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Russel isn’t overly fond of his newfound bandmates. He likes being in a band, he likes what scraps of music they’ve already put together, but the they in question, he’s not too sure about.
There’s Murdoc, who is an odd shade of green and not extraordinarily good at base, who is rough around the edges and loves to make crude, inappropriate jokes. He’s drunk or high a lot of the time, and when he isn’t he’s sour and grumpy. He shouts and throws things, especially bottles.
He takes that aggression out on the other member of their band, a kid named 2D. He’s a couple years younger than Russel, with untamed blue hair and a very obvious addiction to substances. His eyes are black, but even through the murk Russel can always see that he’s somewhere far away. He’s usually lurking around the common area, sitting in a chair and squinting at a wall or locked up in his room with his keyboards.
Murdoc tells him that 2D’s propensity for swallowing pills is not entirely his fault, and can largely be blamed on the numerous accidents he’s suffered in the past, and though he was not very forthcoming with the details, Russel was able to glean that more than one of them had to do with Murdoc himself, which is how he joined the band. Or, rather, how the band started, as they were previously the only two members. Russel makes three.
He doesn’t have much of an opinion on 2D, mostly just feels bad for him. Murdoc he can safely say he does not like.
Currently, he’s sitting in the common room with Murdoc, nursing a beer while Murdoc sips his scotch, watching some movie or another. It’s not one of 2D’s horror films, but it’s not porn either, which Russel is grateful for, as Murdoc loves to watch it on a loud volume, regardless of who’s around to hear it.
2D, who had been holed up in his room with a migraine for most of the day, comes stumbling down the stairs. He’s got one hand on the wall and one on his head, unsteady.
“Muds,” he croaks. Murdoc doesn’t look up. “Muds.” He repeats, louder. Still nothing. “Muds!”
“Shuddup!” Murdoc finally shouts. “Take a pill and sit your arse down. I don’t wanna hear about your fuckin’ head.”
“I can’t take another,” 2D whines. He finally pulls away from the wall and wraps that arm around his middle instead, his other hand moving into his mouth. “I fink I took too many. Everything’s swimmy ‘n’ I dun’ feel good.”
“I don’t care!” Murdoc yells.
“Wait, are you alright, ‘D?” Russel interjects. 2D’s gaze swings towards him as if he hadn’t realized he was there. 2D shakes his head. He looks frightened, and Russel realizes he’s trembling. “What did you do?”
“My ‘ead was ‘urting so I took some of me pills and it didn’t work so I took some more and now I dun’ feel right.” His voice is shaky like he can’t get enough air, and his lips are starting to blue. Russel can’t tell if he looks paler than usual, because 2D always looks a little gray and the lights are dim, but something’s definitely wrong. Without warning, he doubles over at the waist and vomits on the floor.
“Aw, why would you fuckin’ do that?” Murdoc cringes. Russel gets out of his own chair to hurry over to 2D, who collapses to his knees on the floor.
“Murdoc, would you shut up!” he asks, harshly. Affronted, Murdoc does so, but not without a scoff and a roll of his eyes. He mumbles something beneath his breath and turns back to the TV. He wants to ask 2D what he took, but Russel isn’t a doctor, he doesn’t know what kinds of reactions different pills would have. “Do you need me to call an ambulance?” 2D gives him a wild, frightened look and rapidly shakes his head.
“I dun’ like ‘em, I can’t go there,” he whimpers.
“Well I’m not going to just let you die,” Russel says, flabbergasted.
“I won’t, I won’t,” 2D assures him, voice breathy and labored. But as soon as the words are out, his eyelids flutter and he falls sideways.
“Shit!” Russel exclaims, rolling their singer onto his back and putting an ear to his chest to check that his heart is still beating. It is, but the rhythm isn’t very regular or strong, and his breathing is incredibly shallow. “I need to call him an ambulance, Murdoc.”
“Don’t do that,” Murdoc groans, tossing his head back. “The idiot’ll be fine, this isn’t the first time he’s taken one too many of the wrong thing. Maybe this time he’ll actually fuckin’ learn from it.”
“He could die.”
“He won’t. Fucker’s like a cockroach. He can fall out of trees, get hit by cars, fly outta a windshield, he always gets back up.” He gulps down the rest of his glass. “Put him back in his room and let him sleep it off. Don’t call anyone, he doesn’t like the hospital, and he’ll just do it again. Good voice, he’s got, but not much in the way of brains.”
Russel stares at him, baffled. Their singer is on the floor, barely breathing, possibly dying, and Murdoc is telling him to do nothing.
“What do you propose I do then, huh? Leave him up there?” he demands.
“Put him in his bed, on his side so he doesn’t choke next time he spews, and leave him. Put a glass of water on the nightstand or somethin’.” He waves a hand to shoo Russel off. “He’ll be fine. Don’t be such a pussy.”
“I’m not- oh whatever,” Russel sighs. 2D stirs a little, blinking unevenly and not looking even the least bit aware. “Come on, ‘D, we’re goin’ to your room now.” He gets his hands beneath 2D’s arms and hefts him up. The boy is tall, gangly, but light. He’s easy to drag, though the stairs prove to be a little tricky, but he manages.
2D’s room is an absolute mess. His bedding is tossed halfway off the bed and stained, there are clothes all over the floor, and it’s not obvious which are clean and which aren’t, there’s keyboards all over the walls, and what looks like more than a dozen pill bottles scattered around the place. Not to mention the ones lined up on the nightstand.
Russel dumps him on the messy bed, then props him on his side, back to the wall so he can’t roll onto it. He stares for a moment as 2D blinks and presumably looks around the room. It’s hard to tell where he’s looking sometimes with those eyes.
“I’m taking these,” says Russel. He doesn’t really care if 2D comprehended what he said, or if he even heard it. He’s not going to allow this to happen again, if he can help it. He may not know 2D all that well, but he seems like a good enough kid who’s been dealt an unfortunate hand, and he doesn’t deserve to die for it. So if 2D can’t handle his meds by himself, then Russel will help. “I’ll give you back whichever ones are safe. The strong stuff’ll stay with me.”
2D doesn’t protest at all, but Russel doesn’t think he’s really awake, so that isn’t a surprise. Russel gathers the bottles in his arms and carries them off to his room, where he will later look each one up and return the ones that are absolutely necessary.
He drops them on his own bed, then goes back downstairs for some water, like Murdoc suggested. He decides he will sit with 2D for a while, in case he ends up needing some help.
Thankfully, he does not. He’s thoroughly ashamed of himself upon waking, and does not fight when Russel says he must come to him for the stronger ‘as needed’ meds, even if he looks disappointed. It doesn’t matter, though, because he is alive.