I'll Be There When Your Heart Stops Beating [16/22 + epilogue]
Title: I'll Be There When Your Heart Stops Beating
Author: Eve atlaregay
Pairing: Jalex
Rating: PG-13 [chapters rated individually]
Disclaimer: I don't own All Time Low or Hayley Williams. Title goes to When Your Heart Stops Beating by +44.
Dedications: For Shannon/jalex5eva. She contributed ideas to this chapter and I at least owe her this; she's such a fan of my writing it leaves me speechless.
Summary: Jack and Alex meet in a hospital ward and discover they're both suffering from cancer. Their illnesses are supposed to signify an end but what if, for them, it's just the beginning?
A/N: I'M JUST REALLY TERRIBLE WITH UPDATING, YOU'D THINK Y'ALL WOULD BE USED TO IT BY NOW. I'M SORRY, OKAY? Since the last chapter I've graduated high school and spent an entire summer doing fuck all. Shoot me. To be fair, I've been focused on other writing projects. It would be super if you could read and comment on my last few oneshots -- I even have anon option turned on! I promise they're worth your time. They're on my journal.
Onwards with the chapter! I aim to be finished by Christmas since this fic is now over a whole year old and I said I'd complete it before then... fuckity fuck. I will make it happen, mark my words. One last teeny tiny thing... take a look at this edit my friend made for the fic! It's so cool!
masterpost / tumblr / twitter
"Come on, Jack, just put that out and we'll go a nice walk with the dogs, yeah?"
I was standing in Jack's room, trying to talk him into actually going outdoors, for the past half hour, ever since I arrived. He hadn't exactly been excited to see me, or anyone, for that matter. Ever since he got his bad news. I knew how he felt, but he wouldn't listen to me. It had been four days ago, and when he told me over the phone, in such a small voice I could barely hear, that he'd cried watching me play soccer with my dad and ran away home, I felt my stomach drop. His mother had beaten him there and she was in tears, yelling at him to go to his room because she'd been so worried. My heart broke a little bit, especially because he sounded like he was about to cry again, and he'd waited until the day after to even call me about it, but he hung up before I could give him any words of comfort. He refused to see me for a while, only texting on occasion, but it was maddening. He was my boyfriend, and it wasn't like we had all the time in the world to fuck about with. So I texted him early that morning, told him I was coming over, and walked there with my dogs. I expected him to still be in bed since it was just gone ten, but his mom told me he'd been up for hours, showered and dressed.
That was about as far as he'd gotten the last four days, according to her. He'd shower early, get dressed, and then sit in the house not really doing anything at all. He didn't go on his laptop or play his guitar, or even really watch TV. She said he turned it on, but often he'd drift and look like he was caught up in a daydream before long. He'd started to just appear... numb. So I left the dogs in the kitchen with Joe and May to play with while I went to their older brother's room, to try and talk him into being social again.
It was harder than I thought it'd be, by far.
"Jack, c'mon. Put it out and let's go somewhere," I tried again as I watched him take a drag on his cigarette and blow smoke out the open window.
He'd been standing with his back to me when I came in, leaning out the window with a cigarette, and after thirty minutes, he'd started on his second one. Hadn't even looked at me yet.
"What's the point? It's not like I'm gonna remember a day out when I'm dead," he replied in a blunt monotone that made me sigh.
"Don't talk like that. At least put out the cigarette? I thought you said you weren't gonna smoke any more after the first time, Jack. What if your parents catch you?"
"Whatever, I don't care, I'm dying anyway. What's a few cigarettes to a kid who won't need lungs soon? Besides, my dad already saw me smoking at the back door last night. He told my mom and she just cried again."
I sighed once more, pulling at my Pink Floyd shirt just for something to do. It was not only exhausting trying to talk him round, but extremely boring. He ignored half the things I said and when he didn't, his replies were consistently monotonous.
"Alright. Just, please come out with me, for a little while? It's nice out, and it's not cold. And you like my dogs, don't you? We can play with them in the park," I smiled, putting on my overly cheerful talking-to-a-kid voice.
"I don't want to. It won't make any difference."
"Fresh air is good for you. And sunshine is good for you. It'll make you feel a bit better if you went a little walk, I bet it would. Come on, you've been breathing in the same dead air here for days now."
"I'm at the window, I have all the fresh air I need."
"No, you have all the smoke contaminating the fresh air, that's not good for you."
"There's still oxygen, isn't there?!"
"Fucking hell."
I sat down on his bed, letting him smoke in peace for another minute or so. Maybe if he got his cigarette fix he wouldn't be so damn moody. But I was eager to go out a walk and ended up pacing around his room instead, pausing at the fish bowl to examine Big and Small. They looked rather glum, like their water needed changing. I wondered if Jack was even remembering to feed them when they needed. Quietly, I popped open the tub of fish food sitting beside the bowl and sprinkled in a fair amount. Big and Small looked instantly perked up and I smiled. At least I'd managed to make someone happy.
I glanced at Jack briefly before going back to watching the fish.
"You could ask about going on the same drug trial as me, y'know..." I suggested nonchalantly.
The idea had come to me days before, and I'd gotten incredibly excited over it, but with Jack's pessimistic state, I had been planning to bring it up at a later date. I couldn't stand him like this any longer though.
"What is even the point? I'll still die young. There's no point in anything any more," he said, flicking his cigarette stub out the window, using the same monotone as before.
And I snapped.
"You know fucking what? I'm sick of your attitude. I understand it, but I'm sick of it. I'm trying to help. I'm in the same fucking boat as you, buddy, and it would be nice if you remembered that now and then. I'm aware I'll still die way before my time but this drug really is a miracle. I feel healthier, I feel more energetic for longer amounts of time, I don't need to take as much medication as before, I don't look so fucking ugly any more because my skin's better and my hair's shinier and I just feel generally a whole lot fucking better about everything. It still sucks, but this is so great, Jack. I need you in my life, okay? I need you. I was crushed when you told me you only had three months at most, I really was. But it hurts that you don't even want to make the effort to savour it. I need you. I know our time together is probably gonna be brief either way, but you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I want to prolong that as long as possible."
I paused, breathing heavily, and Jack had turned around. Just staring at his feet with his arms at his sides, fiddling with his clothes.
"What happened to you, huh?" I asked, my tone gentler now. "When we met, you... you were the upbeat one. You had a bright side to look on. You knew there was no way out of the fact that you were dying, and you had your sad moments, but you kept a smile the whole time. I wasn't like that. I was kinda almost like you are now. And then you came along and I started to perk up again. You showed me I still had stuff to live for, even if I wouldn't be living for long. A-and now... now it's like total role reversal. You're the pessimistic recluse and I'm the cheerful kid. But you're worse than I ever was, Jack. It's like you've got no heart any more. How did that happen?"
My lame speech seemed to be getting through to him, and I was reassured words weren't coming out as lame as I thought they were after all. Jack didn't say a word in reply, he just ran forward and threw his arms around my neck.
"I'm sorry I was shutting you out, and everybody else," he whispered, his voice shaking, tearful. "I know I was always optimistic. I know. I guess... I guess hearing that I'm gonna be gone so soon, sooner than I thought, sooner than anybody thought... I guess... I just... it was a shock. I didn't really know how to react. And I wanted you for comfort but then I saw you with your dad and you've been looking so much better lately and it's stupid because I'm so happy that you are but I felt like I couldn't relate to you any more and it was suddenly so lonely, to think that, and I thought maybe you'd get bored with me because you're healthier and I'll only be able to do little things in case I over-exert myself and--"
"Hey, Jack, hey," I laughed softly, rubbing his back. "No, stop. I'm still the same. I still know what you're going through. And I still totally, totally wanna date you. It's nicer having a smile on, right? I know that now, thanks to you. Please just... don't freak like that again? You can talk to me about anything. I'm here. We're in this together, remember?"
Jack pulled away to smile, nodding and then hugging me tight once more. I grinned and hugged him back, having to refrain from jumping around. I had my Jack again.
"Go shower again, you smell terrible," I joked, smacking his arm, feeling a slap to my ass in return, and the wonderful sound of him giggling in my ear.
/////
Once Jack was showered for the second time that morning, smelling like fresh apple shampoo rather that cigarettes, we went out on our walk with Sebastian and Peyton, to my spot in the park. I had taken to going there regularly again with the dogs, a couple of times a week, and it felt nice to have Jack with me again.
We chatted about mundane things like TV shows and movies. I'd been getting into watching them more and more since I felt better. Tom was constantly teasing me because it turned out I was a big sap for romantic comedies after I had spent years bashing them and their stupid happy endings. It wasn't /my/ fault they made me cry. Jack undoubtedly teased me too, until we neared the opening of my secret den, and we both quietened, following the dogs inside.
I sighed and smiled happily, perching on a rock.
Jack seemed in awe, staring around.
"I forgot how pretty and secluded it was in here," he breathed, big eyes blinking.
I just smiled and scuffed my feet on the ground, kicking up a little bit of moss. It was quiet for a few moments, just the dogs scampering around some fifteen feet away.
"I got a phone call from school the other day," I piped up.
"School?" Jack frowned as he turned to look at me.
"Yeah. Just to say they were sending me a letter for something, to make sure it got to me. It came through this morning."
Jack just raised an eyebrow, walking over to sit beside me. Our thighs brushed together, and I resisted the urge to nudge his leg. Physical contact had been... lacking, recently. It gave me butterflies in the worst pre-teen girl way possible but I took a deep breath and ignored them. Not right now.
"It was a prom invitation. They want me to attend as an honourary student. A special guest, if you will," I grinned, placing a hand on my own chest. "My old class apparently all chipped in to pay for me, just a little bit each."
"That's... that's really nice of them, Lex!" Jack nodded, smiling back at me; it looked a little forced.
"I can bring a plus-one. I want you to go with me, Jack."
It was genuine when he smiled this time.
"If I'd known that I would've made a big deal about asking you!" he laughed, clapping his hands together excitedly.
"It's my prom, I'm supposed to ask you! I just did!"
Jack just giggled, shrugging his shoulders. "But don't you want me to ask you? I'll make it good."
I shoved his shoulder with a laugh, feeling my phone start vibrating in my front pocket. I straightened out my leg and wiggled it free.
"My mom," I muttered, opening up the text.
Hi sweetheart! Hope u and Jack are having a nice time, if he is feeling ok how about coming here for lunch? :-) xxx! Luv mom.
I chuckled, rolling my eyes.
"Lunch invitation. You hungry?"
"Little bit, yeah. I haven't walked anywhere in days, I could go to bed right now if I wanted."
"Get the dogs then," I laughed, standing up and stretching.
We cut through the grass rather than taking the path on the way back, and it made me happy to see all the couples and friends sharing picnics or playing with frisbees. Other dog walkers. Parents with little toddlers and babies in prams talking a stroll before heading to the swings. I reached for Jack's hand but he pulled it away from my grip, making me turn and frown.
He stepped right in front of me, stopping me in my path before taking both my hands in his. Dropping to one knee and grinning at my expression, Jack kissed each of my knuckles, nose nudging my skin at each press of the lips. I had no idea what he was doing, but my cheeks hurt with grinning and there was a blush on them too.
"Alex Gaskarth," he started, looking up at me through his thick lashes. "Will you be my prom date?"
I let out a small nervous giggle, cheeks burning an alarmingly dark red as people around us started to watch.
"Of course I will!" I exclaimed, pressing my hands against my face to try and calm the hot feeling rushing through them.
Jack stood again and wrapped me up in his arms, and I felt my feet leave the ground as he kissed me in front of everyone. People started clapping and I even heard somebody whistle after the big dramatic scene he'd just made, but I found I wasn't as much embarrassed as I was flattered. It felt nice, knowing that everyone else knew Jack was mine and I was Jack's.
When he placed me down again, a huge grin on his face, I returned it just as wide, clutching his hands tightly.
"Let's go home and make out," I demanded rather than suggested, bouncing eagerly on the balls of my feet.
We ran all the way back to my place for lunch and kisses, Peyton and Sebastian barking as they followed in excitement at our heels.
/////
Four days later, Jack started treatment. I came over all the time, as soon I was allowed to, after he went through the first phase. For me it lasted three days, for him only two. After that, I spent most mornings and afternoons at the Barakat house. Joyce didn't want me sleeping there, but I think she would have let me if I didn't have to lie on the floor.
It was strange to see the recovery process I went through right in front of me, like I'd left my own body to view it. I knew how awful it was. How awful it felt. Jack cried when he had the energy to, usually when he first drifted into consciousness in the morning time. It was when he was most alert. Joyce would stand by with a tissue in hand, sniffling as her son wept until he threw up. He would talk to us occasionally in broken sobs, telling us he felt like he was actually going to die. I remembered that. It wasn't pleasant. But he would only cry for minutes until he slept again, exhausted from the tiny amount of effort it took to produce tears.
Often, Joyce would find herself being called into work, or she'd have to go and see to May and Joe while her husband was working, and I was always eager to step in as caretaker. She was happy to let me. I knew how it felt. My own mom would usually come over with me to give Joyce a break and have a coffee or lunch with her, and help her with the kids' homework. It gave me quality time with Jack, however I doubt he saw it as any kind of quality.
I was always hovering when Joyce tended to him but whenever it was just the two of us, I'd copy what she did, and what my own mother did for me. He puked a lot, and it was almost shocking how often. I couldn't remember doing it as much. I knew that I did, I just couldn't remember. But nonetheless I kissed his forehead and wiped him with a cold cloth and whispered that it would be okay, he just had to push through the bad part. Then I would put Home Alone on and let it play quietly in the hopes he'd sleep through another six hours of pain. He never did though. He'd sit through the entire movie and then cry to himself when it was over, either because he could feel the urge to puke slowly coming back to him or because he was frustrated and sore, unable to sit upright or roll over.
I brought him pee bottles so his parents wouldn't have to do it. Joyce was grateful of that, patting me on the shoulder when I offered the first day he announced in a croaky voice that he finally had to go, and leaving the room to get me one. Tom had done it for me, I vaguely recalled through my vomit-induced haze, and I hadn't had the capacity to care enough about being even a little embarrassed, and Jack didn't seem to mind either.
It hurt his arms to lift them after all the injections so I did everything; slipping his pyjama pants down, holding him to the bottle and trying to keep it an angle where he wouldn't piss all over the sheets. It was harder than I thought, to hold the bottle just right as it filled up and grew hot in my palm, and I felt guilty about there being a couple of accidents when the acid-coloured liquid leaked free of the bottle onto the bed or dripped down his length into his underwear. I had to change him into fresh pairs a few times, but he didn't seem to notice anything at all. He just lay there motionless, almost with his eyes closed, often half-asleep, and shivered slightly whenever he was done. I always kissed his tummy afterwards, and he seemed to feel that, a slightly quicker intake of breath happening when I did before he sighed sleepily.
He struggled to sleep though. He often would just drop into a deep sleep out of exhaustion throughout the day but sometimes the sickness and pain distracted him so much that he couldn't nap through it.
On the fifth day, Jack hadn't slept in over seventeen hours, and it was a long, long time for the condition he was in. The equivalent of probably three days. Nobody could relax him enough to sleep. He cried constantly, mumbling things about being buried and cremated, about how long it was 'til he'd die, about coffins. Joyce suspected he had nightmares about it.
When I went upstairs to see him, he was doing just as I'd been told he would be -- crying, very softly, muttering to himself in half-sentences. I'd been careful about touching him since his treatment began but I made a snap decision, kicking my shoes off and climbing very slowly into bed beside him. He smelled strongly of sweat and there was a lingering scent of puke and the hospital but it didn't deter me from spooning him, kissing being planted on his shoulder and upper arm like a get-well-soon for his needle scabs.
"Dying, I'm dying, I'm gonna die, Lex, I'm gonna die," he was mewing non-stop, muffled by his pillow, tear-soaked all around where his head lay.
"I didn't die," I responded, voice low, soft, not hurting his sensitive hearing at this stage.
He stopped snuffling, eyes open and blinking, looking straight ahead.
"You'll get better," I whispered with lips ghosting his neck, and that was the only reassurance he needed to fall into a deep sleep.