Take This Pain And Give It A Name, Prologue
Posted to AO3
Prologue
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Summary: George breaks his shoulder. Matty looks after him. It gets complicated.
Warnings: None.
Words: 1.5k
THUMP.
The jolt of the tour bus as it lurched over a pothole in the road startled Matty awake, his heart pounding erratically in his chest. Starting up at the darkness of his bunk he sighed and ran a hand over his face. A wave of pure exhaustion fell over him. Without glancing at his phone, he knew by some internal clock that it had to be mid-morning, and he’d only slept for a few hours. He rolled over, huffing, and curled tightly into his duvet.
The bus shuddered noisily again. A low, muffled groan floated up from the bunk below, capturing his attention:
George.
Bleary-eyed and yawning, Matty pulled himself out of his bunk, stumbling a little as his feet touched the floor. He could faintly hear Ross and Adam talking in the front lounge over the thrum of the bus. In the semidarkness, he noticed that all of the bunks were empty apart from George’s, which still had the blackout curtain drawn. Matty hesitated. Though their friendship was defined by a startling lack of boundaries, the four of them were normally respectful of each other’s privacy whilst in their actual beds; in no uncertain terms, a closed curtain means do not disturb. But the events of the past night were playing on his mind. That sound… he’d never heard another person make a sound like that… and the look on his face—
Another soft groan filled the room. Fuck it. He carefully peeled the curtain to George’s bunk open, peering inside.
George’s face was twisted in pain. He was asleep, but restless, his breath coming in short, shallow pants. A light sheen of sweat coated his skin, making the ink on his body stand out starkly. The blankets were tangled around his legs, revealing the black sling that strapped his right arm tight to his bare chest, courtesy of the Kansas City A&E.
“George?” Matty whispered.
George whimpered. His eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t wake. Matty gingerly placed a hand on his upper arm.
George flinched hard, jerking his head from the pillow to meet Matty’s eyes as he was ripped from sleep. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his broken shoulder, and he gasped despite himself. Matty’s chest tightened as he registered the startled look of panic etched on his best friend’s face.
“Sorry! M'sorry,” he murmured fretfully, soothing his hand along George’s arm. “It's okay... just think you need more meds. Have you taken anything since we got back?”
George blinked, looking momentarily confused. He laid back against the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut against the onslaught of pain radiating from his shoulder. After a moment, he gave a tight shake of his head, as if he didn't trust himself to speak. He'd never seemed so small.
“Right, I’ve got it. Hold on.”
Perching on the edge of the bed, Matty carefully reached over George to retrieve the little orange container of pills that had sat untouched on the shelf since they’d returned from the hospital earlier that morning. With his good arm, George fished around the bed until he found a water bottle. He necked the two pills Matty offered and fell back against the pillow once more, staring at the ceiling with an unsettling intensity.
The bus shook. George’s whole body tensed. He made a strange choking sound as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.
“Fuck, why did you wait so long?” Matty admonished, sliding his hands through his hair. He instantly regretted how harsh the words sounded. He was still rattled by George’s accident, much more than he cared to admit. George wouldn’t meet his gaze, but his eyes were glassy in the dark. When Matty leaned in to place a hand on his cheek, he could feel the tension held in his jaw.
All at once, George’s face crumpled.
“Geor—” Matty stuttered, alarmed, “shhhhh… it’s alright… it’s alright. I know.” George squeezed his eyes shut, his breath coming in shaky little gasps, tears falling in earnest. Matty’s thumbs swiped the gathering drops away, his heart aching: “I know it hurts, love. The pills will start to kick in soon, I promise.” There was an edge of fear to his own voice that he tried and failed to suppress.
George shook his head, swallowing hard around a lump in his throat: “S'not that,” he said wetly. His voice was strained. “I can’t play. I can’t play for weeks. The tour— I can't believe… how could I have—”
“Stop that,” Matty interrupted. “We’ve already got it sorted. Freddy's told me he’ll rehearse all day if that’s what it takes. We’re not canceling." George let out a sob from deep within his chest, and hid his face in the crook of his elbow. “And it’s not your fault, alright? It was an accident. No one blames you for anything,” he insisted.
As soon as George had regained consciousness after tripping out of the bus, all he did was apologize. He’d been disoriented, entirely incapacitated by pain, strapped down to a stretcher and placed in a cervical collar by paramedics, and still, all he could talk about was how devastated he was that he’d ruined the tour. Matty rode in the ambulance, stayed by his side when they arrived at the A&E, and spent all of it trying to console George, which was increasingly difficult as he became less coherent and more emotional once the IV narcotics took effect.
To Matty’s annoyance, George didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned for himself, even when they were told that his x-rays needed to be reviewed by the orthopedic surgeon. No matter how many times Matty reassured him not to worry, that they would sort everything out, George persistently rambled on about canceled shows and lost money and disappointed fans. Eventually, after hours of listening to George slur pitifully, Matty had finally snapped: “Shut the fuck up already, would you?”
In retrospect, it wasn’t his finest moment. Jamie had given him a withering look from across the room; he was up to his eyes in paperwork, and was trying to juggle phone calls with Freddy, Ross and Adam, and George’s parents. George went quiet. Guiltily, Matty wondered whether he should have let Ross or Adam come instead— God help him, he couldn’t get the visual of George sprawled on the concrete out of his fucking head.
But George reached for his hand then and squeezed, somehow still offering comfort to Matty, even in his injured state. It was a simple gesture, but the familiar tactility was grounding while they waited for more information.
Some time later, the doctor returned and confirmed that surgery would not be necessary. Matty’s heart broke for George when she told them that he would be in a sling for a minimum of three weeks, and wouldn’t make a full recovery for at least eight. They were discharged in the early morning with a script for dilaudid and strict instructions for rest and immobilization.
“Listen to me,” Matty pleaded, pulled from the memory by the sound of George’s quiet sniffling, “all you need to worry about right now is yourself, yeah?”
George lowered his eyes and nodded. He wiped his wet face with the back of his hand, sighing with the bone-deep weariness of a man twice his age: “The set list—”
“It’ll stay the same.”
“And Freddy’s going to play back-to-back? That’s what, three hours? Four?”
“He says he’s good for it. You know he’s sound.”
“I know.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment as George’s breathing settled. Matty had never felt so useless.
“What can I do?” he asked gently. George’s eyes were heavy; he seemed to be fighting to stay awake. Distantly, Matty realized that the painkillers were taking effect.
“I... think I might fall asleep,” George murmured.
Matty smiled wryly and pulled the blankets up, careful not to jostle George’s immobilized arm: “Yeah man, get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
George hummed softly as Matty tucked him in, giving in to the sedation of the narcotics. Matty held vigil at the side of the bed, watching the tension bleed from George's body until his breathing slowed and he started to snore. With a sudden burst of tenderness, he found himself sort of struck by how young George looked, bundled up like that.
His face fell as his thoughts drifted. Matty couldn’t help but feel that his world had somehow been inexplicably altered. Throughout their decade of friendship, George had always been this rock for Matty, a steady, reliable presence. When he was a teenager and his family fell apart with his parent’s divorce, George was a lifeline to cling to. When he partied too hard and took things too far, George was always there to clean him up and dust him off. He was grounded, steadfast, and strong, and Matty had never before considered that George wasn’t invincible.
He’d always believed that meeting George was the single most pivotal moment of his life— it had changed everything. The mere thought of losing him made Matty sick with nausea. He flicked his eyes back to George’s sleeping form, as if to reassure himself that he was still there. Still safe.
By the time he got up and made his way out of the bunk hall, he was besieged by a swirling mix of conflicting emotions. Beneath it all, there was a hint of something else that he purposely tried not to linger on.
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i sketched a boscage maze shadow to complete my set. this version of shadow takes several... creative liberties... with boscage maze, but i think it works? maybe? let me explain.
so, i like the idea that boscage maze is the result of a science experiment catastrophe. the fallout of the accident mutated all life on earth, creating mega fauna (such as thorn rose’s giant flicky), and killer plants. i’m talking humongous venus flytraps that capture and consume people, vines with minds of their own, etc. obviously, this made earth extremely hostile to regular humans... so they left.
the survivors of the catastrophe boarded the ark and left for space. they had plans to return-- but at the current time, it was simply too dangerous to do so. and they needed to make something that would be able to combat the violent mega fauna. enter... shadow. aka halcyon, as he’s called in this au. halcyon has the ability to drain shard energy, thus un-mutating the corrupted plants and animals, and returning them to their natural state.
unfortunately, the people on the ark thought that the world was still too dangerous for him to return to shortly after his creation, so they put him on ice, waiting for a better time to start their restoration project. before that, though, halcyon grew up hearing all kinds of stories about the way earth used to be... a beautiful paradise, a safe haven in a vast, uncaring universe. his best friend on the ark, maria, also instilled in him one wish: save earth. so that’s what he intends to do.
his bitter enemy is thorn rose, whose goal is to protect the horrible mega fauna. but she just doesn’t understand the harm it’s doing to what was once a peaceful planet. and how could she? she never knew what it used to be.
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