Anon: Just saying, car crashes are angsty ((ALSO LAMS IS GREAT)) :000
Lams sure is great for this prompt!! ;))) Angstliving continues! Here we go, kiddos! <333
Alexander was angry. He was angry at John, he was angry at himself.
His anger must have been noticeable in the way he clicked John’s seatbelt around the slumped boy because John whined and reached for his boyfriend.
“Not now, John,” Alex grumbled. He slammed the passenger side door shut and got into the driver’s side. He let his head drop into his hands for a moment.
“Baaaaabe,” John sighed.
“Not. Now.” Alex said through clenched teeth.
“I didn’t mean to punch him,” John slurred.
“You’re drunk. We aren’t doing this now.” Alexander had had enough of this. John had promised not to drink. Promised.
He knew Alex hated driving, especially at night. Especially when they had a curfew hanging over their heads. Especially when he was going to have to figure out how to sneak an obviously drunk John past the Washingtons, which didn’t feel right, but having them know his boyfriend was drunk while being underage also didn’t sound like a great plan.
He hated the position John had put him in.
Alexander knew that sitting there wouldn’t help them at all, so he begrudgingly started the car and pulled out onto the road. Thankfully the party had been at Aaron Burr’s place, in a suburban neighborhood that bordered the one the Washingtons lived in, so they weren’t far from home, but it was still unfamiliar to Alex. And it was still dark out. And his boyfriend was still drunk and bloody.
“Lee started it,” John mumbled unprompted.
“You should’ve walked away,” Alex said.
“I can take him.”
Alex would have rolled his eyes if they weren’t so glued to the road. “Yeah, tell that to your bruised ribs and bloody nose.”
“He only got the best of me ‘cause I’m druuuuunk,” John said.
“No, he got the best of you because you’re drunk and because he’s a burly upperclassman who works out regularly. Even sober you had no chance, and you know that,” Alex said.
He hated John’s self-destructive streak. He knew that was why his boyfriend drank. Why he picked fights he would most certainly lose.
“I’m strong,” John said, his voice fading.
Alexander knew that if he looked over at John, his eyelids would be fluttering shut. Normally that was the cutest, sweetest sight in the world. But not tonight.
Tears started to swell in Alexander’s eyes. He was torn between his worry over John and his anger at him.
Just as he was trying to blink away his tears, Alex noticed a shape slowly crossing the road, no more than ten feet ahead of him. Deer!
Alex slammed on the brakes and swerved the car away from the creature, toward the sidewalk, which his wheels promptly bumped into, jolting John awake.
Alexander panted as he watched the deer hightail it across the rest of the abandoned road, and he thanked whatever god may or may not be up there that he’d been going 25 miles per hour, five under the speed limit, instead of five, or more, over.
“A-alex?” John stammered.
Alex couldn’t say anything. I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory. He’d nearly seen death again. He’d nearly killed his boyfriend. It was too much.
He felt a warm hand slip into his. “You’re shaking,” John said.
“I’m sorry, John,” Alex whispered, his eyes glued to the spot in the road where the deer had first appeared.
“Why are you apologizing?” John asked.
“I nearly killed us,” Alex said as if in a trance where words held no weight because if they did, they’d be crushing, and Alexander was too fragile for that at the moment.
I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory.
“Let’s get home,” Alexander said robotically.
“Alex,” John said, reaching to place his hand on his boyfriend’s arm.
Alex jerked away before John could make contact. He pulled back out onto the road, and a silence descended upon the car for the remaining seven minutes of their drive home.
When they got to the Washington’s, Alex cut the engine, but made no move to get out of the car. He didn’t even unbuckle his seatbelt.
“Alex, talk to me?” John pleaded.
“I…” imagine death so much it feels more like a memory “I’m so sorry, John.” He shook his head, the daze that had befallen him post-deer-incident was seemingly lifting. “First I couldn’t keep you from drinking, then I couldn’t stop you from fighting Lee even though that’s like a death-wish––” Alex’s breath hitched as the word left his lips. John remained still, eyes glued to Alex.
“And then I nearly get us killed driving like ten fucking minutes through quiet backstreets.” Alex was shaking, but this time with rage instead of shock.
“Alex,” John said, sounding more sober than Alex knew he was. “I’m responsible for drinking and fighting. And I let you down. I said I’d drive, then I got drunk. None of this is your fault.”
“I’m so worried,” Alex whispered, his voice cracking on the last syllable.
“About what?” John asked softly.
Alex turned to him, eyes wide and watery. “You,” he said. “I know you hate yourself.”
John physically recoiled at the words, but he didn’t attempt to deny them.
“I’m afraid I’ll lose you,” Alex continued.
“It’s not your fault, Alex, how I feel and how I handle those feelings.”
“No, but it is my responsibility to help you,” Alex countered. He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached over, doing the same to John, who looked at him bewilderedly.
“What’re we doing?” he asked.
“Going inside,” Alex said.
Alex cut him off by hopping out of the car, slamming his own door shut in the process, and opened up John’s. He held a hand out to his boyfriend. “I know,” Alex said. “I want them to see us.”
“What? Why? I must look like––”
“Like a drunk teenager who picked a fight with someone twice his size?” Alex offered. “Yeah, you do. Now come on.”
Whether it was because he was drunk or because he was stunned by what Alexander was doing–– or maybe a bit of both–– John took Alex’s hand and stepped out of the car, swaying a bit in the process.
Alex held him close as they slowly made their way toward the front door. Before Alex could even put his key in the lock, it swung open.
“John? Alex? Are you okay?” Martha asked, her eyes scanning the two boys, her brows creasing in worry as she took in the dried blood on John’s face and sweatshirt.
“Yeah,” Alex said. “Well, we will be.” He looked at John, who nodded at him. “Can we talk with you and Dad?”
Martha took John’s other arm and led the two boys into the house. “Of course,” she said. “You can always talk to us.”
Alex squeezed John’s hand, and John squeezed back. They moved into the house together, knowing that whatever came next, they had each other.