Heated Blankets & Dimmed Lights
Title: Heated Blankets & Dimmed Lights
Fandom: Jackass
Pairing: Bam/Ryan... kinda
Warning: Sad. But then again, the events that have come to pass are extremely sad. This is my 'What if...'
Author's Note: Everyone that's been asking me to write in this fandom again... I know this is probably not what you had in mind. But it is what I felt inspired to write.
It all started out with a seemingly innocent collection of hospital wrist bands. The familiarty of heated blankets and dimmed lights lulling us all into a false sense of security.
I can't remember how many times one of us had ended up curled into a hospital bed of the emergency wing of Chester County. Hell, one of the chairs in the waiting area should be condemned. It had a permanent ass print courtesy of Don Vito just waiting for his chance to tell us how stupid the entire group of us was. Broken bones, burns, sprains, concussions... stitches, crutches, casts. But nothing had ever been as bad as it was now.
The stillness of the night drags me out of a fitful sleep. My eyes immediately find the glow of the vitals monitor. The jagged line proving that he's still alive, that my... best damn friend... is still alive, does little to calm the panic rising in my chest and throat. Bandages cover his hands and arms. There's worse under the blankets, but I haven't dared to look. All the talk of traction when... if... he woke up was all together too much to handle.
Rubbing my face with my hands, I stand and make my way towards the door. No one's due to come sit with us for at least four more hours. And there's no way I'm letting myself fall back asleep. I'd do pretty much anything to stop the insistant flashes of fire and jagged metal that haunt me when I close my eyes.
Coffee will have to do. I doubt the ICU nurses would allow anything stronger. I don't really know if I ever want to drink anything stronger ever again. Avoiding their worried glances, I head out of the unit and towards the cafeteria. And if I stop and say a silent prayer halfway down the hall... well, nobody has to know except for me and the man upstairs. It's not like he's listening anyway. I've bargained away every vice, every moment of success I've ever had if only... if only Ryan makes it through this. He's fucking got to.
My hands are shaking by the time I make it to the coffee machine. Hot liquid sloshes over the edges of the cup as I tremble. Never let them see your weakness. Never let them see you cry. Flakes of sugar land on my fingerless gloves and twinkle in the flourescent lighting. My reflection in the now milky liquid looks hollow and pale. And I don't even care.
The trek back to his room is no better. Room after room with name after name on the door... I'm surprised they even bother with that anymore. There are far too many ill and injured for such niceties it seems. Coming around the corner, I find "Dunn, Ryan - Dr. Singh". Shoulders back, I take a deep breath and step through the door.
As I sip quietly at my coffee, I stare at the mess of wires and tubes surrounding the bed. Ape's words ring around in my skull. "Bam, there's been an accident." I swallow the lump in my throat down and sniff loudly. The ceiling holds no answers when I look upward. Nothing does. "They have to do something about the swelling of his brain."
Three more hours. Three more hours and all of this sadness and pain will bleed out a little less painfully. It's so much easier to hold it together when you're not alone. "...he'll probably never be the same again..." The numbers on the monitor jump back and forth a few digits but really never go anywhere. There's a fresh IV bag hanging over the bed. The nurses must have done that while I was in the cafeteria. "...he barely made it out before the car caught on fire..."
No one has mentioned the details. But I'm not a stupid man. For all the stupid shit I've done... I know without being told. I watch his chest rise and fall in rhythm with the equipment enshrining the head of the bed. In and out. In... and out. It's frightfully silent. You'd expect a lot of beeping, whirring, and clicking. But everything is... "...could've been so much worse." I can't help but thinking... no, you're wrong. Anything... fucking anything, is better than this.
Fandom: Jackass
Pairing: Bam/Ryan... kinda
Warning: Sad. But then again, the events that have come to pass are extremely sad. This is my 'What if...'
Author's Note: Everyone that's been asking me to write in this fandom again... I know this is probably not what you had in mind. But it is what I felt inspired to write.
It all started out with a seemingly innocent collection of hospital wrist bands. The familiarty of heated blankets and dimmed lights lulling us all into a false sense of security.
I can't remember how many times one of us had ended up curled into a hospital bed of the emergency wing of Chester County. Hell, one of the chairs in the waiting area should be condemned. It had a permanent ass print courtesy of Don Vito just waiting for his chance to tell us how stupid the entire group of us was. Broken bones, burns, sprains, concussions... stitches, crutches, casts. But nothing had ever been as bad as it was now.
The stillness of the night drags me out of a fitful sleep. My eyes immediately find the glow of the vitals monitor. The jagged line proving that he's still alive, that my... best damn friend... is still alive, does little to calm the panic rising in my chest and throat. Bandages cover his hands and arms. There's worse under the blankets, but I haven't dared to look. All the talk of traction when... if... he woke up was all together too much to handle.
Rubbing my face with my hands, I stand and make my way towards the door. No one's due to come sit with us for at least four more hours. And there's no way I'm letting myself fall back asleep. I'd do pretty much anything to stop the insistant flashes of fire and jagged metal that haunt me when I close my eyes.
Coffee will have to do. I doubt the ICU nurses would allow anything stronger. I don't really know if I ever want to drink anything stronger ever again. Avoiding their worried glances, I head out of the unit and towards the cafeteria. And if I stop and say a silent prayer halfway down the hall... well, nobody has to know except for me and the man upstairs. It's not like he's listening anyway. I've bargained away every vice, every moment of success I've ever had if only... if only Ryan makes it through this. He's fucking got to.
My hands are shaking by the time I make it to the coffee machine. Hot liquid sloshes over the edges of the cup as I tremble. Never let them see your weakness. Never let them see you cry. Flakes of sugar land on my fingerless gloves and twinkle in the flourescent lighting. My reflection in the now milky liquid looks hollow and pale. And I don't even care.
The trek back to his room is no better. Room after room with name after name on the door... I'm surprised they even bother with that anymore. There are far too many ill and injured for such niceties it seems. Coming around the corner, I find "Dunn, Ryan - Dr. Singh". Shoulders back, I take a deep breath and step through the door.
As I sip quietly at my coffee, I stare at the mess of wires and tubes surrounding the bed. Ape's words ring around in my skull. "Bam, there's been an accident." I swallow the lump in my throat down and sniff loudly. The ceiling holds no answers when I look upward. Nothing does. "They have to do something about the swelling of his brain."
Three more hours. Three more hours and all of this sadness and pain will bleed out a little less painfully. It's so much easier to hold it together when you're not alone. "...he'll probably never be the same again..." The numbers on the monitor jump back and forth a few digits but really never go anywhere. There's a fresh IV bag hanging over the bed. The nurses must have done that while I was in the cafeteria. "...he barely made it out before the car caught on fire..."
No one has mentioned the details. But I'm not a stupid man. For all the stupid shit I've done... I know without being told. I watch his chest rise and fall in rhythm with the equipment enshrining the head of the bed. In and out. In... and out. It's frightfully silent. You'd expect a lot of beeping, whirring, and clicking. But everything is... "...could've been so much worse." I can't help but thinking... no, you're wrong. Anything... fucking anything, is better than this.