#I've been living off cold medicine in the meantime

[1onehuman]

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The birb stuff

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[sixhours]

bright spots - chapter 13

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | In progress

Rating: Teen Words: 4.3k Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel & Ellie, Joel Miller, Ellie Williams, Marlene, canon divergence, hospital AU, medical stuff, blood, hurt/comfort, angst, canon-typical violence, vomiting, implied rape/sexual assault, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Ellie

Ellie used to be brave.

She could spend days in the hole without food or sleep or light and come out on the other side mostly sane and ready for more. She turned a gun on her best friend when she got bit and pulled the trigger without hesitation. She was captured and held hostage by the Fireflies for weeks, and when Marlene dropped a fucking bomb about her mother and handed her off to two strangers in the same day, she sucked it up and went willingly. When Sam and Henry died, she dried her tears on the back of her sleeve and helped dig their graves. When Joel was sick, she stitched him up and found food and bartered for medicine, alone. She survived the–

Don’t think about that.

They made it through the winter. They made it to the Fireflies. She let them take her blood and run their tests and cut her open, and if she cried, she cried to herself because that’s what she’d always done.

She never used to need anyone.

But the horde attack seems to have broken her bravery. It’s so stupid because they were safe the whole time. Mostly. Sure, it was hot and smelly and really fucking miserable but it wasn’t like the infected ever got near them. They’d been surrounded by soldiers, six stories up. She’s lived through so much worse.

And yet, it’s like every terrible thing that’s ever happened to her has come crawling back to haunt her, everything she’s ever lost or feared or ached over was carried on the wave of the horde and dumped in her lap.

The nightmares come back. If she’s not dreaming about–

No, no, not that .

She dreams about the infected. She’s trapped in the hole with their clicking and moaning just outside, slimy, rotten flesh clawing for purchase on the walls. She watches Joel die over and over, from a gunshot, a stab wound, a bite. She watches Marlene inject her and feels herself turn, the cold certainty of the fungus spreading beneath her skin, digging long, tendril-like fingers into her brain. It’s a grab bag of horrors, her own Greatest Hits of misery, and every night she fights sleep until it inevitably claims her, until just the act of closing her eyes is enough to spike her heart rate and shorten her breath.

So she goes to Joel. He doesn’t say anything, even though he’s probably getting sick of being crowded out of his own cot by a kid who’s way too old to be crawling into bed with him every night like a fucking toddler. But he just shoves over and lets her steal his blankets and pretend to sleep, even though it’s mostly impossible. Sometimes he’ll rub her back or her hair or her neck–always asking first, because he knows she’s weird about touch after–

Nope. Fuck off.

Two weeks pass like this before they continue the tests; something about the labs getting put back together, a shortage of staff. Marlene stalks around the hospital barking orders, a bomb waiting to go off, jumpy the way FEDRA soldiers always were when terrorist attacks were up.

They do a bone marrow biopsy. Joel argues with Marlene about it, as usual, and Ellie only half listens as they go back and forth.

“She’s tired, can’t you fuckin’ see that? She needs a damn break.”

“We’ve already lost too much time.”

“That ain’t her problem.”

“I’m well aware–”

On and on. It’s the same old shit. But she knows even before they’re finished that she’ll do it because that’s why they’re here, and Joel will go along because she tells him to; he always does. She doesn’t have the energy to make a big deal about their fighting in the meantime.

But this biopsy is worse than any of the other ones combined. The anesthesia is different, but it still makes her sick. Everything hurts after–her back, her legs, her stomach. Her movements feel slow, like her legs weigh a thousand tons each, like she’s trying to move through quicksand and can’t catch her breath.

She’s so fucking tired, but it’s not the kind of tired sleep can fix–not that she’s not getting much of that, either. More and more, she lets her mind go blank, tuning out the noise until she’s just a body waiting for the next needle, the next surgery, the next scar.

She’s tired of being scared. She’s tired of being brave. She’s just tired.

And then she falls.

It was a stupid accident, she got a little dizzy and fell off the chair and bruised her elbow. But Joel makes a big fucking deal of it by getting Marlene and the doctor involved, and soon they’re all crowded in their room and Joel’s doing that pacing thing and he and Marlene are at each others’ throats and the doctor and the nurse are going back and forth over her file. She’s really fucking tired and they’re talking about her appetite and hormones and cycles and low blood pressure and it starts to make sense and there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

They think she’s…

Fuck.

But that’s not fucking possible. She got her stupid period last month. Admittedly she didn’t have one for a while but it’s always weird when she gets stressed, and she was probably starving, and it’s not like she’s even been with anyone like that , or even been around anyone but Joel unless you count–

Not that, not thinking about that.

“I’m not,” she says, but no one hears her, not even Joel. And they’re all still talking over her and her head is buzzing and it occurs to her that she’s only been around Joel and if they think he’s–if they think he might have–

Oh, shit.

They’ll separate them. They’ll kill him.

She looks up at everyone, the nurse and the doctor and Marlene and Joel and she swallows hard, heart racing, and she says it aloud, louder, loud enough to fill the room.

“I’m not fucking pregnant.”

Joel

Things go downhill after the horde attack.

The nightmares are worse than ever. Ellie has never been what Joel would call clingy, but now she rarely leaves his side. Her eyes are dull, missing that curious spark that practically defined their first several months together. It’s too much like the weeks after Silver Lake, when they’d been forced to hole up and wait out the winter.

At the time, he’d blamed her retreat on the bitter cold weather and the lack of food, but deep down, he knew it was more than that. He figured she’d talk about it when she was ready, and before the horde attacked, he thought she might be getting there…but now it’s everything he can do just to keep her attention.

Then they had to do that stupid fuckin’ biopsy, even though he tried to tell Marlene that she needed rest. It’s clear this one cost her something. She bears it more stoically than he would–the kid’s tough as nails–but she shouldn’t fuckin’ have to .

The Fireflies aren’t having a great time of it, either. Joel doesn’t know how many died during the attack, but he guesses at least half Marlene’s military is gone. She doesn’t offer more than clipped reassurances that everything is under control, but he notices a lot of the same guards on rotation in the following weeks, they’re no longer doubled up at the exits, and several once-familiar faces are missing.

Then one day they’re hanging out in the hall, Joel having nudged Ellie out of bed to take a walk around the loop that makes up the fourth floor. They’ve done two laps at a pace that a snail could put to shame and now Ellie spins lazily in her chair while Joel leans against the windows of their room, chin to his chest, passing time. One minute she’s in the chair, the next, there’s a distinct thud and she’s on the floor.

“Shit, Ellie–!”

Lee, on duty nearby, is helping her into a sitting position when Joel kneels beside her.

“The hell happened, kid?”

“She passed out,” Lee says.

“Did not,” Ellie mumbles. “Just dizzy.”

“You were barely moving,” Lee says.

“M’fine, dude,” she mutters.

“Bed,” Joel orders. “I’m callin’ Marlene.”

“I’ll get her,” Lee says. “You take her back to the room.”

Without waiting for her to protest, Joel lifts her– too easily , he thinks, she’s still so damn small -and walks back to their room. The fact that Ellie doesn’t put up a fight at being carried scares him almost as much as the fall.

The nurse at the desk gets up as they approach.

“Call the doctor,” Joel barks.

He doesn’t wait for a response, just carries Ellie into the room, depositing her carefully on the bed, then goes to the bathroom to fill a cup with water from the sink.

“You hit your head?”

“Don’t think so,” she winces, frowning at her elbow. “Bruised my stupid arm, though.”

“D’you remember what happened?” he asks, handing her the water.

 She shrugs but won’t meet his eyes, taking a sip. “Just got dizzy.”

His hand goes to her forehead, checking for a temperature.

“Dude, I’m f–”

The door opens and Marlene walks in with the doctor and the nurse right behind. “The guards said something about a fall?”

“She passed out,” Joel says before Ellie can finish. “Think she’s getting sick.”

“I’m not sick,” Ellie sighs.

The doctor frowns at the chart as the nurse hands it over, then starts taking vitals.

“Been usin’ her like a pincushion,” Joel mutters. Ellie submits to the blood pressure cuff readily enough, but her face is a troubling shade of pale.

Marlene rolls her eyes. “Do you know how much blood we’d have to take to cause something like this?”

“I told you the biopsy was a bad idea. I told you but you don’t fuckin’ listen. She needs rest, not more of your fuckin’ experiments.”

“Jesus Christ, do we have to do this every fucking time? She’s here of her own free will–“

“Because you put all these fuckin’ ideas in her head,” he hisses.

The doctor and nurse are talking between themselves, flipping through the pages of her chart. Joel can’t hear what they’re saying, too incensed at Marlene and her goddamn cure, and then Ellie says something but it’s barely a whisper, and he’s thinking of the MRI scans and the cordyceps vining through her body, the fungus that’s embedded in her fuckin’ brain , too aware of the rush of his own heartbeat in his ears and his voice growing louder. He’s about to bypass Marlene to ask the doctor what the fuck is going on when Ellie speaks up again, this time loud enough to silence everyone else in the room.

“I’m not fucking pregnant.”

Only then does Joel notice she’s gone rigid, curled in on herself, knees drawn up and eyes glazed in a familiar terror.

Joel blinks, barely registering the words, her meaning. “What?”

The doctor remains infuriatingly blasé, speaking to Marlene now. “It’s a possibility. She’s post-pubescent, although we don’t have a record of her cycles–”

“That’s none of your goddamn business,” Joel snaps.

“We’ll do a test to–“

He’s in the doctor’s face before the man can finish, only vaguely aware of Marlene’s hand gripping his arm to hold him back.

“I don’t need a stupid test because I’m not pregnant,” Ellie insists tightly, just as Joel snarls, “Get the fuck out.”

The doctor huffs and looks at Marlene, but for once, there’s no resistance from her.

“Let’s give them a minute,” she sighs.

Joel closes the door behind everyone, wishing he could lock it for good measure. He stays there with his hand on the glass, bracing himself, skin crawling as his anger dissolves into horror. He feels sick. His mind races, thinking of Silver Lake, of all those hours they were separated, of the terrifying possibilities, and she won’t fuckin’ talk to him, she won’t talk about–

“Ellie–”

“I’m not,” she repeats, voice wavering. She’s staring at the foot of the bed, not looking at him, her breath too fast and shallow for his liking. “I–I got my period, like, three weeks ago.”

He turns around slowly. They share a bathroom. He’s not the most observant man, but he’s pretty sure he would have noticed something .

As if reading his mind, she continues, grimacing. “Maria gave me one of those…cup…things.”

He has no idea what that means. He swallows hard, takes a deep breath.

“Kiddo…you can talk to me. ‘Bout anything. I won’t be mad or–or–if somethin’ happened, we can–we can fix it, we can–”

“I know,” she spits. Her whole body is quivering, but her words are tightly controlled. “But I’m telling you the truth.”

“You keep sayin’ that–”

She finally looks at him and he sees angry tears gleaming in her eyes. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“Ellie–I believe you, kiddo, I just–I wasn’t there an’-you won’t…you won’t talk about it.”

At that, she looks away again. “Because I don’t need to.”

“Baby–”

“He didn’t fucking rape me, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

He flinches, the words landing like a slap. A single tear escapes her lash line, making a wet track down her cheek.

“He tried. He tried and he didn’t–he didn’t get that far. Because I bashed his fucking skull in before he could get his fucking pants off.”

Some dim part of him thinks he should feel relieved, but that’s impossible when her face crumples. He goes to her because he can’t do anything else, sits on the edge of the bed, hand twitching in a vain effort to keep himself from reaching for her.

“Happy now?” she grits out, jaw set. 

“No,” he breathes. “I could never be happy about that.”

She’s fully panicking now. Every breath sounds high and pitchy, like she’s sucking air through a straw.

“He’s gone, baby. He’s…it’s done. It’s over, you don’t ever have to go back, okay?”

A shuddering hiccup and she lifts her eyes to his. She nods tightly, tremors rippling across her shoulders as she tries to get her breathing under control.

“It’s over,” he repeats, hoping he sounds more certain than he feels. “You’re safe.”

Another jerky nod.

“And…I’m sorry,” he rasps. He wipes at his face in frustration, surprised when his hand comes back wet.

“Wasn’t your fault,” she mutters thickly.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry that–I shoulda been there, couldn’t–couldn’t help–”

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispers, eyes red but dry. “Doesn’t change anything…right?”

Shame swirls in his gut. She may be right, but the old saws hound him anyway. It’s not enough, this is your fault, you’re failing her, you were always going to fail her. He tentatively reaches out and puts a hand on her knee, hopeful when she doesn’t flinch or pull away.

“I shoulda believed you. I’m sorry.”

Her jaw ticks at that, and she chews on her lip ‘til it’s red and raw. She’s rocking slightly, probably not even aware she’s doing it. She’s going away, he realizes, withdrawing again.

“Ellie?”

He squeezes her knee gently, trying to bring her back.

“C’mon, kiddo, you gotta…you gotta talk to me. You need to–it’s gotta come out. The only way this gets better is if you let it out, and–”

“I can’t,” she whispers, almost a whine, ducking her head. “I know I have to, but I just–I can’t–okay? Not yet. Please…don’t make me.”

Please don’t make me.

His heart cracks and splinters in his chest. She sounds so small, so exhausted. How many times has she been forced, coerced, manipulated by people who claimed to care for her? 

Taking a chance, he clasps one of her hands, cold fingers white as porcelain. He tugs gently, asking a silent question, and she folds forward, pressing herself into his side until he can wrap an arm around her shoulders. He does his best to bundle her into his arms, resting his chin on top of her head.

“Alright. You don’t have to,” he whispers into her hair. “Don’t have to do anythin’ right now, okay? Nothin’ you don’t want.”

She nods, gives a tiny hiccup that might be a sob. It’s a long time before she pulls away, wiping a sleeve over her eyes, looking up at him with her jaw set.

“Tell them they can do the dumb test,” she sniffs. “But I’m not fucking pregnant.”

~*~

“No pregnancy. Her iron and RBCs are low,” the nurse says with finality.

“Told you, fuckers,” Ellie mutters, obviously feeling well enough to snark, although the dark circles under her eyes are even more pronounced than before.

“How the hell did you miss that?” Marlene asks.

The nurse scowls. “Dr. Anderson gets reports with all the lab work, he said nothing to indicate the anemia was a problem.”

“So you’re tellin’ me she’s anemic and your brilliant doctor didn’t think to mention it?” Joel cuts in. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you people–”

“Enough,” Marlene snaps, looking back and forth between them, then settles her gaze on the nurse. “What’s the treatment plan?”

“She needs to eat, rest, keep up her strength. Pause the testing until she’s back in healthy range.”

“How long?”

“I can’t say,” the nurse sighs. “If we can find some supplements, we might be able to speed up the process…but the best way is for her to eat.”

And so, two days later, it’s standoff over dinner.

“I can’t.”

“You have to,” Marlene says cooly. “The only way this works is if you keep up your strength, and the only way for you to stay strong is to eat. We’re using precious rations to keep you fed and your blood counts are low.”

Ellie hunches over her half-full tray of food while Marlene hovers. She’s eaten a few bites of vegetables and a piece of bread, but large chunks of venison remain on the tray. He knows why it turns her stomach, why she sends back her trays without touching the stuff.

But he also watched her pass out two days ago.

“I can’t keep it down, it doesn’t fucking work ,” she hisses.

“Come on, Ellie,” Marlene murmurs. “You owe it to us to try.”

“I am trying,” she says. “But my fucking stomach hurts.”

Marlene sighs. “Just…one bite. Try. Please.”

Ellie lets out a disgusted groan, but she picks up a piece of meat with her fork, grimacing as she puts it in her mouth. She chews and her jaw works and works because the stuff is mostly gristle and it’s cooked to the consistency of leather–Joel struggled to choke down his smaller portion, too. He watches her throat bob in a swallow.

Then she’s gagging, choking, and the contents of her stomach–the venison and everything else along with it–are covering the floor next to her bed. She gags and gags, her face red, tears gathering in her eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” Marlene huffs under her breath and that’s the last fucking straw.

“Outside,” Joel snaps, making for the door without waiting for her to answer. When they’re out in the hall, he faces her, snarling. “You don’t talk to her like that.” 

“She needs to eat.”

“She can’t do venison.”

“She’ll have to suck it up,” Marlene says flatly. “Her iron is low and venison is the best source we have at this point–”

“That girl,” he jabs his finger at the window behind her, “is putting her whole fuckin’ life on the line for you. So you can figure out how to get her the stuff she needs without forcin’ it down her fuckin’ throat.”

Her jaw clenches, she blows a hard breath out her nose. 

“Fine,” she snaps. “I’ll send a scavenging party out for supplements. God knows how good they’ll be, but–”

“Whatever you gotta do, I don’t give a shit. But don’t you ever–e ver– talk to her like that again,” he says. “She ain’t your puppet.”

She folds her arms, clicking her tongue. “Heard.”

He nods and goes back in, finds Ellie on the floor, attempting to wipe up the vomit. He kneels and gently takes the cloth from her hands to finish the job.

“It’s my mess. I can get it,” Ellie hiccups, cheeks red. He can see her hands shaking as she sits back on her knees.

“Not your fault,” he says. “You can’t eat the meat, you can’t eat it. S’their problem, not yours.”

She sniffs and wipes at her face with her sleeve.

“You brushed your teeth yet?” he asks, standing with a suppressed groan and tossing the soiled towel on the floor outside their room. Let the Fireflies deal with it. “Go on. You’ll feel better if you do.”

Ellie goes to the bathroom and closes the door. He hears the water running. When she returns, her face is damp, cheeks blotchy, eyes red-rimmed. She climbs back into bed still looking defeated.

“I hate to admit it, but Marlene’s right about one thing,” he murmurs. “You gotta eat, kid.”

“I’m trying, asshole,” she spits, chin trembling. “I’m trying but…it’s all…stupid deer meat and I can’t–I can’t. After–”

“Alright,” he soothes, rubbing her back. “I know. Marlene’s gonna try to find…pills or somethin’.”

Her face falls. “That’ll take too long.”

“Hey,” he says, hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “They’re on your schedule, not the other way around, right?”

She rolls her eyes but nods, teary.

“K. Why don’t you get back in bed and get some rest. We’ll figure it out.”

For once, she doesn’t argue. Part of him wishes she would.

Ellie is sleeping soundly when Marlene comes back later that night. They take the conversation to the hallway, speaking in low voices so as not to wake her.

“Dr. Anderson wants to do a blood transfusion,” she says. “It’ll work faster than any supplements we’d be able to find.”

“S’it safe?”

“No riskier than giving her expired iron pills or letting her stay anemic,” she says.

“An’ you got everythin’ for that?”

“Well, the Red Cross isn’t exactly operational,” she says drily. “We need to find someone with a matching blood type. My staff are being typed as we speak.”

Joel grimaces. “I’m a universal donor. Test mine. If it’ll help her…”

He trails off, glancing through the window where Ellie is still curled up in bed.

“You sure? You’re clean?”

He glares at her.

“Hey, we both know the QZ life wasn’t exactly squeaky,” she says. “But…I’m not going to turn it down if you’re willing. I’ll send the nurse in to get a blood sample so we can screen you.”

~*~

Screened and typed and confirmed a match, Joel finds himself laid up in bed with a needle in his arm a few days later.

“This is sick, dude,” Ellie says, lounging in her bed, watching intently as his blood fills the pint-sized holding bag at his side. Her fascination remains unnerving–especially now that it’s directed at him.

“Don’t you have somethin’ to do?”

“I am doing something, I’m resting like you said,” she says, rolling over to dangle her head off the side of the bed. Then she perks up. “Oh, shit! I know!”

She goes to her bag on the floor and pulls out her pun book, flipping through the pages.

“Aha,” he mutters. “Will Livingston strikes again.”

“Hey, Joel,” she says, grinning. “I know a couple of vampire puns…but they all suck. Get it? They suck? ‘Cause it’s a vampire.”

“I got it,” he mutters, trying and failing to hold back a smile. It’s been weeks since she’s joked around with him like this, weeks since they’ve been able to have more than short, stilted conversations that usually end with her staring off into space.

“Maybe don’t ‘B negative’ about it, then.”

That earns her a groan.

“Ooh, ooh wait! I got a better one–”

“Highly doubt that,” he drawls, but he’s full-on smiling now.

“I wanted to write a blood pun, but it was all ‘in vein’!”

“That’s terrible. Negative six.”

“You can’t do negative numbers, dude,” she says, flopping back down on the bed with her book.

“Can for that joke.”

She snorts. “I’m gonna age, like, fifty years with your old man blood.”

“Better than passin’ out in the fuckin’ hall,” he says pointedly.

“I guess,” she sighs. “Kinda cool you’re, like, a walking blood supply.”

“Don’t get any ideas. It ain’t an infinite supply. You still gotta eat.”

“I just figured with the…y’know,” she says quietly, gesturing to his stomach, where the scar on his abdomen still pulls a little when he stands too quickly. “You lost a lot of blood…before.”

“Still doin’ better than you in the iron department.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” she hums, thinking, then stretches out with a sigh. “Hey, Joel,” she murmurs, resting her head on her pillow. She blinks sleepily, probably ready for another nap. God, he hopes like hell this transfusion does what it’s supposed to. “Once they do the transfusion thing…does that make us blood relatives?”

“This one of your jokes?”

“No,” she yawns. “S’just funny, when they say ‘blood relation’, they don't mean you share actual blood. Except…we will, kinda.”

“Yeah, I guess we will.”

“S’pretty cool,” she whispers.

“Uh-huh. You’re s’posed to be resting,” he says, watching with fond exasperation as she struggles to keep her eyes open.

She frowns and wrinkles her nose and suddenly looks five years younger, sporting the kind of pout he remembers seeing on Sarah’s face when she was overtired and fighting sleep. “M’not tired.”

“Nice to meet you, Not Tired. I’m Joel,” he says drily. “Go to sleep, kid. I’ll wake you up when I’m done being bled dry over here.”

She rolls her eyes and grumbles something he can’t quite hear– something something show you bled dry, old man– but she turns over with a huff. She’s fast asleep and snoring before the donation bag is full.

[iwritestuffzs]

Whumptober Day 2: Delirium//Thermometer// "They don't care about you"

Fandom: Heartstopper

"Shit this is bad."

Charlie looked over the thermometer again and winced. 105. Definitely bad.

He looked toward Darcy sleeping on the couch. Her face was clammy and wet from all the sweating she was doing. Tara kept a cold compress on her girlfriend's forehead but it wasn't helping much.

Charlie didn't know where it went so wrong. It was just supposed to be a fun day at Nick's house.Well technically Nick and Darcy's house. Ever since Darcy's parents had kicked her out she'd been staying at Nick's. Sarah had basically taken her in as a daughter but nothing was official.

An hour before they were supposed to meet up, the Paris Squad received a message from Nick saying that Darcy was sick and that they had to cancel. Which lead to everyone showing up at their house with medicine.

When they arrived Darcy and Nick greeted them at the door. Besides her face being a bit flushed, thier friend seemed fine. Darcy wrote off Nick's concerning message and told the gang that she was just a bit tired and hot.

So the group had moved forward with their previous plans and watched a movie.

That's where things went south real quick.

While watching the movie everyone noticed how quiet Darcy was. Usually she would be the one cracking jokes and gawking over how hot Sadie Sink was. But it was unnaturally silent.

Upon looking over they saw that Darcy was barely awake and leaning on Tara's shoulder. She looked even more flushed then when they arrived. And within a couple more minutes the blonde was out cold.

"Guys she burning up," Tara said, touching the back of her hand to Darcy's forehead.

"I've turned the air conditioner on but it doesn't seem to be helping," Nick said.

"What's her temperature?" Elle asked.

"I told her to take a temperature test before you all came, but she refused to," Nick said.

Charlie playfully punched him in the arm, "Some brother you are. You gotta force her to."

"I-i didn't want to overstep," Nick admitted, "I mean I'm technically not her brother."

Tao let out a chuckle, "you two are the most brotherly-sisterly duo I've ever seen."

"Yeah," Charlie agreed, "Even more than me and Tori."

The comments made Nick blush a bit.

He got up and returned with the thermometer. He gave the thermometer to Tara who put it in Darcy's mouth.

An uncomfortable silence went through the group as they awaited the results. After about 4 minutes it was ready. Charlie read the results and the group all winced with him.

"What should we do?" Issac asked, "take her to the doctor?"

"Probably," Elle agreed, "I mean 105 isn't normal. Not even for a fever."

"Yeah if it gets any worse it could be deadly," Tao said.

"Deadly?!" Tara cried.

Elle elbowed him hard in the side," but it won't come to that. Right Tao?" She said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah if course. I was just saying," the boy replied.

The group argued about what to do. While the clock ticked away and Darcy's fever undoubtedly got worse.

"What do you think Nick?" Charlie asked.

Suddenly all eyes were on him.

And he unfortunately didn't have the answers. His sister was on the couch basically dying. His mum was at work. And all his friends were looking at him.

"I don't know," he admitted, "but I'll call mum to see. But in the meantime, try to cool her down." Tara's cold towel wasn't really working.

The rugby lad went upstairs to call his mom, while the rest of the Paris Squad scrambled to get Darcy cool. Darcy squirmed in her sleep. The group thought it was just from the fever's heat.

Oh how they were wrong.

One minute she was watching Fear Street with her friends and the next she was somewhere dark. Nick's living room disappeared and was replaced with an endless black void.

"Hello?" Darcy called, "guys where'd you go?"

She walked around for a bit but there was nothing.

"Darcy."

What the fuck?

Someone was calling her. But who?

"Darcy."

It sounded like a far off echo.

"Darcy."

The voice sounded familiar.

"Darcy."

Wait she new that voice.

"Darcy!"

All of a sudden, someone materialized in front of her. It took her by surprise and he fell back with a yelp.

It was her mother.

"What the fuck," Darcy muttered.

"Darcy Elizabeth Olsson, look at what youve done," her mother yelled.

Suddenly Darcy was transported to her house. When she was six and had broken a vase that her mother had bought to impress some work friends.

She was sitting on the floor playing with some toys when her mother barged in and absentmindedly threw her purse which landed on Darcy's toy. She had to stand up to try and yank it out but when she did she bumped into the table where the vase was.

Crash.

The item fell to he floor and burst into a million pieces.

"I sorry," Darcy said, "I didn't mean to."

"You stupid girl!" her mum yelled.

"I'm not stupid." Darcy said.

Little did Darcy know she was mumbling in her sleep.

"I'm not stupid," Darcy mumbled.

Tara looked towards the rest of the group. Each of them knew about Darcy's troubled life at home. She was living with Nick for god's sake. Everyone hoped she'd never have to go threw it again.

And now she was.

And all they could do was watch.

"I'm not," Darcy muttered,"No please. I'm sorry." There was a kind of pleading in her voice.

"I'm sorry. Please don't. I'm sorry ok! I didn't mean to," she squirmed, trying to get away from some unseen force.

Tara pulled Darcy (no matter how hot she was) into a tight embrace. Trying to protect her girl, she knew it wouldn't work. But she had to try anyway.

Darcy knew she was in deep shit. Her mum had called her dad, right in the middle of his afterwork nap. A time he was not to be disturbed.

"You little brat!" Her father yelled, he towered over her. "You ruined that vase on purpose! So you know what time it is…"

"No please!" She stuck out her hands for protection, but it was no use. Her father grabbed her arms and yanked them down. Then slapped her hard across the face.

"You. Little. Bitch!" He said with every hit.

"Please stop!" She cried, she tried to run but she was backed into a corner.

"No one loves you!" He yelled.

"That's not true I have friends!" Darcy yelled back.

"They don't care about you!"

"Yes they do!"

"No they don't!"

"Yes they do," Darcy muttered," my friends do care about me."

No they don't!! Say it back.

Slap.

They do!

Slap

"They-they-they don't," she cried, "ok, my friends don't care about me. Just please stop."

"No we do," Tara replied, "I promise we do." Darcy couldn't hear her. Her fever dream was too powerful.

"Guys," Nick burst into the room," My mom said that she is on her way. Then we're gonna take her to the hospital."

"We should probably get her up," Tao suggested.

"Yeah," Tara agreed. She turned and gently pushed Darcy,"hey baby get up." In all truth she was happy to get her up. At least she wouldn't have to experience whatever was happening in her dream.

Darcy didn't get up, but was still talking in her sleep. "I'm sorry. I'll take my punishment."

Nick's heart broke. If he could, he would kill Darcy's parents. He helped try to wake her up and gently slapped her cheeks. "Come on sis, you gotta wake up."

Eventually her eyes opened a bit, they were glazed over but open a bit non the less.

"That's it Darc." He smiled.

But she suddenly attacked Tara.

Darcy's parents disappeared and suddenly Nick's living room blurily came into view. And there was a figure standing over her.

It was her mother.

It had to be.

She punched the figure in the face. They fell to the ground with a shout of surprise. This time her mum would pay. She continued to punch the living shit out of her.

There were shouts but they were muffled. All she could see was her mum. There were hands trying to pry her off of the figure. But Darcy wasn't going to give up that easily.

"This is for all those years of pain, you bitch," Darcy said.

Something pricked her shoulder and everything came to a halt. Her vision cleared up and she saw that it wasn't her mother.

It was Tara. Her love. Her best friend. Who as looking at her terrified. Her eye was already swollen and blood matted her face.

Darcy looked down and saw her knuckles stained red with her girlfriend's blood

"Fuck what have I done," she said, before falling unconscious.

Nick stood above her with an empty syringe.

"Why did you..how did you.." Charlie started.

"My mum," Nick answered, "she told me that high fevers can sometimes get dangerous.

And to be prepared."