muse_shuffle | February Disc Two
Track 18. How did we get here?
Well, I used to know you so well, yeah.
But how did we get here?
Well, I think I know
[‘Decode’ - Paramore]
Tim just knew he wasn’t hung over when he woke up. It was a slow wade back to consciousness and he felt more like he would after getting thumped in the head a few times. That smell, too. He knew it. Hospital smell. He swallowed slowly a few times, trying to will the smell out of his senses, and opened his eyes slightly to try and take in his surroundings. He felt heavily tired and his stomach was sore, but nothing like it had been. Before, it had been murder. Beyond that, though, he didn’t seem to have any recollection of events. No, wait. He did remember being in an ambulance… at least, he thought he remembered it. It wasn’t like that was going to be something in his dreams.
“I should kill ya’, ya know,” a voice drawled beside him.
Tim turned his head just a little towards the voice and found his brother, Billy, sitting at his bedside. “I thought y’all were in Austin,” he said hoarsely and started to cough. His throat was sore and had a taste that was a mix between metallic and rubbery.
“How could I stay in Austin when ya’ were back here dyin’ on me, ya’ bastard? I can’t leave ya’ alone for one minute, can I?” Billy was bouncing his leg anxiously. “I’d give ya’ a drink of water or somethin’ but ya’ ain’t allowed nothin’ by mouth. Dunno where else ya’ supposed t’take it. I didn’t wanna ask in case they said up ya’ ass or somethin’. I’m ya’ brother, I ain’t goin’ near ya’ ass, dude.”
Tim managed a weak smirk at this. “Thank god,” he agreed, but his features soon shifted back into a pained frown as he ran his hand over his gut. “I think I threw up blood.”
Billy pushed his hand through his hair and looked at his brother in bewilderment. “Yeah, ya’ did…” he mumbled. “Ya’ weren’t supposed t’be doin’ shit like that, Timmy. I don’t know what I’m ‘sposed to do. They said ya’ have somethin’ called…” He stopped, pulling a piece of scrap paper from his pocket to read what he had written down when the doctor spoke to him. “Gastritis. Acute. I dunno what’s cute about pukin’ blood, though.”
“What’s that all meanin’?” Tim asked, swallowing again. Why couldn’t he have a damn drink? He was as thirsty as all hell.
“Means ya’ gotta stop the damn drinkin’, dude. I ain’t jokin’. Doc says it’s serious. Ya’ got it real bad and the booze caused it. He wants to put ya’ in rehab and send ya’ to AA,” Billy said fretfully, shifting in his seat. He sounded close to tears as the guilt buzzed through him. It was his fault Tim was here. It wasn’t just as simple as two brothers sharing a drink together anymore.
Tim snorted. “I ain’t goin’ t’any rehab or AA,” he protested groggily.
“Yes, ya’ fuckin’ are, Timmy!” Billy all but growled. “Ya’ are. I don’t care what ya’ wanna do anymore. Ya’ here in the goddamn hospital because of the booze an’ I’ll stop ya’ drinkin’ it if I have t’fuckin’ staple ya’ mouth shut myself!”
Tim remained silent as he watched his brother explode and then dropped his gaze, his long hair falling into his eyes. “I was hardly even drinkin’ since Sam,” he mumbled. Why was everything changing quicker than he could keep up? Billy wasn’t supposed to be yelling at him. He wasn’t supposed to be in a hospital. He wasn’t supposed to be forced into any damn AA. “Didn’t really need to so much.”
“It’s why ya’ sick, Timmy. Was kinda like withdrawals or some shit. Made ya’ real sick and once ya’ were, ya’ gut couldn’t handle it ‘cause it was already damaged from too much boozin’. Started hurtin’ and bleedin’. I came back from Austin as soon as I could. I promise I did. M’cell was dead an’ Mrs Coach didn’t have Mindy’s number. Didn’t get the message ‘til we got the one that was left at the hotel. I’m sorry, Timmy. I shoulda been here for ya’ and I wasn’t. It’s my fault,” Billy rambled and rubbed a hand over his mouth.
Tim was struggling to process all the information. Deep down he did know something was wrong and maybe always had slightly suspected the drinking if they way Sam and Jason would ride his back about it. Hell, everyone around him had been riding his back about it for years. He just never expected it would actually cause him problems. He handled his booze well! At least, he used to. “It ain’t ya’ fault, Billy. S’alright, dude,” he said quietly, watching his brother. He didn’t know what else to say. They had never much been into the deep-n-meaningful conversations. Instead, he just reached over and took Billy’s hand, much akin to how he had taken Jason’s the first time he had visited him in hospital. Maybe when he didn’t feel so much like he had been run over by a truck he would have more answers. For himself and everyone else.
itwontstopme, supermarketsam and pantherscoach referenced with permission
Word Count | 852
Well, I used to know you so well, yeah.
But how did we get here?
Well, I think I know
[‘Decode’ - Paramore]
Tim just knew he wasn’t hung over when he woke up. It was a slow wade back to consciousness and he felt more like he would after getting thumped in the head a few times. That smell, too. He knew it. Hospital smell. He swallowed slowly a few times, trying to will the smell out of his senses, and opened his eyes slightly to try and take in his surroundings. He felt heavily tired and his stomach was sore, but nothing like it had been. Before, it had been murder. Beyond that, though, he didn’t seem to have any recollection of events. No, wait. He did remember being in an ambulance… at least, he thought he remembered it. It wasn’t like that was going to be something in his dreams.
“I should kill ya’, ya know,” a voice drawled beside him.
Tim turned his head just a little towards the voice and found his brother, Billy, sitting at his bedside. “I thought y’all were in Austin,” he said hoarsely and started to cough. His throat was sore and had a taste that was a mix between metallic and rubbery.
“How could I stay in Austin when ya’ were back here dyin’ on me, ya’ bastard? I can’t leave ya’ alone for one minute, can I?” Billy was bouncing his leg anxiously. “I’d give ya’ a drink of water or somethin’ but ya’ ain’t allowed nothin’ by mouth. Dunno where else ya’ supposed t’take it. I didn’t wanna ask in case they said up ya’ ass or somethin’. I’m ya’ brother, I ain’t goin’ near ya’ ass, dude.”
Tim managed a weak smirk at this. “Thank god,” he agreed, but his features soon shifted back into a pained frown as he ran his hand over his gut. “I think I threw up blood.”
Billy pushed his hand through his hair and looked at his brother in bewilderment. “Yeah, ya’ did…” he mumbled. “Ya’ weren’t supposed t’be doin’ shit like that, Timmy. I don’t know what I’m ‘sposed to do. They said ya’ have somethin’ called…” He stopped, pulling a piece of scrap paper from his pocket to read what he had written down when the doctor spoke to him. “Gastritis. Acute. I dunno what’s cute about pukin’ blood, though.”
“What’s that all meanin’?” Tim asked, swallowing again. Why couldn’t he have a damn drink? He was as thirsty as all hell.
“Means ya’ gotta stop the damn drinkin’, dude. I ain’t jokin’. Doc says it’s serious. Ya’ got it real bad and the booze caused it. He wants to put ya’ in rehab and send ya’ to AA,” Billy said fretfully, shifting in his seat. He sounded close to tears as the guilt buzzed through him. It was his fault Tim was here. It wasn’t just as simple as two brothers sharing a drink together anymore.
Tim snorted. “I ain’t goin’ t’any rehab or AA,” he protested groggily.
“Yes, ya’ fuckin’ are, Timmy!” Billy all but growled. “Ya’ are. I don’t care what ya’ wanna do anymore. Ya’ here in the goddamn hospital because of the booze an’ I’ll stop ya’ drinkin’ it if I have t’fuckin’ staple ya’ mouth shut myself!”
Tim remained silent as he watched his brother explode and then dropped his gaze, his long hair falling into his eyes. “I was hardly even drinkin’ since Sam,” he mumbled. Why was everything changing quicker than he could keep up? Billy wasn’t supposed to be yelling at him. He wasn’t supposed to be in a hospital. He wasn’t supposed to be forced into any damn AA. “Didn’t really need to so much.”
“It’s why ya’ sick, Timmy. Was kinda like withdrawals or some shit. Made ya’ real sick and once ya’ were, ya’ gut couldn’t handle it ‘cause it was already damaged from too much boozin’. Started hurtin’ and bleedin’. I came back from Austin as soon as I could. I promise I did. M’cell was dead an’ Mrs Coach didn’t have Mindy’s number. Didn’t get the message ‘til we got the one that was left at the hotel. I’m sorry, Timmy. I shoulda been here for ya’ and I wasn’t. It’s my fault,” Billy rambled and rubbed a hand over his mouth.
Tim was struggling to process all the information. Deep down he did know something was wrong and maybe always had slightly suspected the drinking if they way Sam and Jason would ride his back about it. Hell, everyone around him had been riding his back about it for years. He just never expected it would actually cause him problems. He handled his booze well! At least, he used to. “It ain’t ya’ fault, Billy. S’alright, dude,” he said quietly, watching his brother. He didn’t know what else to say. They had never much been into the deep-n-meaningful conversations. Instead, he just reached over and took Billy’s hand, much akin to how he had taken Jason’s the first time he had visited him in hospital. Maybe when he didn’t feel so much like he had been run over by a truck he would have more answers. For himself and everyone else.
itwontstopme, supermarketsam and pantherscoach referenced with permission
Word Count | 852