Chapter Text
You're not sure how long you were out, but you're sure it's been somewhere close to half a day.
You got to the hospital and they settled you into a room right away- giving you instructions to prep yourself for surgery, meaning a strictly water diet and no medication. You fell asleep after convincing Dad it was better for his health to stop worrying and get a motel room a just a few minutes away. You told him he could come back after the lung biopsy.
You blink away the sleep, gaze roaming around the room. Your side is a little sore, but it's nothing unbearable. You've got the kidney biopsy after just a day of recovery after all.
Smiling a bit, you bring a hand connected to tubes up to shake your father's shoulders a bit. "Dad, wake up, you half-whisper with a hoarse voice.
"Wha-" his head snaps up, looking around frantically before relaxing. "You're awake! So how are you feeling? Do you need anything?"
"Water, please."
He nods, standing up and stretching to grab the pitcher of water by your bedside.
You take the water gratefully, gulping half of it down before your throat locks up and you're left choking. Dad jumps up and starts rubbing your back, patting it as if he was burping a baby.
The coughing subsides and you settle back. Dad pulls his hand away and looks at you warily, "Are you sure you're okay? I can go call a doctor if you need."
You shake your head, "No, that's fine. I'm okay. Go to sleep."
Dad frowns, "I'm not taking any chances. I'll stay up and make sure you don't get any worse."
You groan and frown, but you just don't have the energy to argue. "Fine," you grumble, settling back under the white sheets.
Sleep comes easily to you.
"What's Goodpasture's Syndrome?"
You can hardly believe your ears. You came in for a cough- maybe a bit of blood mixed in with the mucous; you were expecting an overly irritated throat that was too scratched up to heal without a bit of health. Not some disease.
"It's a condition that damages your kidneys and lungs. It can cause hemorrhaging- that will explain why you were coughing blood. Symptoms include fatigue, dry coughs, weakness... Basically when it first starts, it looks like a bad cold." He pauses, scanning you and your dad's faces. "Don't sorry, it's completely treatable. Therapy can take anywhere from one to six months though."
Six months?
"What's the mortality rate?"
Your eyes snap to your dad, "Dad! Why would you say that?"
He frowns, "Son, we need to know these things."
Alfred blinks at the two of you before smiling softly, "I know that it sucks getting news that you have a disease in the first place, but it's safe to say that the morality rate is under twenty percent."
Your dad lets out a sigh, "That's a fairly large chance... But okay. John, do you want to go through with treatment?"
You nod. This means you'll have to be gone for a while.
A long while.
Possibly forever.
"What about the relapse?" comes your voice before you can even think about it.
Alfred blinks, "Well, there's always risk of it coming back.. I'll have to say somewhere between eleven to fifty-seven percent chance of it coming back."
Oh.
You nod, "I understand," you do understand. You've never been the best of health so you know what might happen. "Just give me a week to sort things out."
...
"W-What? W-What do you mean you're leavving?"
"I'm sorry Eridan, it's just for a month or so while I get some family stuff sorted out. I'll come back in like four months at the most!"
"Four months?"
"I'm really sorry Er! You can... You can replace me if you really want to though, I'm not really in any place asking you to save my job for god knows how long."
"But that's it- w-we can't replace you! You're our best pianist!"
"What about Jane?"
"Your styles are different and you know that full well Egbert!"
"I'm sorry."
CLICK-
Well, there you go. The last thing you needed to do.
You got home about two days ago and acted as normally as you could. When Dave left for work earlier today, you started packing your clothes, and any of your other possessions You needed to erase your presence from this place in the event that you... Don't return. Even if you do make a full recovery, things aren't going to be the same with you and Dave, what with his constant absences as of late. You meant to talk to him, actually, before all of this happened.
When you first moved in here with Dave almost two years ago you were adults- out of college and ready to take the world by the balls. You never would have thought you'd be leaving like this.
One large suitcase and a backpack hold all of your personal effects- plus your favorite one of Dave's shirts. It's always been a little big on you, but you just couldn't bear to part with it.
With one last look back, you smile sadly and lock the door. Wouldn't want to keep Dad waiting.
Your name is Dave Strider and damn are you tired.
One wouldn't think that flipping burgers or working the register would be this tiring, but it is. You've been raking up the hours from cooking patties at Mickey D's, and DJ'ing at Alternia, as well as any other gig you could snag around town. You barely spend an time at home- and when you do, you're usually asleep. But it's all totally worth it though because every night you get to come home to your one and only boyfriend and 'best bro 5ever': John Egbert.
Sure you feel bad for leaving John on his own a lot, what with him being pretty sick just a month ago, but this is all for him, after all.
See, you and him have been together forever- like two, almost three years. Even more if you count the time you spend as 'just platonic no-homo boyfriends'. You've lived together since college and when you graduated, you ended up pooling your money along with a group of friends to buy a small club downtown now the ever popular Club Alternia.
You love him- that's obvious; literally everyone you know, knows that piece of information. The thing they don't know yet though, is your plan: your plan to whisk Egbert away to a nice little townhouse close enough to the city to commute to work daily, but far enough to constitute as 'quaint' and... Well, marry him.
Yeah, you're planning to take him out somewhere romantic, wine him, dine him, then get down on one knee... The whole shebang.
To do that though, you need cash. By no means were you two struggling with food and rent, Alternia took care of that. But your plan isn't exactly something you do every week. So you picked up a job at the fast food kingdom, as well as started advertising your skills to other clubs (with permission from Eridan of course. Wouldn't want him to think that you were going to betray the club. Alternia was still your main deal). Anything to bring in a little extra dough.
Sighing, you stick your key into the lock and turn it, effectively opening the door and making your way inside. It's dark, and quiet. John's probably asleep. He's been doing that a lot recently. He had a fever like a week ago, but he's been saying that he's fine... You should tell him to get it checked out soon.
You drop your keys and phone onto the coffee table by the door and shuffle into the bedroom to grab some clothes. When you finally exit the bathroom after a nice got shower, you get into bed. You find it a little weird that John doesn't curl up to you like he usually does, but you pay no mind; instead falling asleep instantly.
In the morning, you wake up bright and early for work, just like every other morning. Usually it would pain you to let John go, or to pry his arms from around you, but you have to. It'll all pay off, right? Speaking of John.
You turn to your side, expecting to be greeted with a face full of perpetually messy hair almost the exact opposite color of yours, and the sleeping buck-toothed Egbert you love so much. You come up with nothing, though.
Shooting up, you look frantically around the room, expecting to see him there. You don't.
The door to the closet is still open, and you can see from where you're sitting that it's a lot less cluttered than the last time you saw it. Practically ripping the sheets off of you, you jump out of bed and swing the closet door open.
No, it's not clean. It's half empty.
What.
Running out of the room, the first thing you see is the stand next to the TV glaring at you, completely devoid of John's shitty DVDs. Shaking your head, you step across the hall to the other room- the makeshift studio you and John constructed when you first moved in. There it was (or wasn't, really), mocking you. The section of the room dedicated to John's small upright piano, sheet music and CDs- completely barren.
"What the hell."
You practically flash step to the entrance, where the coffee table was with your phone. You grab it and scroll through your contacts. You find John's name and almost punch a hole through the device in your haste to call him. It doesn't go through though, because it sends you straight to voicemail.
Groaning in frustration, you go to your next best bet: Jade. Apparently she wasn't a good enough bet because she doesn't know anything, or so she says.
You spend... A lot of time ground through your contacts, learning nothing but the fact that John called Eridan last night to take some time off.
You end up on the floor with your back up against the food, trying to keep your breathing steady.
John's gone.
John left.
Why?
Raising your head, you blearily look around the room. It feels so empty. How the hell did you not notice last night?
Pressing the home button on your phone, it tells you that it's been three hours since you called Jade- and that you've got another two hours until the gig you scored at a joint on the other side of town. You're about to turn it off and head to take a shower (what's the point? If John's gone then why should you put any effort into... Well, anything?) when a blinking symbol in the top corner of the screen catches your eye.
You click a few buttons and end up on voicemail. "You have one new message," says the automated voice, "left at 11:43pm on..." but you drown it out. Eleven? That's when you were at work.
You're snapped out of your train of thought when you hear a familiar voice. Except now it's quiet and... Sad.
"Dave," John half whispers, "Dave I'm saying this once and only once. D-Do'nt call me. Don't look for me. I'm leaving, o-okay? I'm staying somewhere else for a while, just... I might come back to Alternia but please, please do anything. I don't- I do'nt want to see you anymore. Don't try to contact me, because I've changed my number. I can't be with you anymore. I'm sorry but goodbye, Dave. Have a nice life."
CLICK-
The fuck.
Your name is John Egbert. You have a disease. The doctor told you that there was an eighty percent chance of success with the treatment, but you've never been of the been of the best health, even when you were a kid- so you had to factor that in. That brought down the percentage to seventy-five. Still, a three-quarters chance that you would make a full recovery within a year. Then maybe... Maybe you could work things out with Dave, and get back to your regular life?
Haha, you shouldn't have gotten your hopes up. About a month into therapy, it was clear you weren't going to get any better. You were given a year at the absolute most, but you knew you could drop at any moment.
You called Eridan up almost immediately, asking for your job back. You warned him that you might not be there for long, but you could do it for half of your original pay.
You just want to pay Dad back for all he's spend on your medical bills. Even if it's just a little bit.
He agreed, and you joined up with your old group. It was really nice having some semblance of normalcy in your life again.
Everyone was so nice to welcome you back! And if they wanted to comment on your... Well, unhealthy appearance, they definitely kept their opinions to themselves. Of that, you were very grateful.
It worked for a good two or so weeks. Today you felt a little nauseous, so on your break, you went straight to the bathroom.
So far you've been lucky. You haven't seen Dave once. You hope to keep it that way until you leave for good.
Your name is Dave Strider and boy do you feel like absolute shit. Well actually, what's new?
John left like a month and a half ago. That day, you broke down. Since John was gone, what was the point? You quit your jobs and cancelled all of your side gigs- only keeping Alternia. You actually had work that night, but you didn't bother. You did eventually pick yourself up and grab a bottle of southern comfort before passing out on the couch.
You've never ever been one to drink away your problems, but you just couldn't think of anything else to do. With how abruptly John left, you were shell shocked. The first few days alone were a cycle of drink, sleep, bathroom, double (sometimes triple) dose of painkillers, rinse, repeat.
You admit it was hell, but within three or four days of not contacting anyone, Rose and Jade stepped in and helped you get back on your feet. They convinced you to shower and eat, go to work and even hang out with the others.
Though, as cliché as it sounds, you still felt empty.
Tav and his sick fires, Roxy's drinks, Jane's cookies... Terezi dragged you to the dog park with her to do some chalk art and hang with her black lab WV. Dirk even tried to beat some sense into you at some point.
None of it worked.
You functioned more or less 'normally', but it was all robotic. You just couldn't be without John. He was too big a part of you.
He still is.
So here you are, almost two months later.
You come to work early now, a little after the group before you takes their mid-set break. You started taking other gigs again too. The less time spent in your empty ass apartment the better.
Tonight, the group that usually took this shift couldn't make it, so your group was called in to play.
You came in to see them just walking off stage- them being John's old group. You could've sworn that you saw a flash of black hair and a green-teal suit- what John used to call his Wise-Guy Suit.
Sighing, you head backstage to drop off your stuff before deciding to go to the bathroom to wash your face- maybe cool off a bit. You were probably just tired again and your eyes were playing tricks on you.
Yeah, they had to be.
John isn't coming back.
You quickly walk back to the front and to the side, waving a quick hi to Tavros who looked a little overwhelmed working the bar by himself. You allow your lips to part for an almost inaudible amused chuckle before going to push the door open. Your hand meets air though, when someone pulls it from the inside.
Catching yourself before you stumble forward, you hold up a hand; "Sorry ma-" you freeze when you realize that the person in front of you isn't Jake.
It could've been a split second, or five minutes. All you know next is that John gasps and slams the door in your face.
You stand there in shock before regaining your senses. You begin shouting and banging on the door. Thankfully the bathrooms were far back enough into the building so you wouldn't cause any scenes. It snaps open and closed, but John still seems to be holding strong.
Getting tired of this quickly, you step back, gathering your strength before charging in. You burst into an empty bathroom, John nowhere to be seen.
"John! Get out here!" you shout. You begin kicking at the stall doors. They all fly open except for the one at the end. "John fucking Egbert stop running away and face me like a man you asshole!"
Still there is no response save for some heavy breathing from the both of you. Groaning in frustration, you get down onto the ground and army crawl your way into the stall. He backs up against the back corner, watching you with surprise.
He obviously didn't except you to resort to crawling.
You straighten up, and he shrinks in on himself a little bit more. "G-Get away from me," he says with a shaky voice.
You shake your head and corner John, pinning him against the intersection of two walls, between your arms. "Not gonna happen Egbert. We need to talk."
He lets out a whimper and rubs at his eyes, "Please Dave. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I wa-wasn't supposed to see you!"
Your brow furrows, "What the hell are you talking about? You felt guilty that you fucking ran out on me for no god damn reason?!" You're not quite sure when it happened, but your hands have moved to his collar, pulling him up to his tip-toes. "Look at me!" you practically scream.
He lifts his head, glaring with bloodshot eyes at a point somewhere above your right shoulder.
You can't help but gasp a little bit. He's pale- sickly pale. Even with his glasses, there are noticeable dark circles around his red-rimmed eyes. He's a lot lighter than you remember, too.
Easing up a bit, you set him back on his feet.
"...I didn't think you'd care that much."
"What?"
"I didn't think you'd care."
"How?" You don't believe this one bit. He's not making sense! How the hell could he thi- what?!
He goes on though, tone strong and firm- but his vocal cords don't seem to be able to keep up with his brain's demands. "You didn't seem to care that much. You were preoccupied."
"Well no shit Sherlock I was preoccupied! It's called work!"
His brow furrows, "Are you sure Dave?" he outright glares at you, hissing his words. His chest is heaving and the color in his face is returning, tinting his cheeks a dark red.
It's way too hot in here, you think. Tempers are flaring way out of control and you know that this isn't going to end well.
"Of course it was work idiot! What the fuck do you think it was!? You're the one who never talked to me- jesus fuck what's wrong with you?!"
He grunts in response, and begins clawing at your hands until you relent, releasing him a little too roughly so that he's slightly off balance. John steps back, hacking into his sleeve. "Why are you asking me, Dave? I wasn't the one who was cheating," he spits.
Something in you snaps at that. You vaguely register your left eye twitching before you feel your fist connecting with something sharp.
You pull back and take a moment to collect yourself. Your knuckles have been cut open- fuck that hurts like a bitch, but you bear through it in favor of assessing John's condition down on the ground. He just crumpled like a piece of paper under the force of your blow.
He's on the floor, wheezing and coughing even worse than before. It takes a minute or so before it finally clicks that there's something seriously up.
"John? John shit man what's wrong?"
He continues coughing, almost like he's... Choking? You get behind him and desperately try to remember how to do the Heimlich. After a few tries, it seems to help- since instead of choking, John's gagging. You hope to whatever deity is up there that that is a good sign.
In that split second of hesitation, John stumbles out of your arms to collapse over the toilet. You follow him, grabbing the back of his collar to keep him from diving headfirst into the plumbing.
He retches into the toilet and you can only look on in horror as red streams from his mouth- and you're pretty sure that it isn't kool-aid.
Shitshitshit.
You keep one hand on him as your other hand goes to your phone, dialing 911.
It doesn't take long for them to respond; John is still gagging a bit by the time an operator answers. "911 please state yo-"
"Fuck shit get me the fucking paramedics my- my boyfriend is choking and it looks like blood and I-I don't know what to do I did the Heimlich and he was throwing up all this blood I just-"
"Sir! Please calm yourself. What is your current location?:
"Club Alternia! The bathrooms are at the back. It's at 612 Skaia Avenue."
"Okay sir. I've alerted the paramedics and an ambulance should be arriving at your location within the next ten or so minutes. In the mean time, please keep calm. Make sure the patient keeps breaking. Do you know CPR?"
"Yeah I do," you reply breathlessly.
John's done now and you've pulled him as tight against your chest as possible. It now hits you just how tired you actually are now. His breathing is quick and shallow but it's still there. Some blood splattered on his clothes, and they're completely ruined now. You bury your nose in his slightly damp hair and let out a sob, releasing your vice-like grip on the phone and letting it, and the operator still on the line, fall to the floor completely ignored.
You brush the hair from his face. He's sweating badly and you feel so
fucking
useless
right
now.
Why would you punch him? Idiot!
You decide to take his jacket off, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the first few buttons on his shirt. He's really burning up right now shit! Blinking back tears, you press a kiss to his forehead, "It's gonna be okay..." you murmur.
A few hours later you're in the hospital, waiting for the doctors to finish up with whatever the fuck they're doing to save John's life. They've been rushing in and out of his room for the past two or so hours. You've asked countless times what the everloving fuck was going on here, but they just nodded in your direction and ran off to do something while you're left in the dust. John's dad arrived about an hour after you and he seemed to know what was going on but his mouth was sealed in a fatherly frown, worried creases lining his forehead.
You click the lock button on your phone for the millionth time, impatiently tapping out an up-tempo rhythm with your feet.
…
It seems like forever but they finally let you see John. He's hooked up to tubes and wires leading to all sorts of machines and bags full of fluids.
You settle down in a chair beside him and Mr. Egbert does the same on the other side. The two of you sit by him through the night, waiting for any sign of John waking up. Sleep comes in short, troubled bursts and you're feeling awfully claustrophobic by the time early morning rolls around and Mr. Egbert taps you on the shoulder saying that he's going to get some food.
Resigning yourself to the fact that you're not going to get any more sleep, you watch John's face trying to look for any sign of him waking up. John looks so small and pale, not that he hasn't always been small and pale, but the John you used to know could lift you up no problem and bench 100+. This John looks like he could shatter into little pieces if you tapped his shoulder.
John's eyelids flutter when Mr. Egbert's slow, sad footsteps fade down the hall. You jump up, eyes widening. John slowly opens his eyes, their usual blue looking more grey and bloodshot than you've ever seen them which only emphasize the hollowness of his face and the dark circles around his eyes.
He looks around and sighs, settling his eyes on something else as they become hazy and half-lidded. You frown and nudge him with a bottle of water from the little bed tray. "John you want water?"
He doesn't respond.
"Your throat must feel like crap right now."
His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he cringes. A drop of blood makes its way down his dry and cracked lips. Then time freezes and suddenly you find yourself leaning forward to lick it away, pulling him into a kiss. It doesn't last long and soon enough John is pushing you away and you're absolutely disgusted at whatever it is that possessed you to kiss him.
"I'm sorr-"
"Leave."
His voice is sounds as cracked as his lips and you walk out of the room, placing the water bottle on his lap. "You need to drink."
You run into Mr. Egbert on your way down the hall and tell him that John's awake. His weary eyes widen and he rushes down the hall in a hurried pace. Not knowing what to do, you decide to take a walk.
By the time you return it's noon. You knock on the door and wait. There's muted talking from beyond the door and it feels like an eternity before the door opens to reveal Mr. Egbert. He pats you on the shoulder firmly, "Hello Dave. Please be patient with John. Just talk things out with him. I'll be getting food, okay?"
Walking in, you settle into the chair you slept in the night before. The air is thick with unsaid words and tension.
It takes a long time before you open your mouth: "You idiot.."
Wait wait that's wrong.
"What?"
"You idiot," you repeat. No wait- that's not what you wanted to say. "You jumped to the worst possible conclusion- like that time Jade wouldn't answer her phone and you thought she was dead?" Okay, whatever. What you're saying makes sense. Some part of you thinks that this is what you were suppressing for so long. What you weren't willing to think about, linger on too long because of the feelings it would bring. You'll just roll with it for now.
"...She just lost it.."
"Yeah."
It's quiet, the beeping of the machine the only thing keeping it from being completely silent.
"...What was it then?"
You don't reply right away, instead taking the time to readjust your arms around John, settling yourself onto your side so that you're facing each other. "I really was working."
His brow furrows, lips forming into the adorable little pout you've always loved. "For what though?"
"To get out. Move to a quieter part of the city... Maybe settle down- adopt some baby Strider-Egberts.." you shrug nonchalantly, trailing off.
"Dave.. I-"
"Hey John?"
He cranes his head up a bit, making eye contact as you tilt your head at him. "Yeah?" his voice is a little too quiet and breathy for your taste.
"Marry me, will ya?"
He gasps, eyes widening. "I- I just-" he sputters for a moment before "I'd love to."
You sigh contentedly, "Great, man. We're making this happen."
"Yeah I guess we are!" he chuckles, fading into silence.
It's quiet again. It stays like that for a few minutes until you feel a warm spot on your shirt and hear a hiccup. Craning your head down, you see that John is crying. You wrap your arms around him, making shushing noises. "Hey, hey what's wrong?"
"I'm scared, Dave- I don't want to die."
You feel yourself tense up, but you press on, hugging him as tight as you dare to. "Hey, be quiet about that. Ytou're not going to die. You're going to grow up with me and we'll get married and raise a couple of kids to be weirdos like their dads, ship them off to college and turn into wrinkled up prunes together."
John sighs, "I... That sounds nice."
You hum contentedly, easing your grip and bending down to press a kiss to his nose.
"Dave?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm tired. Will you sing me to sleep?"
"Sure John, anything you want."