Bumblebee [DNF]

17 II I hate to see you this way

George knew there was something wrong with Clay. 

For the longest time, he didn't seem to be the person that he had once knew. 

He didn't seem the same, his eyes bore dark shadows under them, and he always smiled:

But not the way he used to, full of grin and childishness and glory, now it was sad, sorrowful, and bland.

He seemed so. . .sad.

He wasn't an idiot, he'd noticed the tears in his eyes and his lonely presence and bruised cheeks. He knew something was wrong with his friend.

Yet he didn't know exactly what.

He'd theorised of course, the prospect of danger and blood terrified him. 

He was the Clay that he had once known. He had to be. 

Though there was something that felt awfully, awfully wrong.

The day he had changed his whole life was something he wouldn't dare to forget. The nurse had just walked in, woken him up from his nap, as usual. 

She helped him onto a wheelchair, where he was to go and take his medicine, to supposedly make him feel better. 

It never did. It made him feel more tired, like a monster was bubbling up in his stomach and he so wanted to let it out, but the world shut it in, and left it at that. 

The nurse said he was getting better. 

So that should mean something. 

She gripped the push handles of the wheelchair, and pushed the door open for them to cross. 

A medical bed rushed by, with doctors and nurses alike rushing and talking in hushed whispers, surrounding the body. George caught a glimpse of familiar, dirty-blonde hair, and his heart sank.  

"Clay!" He yelled, and reached out his hand as if the boy would suddenly come up and look towards him, grin, smile, be the adventurous boy that he had fallen for. 

But he didn't awake. His eyes were closed, tubes attached to his nose, helping him to breath. Couldn't he breath? Why couldn't he breath?

Worry etched in his bones. Why was he so lifeless? The nurse tried to calm him down with small words of comfort, but George couldn't listen to her. 

His eyes were laced with tears, and if he were to blink, he would be sure that they would fall. 

"Oh, don't cry now." The nurse tried to reassure him. "He's in good hands."

He tried to find the words, but all had died on his tongue, they came out short and in stutters. Clay never left his side through the worst of the worst. He had to do the same. "No- I-I c-can't.." 

Phil turned to face the young boy, whispered to the nurse next to him, and came to walk towards George.

George looked up at him with worry and alarm, so much so that he felt as if his heart would pound out of his chest. "What happened? Why is he there? What happened to him?" 

Phil only smiled, and kneeled down so George could look taller then him. "Your friend..." He trailed off. "Will be fine. I want you to breath before I tell you this, alright? Breath in, and out." 

He began to breath, to show George what he would like him to do. 

George followed his movements, and breathed, in and out, until his heart stopped pounding and he felt a sense of calm, despite everything. 

"My son found your friend on a roof, standing over the edge." George's heart-rate already began to increase. "And, with the series of events that occurred, he fell." 

George gaped, his lips parted and a tear fell from his eyes. He fell. He fell from a building, he fell. Clay fell. 

The words wouldn't process in his mind. Love was on the edge, and then he- did he want to jump? What had happened? Why did he want to-

"Now." Phil cut in his thoughts, almost reading them. "Like I said, my son had found him on the roof, and he had called an ambulance immediately. We'll do our very best to help him." 

George shook himself internally. They were helping him. They were going to make him better. "Promise?" He whispered. 

"I promise." He stood up. "Now. Go and get you medication. Try not to worry, he'll be alright. We'll do the best we can." 

He looked up, nodded towards the nurse, and ran back to his station. George watched as he went, worry still remaining in his eyes. The nurse began to move his wheelchair, and he began to think. He would be fine, he thought optimistically. 

He wouldn't be fine. 

Phil is a good doctor. He'll help him. He won't let him die. 

He won't let him die. 

Don't die. 

Don't leave. 

Don't go. 

----

"WHAT?!"

Sapnap's voice echoed through his room, his eyes blown wide in such alarm that George was reminded of a tea kettle in his dire state. 

"They wouldn't." The raven's voice began to crumble. "What did they do to him?" 

Nobody could answer his question. 

Karl was already shattered beside him, but tried ever so hard to keep what he had left. He patted the raven's back, pulled him into a hug, tried all he could to get the boy to calm down. 

They had all been called in by the nurse who thought he needed someone to speak to. 

Why would she suggest that? He didn't know.

He was glad to see his friends once again. Yet his worries weighed him down, to the depths of the earth until even he forgot who he was. 

He was terrified for his lover's state. 

With gritted teeth, the raven clenched his fists and fell away into the brunette's arms, hiding his face in Karl's chest. Men don't cry, he kept telling himself. Men don't cry. 

Oh, but they were no men. They were children. 

Children scared and confused, knowing more then they should. 

George blamed himself for not knowing why his lover was on the edge. He was supposed to. But he didn't. 

Was he a bad lover? It wouldn't be surprising. 

He wasn't a good person. 

-----

little talks - of monsters and men : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CF-l73qCrgU

Some days I don't know if I am wrong or right

Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear

-twig