A/N: Hey there! So, I'm going to be straight with you: This is a damn shameless ripoff of those last few minutes of Saw, where we all bawl our eyes out… Only happier, fluffier and… (Drum roll) SLASHIER! Hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I do own a DVD of Saw, which I tend to snuggle up with like a security blanket, but the actual movie? No.
I Wouldn't Change A Thing
Adam feels nothing.
He remembers pain, so overwhelming, so empty and white and piercing that he didn't think it could possibly exist, he remembers his blood pouring out into a puddle beneath him, he remembers his head hitting the dirty tiles under him with a hollow bang, he remembers something smearing against his cheek, sticky and wet and cold, he doesn't know what it is and he doesn't want to know. But he feels nothing.
Feels nothing. Only remembers.
Right now, he's lying on the floor, unconscious, feels nothing, even though the memories are strong enough to seem more real than what is his reality right now.
More real than this brief second of bliss.
More real than the unconsciousness.
More real than Lawrence, who's still alive, only a few feet away from him.
"I'll fucking kill you!"
Tiny tears burn in Lawrence's eyes, everything burns, everything hurts, everything hurts so dreadfully bad that he, for the first time, wishes he was a kid again, for the first time longs back to the life where he could sit in his room, rich and lonely, either sent there because his grades weren't high enough or he'd walked there himself because he couldn't deal with those judgmental looks, couldn't deal with his father's icy tone when he said: You know, when I was your age, I would've given anything to have parents that…
Like he was supposed to be grateful.
Like he had one single fucking thing to be grateful for.
Just like now.
Just like now, when a fucking psycho has tried to make him appreciate his life.
Just like now, when Diana's screams are still ringing in his ears, when everything hurts and everything that's ever been good is outside, outside of this world of pain, coldness and rusty pipes, when the blood pounds in a agonized throbbing out from the wound in his foot.
Just like now, when that small part of Lawrence's brain that's still healthy, that small part that hasn't been infected with the cancer of insanity that spreads quickly in his body, thinks that if this is life, he wants it to end.
If life is knowing that his daughter is dead, seeing the only good person he's talked to in the past six hours laying lifeless on the floor,
(because of you)
he has nothing to be grateful for.
Zep avoids his fumbling hands and walks up to Adam. He looks skeptically at him, kicks him in the side, and for a second, a hot wave of rage rocks through the rising cold in Lawrence's body
(get the fuck away from him)
before Zep shakes his head, like he suddenly makes up his mind, and aims the gun towards Lawrence.
Now, the feelings are coming back to Adam.
That kick was disgusting, even in the unconsciousness, Adam felt secondary to a fucking psycho, it felt like that kick hit that pride that he clutches to so desperately. But he feels again.
And he hears.
"You're too late."
A foreign voice. Nasal and mean, like a little mosquito, that wakes up something other in Adam than the pain in his shoulder, the heavy drowsiness that's remarkably similar to the one he usually feels when he stays in bed until noon, something new and strange that's mixed with his anger, something that's stirred up from a deep place inside of him, the place where a lot of things he's pushed down a long time ago are hidden.
That feeling of wanting to protect someone.
The feeling that someone that he cares about, hell, someone who's his only friend, is in danger.
Lawrence's voice. The voice that once was so calm and safe, once was the only thing Adam could trust, and that's now is a terrified whisper, hoarse with insanity and thinned with fear.
"It's the rules."
That voice. When it's heard again, even more of that feeling is whipped up in Adam, something warm that's mixed with all the coldness, something that now makes Adam think, with new determination, that you won't lay a damn hand on him, you fucking asshole, something that makes him throw his arm out and grab the first thing it touches, which happens to be a leg.
Lawrence takes his hands down from his face when Adam grabs Zep's legs and drags him onto the floor.
He's actually not nearly as surprised as he should be. Even in his madness and his impulsion, even his obsession about saving his family, that had been like a heavy cloud in his mind, that doctor-side of him must've been able to control his movements enough to make him shoot at a place he knew wouldn't kill.
Adam pulls Zep down to the floor. He screams incoherently, and Lawrence doesn't see much of his face, but the small part he can tell is that Adam's eyes are squeezed shut until Zep is lying down in front of him.
Maybe he doesn't want to see that he really is the one doing things like this.
Adam reaches blindly for the gun in Zep's hands, and when a shot is heard, it takes Lawrence five whole seconds to realize that it didn't hit Adam, that Adam is alive and that Adam strikes. When Zep is beneath him, he strikes, first with a fist, but then, he grabs something next to him, something that appears to be a toilet lid, and he strikes, he doesn't see where and he doesn't care, he only strikes, once-twice-thrice, and that hollow, clear sound of porcelain against bone sings through the bathroom until it breaks with a dry cracking, and Lawrence is finally in front of Adam, grabs his wrist, pulls him down to his level.
Lawrence knows he has to keep himself together now. Knows that Adam needs it, since he really can't do it himself, since his own screams have turned into crying, dry, jagged sobs that force themselves past his lips as he clutches to his bleeding shoulder.
Lawrence knows. But he can't suppress those stubborn little tears that rise up and dribble down.
Because he feels such a terribly big sympathy for Adam when he puts a hand on his burning hot cheek.
It's not supposed to be this way.
Adam, you're young, you're handsome, and you shouldn't have to go through this.
You shouldn't walk around and hate your life, you shouldn't have to defend someone who's older and stronger than you, you shouldn't strike blindly with a toilet lids until you can't do it anymore.
I'm going to help you. You're going to move on. You're going to make it out of this.
Lawrence swallows. Okay.
Now, he's going to get a hold of himself.
Everything swims around in front of him, Adam's cheek is the only steady point in the entire world and he's cold, he's so damn cold, but he's going to get a hold of himself.
For God's sake, get a hold of yourself for Adam.
"You're going to be alright," Lawrence says.
The voice doesn't sound like his own at all.
"You're just wounded… Wounded in the shoulder…"
His hand is slipping on Adam's cheek.
"I have to go… And get help…"
He says 'go.' Even though he'll never be able to walk again. The irony.
"If I don't get help… I'm going to… Bleed to death…"
Adam nods, his sweaty forehead slides against Lawrence's, he tries to make it seem like he's okay with that, like he's going to be alright, like he'll survive without Lawrence, tries to maintain his pride before it falls apart and a childish plea escapes between his lips.
"Don't leave me!"
And he doesn't care. For the first time in forever, he doesn't care about those rare times when that constant thirst for love gets past his mask of anger. He doesn't care, because he's too desperate to care. Lawrence cannot leave him, must not leave him, must not leave him with two rotting corpses and disappear with the only soothing voice Adam's heard in this life, the life that's a bathroom, that's screams and anguish and sorrow, disappear with his cold hand on Adam's cheek, with his strong shoulder that's the only thing Adam can cling to, disappear with the only thing in the entire universe that's real and true, the thing that wells up in Adam's chest, big and warm, gets past his panic, overcomes his despair.
Because he loves that damn doctor.
It was just he who was too scared to realize it.
Lawrence's lips come together. They're twitching, and it takes Adam some time to see, through the fog of tears, that he's trying to smile.
"Adam," Lawrence says slowly, with desperation hanging like terrible Christmas decorations from every word he says, but Adam has never felt more comforted in his life. "I'll… Bring someone… Back…"
Adam nods again. His throat burns, blood is still pouring our of the hole in his shoulder in a still throbbing, but he wants to keep his head above the water.
"And… If I don't…" Lawrence continues and strokes his shaking thumb over Adam's cheek, "you… Still have to go on. You have to… Get out… Out of here… Without me…"
Now, Adam shakes his head. It feels like his brain ripples around in acid in there, and he doesn't even ask Lawrence how the hell it can show how he feels when he feels so many different things, because for some reason, it's completely obvious. Adam loves Lawrence, Lawrence loves Adam, that's how it's always going to be if they just make it out of here, and if they don't, at least they have to get it out right now.
"I can't," Adam whimpers, and Jesus Christ, the tears are just pouring, don't want to stop. "I can't do it without you, and you'll never make it out either, you can't even fucking walk! Stay with me! Please!"
What the hell is the matter with him? These aren't his words, he'd never say this to anyone, even if he met someone he actually could mean it to! These words are just as surreal as everything else, everything that's happened today is just a bad dream, it's like he's looking at it through a window, or a horrifying TV-show, in the same time as he feels the tiles, hard and cold beneath him, the pain in his shoulder, Lawrence's life that pounds out of him and out of Adam at the same time, clearer than he's ever felt anything before.
Lawrence makes another attempt to smile. And even though it really is a sweet gesture, since he should save all the powers he has to get out of here, Adam just wants him to stop it. It looks grotesque.
"Adam," Lawrence says lovingly, hoarsely and with a voice that sounds like it's from beyond the grave, but lovingly. "I can't… You know I can't… But… I'm going to get out… And I'm going to… Bring someone back."
"I love you."
"Love you, too."
Slurs a little. Not used to saying it.
Lawrence nods, too. And then, he scoots a little closer to Adam, cringes in pain and it tears Adam's heart into pieces, but then, Lawrence takes his face between his hands and kisses him, gently, like he's afraid he's going to pull back, but Adam, who's the only one of the two of them who can almost move normally, just spins Lawrence's shirt deeper into his sweaty fist, separates Lawrence's lips with his tongue, shakes and sobs and tastes the blood on the inside of Lawrence's cheeks, in the deep, hidden cavern of his mouth, closes his eyes when his misery actually disappears for a brief second when he, despite the pain, the sorrow and the morbid in kissing drenched in blood and right next to a dead body, just feels pure, genuine happiness, before Lawrence pulls back. Caresses Adam's cheeks with his thumbs. Still can't smile.
"I… I promise… To do my best… I promise…"
He sort of chokes the word out. Like it costs him his last powers. Before he nods, mostly to himself, and starts to crawl away.
Away from Adam.
And Adam immediately gets colder when he sees him fading away, feels the taste of blood that still rests on his tongue.
And Lawrence doesn't even turn around. Barely seems to hear him, sees only the door, the door to freedom or to even more suffering, he doesn't know which and he doesn't have time to find out, doesn't even have time to hesitate, time to brace himself for leaving Adam behind before he hears his name being called out with such a big desperation that he has to prop himself up on one of the pipes and turn around.
He knows he shouldn't.
This is hard enough as it is.
But Adam is there. Stretched out on the floor, so small and so thin, so defenseless and so awfully scared, so childishly hopeful when he asks the question he's wanted to ask all the while, the question he'll only believe the answer to if Lawrence says it, since Lawrence right now is the only thing that's true, the only thing that isn't a nightmare.
"We're going to be okay?"
Lawrence looks at him. Sees, for a moment, Adam, the real Adam, the Adam that's been hidden behind a gritted bitterness and venomous sarcasms.
Hand that slides over the rusty pipe.
He's only a child.
"I wouldn't lie to you."
He's only a child. That happens to be the most important thing in Lawrence's life right now. Because his own child is dead, his heart is broken and it'll never be mended, he screwed this up, because he'll never get his daughter back, never again.
He won't screw up with Adam.
He won't even check what effect his words have on Adam. He's only going to let go of the pipe he's holding, keep crawling out to the dark hallway, into the raw, cold air that devours him, crawl in a direction he doesn't know.
He's going to make it.
And he's going to think, for the first time in a very long time, that he might actually have something to be grateful for.
Hope I'm not a ranter… Ah, what the hell. I know at least some of you like me… Maybe. :) Please review!