Chapter Text
For Jon, morning couldn’t come soon enough.
Mike, on the other hand, was running around the house, getting everything sorted before heading to the hospital to pick him up.
Maybe he overdid it.
Mikey was the first to admit that the purchases were too much, but Jon's room barely has any clothes or bedding anyways. These will go to good use.
So yeah, he bought new pillows, many new blankets and multiple sets of pajamas and socks.
It could be classified as an extreme form of projection. He couldn't do anything for his baby brother this past week, but now he could wake up at the crack of dawn to buy a bunch of oversized clothes he believed could make him comfortable at home.
Was he panicking? Sure.
Part of him still didn’t know if he would handle things well without the help of the doctors and nurses.
Leaving home, he headed to the hospital.
[ ☁ ]
“Morning,” he arrived before visiting hours. Jon’s gonna be discharged today, there's no need for this limited-hours shit anymore.
“Hm,” Was the only answer he got.
“So…” Mikey set the backpack on the bed with stiff movements, unsure of himself. “Ready?”
Jon nodded, but couldn't meet Mikey's eyes, who did the same.
Yesterday's fight was still in both of the brother's minds. Neither wanted to bring it up and risk making things worse, but keeping it unresolved only kept the room's mood dicey.
“Let's get you changed, then?” Mike pulled the clothes from the bag, ready to dress Jon.
“I can do it myself.”
“Not all of it.”
None of it, actually. He couldn’t bend down or raise his arm, but there’s no way Mike’s gonna say that and risk another fight.
The teen huffs and pulls himself up to prove his point, suffering a great deal of pain in the process.
Mikey felt the sweat running down his back from the sheer effort it took to keep still while watching it.
That self restraint faded soon, though.
When he saw his baby brother try to remove his loose t-shirt, Mike jumped closer.
A stupid row wasn’t a reason for him to let Jonny do this to himself.
“Just let me,” he said, hands up. Pleading for peace
Jon dropped his arms as an answer and Mikey was grateful for it.
The process was slow. Any tiny movement pulled on the teen’s chest, forcing out pained breaths out of him.
During the swap, Mikey noticed that the bruises along his ribs were fading from purple to yellow. Not only that, he was also thinner.
The overdose stole a lot of good progress the brothers had made, even with Mikey bringing in Jon’s meals.
“Doing okay?”
“Fine.”
The routine exchange was what prompted Mikey to look at Jon’s face.
The kid never admitted to being unwell, so Mike always made eye contact to be sure he wasn’t hiding anything.
His habit of checking.
That’s why Mikey finally looked into his eyes.
Jon was stiff as a board and his eyes were… Red. Puffy.
No.
Not this, please.
“How did you spend the night?” He questions through the lump in his throat.
“Don’t start.” Jonathan noticed the look and change in tone.
“I’m not,” Mikey bit his lower lip. “Just asking.”
He would rather make peace before bringing up Jon’s issues, but Mikey couldn’t help it. Now that he noticed it, it needed to be addressed.
Hell, Should have done it way sooner.
“Jon…” He kept his head low, not looking at him, not pressuring him. “Did you sleep?”
“Yeah.”
Liar.
A week.
It’s been a week since the overdose. Since they stopped everything. Antidepressants, sleeping meds, mood stabilisers, all of it. He’s just on pain relief ever since they extubated him.
It was written all over his face and Mikey feels like a failure for not seeing it before.
He looked up only to see a tear running from Jonny’s face and drop on his lap.
This is bad.
Of course Jon’s mood is fucked.
Exhausted, crying, and not sleeping. They’re back to square one aren't they?
“Jon… yesterday-”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not having a go! Just- you’ve been off all the meds for a week. Anyone would be all over the place.”
“Shut up!”
“Look, if you’re feeling… agitated because the drugs were-”
“You don’t need to make up excuses for me, I know I’m fucking demented!” Jon’s face was with anger and shame. “I don’t even know why I was crying yesterday, alright? I wasn’t really mad at you.”
Mike’s chest aches at his brother's admission that he spent the night crying.
“You’re not demented,” He starts there.
“And I’m not making excuses. We both know that coming out of meds is brutal. Especially how it happened this time. That’s what I was saying yesterday. You’ve been dealing with a lot.”
“I don’t want to fight anymore, Mikey.” He’s upset. That’s the tiny whiny tone Jon uses when he’s tired.
He lowers his head, letting his hair fall forward and hide his eyes.
Everything is weighing down on him and Mike can see just how young Jon really is.
“Me either.” Don't push him, he thinks. A sleepless night can turn Jon into a bomb during bad times.
“We don’t have to talk about it now, but I want you to let me help. deal?”
He stared, waited for an agreement, but there wasn't one.
“Jonny, I’m sorry I didn’t see that you were going down. I was too focused on the ribs.” Jonathan lowers his head even further, running away from Mikey’s gaze as he speaks, “I should’ve noticed sooner you were withdrawing.”
“...s'not withdraw. I wasn’t taking them for that long.” Sniff.
“No, but you were on a high dose. You were feeling different, weren’t you?” He sat down next to his brother. “You were feeling better?”
Jon nodded and tried to say something, but a sob made him choke up and his hands covered his eyes again.
As if on autopilot, Mike held him close. His chin was over Jon’s head and his hands were running up and down his baby brother’s back.
“Don’t hold it in, okay? I’m here for you.” He kissed the crown of Jon’s head. “Let it all out, it’s good for you, yeah? We’ll figure it out. I’ll take you home and we’ll figure it out.”
“It won’t get better-”
“It will, it’s bad now because I fucked up, okay? I could’ve done more before it got this bad. Not just now with the meds. When I left Da’s too. I should’ve stayed close.”
“You did plenty. I just-” Jonathan shook his head against Mikey’s chest “... I’m so fucking useless.”
“You’re not useless.”
“I am. You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”
“Jonny, how many times do I have to tell you? You’re sick. Depression is a sickness. You're not at fault and I’m not gonna leave you like that.” His voice was incisive. “I’ll always take care of you when you can’t do it yourself.”
“You’ve been doing everything! Cooking, cleaning, dragging me places, sorting my meds.” He chokes on a sob he tried to suppress and squeezes his eyes shut as tight as he can. “That’s not your job.”
“So what do you want? Want me to leave you to starve and rot in bed again?”
“Yes!” His breath hitched again. “Trying to help me is a waste. You’re wasting your time and effort on someone who’s got no future.”
The words knocked Mikey out of his body. He took in a deep breath, trying to steady the wobble in his voice.
“Don’t-don’t say things like that, okay? You know these are the negative thoughts coming back, don’t you? We’ll get you back in therapy and proper prescriptions when you’re recovered-”
“It’s not your job to fix me, Mikey. You’ve got your own life. Your own bloody problems.”
“You’re my brother!” He pulled away, holding Jon by the shoulders while looking at him. “And you’re part of my life! Your depression is my problem as well. Isn’t the same. I don’t go through what you go through, but I - I can’t-”
It hurts.
How many times it’s been so close.
His words drifted, Jon’s eyes started filling up with tears once again and there was a long moment of silence before Mikey could speak again.
“It’s been hell, y’know?” He pulled Jon back into the embrace. “I can’t watch while you get worse. I can’t let it get to that. Again.”
Took some time, but the teen’s sobs died down and his tears dried up. When it was clear Jon was done, Mike pulled away one more time, seeking eye contact.
“I’m talking to the doctor later-”
“No.” Jon’s head snaps up.
“You need help-”
“I’m tired. I just want to go home.” Still with the weary, whiny tone, Jon chooses to look at his big brother's eyes for the first time today.
As much as he wants to do whatever the teen asks him to, he can’t pretend he didn’t hear the warning signs.
“Let’s do it like this. We’ll go home today, but you’re going back to therapy as soon as I find you a new psychologist. And I’m not letting you quit it again. No matter what.”
Jon nods, accepting the compromise. That’s the best they’ll get.
Deal done, the older brother stood up, going back to his task of changing Jon’s clothes so they could leave.
Mikey brings Jonathan’s hoodie and helps him into it, zipping it up before his brother could push him away.
He had just finished putting on the socks on Jon’s feet when he was called out for a moment. Sign the discharge papers, get the new drugs.
"Just need to go over the care instructions.” Said the nurse as they both walked out from the ward. A motherly-looking figure who seemed to have taken kind on Jon.
Mikey straightened up quick. “Yeah, fire away.”
The nurse gave Mikey all the medication instructions — lower doses, staggered — and he listened as if his life depended on it. Because it kind of did.
"He needs to breathe as deeply as he can without forcing it."
There was so much stuff. Meds, doses - of course - watch for chest infection, watch for breathing trouble, keep an eye on his ribs, no lifting, no smoking, no drinking, prop him up when he sleeps… Mikey nodded through all of it
“Lying flat will make it harder to breathe. Keep soft pillows behind his back to avoid pain in the ribs. If he wakes up short of breath, sit him upright right away.” She went on, stern.
“Right,” Mikey said, nodding. “I can do that.”
“He’s still got a bit of liver strain from the overdose, so don’t give him anything besides what's on the list. Not even paracetamol.”
When she was done, Mikey folded the instruction sheet and slid it into his jacket pocket.
He got back into the ward and as soon as he steps inside, he is amused at the sight of the nurses forcing Jonathan to sit on the wheelchair to be wheeled out.
Bet they were trained on how to deal with annoying teens because they get him to give up on the fight without too much effort.
They are smiling and cheering him on once he is settled. One brushes his hair out of his head and pinches his cheek. Mike staggers his walk just to watch Jon blush for a little longer.
After handling a bunch of blokes on the daily, he can't blame them for having softened at the quiet teen they had been given charge of.
Mikey takes over, pushing Jon towards the exit, lump in his throat at all the complications the head nurse warned about.
“And if anything seems off, we'll come straight back, yeah?” He warned his younger brother.
"Whatever."
Mikey continued to push Jon's wheelchair as they passed through the sliding, glass doors. Walking to the spot where he left the car.
“You alright?” Mikey put a hand on his shoulder once they arrived.
Jon tried to get up, but winced at the ache caused by using his arms to push against the armrests.
“Yeah,” He sagged back and pressed a hand to his chest, waiting for the pain to ease.
After giving him a moment to recover, Mikey pulled him up and helped him into the passenger seat, making sure to buckle him up before he got behind the steering wheel.
"Finally free, huh? We should probably do something cool at home to celebrate. Want to watch a movie?" Mike beamed at Jon's smile the moment they crossed the hospital's gate and got into the main road. As uneasy as he was, this was a big event.
“Maybe play some games? Flat’s too quiet without you. Not that it was loud before.”
“Bet it’s a lot cleaner.” The teen huffed out a chuckle and let his forehead rest against the cool glass.
“Yeah. Not the same though.” Shrugg. “And... I want you home with me.”
“I know.” Jon closed his eyes and let out a quick breath. “I’m sorry about what I said yesterday.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“And I think… Just- maybe one day, things can feel… normal.”
It was only a mumble. Maybe he didn't even mean it, but now it was Mikey’s turn to cry. His eyes filled. He tried to smile, but his chin trembled and he tried to focus on the drive.
“Hey,” Jon slapped his arm once he glanced to the side and saw Mikey's change. “You’re not supposed to cry. That’s my thing.”
“Fuck off.”
They didn't get too far before the teen fell asleep. Fair enough. He knew Jon was tired after all.
Mikey kept glancing to the side and easing off the accelerator whenever Jon’s breath hitched all the way home. At the garage, he parked as smoothly as possible, fearing harsh brakes could make Jon fold forwards and risk more pain.
He got his brother awake before leaving the car, coming round to the passenger side and opening the door. “Alright, easy,” he crouched. “You ready?”
Mikey got an arm around him, steering him toward the house as gently as he could.
“We’ll get you on the couch. Blankets. Water bottle for your chest, yeah?”
The younger man probably wouldn’t enjoy this much manhandling and tender support, but he was groggy enough from the nap that he didn’t fully realize what was happening.
Inside, Jon was helped to the sofa. Mike lowered him down as softly as he could, again trying to keep it as painless as humanly possible.
“Fuck,” Jon leaned back, face drawn tight with the growing soreness. Despite his brother’s best efforts, there was no way to eradicate all pain. Especially when bending.
He was stiff as a board, avoiding any movement of his torso and pulling in shallow breaths.
“I know,” Mikey crouched to untie his shoes and get him comfortable. “Don’t move for a while, yeah?”
Of course he didn't obey. Mikey rolled his eyes as he watched Jonathan immediately bury his face in the cushions. All he does is sigh and throw a blanket over him before sitting on the edge of the coffee table.
He too needed a second to breathe after the sight.
His baby brother. Sank down on the sofa. In the same spot he was found collapsed days earlier.
He stared at it a second too long, only pulled out from the memory when he heard Jon's muffled questioning if they’ll have to change doctors.
“Already sorting it.”
“Good…” Jonathan paused. “Think I can still take the anxiety one?”
"Not before the doctor's appointment," even if Mike was crazy enough to give him any of those pills again, he couldn't. Had flushed all of them days ago. "If you're feeling anxious now... We’ll figure it out. I have some numbers to call if things get bad. Just need you to talk to me, okay?”
At Jon's small nod, Mikey pulled the blanket higher over him and adjusted the pillows to keep him propped up, remembering the nurse’s instructions.
He looks down, holds the pill bag and the new dosage sheet tightly, reading it again and again. If the pain is bad, he's allowed half a tablet from the prescription. No more.
“Be honest-”
“Hurts like hell.”
The honesty – though he asked for it – was surprising, but he was thankful nonetheless.
He held his breath as he got water and split the pill before handing it to Jon, who winced at the slight movement of throwing his head back to gulp it down.
Gingerly, he turns to his side and, still shaky, Mike sits next to him and rubs slow circles on his back when he groans.
He can see his baby brother's eyes wanting to stay closed, so he moves to help him sleep.
He pulls the curtains partially closed, dimming the room, then turns the tv on, but with a low volume.
For whatever reason, random noises usually helped Jonny calm down and sleep. Especially stupid comedy shows.
Once it was all done, Mike lowered himself on the chair next to Jon’s already sleeping form, planning to make sure the hurt teen wouldn’t have any trouble during the nap.
...
He doesn't know when he fell asleep.
Only that he woke up.
Heart pounding.
Should have stayed awake.
Anything could have happened.
‘Where's Jon?’ is the first thing he thinks about.
Sure something’s happened again, he stumbles from the chair to the sofa.
He can't see a damn thing, so he pats around, finds the couch, feels his little brother's thin body underneath his hands, but it doesn't bring him peace.
Can't tell if Jon's breathing.
If his heart's beating.
Almost crawling, Mike moves and pulls the curtains open.
Jon's eyes are closed. He's not propped up anymore and the blanket is tangled at his feet.
Instructions-
He should be propped up.
If he isn’t, he’ll have trouble breathing.
Mike, panicked, yanks him up.
Bad idea.
The teen's eyes shot open and he let out a throaty yelp. His face was instantly contorted and sweat poured out of his body as he started to huff noisily, breathless.
If it was possible, Mikey's face went even paler at the realization. Jon's strained voice and desperate moans forcing him fully scared and twice as worried.
"Shit shit shit-" He grimaced at what he caused. "Sorry, so sorry, Jonny."
Jon kept his hands suspended in the air, but didn’t touch his own chest. Only hovering near and frantically opening and closing his fingers.
He didn’t know what to do to make this grinding in his chest go away.
Mike didn’t know either.
No more meds allowed.
He took a pillow and pressed it against his brother’s chest, remembering the nurse’s instructions. Jon hugged it, but it was of no help. Desperate, he put his hands on each side of his brother's face, mutterin and breathing so fast even he couldn't understand himself anymore.
It took them a while to calm down.
Both of them.
By the time Mikey had started to recover his breath, both brothers were weak and drenched in sweat. Jonathan from the pain and Mikey from having caused it.
Jon let his head fall back, though he didn't muster the energy to raise his arm and wipe away the tears that escaped.
"'m really, really sorry, Jonny." Mike panted out.
"F-fff-"
Mikey's whole body shivers as Jon tries to talk.
"Fu-fuck-" his eyes are squeezed shut. "Fuck was th-that?"
"I'm so sorry, I- I got worried and-"
"Ah! D-decided to f-fucking kill m-me?"
Mike's eyes welled up, but he paid it no mind. He continued to apologise until the jolts of pain stopped running through Jon's chest.
It took almost a full hour for the awful ache to be over. Even the tiny spasms and general throb had ebbed for good. As long as Jon didn't move, his chest didn't burn anymore.
Jonathan hands his brother the ice pack he'd been hugging for the last twenty minutes and avoids his guilty gaze, preferring to stare at the Chuckle brothers scene on the telly.
"We should change your clothes-"
"I need a moment."
"Sure, sure." Mikey lowers his head, fidgeting with the ice pack.
"Relax, will you?" Jon rolls his eyes in lieu of shrugging. "It's over."
The older brother sits down next to him and covers his face with both hands.
“The overdose…”
"It's done. I’m better already. You don't have to fret so much."
“You don’t get it, Jonny,” Mikey’s voice is strained and heavy, still shaken after having thought he would find Jon collapsed on the sofa again.
“That- I came home that night and – Jesus – I thought you were gone. You were blue, cold, and I stood there for a second thinking, that’s it. My baby brother’s dead.”
“Better luck next-” Jon cut himself off after getting a nasty glare.
“Every time I close my eyes, I see it again. You, on the couch. Not moving or reacting. I can’t stop seeing it.”
Mike sighs, wondering if he should be giving out so much information about that night.
“And then I put you in the car and... When you had the seizure… I thought I was gonna lose you. Right there. In the fucking car.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat.
"In the middle of the road."
He closes his eyes.
"On Camille's arms."
Jon turns to look at him, but doesn’t say anything.
"Wanna watch a show?" He nudges Mikey, who looks up at Jon's deflect.
Right. If he doesn't want to talk about it, Mike's not gonna force it. Therapists always tell him to not push touchy subjects if he can help it.
They watch TV in silence for a while. Jonathan falls asleep again. Leaning against Mikey’s side this time.
Mikey stays there, unmoving, one hand resting lightly on his brother’s chest.
Feeling it moving up and down. Relieved, despite the clicking sensation underneath his fingertips. Bone grinding against bone.
Steady and alive.
[ ☁ ]
Jonathan stares out the window. Bleary-eyed as Mikey’s in the kitchen, making toast, anxious to head back to the living room.
The few steps he took away from Jon were a whole marathon. He didn’t want to leave him out of sight.
Mikey is hyper-vigilant. He knows it. Every pause, long nap, sigh or deep breath-
He’s scared to leave Jonathan alone.
Even for a few minutes.
At the start, he gave himself a pass. When he first noticed, it had been just a couple of days since Jonny's been out of the hospital, but now…
“Camille’s coming by. You good with that?” He yells over his shoulder, mostly because he needs to hear Jon talk.
If he’s talking he’s awake. Definitely alive.
"Sure, whatever."
“You want a cuppa?” Mike offers as he heads inside the living room.
“No.”
“Yeah, I made some already,” He puts the mug in front of Jon, who’s looking more awake already. Good.
He’s been recovering. Mike can see it.
“Ugh,” Jonny takes a sip. “It’s terrible.”
“It isn’t.” He sits on the couch and pulls his brother’s covers higher over him. “You’re too picky.”
Jonathan pushes the covers back to where they were, rolling his eyes at Mikey.
“Whose clothes are these anyways? You stole someone’s laundry?” He asked, having noticed the strange bedsheets, pajamas, covers, socks and t-shirts he was surrounded by.
Mike had been dressing him in a whole different wardrobe and Jon hadn’t been bothered to ask before.
“Yours.” Mike took one toast and handed Jon the rest of the plate.
“No they’re not.”
“Yeah, they are, I bought them for you.”
“...” Jon looked at him like he was crazy.
“What?”
“You bought all of those?” He took a quick look around the room, eyebrows raised. “All of them?”
“Yes, I did.” Mike pointed at the plate, urging Jonathan to eat his damn breakfast.
“Why?” The teen was perplexed.
“What do you mean 'why?'”
“Why would you buy all of this? I already had clothes.”
“You barely had anything to wear and you deserve to be comfortable.”
“I could be comfortable in me old pajamas.”
“Bet you could, but I’m not gonna return them now, am I? Might as well enjoy the luxury your cool brother can provide, yeah?”
Jonathan sighed and Mikey handed him his pills, giving him the cuppa from before for him to swallow them with.
He took them all, grimacing at the taste of the horrible drink his brother made.
“Wanna pick a film?” Mike offered, pulling a pillow so Jon would be sitting slightly higher.
“Not really.”
He nodded at the teen’s answer and took another bite of his toast, once again pointing at the plate, a gesture that went completely ignored.
“I don’t mean to be hard to live with.” Jon’s tiny voice said as the show went to commercials.
"You’re not, alright? Not more than any other moody teenager. It’s okay to need help. Especially from me."
Jon sniffed and nodded, but probably didn’t believe a single word.
“D’you still hate it?” Mikey questioned. “Living with me?”
“Never said I hated it.”
He doesn’t hate it. That felt actually good to hear. The backhanded comment pulled a chuckle out of him.
“We’ve had some good times, haven’t we?”
Jon shifted, ignoring the lingering sting in his ribs, and reached for Mikey’s sleeve. “I like being with you. I really do.”
“I like that you’re living with me. No matter what.” He encouraged. His baby brother was never one for emotional-talk, so he tried to make the most of it when those rare moments happened.
Jon nodded. “It’s been hard, though. For you.”
“Kinda,” Mikey admitted. “Work’s a pain. Money’s tight. But I don’t regret it. I’d rather you be near and safe on my watch than… than what almost happened.”
Thinking back to the moment he heard Jon tried to kill himself, Mike’s breath hitched.
It’s been a long time and the teen is fully recovered, but the older brother still has trouble saying the words. First time he ever got them out was talking to Camille that night.
“And I know I should’ve listened about the pills,” his voice cracked.
Between the suicide months before and the overdose, it's two times already his fuck ups made Jon almost die.
“Mikey-”
“I could see you weren’t doing good. You were pale, shaking all day, couldn’t keep your eyes open... I just thought that’s how they worked, that it would get better.” He pressed his hands against his head “I nearly killed you.”
“You were just doing your best.”
Mikey let out a shaky laugh. Jon's excusing his behaviour just like he does Da's. “My best nearly got you a coffin.”
“Yeah, well,” Jon’s lips moved up. “Would’ve saved you rent.”
Mikey laughed, but it didn’t take long before it turned into a sob. He leaned forward, pulling Jon into a careful hug. As close as he could get to him while still being mindful of the ribs.
Jon leaned into the touch and buried his face on his big brother’s shoulder. “Thanks for letting me stay, Mike.” Came out the muffled words, followed by a sniffle.
“Don’t thank me,” Mikey said. “It’s what brothers do.”
Mikey wiped his tears and they pulled from the hug. “And I’d do anything to help you. You know that, don’t you?”
Jon nodded and picked up the cuppa. “Throw this away somewhere?”
[ ☁ ]