And tomorrow never came.
This time the fear was impending, it was haunting John in his sleep and making him sick. He missed three classes over the course of the three weeks, feeling the panic begin to roll in his stomach every time he looked at his wrist and feeling his heart go off kilter any time he sat at his computer to begin his search.
God he was the worst soulmate ever.
Or, well, at least that was his fear. Little did he realize that he was forcing it into reality.
He was the one who wanted this! And now he couldn't even give a half hour to flipping through pictures of people named Dave, seeing if a face seemed to fit perfectly. He couldn't pull up Facebook, or a website that his soulmate may have been on. He just. . . . Couldn't.
He wanted them so badly, and yet he wasn't willing to do anything about it because he was afraid they would be disappointed with what they got.
Part of him wanted to talk to Turntech about it. Over the past three weeks, and talking every day, he liked to consider that the stranger may actually be his friend. He'd found out that he had two older brothers, loved drawing horribly done comics (he sent one to John and the dark haired boy couldn't even respond for ten minutes out of laughing too hard) and that he was a musician. Well, of sorts. He used 'turntables', which John had never actually seen in real life and didn't really understand how to use. Point being, is that his pen pal sucked at anonymity.
But, the rest of him realized that it rude to push his stupid relationship (or lack thereof) problems on his chatting partner.
TG: its been ten minutes since you last responded dude
TG: ecto come back to earth
TG: head out of the clouds or out of your ass wherever it is
Shaking his head, John blinked a few times, John sighed.
EB: sorry, just thinking.
TG: do i even want to know what about?
EB: hehe, probably not.
He'd been talking to Turntech for the past four hours, in between doing homework and playing a few crappy flashgames, and glancing at the clock he rolled his eyes. It was nearly one in the morning.
EB: hey, i gotta
His finger hit send too early as his phone began blaring, causing him to jump and let out a yelp, falling from his chair.
TG: is this some type of weird poetry that im not getting?
TG: is there a punchline to this?
Picking up his phone, John smiled as he saw his fathers number on the screen, rubbing his elbow as he stood, the bone having broken his fall. His fathers name was lighting up the screen, the picture being that of the cake he'd made John for his 21st birthday.
Pressing 'answer', he put the phone up to his ear, typing to Godhead with one hand. "Hello?"
EB: gotta go. bed.
"John? I'm sorry to wake you," The man immediately apologized, his voice sounding tight.
TG: jegus how much sleep can one guy need?
TG: go get your beauty sleep princess
TG: for all i know you may actually need it
-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 24:55 --
Closing his laptop, John's brow furrowed. "It's alright, Dad, you know you can call me whenever. Is everything okay?" He questioned, standing tall.
"I feel ridiculous calling, but I'm not sure who else to talk to," There was a small sound, and John felt pity wash over him in tidal waves. It sounded like. . . sniffling. His dad was crying.
"Hey, it's all alright. What happened?"
There was silence on the other end, a few clinking sounds as things were moved around but otherwise no noise from the man himself for a good thirty seconds, "I tried calling your uncle Harley, but he wouldn't pick up, I- The name, my name, my-", there was a sigh, "It's gone."
Flicking his laptop closed lazily, Dave looked around his dorm for a moment. The place was small, but he'd made it his own. And by that it meant there were swords sticking out at random places of the walls, turn tables taking up the only room in the house, and his bed was actually just the futon in the living room. But besides the point. Yawning, he forced himself to stand, planning on passing out for the next ten hours when his phone went off, buzzing against his leg.
Sliding it out of his pocket, he arched a white blonde eyebrow. Why the fuck was an unknown number calling him at three in the morning?
Tapping on 'accept call', he put the phone to his ear, "Yeah?"
"Mr. Strider?" The voice was formal and female, causing Dave's confusion to deepen even further, "You're listed as your brother's emergency contact? We're calling regarding Brodrick Jeffery Strider."
Freezing completely, Dave felt his heart stop for a second as he blinked. "Yeah, that's him. What happened, is he alright?" Thoughts began to flow like water; Bro being hit by a car, Bro falling from the roof while practicing strifing, Bro getting stabbed by one of the swords in the fridge, Bro- It was then that he remembered that Bro has a bit more coordination than that, and would have been able to stop himself from those types of injuries. Still, that didn't stop Dave's breathing from speeding up as he stared at his door.
"He's in surgery, at the moment. There appeared to be an accident today, his femoral artery was severed by a blade, we'll need you to come down to Memorial Hospital to answer a few medical questions."
"Femoral-" Letting out a hiss through his teeth, Dave winced at the idea of Bro getting hit, and could only imagine who he must have been strifing with. Probably Cal, but Bro's not stupid enough to get injured that way. Dirk wasn't in town, was he? "Is he okay?" Dave asked, not realizing exactly how quickly he was moving as he grabbed his keys, stuffed his feet messily into his shoes and pushing the tongue down with his toes while he hopped out of his dorm.
The hallways around him were blurs as his feet hit the ground, the phone pressed tightly enough against his ear that he was sure there would at least be a few indents.
"Right now they're working on stitching up the wound, but we do need to request permission for a blood transfusion," She stated lightly, and Dave wondered vaguely how much she hated her job. All she did all day was tell people horrible things about the people they cared about. God, that must fucking suck.
"Blood transfusions, human sacrifice, I don't care, just don't let him die," Dave fumbled his phone as the word fell from his mouth, and watching the IPhone drop to the ground he let out a groan, picking it back up. It was still on, but the screen was shattered beyond all recognition. Deciding it was too distracting, he ended the call, dropping his phone into his pocket carelessly as he reached his car.
"Fucking swords," He cursed under his breath, forcing his hand to still so he could get his key in the door of the thing to unlock it. It took three times (new record) and even then Dave's knee smacked into the steering wheel as he shoved himself into the thing. Turning his car on, he didn't even bother to buckle as he slammed down on the gas, roaring out of the parking lot to his dorms.
The name came and went for the next half hour.
John wanted to go back home, but it was a two hour drive and he didn't even have a car. His father was moderately distraught, and after managing to calm him down some, he figured out that it had been blinking out of existence for nearly an hour before that as well.
By the time two in the morning rolled around, the name was solid once more, and his father seemed a bit more calmed down. The man apologized profusely, insisting that it was ridiculous that he would call his son for emotional support, but John only waved him off, saying that he would have done the same and smiling softly.
Eventually he let a yawn slip out, and his Dad apologized again by saying that he shouldn't have kept him up.
"Next time, I'll call Uncle Harley," He promised, and John only scoffed.
"You tried that, remember? Dad, relax! It's fine! If anything comes up again, call me, it's fine, I promise. You panicked, it's alright, anyone else would have done the same."
"Still, I'm a grown man for goodness sake," His elder responded.
"A grown man who nearly lost something important. You've been calm and collected my whole life, I can see why you would break over this. Plus, people talk to their kids about things that are important to them, this obviously was a bit more serious than any other conversation we've had. It was needed."
". . . Alright. Thank you, John."
"Not a problem, Dad."
Clicking his phone off when his dad insisted that he should get some sleep and apologized once more, John looked at the screen for a moment before looking at his right wrist. The name was as bright and as bold as ever, and setting his phone down he let his fingers brush over it softly.
Walking over, he opened his computer back up, blinking against the sudden brightness and squinting when he realized he's taken his glasses off beforehand.
He'd been avoiding finding Dave for nearly a month now, and now it was happening. Slipping his glasses on, he cracked his knuckles, swallowing.
It was tomorrow, and he was determined.
"You're a fucking idiot," Dave snapped, hitting his brother with a pillow and scoffing when the man just let out a small huff. They were currently residing on the third floor of their local hospital, somewhere where they'd seen far too often from stupid injuries, but this time, things were different.
"I didn't plan for it to happen, fucktard, it just kind of did," Bro said, wincing heavily as he tried to shift his leg. Reaching over, Dave pressed the button on Bro's IV to give him more pain medication, but wore a scowl as he did so.
"You challenged a robot to a fucking sword fight!"
"It was Sawtooth, I didn't think he'd be that good! He was built for rapping, not battling, and I wanted a strife. Ever since you moved out, I'm getting soft."
"You built him, dumbass! You should know if he could actually get a good hit on you or not!"
Dave was absolutely furious. By the time he'd gotten to the hospital, they'd just been wheeling Bro out of the OR. Dave had sat around for hours, answering various medical and financial questions while waiting for his brother to wake up, all while dealing with the dealing with the irrational fear that he may never wake up. It wasn't until 6 in the morning that the asshole managed to open an eye, which he promptly closed when he realized he wasn't wearing his pointed shades. But, then again, hitting him with the pillow had made him glare at Dave, so he was now staring at his brother with invasive orange eyes. His hat was sitting next to his shades by his bed, and Dave had a strong urge to snap the things in half.
"It's fine, Dave, calm your shit, I'm fine." Blinking at the onslaught of light as he looked up again, Bro closed his eyes.
"You almost weren't. Four blood transfusions, Bro, four. I think you can count high enough to understand that it's a fucking lot," Scrubbing at his eyes under his shades with his fingertips, Dave let out a frustrated growl, "You could have been more hurt than this."
"It was just a strife, what the fuck are you freaking out over?" Bro replied, peaking at his younger bro through squinted eyes. A few things took him by surprise, but none more than the fact that the kids usual pale face was an odd shade of red, and the tip of his nose was too.
"You nearly bled out," Dave pointed out, the words shaky, "You nearly-" Finally, his voice cracked as his head dropped, his shoulders shifting as hair escaped his chest in little huffs.
Bro was quiet for a minute before reaching out, grabbing the front of his little brother's shirt and hauling him into a hug. "I'm fine," He assured, patting his brother's back as Dave failed to relax, "It's alright."
"You're a dick," Dave muttered against his chest, sniffling. He hadn't cried in as long as Bro could remember, and it nearly made him feel guilty. But instead of saying that, the older of the two just flicked the side of his head, albeit a bit lighter than usual.
"Yeah, but I'm a dick that you don't wanna lose, so shut up and enjoy the hug."