AN: Some pretty strong language in this chapter, also mentions of cutting, detailed gory-ness and attempted suicide. If you are a self-injurer, DO NOT READ- this will be extremely triggering!!

She’s wearing my sweatshirt over her hospital gown, and her hands are hidden inside the frayed blue sleeves. Mom was wondering where that went when she was doing laundry the other day…

We’re pulling up chairs and everyone settles into their normal places, as if this were just another day hanging out in Claire’s house. Allison against the headboard, Claire against the end of the bed. John sitting backwards on the desk chair between Claire and Allie, with Brian sitting in the armchair by the window, and me on the beanbag by Claire’s water-bed, only now they’re a sterilized chair and a remote controlled bed.

Nobody speaks for a minute, but then there’s rustling and it’s Allie ripping the IV out of her wrist, and quickly pulling down the sweatshirt sleeve, but not before we all catch a glimpse of blood-soaked gauze-covered stitches.

Why did she do this? We shouldn’t be sitting here in this overly clean hospital, we should be eating homemade special brownies in Brian’s basement, stoned out of our minds.

“Reynolds,” Bender growls, and she grins into her lap with the familiarity of it, because that’s how he greets her every time he sees her; that and a quick, one-armed hug, although he doesn’t reach across the sheets for her, but she knows he would if he could. Because that’s how he treats her and sees her, as a little sister but at the same time as a mother because she looks out for him. And damn, what got me into all this psycho-analyzing?

“Allison,” Brian mumbles quietly, and we all pay attention because he used her full name so this means this is some serious shit, “why?”

And it’s those two simple words that make tears slide down her cheeks and I grab one of her hands and Claire grabs the other one, because we’re afraid she’ll do something to herself if we let her go; even though there aren’t any sharp objects within sight. (Wise move on the hospital’s part, her eyes search the room for anything to use.)

“Because I don’t deserve you guys,” she whispers miserably, her voice croaky. She pulls her hands away from us, “because no one should have to put up with me- I shouldn’t be here anyways.” Pity, and something else- anger? Boil in the pit of my stomach.

“That’s bullshit, Allie. Bull shit,” John spits, and she looks up in surprise at his harsh words. “We love you. We all fucking love you- would we be sitting her right now if we didn’t? I know both Andy and I would fucking die for you- and I’m sure Claire and Brian would do the same.” They both nod feverishly and more tears slide down Allie’s cheeks and she lets out a small sob.

AN: I lied, I’m stopping there because it’s three in the morning and I need some sleep. I’ll post this now because I know you want to know what’s happening, and I’ll post Part 2 of Andy’s thoughts later today, when I’ve had some sleep! :)