. "It's no wonder you're worse, Carlisle. Jesus." Knotting his fingers in his hair, he fell quiet - both of them did. It seemed like an eternity before he spoke again. "Will you…if I figure out which pill it is, will you take the rest? You can't keep doing that to yourself."

Despite how badly it made me want to cry, I nodded - it seemed reasonable. The lump in my throat made it hard to breathe, even worse once my boyfriend had noticed, rising from his knees to perch on the bed beside me.

"Aren't you supposed to be having antibiotics? You can't just stop taking those." Not angry. Upset, maybe, but he wasn't growling at me.

"I didn't know what else to do, Gar. They're not listening to me."

"You're a moron, Garrett," Alistair grumbled. "You should be calling an ambulance - look at the bloody state he's in."

Everything hurt too much to fight with him. "No," I whispered to my boyfriend, well aware that he was stuck between a rock and a hard place as I gripped the front of his shirt.

He looked torn, his fingers closing over mine. Alistair was protesting. I couldn't take a deep breath without my stomach ripping itself apart.

"Please. I'll take whatever you want. Just don't send me back," I pleaded.

.

.

It seemed to take forever, but he sat on the bed with me as we looked up each name on the packets, showing me his phone each time to appease my paranoia over him lying to me about it. He'd banished Alistair back into the lounge, his arm protectively wrapped around me as I lay against his side. I'd curled up by mistake, only to find I couldn't stretch out again without my stomach cramping. The vomiting had calmed - thank god, but the pain wouldn't shift. I was terrified the analgesia I'd swallowed would only come back up before it had time to work.

The shaking wouldn't stop. I couldn't tell if I was still feverish or just worked up. "Can you- Can I hold Fox?" I blurted out, interrupting him as he okayed another drug. The soft kiss he pressed to my forehead in response made me tear up - I was so fucking pathetic.

"If it'll help." It was still difficult to think of him as my partner sometimes. Even more difficult to picture him as my fiance. But both were easier while he was being so gentle. Not yelling at me for being horrendously stupid.

"Gar, it's not working," I told him when he came back, cat in arm until he set her on the bed with me.

"The pills? You've got to give it a bit longer; you've barely swallowed them." He settled next to me again, pulling the blanket over both of us as he slipped his arm around me.

"I've ruined everything." My thoughts were racing so fast I could barely make a coherent sentence. "I'm- what if I've displaced the feeding tube when I was throwing up? I don't want them to put it back in again and-"

"It looks fine, Carlisle. Does it feel different?" His thumb brushed over the tape on my cheek, and I froze, watching his face for any sign that he couldn't deal with it. He covered any emotions toward it well, though.

"N-no."

"Then don't worry about it. I think you'd know if it wasn't, uh, sitting properly." He guided my hand to the cat and nudged her into lying on my lap, kissing my temple. "Are you sure you don't want me to call an ambulance?"

I shook my head. "Don't make me go back. Please."

He sighed. "You need to be back there before dinner is taken away; you haven't eaten anything that's stayed down, and I don't think we can keep on top of your pain if you're here for an extended time."

"But then I'm never going to be able to come home, a-and-"

"It's not forever, baby."

"It already feels like it's been forever."

.

.

It seemed like hours before the pain finally eased. Garrett assured me it had barely been thirty minutes, but it was horrifically long. I could almost relax while he lay with me on the bed, Fox enforcing a slither of space between us. I hoped he'd fall asleep, that I would get away with lying here for the remainder of the night, but he gently nudged me at 7PM, his arm sneaking around my hips. "It's time to go back, Carlisle."

"I can't, Gar." All of the peace I'd managed to find over the last few hours was gone instantly. My pleas fell on deaf ears. The panic started to bubble up as he helped me into my jacket, my hands trembling as my eyes burned. My chest was aching by the time we reached the car.

"It'll be alright," he murmured, stretching over the gearbox to hold my hand. "Carlisle, it'll be fine."

I just clutched the container he'd given me just in case, digging my fingernails into the plastic instead of my palms. The imposing white building seemed to loom on the horizon, blocking the sun behind it as we pulled into the carpark.

"Hey, you need to take a deep breath," Garrett told me. He awkwardly yanked the handbrake into place with his free hand, never letting mine go.

I wasn't in my body anymore. The connection was gone, the person he was trying to talk out of a panic attack not me, the world outside not real. I watched from the outside as he moved around the car to open the passenger door, pulling the body inside into a tight embrace, his hand brushing down their spine.

"Carlisle."

The sound of the traffic exploded around me. The aches were back, my pulse hammering hard enough to burst my eardrums. The sharp breath I sucked in tore through my ribs. I knew I was causing a scene, crying and shaking and generally being a pain in the ass. Garrett was holding my hand as he guided me toward the automatic doors, his other flat against the small of my back to nudge me forward.

I couldn't breathe.

My lungs were too tight.

I was going to be sick.

"You're really at breaking point over this?" he asked quietly once we were alone in the elevator. Although he tugged me into a careful hug, it sort of felt like he was scolding me.

I couldn't do anything other than sniff and nod, but from his sigh it was enough.

His palm brushed my cheek, gently brushing away tears that were stupidly uncontrollable and fucking embarrassing. "Come upstairs."

"I can't- Garrett, I can't do this anymore." I really didn't have any dignity left, but couldn't stop heat burning through my cheeks as I caught sight of myself in the reflective paneling in the back of the elevator. I barely recognised myself - gaunt and fragile, my collarbones digging through my shirt and that horrible blotchy pattern across my skin too far up my throat. It was a wonder Garrett could stand to look at me.

"I need to talk to your nurse, baby." His eyes met mine in the metal, the kiss he pressed to the top of my head making both of us flinch as I shuddered away.

"My clothes don't fit," I blurted out. It wasn't what I wanted to tell him, not really what I meant, but it was as close as I could get.

"That sweatshirt was never yours," he teased. His smile faded when I didn't laugh. "Carlisle, it's Alistair's. He was bigger than you to begin with; it never fit."

I couldn't tear my eyes off of the alien couple looking back at us. So lifeless. That bruising. The obscene purple tube. So dull.

"Hey." He tugged me, turning me to face him, forcing my gaze away. "You can't hide in the lift all night.

The door was open. Had been for some time, judging by how Garrett had his hand against it, wedging it open. My knees barely held me as I followed him down the corridor. The nurses had already started preparing the patients for bed, most of the lights already dimmed despite it being barely 8pm. Like a retirement home. "I can't be here any longer," I whispered frantically. My voice seemed too loud while everyone else lay quietly. The light to my room was still on, flooding the hallway like in some awful scene from a horror movie, some monster lurking inside, ready to suck us into the depths never to be seen again. Me. I was the monster.

"We've got to talk to your nurse," he insisted.

I numbly followed him to the nurses station. The conversation was lost over my pulse and uneven breathing, my skin prickling under my clothing. Back to the room. My vision was blurred - more tears, I realised as Gar rubbed my shoulder, ushering me into his side. I buried my face in his shirt to avoid the nurse's disapproval. The rumble of his voice in his chest as he spoke was comforting, stopping me from crumbling entirely.

I hadn't been dizzy until he stepped away suddenly, following the nurse with a quick squeeze of my hand. Instantly lightheaded again, I awkwardly sat on the edge of the bed, pulling my knees up to rest my forehead against them. It didn't make me any less faint, but my stomach didn't cramp so badly. It seemed like forever before Garrett came back to me, papers in hand. I didn't bother to ask what they were.

The doctor was talking to us. The ringing in my ears drowned him out, but Garrett was nodding as he curled his arms around me. It was easy to have his hands on me while I was so unsteady, easy to pretend that all the bullshit with Heidi hadn't happened.

I wasn't sure how long it had been since the doctor had left, or how long my boyfriend had been trying to get my attention. He looked worried when I glanced up. "Can you hear me?"

I nodded, mirroring his forced smile. "I'm okay."

"Wanna go home?"

"Yes, please."

"Do you want to lie down for a few minutes first?"

"N-no, Gar, I'm fine, I don't want to be here anymore." I made the mistake of standing too quickly, ignoring the stars that swam through my vision as I tried to grab my phone charger and laptop from the top of the cabinet, my stumbling only stopped when Garrett caught my waist.

"I think you need to lie down for a few minutes; you're white as a sheet." The cold metal of the bedrail touched the backs of my legs as I fell back against it. "Just for ten minutes, and then we can go. They aren't going to let you leave if you faint trying to get out the door."

My stomach was doing nervous flips. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing deep breaths, my fingers digging into Garrett's forearm to stop him leaving again. "I can't stay here," I repeated yet again.

"I know, Carlisle, we're going home again." He pried my hand off of him, trapping it between both of his palms. We were quiet for a while, and I desperately tried to regulate myself enough that he would let me off the bed, let me out of here. It wasn't working.

The next hour passed in a blur. The nurse was in and out of the room, fidgeting with the feeding tube, making my abdomen uncomfortably tight, putting syringes into a paper bag alongside the formula. Even as Garrett helped me shove my stuff back into my backpack, I couldn't comprehend what was happening.

.

.

"Why are we here?" I hadn't thought to ask him until we were standing at the register, Garrett talking to the man behind the counter as he slowly rubbed my back. I had no idea where 'here' was, but it sure as hell wasn't our apartment. Too loud. And cold.

"We have to pick up your prescription, if you're going to come home," he murmured. Drug store. We were at the pharmacy. I strained to remember the car ride, even the elevator trip back down to ground level at the hospital. Nothing. Nothing since I was lying on the gurney.

"I'm coming home?" I tugged his arm, making him turn to face me, needing his full attention.

He frowned as our eyes met. "Is that not what you wanted?"

"Y-yeah. I didn't think you'd want that, though."

"I just want you to get better, Carlisle; I can't stand to see you like that. The doctor recommended that you go and see a specialist out of state anyway - I can show you the forms later; I don't think you should deal with that until you're feeling a bit better." He tried to turn back to the register but stopped as I pulled again.

"I'm discharged?"

"Sort of; I guess it's a trial? If you don't cope at home, we go back."

My stomach churned at the thought of stepping foot in that place again.

"Are you feeling alright?"

I just nodded. The pharmacist wanted his attention anyway. "They scanned my head, right? When I had the MRI?" I asked as we walked back to the car. He forced me to walk in front of him out the door as he held it open for me, and I veered left hoping my guess was right. Thankfully, I could see our vehicle further up the road if I squinted.

"Yeah. Carlisle, what's going on?" Catching my hand, he threaded our fingers together again, the plastic bag he clutched in the other clattering against his thigh. The reassuring pressure did stop my heart beating so erratically.

"I think I'm…I don't know - I never blacked out at the drugstore?" My body ached, but it wasn't painful like I'd fallen. That wasn't any indication if Garrett had caught me again, though, and he was definitely hovering like I'd fallen.

"Do you think we'd be walking out if you had? What the hell is happening?"

I swallowed. "I think I just really need to sleep."

"It's been a long day," he agreed. He looked exhausted too, worn out from having to deal with me all evening, still having to help me open the car door when I couldn't pull the handle hard enough. He supervised from the curb until I'd buckled my seatbelt.

"I ruined your birthday," I mumbled as he climbed into the driver's seat. My voice didn't shake but he'd still glanced over like it had.

His hand snuck over to squeeze my thigh, rubbing when I almost hit the roof at the sudden contact. "No you didn't, I'm so happy we got to spend some time together."

"And I didn't get you anything."

"Carlisle, you've spent two weeks in hospital, and have been ill for months; it doesn't matter. That's the last thing you need to be worrying about right now."

"I'm sorry." The lump in my throat was back, strangling.

"How's your pain after you've been standing for a while? You're shaking again."

"I can't stop it. I'm so tired," I complained. All I ever did now was complain. Whine. Like a child.

"You can sleep as soon as we're home; I can help you get ready for bed," he promised easily. "Are you sore, though?"

"It's not bad," I mumbled. "I really want to shower, though." There was no way he wasn't going to watch me like a fucking hawk - I was pretty sure I'd lost all rights to privacy for the foreseeable future. That was going to be painful.

.

.

I couldn't quite mask my shock when he turned away to leave me in the bathroom by myself. I'd expected him to follow me, to go through the same process I'd had to at the hospital, but he'd only brought me a clean towel and turned away again. "Garrett…"

He stopped in the doorway, shuffling back to face me. "Do you feel safe on your own?" he frowned. "I can stay if you're worried you'll faint."

"N-no, I just…" I picked at the redness in my skin - the allergy finally starting to fade - as I waited for him to remember.

Sighing, he pushed himself away from the wall, taking both of my hands. There was a long, terribly awkward pause between us, our eyes locked as he squeezed my fingers. I was blushing already. "Do you feel steady enough on your own?"

God, I would have killed just to have a few minutes of privacy. My nod must have seemed over eager because he didn't look reassured.

"Promise me you're safe, Carlisle."

I nodded again.

"And don't lock yourself in."

"I won't, Gar."

"Then take your time; I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

I waited until he was gone, leaving the door slightly ajar, before ripping my clothing off. Everything looked worse in our own mirror. The bandages dug into my skin as I pulled at them, my hands trembling as I tore all evidence of the last two weeks off of my body. The wounds had mostly healed, finally starting to fade into purple scars - the dressing had been more of an excuse to hide it from myself. I just wanted to pretend that had never happened.

The steam and hot water was dangerous. I had to sit on the shower floor to keep my vision from going black as I washed myself down. The smell of our soap was soothing as too many days of hospital detergent. I'd over-estimated my abilities - the dizziness hit in waves as I tried to get dry, stars blinding me each time I tried to lift my arms, the exertion burning through my whole body by the time I was dressed again - I hadn't noticed him do it, but Garrett had slipped a changes of clothes onto the vanity at some point.

My ears were ringing. "Gar- Garrett-" Gripping the sink, I tried to fight the tingling in my limbs, kneeling as I realised I couldn't stop it, horrendously nauseous suddenly. "Gar-"

"I'm right here." Strong arms closed around me, tightening. "Don't you pass out on me - you promised me you wouldn't," he teased softly, worry leaching through in his voice anyway. "Let's get you in bed; are you finished in the bathroom?"

I had to be - my body wasn't giving me a choice in the matter. I went with it as he jostled me against his chest, too exhausted to do anything else until I felt the mattress underneath me. "Can you cut the hospital band off of me?" I dug my fingers into the blankets at my sides, squeezing to try and keep myself conscious. "The ID bracelet?" The thick plastic had been too durable to tear without scissors, and they were gone from the bathroom draw.

"Uh, I guess. Just don't sit up until I come back." He was gone from the room far longer than he should have been, and I counted the minutes by the tick of the clock as my senses started to regulate again. The episode had mostly passed by the time he came back. "You alright?" he asked wearily.

"Yeah. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Gar, I can't do anything."

He sighed. "It'll be a rough first few days, but we'll figure this out. I love you."

I guess I loved him too.

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