Fic: I'm Here, 2/3, Rated PG-13
Title: I'm Here
Author: courts
Disclaimer: This never happened. And, for the record, I hope it doesn't. I'm making this all up.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: You don't even notice the phone in your hand until it's pressed to your ear and ringing back at you.
Notes: This is the second of three prompts written as a trilogy of sorts that I am going to call Three, because the number plays a part in all of the stories. It deals with death, not of Cook or Archie, but just thought I should slap a warning on here. I hope this story doesn't come true. It's purely fiction.
-=-=-=-=-
I'm Here
The plane ride takes forever and you've never felt so claustrophobic in your entire life. The air outside, even weighed down with jet fuel, feels cool and fresh in your lungs.
You flag a cab and don't even bother putting your bag in the trunk. All you grabbed was a backpack that you stuffed with two pair of clean underwear, a toothbrush and an old, battered Jane's Addiction shirt as you were rushing around your hotel room. You shove it to the floor of the cab and spout off directions to Adam and Kendra's house.
He told you not to come, your big brother, who thinks he is invincible and hates to be the center of attention. He didn't want you to drop your life just for him. Like you'd ever think of doing anything but.
The drive from the airport takes a while and you fidget with your phone, debating on making a call and repeatedly talking yourself out of it. Your finger skims the number three too many times to count, but you know you shouldn't call. You've already told him what's going on and if you call again he'll get worried. You click the phone shut and shove it back into your pocket before you can change your mind again.
'I'll be fine, Archie,' you said to him and that was a big fucking lie because you feel anything but fine. You're worried and exhausted and have your toe just to this side of the line of hysterical. And having a friend to talk to would . . . No. You're not going to call him.
The cab is two blocks away from the house and you start to feel your fingers twitch. A sense of impending doom is lowering over you like a lead weight and all you can do it try to keep breathing underneath it. You don't even notice the phone in your hand until it's pressed to your ear and ringing back at you. You start to hang up, but that would just worry him more so you wait instead.
"Hey, this is David. I'm not available, but please leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!" BEEP
You put the phone away again, adding lonely to your current list of feelings.
-=-=-=-=-
Adam has looked better, but he's looked a hell of a lot worse, too. You sit beside him on the couch and hold your breath so you won't cry as he tells you what the doctors have to say this time. The second relapse and recovery was a miracle. You're not sure if he'll get a third. You can tell by his eyes that he doesn't think he will, either.
The kids are at Kendra's mom's house so you sleep in your nephew's room. He's twelve and there are Colts posters on the walls and model cars on the shelf above his dresser. He has a guitar propped in the corner that you gave him for Christmas last year and you think that you guys should practice while you're in town.
Adam's gone to bed, but Kendra's still downstairs wandering around and you know it's because she's too worried to lie down. You would have stayed with her, but you're afraid that your own worry will only make things harder. Out of sight, out of mind seems like the best thing for the night.
The doorbell rings and you don't really pay attention because it's eleven o'clock at night, but you live in a world where late is after the sun starts to come up and this isn't your house so how do you know who comes to visit and when? But the knock on the bedroom door, now that surprises you. You thought that Kendra was giving off that vibe that she wanted to be alone, but maybe she needs someone to talk to after all. Or maybe it's Adam and you rush to the door and fling it open.
And it's not Kendra, and it's not Adam. And you stop breathing when you see him.
"Archie!" His reply is muffled by your fierce embrace.
He pulls back and says that Kendra told him to come on up and he hopes that it's okay that he's here and you're smiling so hard that your face hurts.
"I tried to call you when I landed," you say.
"I was on the plane, my phone was off," he tells you.
You slump onto the bed, the weight on your shoulders returning with full force. He sits down beside you, looking concerned, and puts his arm around your shoulders. Oddly, this lessens the weight. "It's bad this time," you say softly and he pulls you closer, cradling your head against his chest and you realize that you might cry and you struggle to keep breathing.
"What will I do if I lose him? What will I do?" you ask as the tears leak out and down your cheeks and he kisses your forehead and doesn't say that things will be okay because you know that they won't and that actually makes it a little better.
The two of you curl up on top of the covers of the twin bed, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you bury your face in his neck. "Thank you," you whisper against his skin. "Thank you for coming."
He rubs your back in slow, even circles and says, "Don't worry Cook, I'm here."
-=-=-=-=-
July 3, 2008
-=-=-=-=-
Go to part 3 - Funeral
Author: courts
Disclaimer: This never happened. And, for the record, I hope it doesn't. I'm making this all up.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: You don't even notice the phone in your hand until it's pressed to your ear and ringing back at you.
Notes: This is the second of three prompts written as a trilogy of sorts that I am going to call Three, because the number plays a part in all of the stories. It deals with death, not of Cook or Archie, but just thought I should slap a warning on here. I hope this story doesn't come true. It's purely fiction.
-=-=-=-=-
I'm Here
The plane ride takes forever and you've never felt so claustrophobic in your entire life. The air outside, even weighed down with jet fuel, feels cool and fresh in your lungs.
You flag a cab and don't even bother putting your bag in the trunk. All you grabbed was a backpack that you stuffed with two pair of clean underwear, a toothbrush and an old, battered Jane's Addiction shirt as you were rushing around your hotel room. You shove it to the floor of the cab and spout off directions to Adam and Kendra's house.
He told you not to come, your big brother, who thinks he is invincible and hates to be the center of attention. He didn't want you to drop your life just for him. Like you'd ever think of doing anything but.
The drive from the airport takes a while and you fidget with your phone, debating on making a call and repeatedly talking yourself out of it. Your finger skims the number three too many times to count, but you know you shouldn't call. You've already told him what's going on and if you call again he'll get worried. You click the phone shut and shove it back into your pocket before you can change your mind again.
'I'll be fine, Archie,' you said to him and that was a big fucking lie because you feel anything but fine. You're worried and exhausted and have your toe just to this side of the line of hysterical. And having a friend to talk to would . . . No. You're not going to call him.
The cab is two blocks away from the house and you start to feel your fingers twitch. A sense of impending doom is lowering over you like a lead weight and all you can do it try to keep breathing underneath it. You don't even notice the phone in your hand until it's pressed to your ear and ringing back at you. You start to hang up, but that would just worry him more so you wait instead.
"Hey, this is David. I'm not available, but please leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!" BEEP
You put the phone away again, adding lonely to your current list of feelings.
-=-=-=-=-
Adam has looked better, but he's looked a hell of a lot worse, too. You sit beside him on the couch and hold your breath so you won't cry as he tells you what the doctors have to say this time. The second relapse and recovery was a miracle. You're not sure if he'll get a third. You can tell by his eyes that he doesn't think he will, either.
The kids are at Kendra's mom's house so you sleep in your nephew's room. He's twelve and there are Colts posters on the walls and model cars on the shelf above his dresser. He has a guitar propped in the corner that you gave him for Christmas last year and you think that you guys should practice while you're in town.
Adam's gone to bed, but Kendra's still downstairs wandering around and you know it's because she's too worried to lie down. You would have stayed with her, but you're afraid that your own worry will only make things harder. Out of sight, out of mind seems like the best thing for the night.
The doorbell rings and you don't really pay attention because it's eleven o'clock at night, but you live in a world where late is after the sun starts to come up and this isn't your house so how do you know who comes to visit and when? But the knock on the bedroom door, now that surprises you. You thought that Kendra was giving off that vibe that she wanted to be alone, but maybe she needs someone to talk to after all. Or maybe it's Adam and you rush to the door and fling it open.
And it's not Kendra, and it's not Adam. And you stop breathing when you see him.
"Archie!" His reply is muffled by your fierce embrace.
He pulls back and says that Kendra told him to come on up and he hopes that it's okay that he's here and you're smiling so hard that your face hurts.
"I tried to call you when I landed," you say.
"I was on the plane, my phone was off," he tells you.
You slump onto the bed, the weight on your shoulders returning with full force. He sits down beside you, looking concerned, and puts his arm around your shoulders. Oddly, this lessens the weight. "It's bad this time," you say softly and he pulls you closer, cradling your head against his chest and you realize that you might cry and you struggle to keep breathing.
"What will I do if I lose him? What will I do?" you ask as the tears leak out and down your cheeks and he kisses your forehead and doesn't say that things will be okay because you know that they won't and that actually makes it a little better.
The two of you curl up on top of the covers of the twin bed, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you bury your face in his neck. "Thank you," you whisper against his skin. "Thank you for coming."
He rubs your back in slow, even circles and says, "Don't worry Cook, I'm here."
-=-=-=-=-
July 3, 2008
-=-=-=-=-
Go to part 3 - Funeral