self-fulfilled prophecy {closed}

Let’s make one thing clear; Dublin hadn’t meant to overdose. Not this time, at least. Sure, there had been plenty of occasions in the past, particularly in the months following the accident, that he considered it. There had been two instances where he actually tried. If it hadn’t been for his family finding him shaking in his room, delirious and so out of it that he didn’t even remember what happened, he wouldn’t be alive today. It hadn’t been enjoyable then, especially the rehab and the therapy, and now he was better. He didn’t want to die. Despite the fact that he really had little to live for, he had come so far already, so he might as well keep going. In retrospect, that probably wasn’t the best outlook on life, but it’s what kept him living, so fuck it.

No, Dublin hadn’t meant to overdose. Yes, he was sad. Yes, he was trying to drown the sorrow in prescriptions. Yes, it was a bad idea. But he would claim until the end that he had simply gotten a little too high, forgotten the last time he had taken his antidepressants, and took a few more than was probably good for him.  Actually, it was definitely not good for him, hence the overdose.

It took him a while to notice something was wrong.

First, the quickened pulse. He figured it was just an effect of the drugs, which of course it ended up being, but at a more severe level than he assumed.

The drowsiness and dry mouth was next, but those were also symptoms of being high, so it didn’t send any red flags for him.

It’s when he started vomiting that he knew something was off. He sat in his bathroom, heaving over the toilet. He felt like shit. God, he felt like shit. It’s like his health was a rollercoaster, and this was the drop. Dublin felt himself beginning to grow worse as the minutes flew by. His head pulsed, and his vision swam in and out. With shaking hands, he pulled his phone from his pocket, and it took him multiple attempts to put his password in and find the contact he was looking for. His panic was growing more and more, and his whole body felt on fire. A headache blared against his skull, his eye was twitching, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold a functioning thought.

When the phone finally stopped ringing and he heard a familiar voice on the other line, he nearly cried in relief. “Pres, I need help. I… please come quick, please..” He tried to keep the panic from his voice, but it was thinly veiled. His hands began to shake so bad that he dropped the phone, and it clattered across the tile floor. He’d said enough. Or, he hoped it was enough. Resting his head against the wall, the Guardian tried to control his breathing as he faded in and out of consciousness on the bathroom floor.

He knew what was happening now, and in a way, it calmed him down a bit. Death didn’t scare him. And if he happened to die today, then this was the way he always knew he would go.

For the oh-so bright and bustling beginning of Summer, it sure as hell was quiet in town. Preston glanced around the streets as he walked, the sound of his footsteps and the crisp rattles of his grocery bag echoing off the dimly-lit buildings and empty alley-ways. In a way it was unnerving, and he'd almost wished he'd brought his glaive along with him. It looked fucking stupid to carry it on hand for a grocery run of all things, but he'd quickly learned his lesson before. This quaint little town wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Perhaps it was even more fucking stupid that he'd grabbed his whisky instead, keeping it tucked away in his the pocket of his jacket.

He finally found signs up life up again, two of them to be precise. A couple of cute girls giggling just along the school border, Beata's steel gates standing high behind them. The young man thought himself lucky and made a reach for his flask when, as luck may have it, his phone went off in his pants. The bright look fell from his face as made his quick change of plans, pulling the cell out instead, his smile turning to a complete scowl once he saw who it was. What the hell did Dublin want? The last time they'd talked, they'd only pissed off each other (or the Autumn had pissed himself off) when he'd invited himself into his dorm and...

After letting it ring for a few, dragging seconds, he pulled it up to his ear. "What can I do you for?" Preston cooed into the line, not knowing what to expect.

It'd been a hell of a long time since he'd heard his brother so sick, so desperate. Immediately his blood ran cold. He knew exactly what had happened. "Dublin?!" He shouted into the speaker. No answer. "SHIT!" The phone went flying out of his hand, sent straight into the wall, his groceries dropped carelessly on the floor.

The Autumn took off into a sprint, breaks of lightning breaking out in a flash with not a single moment to spare. He knew he had a shit fucking ton of ground to cover, reaching a hand out and lashing out his power towards a single street lamp. In the blink of an eye, his feet were off the ground as propelled himself forward, towards another old post, ricocheting of the side of an old billboard. At some point he'd dented the hood of some poor fellow's car with a heavy step, but he hardly noticed then, not slowing down until his brother's apartments were in sight.

He paid no mind anyone new he passed, or cared if they saw him. The moment he found his way to Dublin's front door, the poor thing went flying open. Preston ran inside, his head whipping around. "Where the fuck are you?" He shouted, finding his way into the bedroom, and then the bathroom in turn...

And there his big bro sat, looking half-dead as it was, blood leaking down to his shirt. "What the fuck did you do?!" He leaned down beside him, just to make sure the fucker was still breathing.

He wasn't quite sure when he slipped into unconsciousness. He had been having a dream about travelling down the highway at night, looking over at the passenger seat and seeing a pair of bright green eyes. Or were they amber? Somehow he couldn't tell the difference. He slowly came back to himself, those strange eyes reflecting on the darkness of his eyelids before he blinked awake. It took Dublin a moment to realize someone was yelling, and it took him even longer for his vision to straighten out and to realize it was Preston. Ah. Right. He had called him. Why had he done that? He couldn't think, his mind felt like a warm blanket lay over his thoughts, and the thought of going back to sleep was tempting. But with Preston yelling in his ear, that probably wasn't an option.

He looked around and realized where he was. He tried to speak, but his mouth felt dry and gross. Instead, he weakly pointed up at the bathroom counter, where his antidepressants sat. He hadn't taken them all, he thought. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he wasn't so sure. Regardless, there had only been a few left in the bottle, so they shouldn't kill him or anything. Probably. He probably wouldn't die. Preston had nothing to worry about, and Dublin wanted to tell him that, but when he tried to speak, his words came out in more of a jumbled mess. Frowning, he gave up, letting his head drooped downwards. He noticed the blood and vomit on his shirt, and he frowned. No, no. That's no good. He attempted to take his shirt of, but his arms seemed to be disagreeing with him at the moment, and he got his head stuck in the shirt along the way. "Off, please?" His words were probably too slurred to make out, but as he struggled against the shirt weakly, the gist was probably received.

The Autumn let out the biggest sigh of relief, leaning back and glancing around the room as jumbled, slurred words fell out of his brother's mouth. They were too much of a mess to make out and he hadn't even bothered to try to listen. It doesn't matter what he had to say, it could all be heard later. This mother fucker was alive and that's all that was important at the moment. "You're so stupid," he hissed under his breath, wondering if he could even hear him at that point as it was.

Preston found his way to his feet, eyes lingering on the near empty prescription bottle before flinging open all the drawers and shuffling through. Combs, brushes, pastes, floss - absolutely nothing that was useful and not what he was looking for. He turned to the medicine cabinet, ignoring the reflection of him and his crumpled brother in the mirror and flinging it open. Mouth wash, shaving cream, a few more bottles of pills - Tylenol and shit. Finally, he found what he was looking for; small tube contained in plastic. He broke open the packaging and went back to Dublin, needle gleaming in his hand.

He stabbed the metal into his thigh with little hesitation, counter-meds pouring in. It wouldn't be enough to save him, but it would be enough to buy them time. "I should make you keep it on, you deserve it." The brown-haired boy muttered bitterly, seeing him struggling around to get the filthy shirt off him. Still, Pres helped him peel the fabric off, careful not to spread the blood and gunk around further, and grabbing Dublin by the shoulders - trying to raise him up. "Can you walk any or do I have to fucking carry you?" He groaned.

Everything was a blur to him right now, reality being dulled by the pain. First thing he felt was the needle jabbed into his leg, an eerily familiar feeling. It was almost sad how used to this he was, and he felt bad that Preston was so used to this as well. He really was the world's worst big brother. Probably why Preston hated him so much. Shit, maybe he needed to finish off those pills. With the counter-meds spreading through his system, everything grew a little clearer, the pain subsiding a bit. It wouldn't help forever, though, and he needed to get to the hospital. Shit. He hoped this didn't get him fired or fuck up his life. He hadn't had an overdose since high school. He'd finally built up a little bit of a normal life here, and now thanks to his stupidity, everything might come crashing down.

"I can walk." He reassured, voice hoarse, but coherent for the first time since Preston had arrived. He struggled to his feet, but his legs betrayed him and he fell back to the ground. He looked up at his brother as he was helped to his feet and smiled sadly. "Nevermind." God. He was pathetic. He should just stay there and die. Preston would probably be much better off without having to take care of a nineteen year old drug addict.

He wasn't exactly hopeful that walking was a valid option and wasn't surprised either when his brother went crumpling to the ground, catching Dublin by the arms again so he wouldn't fall back down and so something stupid again like to and hurt himself. He helped the young man lean against the wall, catching his own breath and mentally preparing for the long walk ahead. Shit, perhaps he could shorten it if he used his gift the same way he came - and hopefully not drop his sibling on his head or let him drag behind.

"Just fucking hold on," Preston grumbled, awkwardly leaning down and shrugging the taller boy onto his back. Once he'd managed to get him high enough and secure his arms in the right place, he walked out of the room, around the apartment and towards the front door. A few sparks traveled down the side of his cheek as he glanced back at Dublin. He might get stung up some, but he would try to avoid any serious bolts from reaching the druggie. "Throw up on me, I'll never forgive you." He warned blandly.

Ocean-like eyes staring forward again, leaping and letting his electricity turn him into a magnet once again, sending them ricocheting through the air and towards the school at a fast pace. It wasn't as if they had any time to spare.

Dublin did his best hold on to his brother, his head heavily drooping on his shoulder. What little help the counter medicine had done, it wouldn't be enough if they didn't get to the hospital. He could already feel himself drifting into unconsciousness yet again. Which very well could have been for the best, because he didn't trust himself not to puke on Preston again like he'd asked. Before he drifted off with the feeling of electricity raising the hair on his neck, he idly considered he might never wake up.

The thought led him peacefully into sleep.

-

He wasn't sure exactly whenever he woke up, but suddenly he was aware of the too bright white room he was in. The door was open, letting in sounds of nurses and visitors strolling around outside. There were flowers beside his bed. He had an IV on the back of his hand. It was nighttime, but he wasn't sure how long exactly he'd been out.

His first thought was that he was dreaming. He had been in this dream a thousand times, after all. He'd go through the accident and wake up in a hospital room only to find that he was still in the same nightmare, except that it wasn't just a nightmare. It was a memory.

But he wasn't there now. This was different. This was real. He felt too real.

And he felt fucking terrible.

God. This was the worst part. The after. They had washed out his stomach to get rid of whatever drugs had not already been absorbed into his bloodstream. He was on a completely empty stomach, exhausted, and no longer in a drug tinted haze, allowing him to fully think about what he had done for the first time.

He was so fucking stupid. The day's ordeal came rushing back to him, pulling a groan out of his lips as he dropped his head against the hard hospital pillows. It wasn't even on purpose this time, and yet this could likely do the most damage yet. His family had gone through enough shit already thanks to him, and now he was just putting them through it again. He'd been doing so good too. Well. Compared to how he'd been in the past, he was practically a saint these days. That being said, he could never truly escape his past. He could never really get better, and this was just further proof of that. Just one bad day and he was back to the start. He was going to get fired. Kicked out of his apartment. Disowned. Maybe arrested, he wouldn't have been surprised. He had ruined his life yet again.

He was still going over all the worst case scenarios in his head when he realized he wasn't alone in the room.

Preston hadn't left the room much ever since the two of them arrived. He couldn't leave as the nurses took his brother over, had to watch as they pumped his stomach, and had to stay by his side for the messy aftermath. Their parents were out of town, one sister out on her own vacation, and another too young to see their dope head brother passed out in bed. That left just Preston to look over him, waiting for the sleeping beauty to awaken again. He had hardly gotten any sleep himself. The Autumn hid away in the recovery room, not wanting to go out or go home, lest he run into her. He already had to deal with one junkie. He wasn't sure he could handle dealing with another then.

Those old, familiar feelings of pained resentment grabbed at him. He curled his fingers against the arm of his chair, nails digging into the wood. How selfish did you have to be, he thought, when you could only think of yourself doing stupid shit like this. Weren't you supposed to care about your family? Your friends? All the people who loved you? Did they matter at all? Or was it really just their own pity that ran through their minds when they swallowed those pills? He tried his best to keep a calm head, but it was easier said than done.

As he gave a thoughtful glance towards the window, he noticed Dublin finally stir. The young man let out a smile, relieved to see he hadn't quite kicked the bucket yet, but plainly pissed all the same. "Look who decided to rejoin the living..." He mused, pulling himself onto his feet and walking over to his bedside, hands shoved in his pocket. "How is your head?"

As soon as he realized he wasn't alone, and processed just who was with him, Dublin winced and looked down at his hands, eying the IV with more interest than necessary. Preston being there just served as a further reminder of what he had done and who exactly he was effecting. He couldn't recall exactly how many times Preston had been the one who found him passed out or two fucked up to function, how many times he had been the one to take care of Dublin's sorry ass. It wasn't really a surprise that Preston had as little to do with him as possible, but even then, he still ended up being the one who saved his life when he carelessly tried to throw it away. And despite all of that, Dublin hadn't done much to make up for being a piss poor big brother.

He couldn't meet Preston's eyes, instead choosing to examine the hospital room. Still, he chuckled slightly, devoid of humor and scratchy from hours without use, at Preston's question. "Great. I feel like a new man." Preston had seen him go through the aftermath of overdoses before, could probably guess the pain he was in. Still the aching headache didn't bother him as much as the real life consequences he had to face. He didn't see signs of the rest of his family, which was probably for the best, all things considered. He wasn't sure he was ready to face them yet. Maybe he could deal with the repercussions on his own. Maybe they didn't know yet, and if so, then they would never have to find out about what their dead beat son was up to now.

And then there was Charlotte. Fuck. There was Charlotte. He hadn't thought about her yet. Lately, she had been coming by more and more to see him. In fact, she was really the only person he'd spent time with at all in the last few weeks. Did he need to let her know about this? He really didn't want to, didn't want her to see how weak he was, how stupid and selfish he had been. He didn't want to talk to her. But nonetheless, she had a right to know, didn't she? "Do you have a phone I can borrow?" He scratched out hesitantly, still peering down at his limp hands.

Despite how little sleep he'd gotten all those hours since he'd found him, and despite the fact how utterly pissed and damned dejected he was by this whole bullshit, Preston couldn't help but crack the hint of a smile at his big brother's dumbass of a dry joke. Even after going through Hell and back again, more than once over, Dublin hadn't been lost on them yet; not wholey, anyways. The Autumn wasn't quite sure if he wanted to hug the bastard or punch him straight back out into the cold.

He blinked slowly at his question. A phone?" Preston raised an eyebrow. Of course he had a fucking phone. This wasn't the tenth century. The young man leaned back into the chair, reaching deep into his pocket and pulling out a thin, sleek device. "I already called the folks." He bounced the phone around in his grasp, looking it over thoughtfully before unlocking it with a simple swipe of his finger. Mom and Dad had both gone and left town, but he didn't suspect they'd be absent much longer after a mess like this. Again.

But if his bro needed it. Whatever. Pres pulled himself up onto his feet, holding it out where it was easy for him to reach it.

Dublin couldn't help but wince at the thought of Preston explaining everything to their parents. "Well. I'm sure they're as proud as always." He could already imagine their response. First shock- He did what?! Followed by anger, wondering, How could he do this to us again? and then finally sadness and defeat. He pictured his mother crying in his father's arms, both of them wondering what they did to deserve such a mess of a son, what they did to deserve to be in this situation again and again, wondering which phone call would signal the loss of their son. Still, the way Dublin saw it, it just wouldn't be fair for them to have six reasonably good kids- at least one of them had to be a total fuck up. They couldn't be too lucky.

After his parents, there was really only one other person who he dreaded seeing. (Aside from perhaps the Headmaster, who had the power to fire him and leave him on the streets. He was dreading that meeting too.) Still, he wanted to be open with her, and so he forced himself to type Charlotte's number into Preston's phone. He hesitated a second before calling, his finger frozen above the lit screen. Dublin had seen a wide variety of reactions to his current state before. When he had OD'd the first time, he'd still been in high school. He remembered coming back the next week to expressions of pity, curiosity, concern, disgust. His personal favorite was indifference. And although he felt like he had gotten to know Charlotte pretty well, he hadn't the slightest idea how she'd react. Still, he worked up the nerve to dial her number, raising the phone to his face and closing his eyes.

"Hey Charlotte, it's Dublin." He said as soon as she picked up, giving her little time to greet him herself. It would be best for his nerves to get this over with quickly. " I don't know if you were planning on coming over anytime soon, but I thought I'd let you know that I don't think I'll be home in a few days. I'm uh, at the hospital." With his free hand, he fidgeted with the scratchy bedsheets, before hastily adding, "I'm fine now, don't worry. Mostly. I just had an incident. No big deal really."

Off her phone hung a locket of a panda bear.

It was a Japanese character, a mascot of some show or sports team she had no idea about. Emery had given it to her, a souvenir from their family trip to Japan. It was before she had stopped talking, before her family became what it was then. Now they didn't communicate. She hadn't heard from her sister in months. The panda bear smiled, glued to a keychain dangling from her phone, just grinning, laughing, smiling...--

Her phone vibrated, a familiar jingle playing. The picture that appeared was that of Dublin, at night time, from the day they explored the town. Of course, who else would it be? It wasn't like she had any friends who called her anymore, any family who wasn't ignoring her or forbidden to speak to her. She swiped his icon, and pressed the device to her ear, brushing messy, unwashed bangs from her face.

"Hey, what's up--"

She paused, taking in what he was saying, perking up from where she was sprawled out on her couch. "Oh," she said lowly, and again a second time, louder, "Oh!" She swung her self around, putting her feet on the floor and standing. She immediately made a bee-line to her kitchen table, her coat slung over one of the two chairs, along with newspapers, magazines, and other junk mail. Her abrupt pull-out of the chair made this stack fall onto the floor. "I'll be right there," she said without his invitation, too frantic to barter for it. "You can tell me about it when I arrive."

And before he could say anything, she hung up the phone, shoving it in her pocket and pulling the coat over her shoulders, and further struggling with it as it came on upside-down.

Preston leaned back on his heels, crossing his arms and ease-dropping onto the conversation, not having any shit of an idea who the fuck his brother could have been talking to. Some chick named Charlotte. He was close to holding back a sniff, shaking his head. He'd never heard of that chick in his life. Typical though, he thought bitterly, that one of his first coherent thoughts would be to hit up whatever girl he was seeing.

No... Even right after it passed, he flinched at his own words. The first person Dublin had called was him. Even if it was to bail him out, it could have been anyone else, but still - that didn't make things any better. That wasn't an excuse to try and check out again and again, or be so damned stupid all the time. He clenched his fist, pressing down against the cost as he leaned over his brother, fire in his eyes.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?!" The younger Andrews snarled soon as the phone line was cut. "How long do you expect us to go through this shit? I can't just -" A lump seized his words, stuck in his throat. He shook his head, ignoring the sting behind his eyes. "I can't bail you out every time!" Even if he would try. He would always try. Every time. But what would happen when he couldn't answer the phone? If he was too far away? Or if he showed up too late? He felt sick to the brim just thinking of it. "Why the fuck...?"

After Dublin had finished his spiel, he listened to the sound of frantic movement on the other line as Charlotte prepared to leave. He sighed as the call ended, inwardly preparing for her reaction when she actually got here. Oh hey Charlotte, I know you already knew that I was a piece of shit, but now you know that I'm a piece of shit with a big drug problem. Even better, this isn't even the first time I've overdosed, I've actually done it twice already. Surprise!

His eyes were still closed, the phone still held loosely in his hand as Preston hovered over him. Dublin opened his eyes to find fire in his brother's green gaze, and he couldn't help but think about how familiar this all was. There was little he could do but listen, letting his younger siblings words was over him as he laid there. He knew that it was coming, but that didn't make his words hurt any less. Everything that Preston said was reasonable, it was all called for. It wasn't fair of him to continuously put his family through this, it wasn't fair of him to hurt them again and again.

There was a thick air of silence in the room, where Preston's words faded off, right before Dublin hesitantly replied, his voice soft as if not to break the tension. "I'm sorry, Pres." He tried to sound strong, to keep any hint of a tremble out of his voice. Still, he sounded miserable, and he hated it. "I know I fucked up, I know I keep on fucking up and it's not fair on any of you. Especially you. You shouldn't have to take care of me, for fuck's sake." He looked down at his hands, his next words just loud enough to hear. "I'm just... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." The this time was unspoken. "I really do want to be better."

He just didn't know how.

He wasn't sure how well Dublin's words were making him feel them. Shit, maybe it would have been better if his brother had shouted back, or argued, or fucking anything; then at least the Autumn would have had some excuse to blow some more steam off. The words stuck in his throat and Preston threw himself back, shaking his head. God damn fucking shit. He wasn't sure why the fuck he was even bothering to curse some sense through Dub's thick head, there was apparently no need. Great. Perfect. Wonderful. "You didn't mean to..." He repeated, a sick smirk on his face as he shook his head.

Pres ran his fingers through his hair, clenching the locks in his fist. It had been hard enough trying to talk some sense into her, but his brother, of all people, who even said himself that he damn well knew better... Fuck. Furious streaks of lightning snaked down him, a rare sight. It took him sometime to compose himself. By the time he turned back to face the elder, the warm tears were already clinging to his jaw. "The fuck do you want me to do then?" He muttered, his voice hoarse. "What do I need to fucking do?"