FIC: Long Live The Car Crash Hearts
Title: Long Live The Car Crash Hearts
Author: misfitish
Pairing: Pete/Patrick/Joe/Andy (yes, FOB GSF)
Summary: In a small hospital room, in downtown Chicago, there lay a man on a hospital bed, wires all around him and the steady beep… beep… beep… of the machine that was keeping his lungs going. Implied character death.
Wordcount: 566 words
Rating: PG.
Disclaimer: Not true, I have made this up. (which really, could be considered a good thing in one way.)
Notes: Written for my hc_bingo card. Prompt: "Coma"
In a small hospital room, in downtown Chicago, there lay a man on a hospital bed, wires all around him and the steady beep… beep… beep… of the machine that was keeping his lungs going. Around the room, there were three other men, all alternating between sitting and pacing the small room, all waiting for something different to happen to their band member, their friend, their lover.
It had been 3 days and yet, he was still in a coma. All because the car coming at him had no headlights on, and the road had been wet from a storm. He hadn’t even been speeding, but still, here he was, lying pale, sickly, so different from his usual self.
When his band mates were told, they hadn’t believed it at first. Patrick had thrown himself at the others, demanding they take back such a sick lie, and how could they even joke about that, but it was no joke. The three of them sped to the hospital, and when they found the room, they barely had the strength to stay on their feet.
Patrick had been the first to react, throwing himself towards the hospital bed, demanding that he wake up now. He was followed by Joe, who pulled Patrick gently away and into his arms, kissing his head, telling him through his own tears that he would wake soon, he had to.
When Andy approached, he looked down, his face filled with a mixture of emotions. He was finding it difficult to even look at Pete like this. He had cuts all over his face and with the wires around him, the tube in his mouth, the drummer felt the tears running down his face as he stroked the bassist’s hair, murmuring words to him.
None of them had left the room for more than 5 minutes at a time since they first got there, deciding they would rather sleep in the uncomfortable chairs than leave Pete to get sleep. When it came to evening, and all the lights went off, they would huddle together, a protective unit, and watch over Pete until sleep took each of them under it’s grasp.
After a week, Pete was still in a coma and Patrick, Joe and Andy were still in the hospital. The nurses, after attempting to send the three of them away so they could get a good night’s sleep in a bed and being verbally attacked by Patrick, moved in three beds to the room. The men were grateful, but they decided that after trying to sleep in one each, moving two together and sleeping curled up with each other was a much better plan.
On a Tuesday morning, just 10 days after the accident, they were all sat round, talking to him softly, trying to get through to him. They were told that Pete might still be able to hear them, even though he was in a coma. Patrick would sing quietly, not because he didn’t want to sing louder, but he just couldn’t. Not while Pete was like this. Without Pete, he was losing the will to sing, the one thing he loved as much as Pete, Joe and Andy.
It was 11:48am when it happened. The corridor was filled with the sound of a patient flat lining, and the howls of three heartbroken men, their lives never to be the same again.
END
Author: misfitish
Pairing: Pete/Patrick/Joe/Andy (yes, FOB GSF)
Summary: In a small hospital room, in downtown Chicago, there lay a man on a hospital bed, wires all around him and the steady beep… beep… beep… of the machine that was keeping his lungs going. Implied character death.
Wordcount: 566 words
Rating: PG.
Disclaimer: Not true, I have made this up. (which really, could be considered a good thing in one way.)
Notes: Written for my hc_bingo card. Prompt: "Coma"
In a small hospital room, in downtown Chicago, there lay a man on a hospital bed, wires all around him and the steady beep… beep… beep… of the machine that was keeping his lungs going. Around the room, there were three other men, all alternating between sitting and pacing the small room, all waiting for something different to happen to their band member, their friend, their lover.
It had been 3 days and yet, he was still in a coma. All because the car coming at him had no headlights on, and the road had been wet from a storm. He hadn’t even been speeding, but still, here he was, lying pale, sickly, so different from his usual self.
When his band mates were told, they hadn’t believed it at first. Patrick had thrown himself at the others, demanding they take back such a sick lie, and how could they even joke about that, but it was no joke. The three of them sped to the hospital, and when they found the room, they barely had the strength to stay on their feet.
Patrick had been the first to react, throwing himself towards the hospital bed, demanding that he wake up now. He was followed by Joe, who pulled Patrick gently away and into his arms, kissing his head, telling him through his own tears that he would wake soon, he had to.
When Andy approached, he looked down, his face filled with a mixture of emotions. He was finding it difficult to even look at Pete like this. He had cuts all over his face and with the wires around him, the tube in his mouth, the drummer felt the tears running down his face as he stroked the bassist’s hair, murmuring words to him.
None of them had left the room for more than 5 minutes at a time since they first got there, deciding they would rather sleep in the uncomfortable chairs than leave Pete to get sleep. When it came to evening, and all the lights went off, they would huddle together, a protective unit, and watch over Pete until sleep took each of them under it’s grasp.
After a week, Pete was still in a coma and Patrick, Joe and Andy were still in the hospital. The nurses, after attempting to send the three of them away so they could get a good night’s sleep in a bed and being verbally attacked by Patrick, moved in three beds to the room. The men were grateful, but they decided that after trying to sleep in one each, moving two together and sleeping curled up with each other was a much better plan.
On a Tuesday morning, just 10 days after the accident, they were all sat round, talking to him softly, trying to get through to him. They were told that Pete might still be able to hear them, even though he was in a coma. Patrick would sing quietly, not because he didn’t want to sing louder, but he just couldn’t. Not while Pete was like this. Without Pete, he was losing the will to sing, the one thing he loved as much as Pete, Joe and Andy.
It was 11:48am when it happened. The corridor was filled with the sound of a patient flat lining, and the howls of three heartbroken men, their lives never to be the same again.
END