Hank's Song
by Maureen

Disclaimers: Song and lyrics by Blink-182, characters owned by Disney and I own...um...*thinks*...I think I own my computer. I could be wrong though. Anyways, I have no money so don't sue me, I'm not making any.

This is a song fic, for those of you not used to mine, they tend to be very serious and require a modicum of maturity. If you feel you cannot or should not read this, please, find another fic to read and I will not be offended.


Hank sat in the dimly lit bathroom staring at his arm. It was black. That was no surprise, he was black after all. Not cocoa, or Hershey's chocolate or even a pale tan, but black. But it was a nice arm, a good arm. Well muscled from the football team and being an EMT. So now why did he want to cut it open?

I never thought I'd die alone
I laughed the loudest who'd have known?
I traced the cord back to the wall
No wonder it was never plugged in at all

The arm grabbed the knife sitting on the counter. It wasn't him. He wasn't doing it. It was the arm. It had a mind of its own. As long as he wasn't in control, as long as he didn't think, everything would be all right. It was just a dream.

I took my time, I hurried up
The choice was mine I didn't think enough
I'm too depressed to go on
You'll be sorry when I'm gone

He did what they told him. 'They' being the infamous 'powers that be'. Parents. Teachers. Bosses at jobs. Do well in school; be successful in school for college. If you are triumphant now you will be so forever. Be athletic. Have a good job. He did it all.

I never conquered, rarely came
16 just held such better days
Days when I still felt alive
We couldn't wait to get outside

Yet it left him unfulfilled. Empty like the infamous glass of water. Not half full or half empty but completely drained in one gulp. The pressure was too much, school, football, work. Individually he enjoyed all three, it was the combination that was killing him slowly.

The world was wide, too late to try
The tour was over I'd survived
I couldn't wait til I got home
To pass the time in my room alone

The arm twitched, holding the handle to the knife. Hank looked down at it slowly, trying to decide if it was his arm that was really holding the weapon or someone else's. It looked like his arm, it felt like his arm, but he couldn't be holding it. He was Henry Beecham Jr, he did not hold knives like this. Especially not large butcher knives from the kitchen.

I never thought I'd die alone
Another six months I'll be unknown
Give all my things to all my friends
You'll never set foot in my room again

He'd seen the bleacher junkies often at school. Including the one girl that would cut herself. In the summer she'd walk around in short sleeves, the red scars on her arms showing prominently. She scared him until he found out she was getting help. He wasn't like that. He didn't cut himself, he was sane. Normal.

You'll close it off, board it up
Remember the time I spilled the cup
Of apple juice in the hall
Please tell mom this is not her fault

Last year a girl in his English class died. She drove drunk and hit a tree. Hank hadn't been on call that night, but he remembered everyone's reaction, the shock. Not at Kingsport, not to them. The mute astonishment and vacant eyes of the students, her closest friends absent for the week. It had forced many to grow up.

I never conquered, rarely came
But tomorrow holds such better days
Days when I can still feel alive
When I can't wait to get outside

Living in the shadow of great men was not a way to live. It caused the person ulcers. Well, that wasn't what the doctor had said caused his ulcer, he claimed it was stress, but Hank didn't believe that completely. The stress from living up to the expectations of his parents, and Alex and being the head of their EMS squad, and of course the football hero he pretended to be.

The world is wide, the time goes by
The tour is over, I've survived
I can't wait til I get home
To pass the time in my room alone

Without warning the knife slashes down and then up the length of his arm, tearing flesh. Blood immediately pools up, filling the gash and spilling over. After only a few minutes Hank begins to feel sleepy. With a sigh, he closes his eyes.

A/N: time for my little factoids. These are brought to you courtesy of the American Association of Suicidology (yes, this is the word!) and the letters H and B. 18.6% of males attempt suicide/ and 4.4% of females. Of those that attempt it 18.5% are teenage males and 3.3% are teenage females. 5.7% of people that attempt it are black and 8.6% of these are teenagers. 12.4% of white people attempt it and 11.6% of this are teens. The 9th leading cause of death is suicide. These are all from 1998 and can be found at the website www.suicidology.org. If you suspect someone you love may try to commit suicide, please, get them help, a list of national crisis centers can be found on this website.