Fic: MY HERO
TITLE: My Hero
AUTHOR: Merlin7/Clark angel
DISCLAIMER: They are real people who DO NOT belong to me. I’m just playing
RATING: M- for language
PAIRING: CookMann
SUMMARY: H/C abounds when Dave and Neal get mugged after seeing a local band
MY HERO
You watch him more than you watch the musicians on the stage, loving the way his face lights up as he listens to the music. Loving, even more, his enthusiasm as he claps and whistles loudly after every song, getting the crowd to cheer along with him. This is the David Cook you love most. The guy who always roots for the underdog, who always supports his friends, friends of friends, fellow musicians - strangers or not. The guy who lives in the moment, soaking it all in and letting it linger like a perfect scent on his skin, even as he continues moving on.
“David Cook!” shouts the singer of the band on stage.
It’s a local LA group called Fog the Log, and they’re heavy metal and Dave dragged you out to see them because he knew you’d like them. Although he had to make sure by asking if you loved them after the first song. And you, happily, assured him that you did, leaning in and whispering how you were going to thank him for tonight. Later. In bed. Repeatedly. You smiled again, remembering the way Dave had blushed.
“What?” David calls back to the singer, a big grin on his face.
A minute later Dave is dragging you onstage and he’s at the mic while you’re slipping a guitar over your head and settling it into place. You sink into the music, watching Dave do the same, loving the way he can sing anything, even heavy metal with pitch perfect notes too melodic to call screaming, but they still translate into heavy metal wailing to you and the crowd and you’re both loving it. And him.
Then it’s over and you’re back in the audience and, once again, watching Dave soak it all in. When the band ends their set you’re invited back stage to hang out and it’s almost 2am when you and Dave slip away to head for home.
The club has a back exit and you let Dave lead you out and back over to the car. He hasn’t been drinking so he’s driving and you’re okay with that. Not that you’re drunk or anything, but you wouldn’t put his life at risk by getting behind the wheel.
He’s chatting on about the band and how he can’t wait until *our* next album comes out so you can all go back on tour and you’re agreeing with him. You miss playing gigs. Miss standing to his left on stage, night after night.
“Hey, Doc?”
You love the way your nickname sounds, rolling off his sweet lips. “Yeah, Dave?” you drawl back.
“Hungry?” Dave is smirking at you, because he knows you so well.
“I could handle a taco or two,” you reply. Then you’re the one smirking when he drops the keys and bends over to fumble them off the ground. You pause to enjoy the view and are so wrapped up in your thoughts about what you’re going to do to his sweet ass when you get home, that you don’t hear footsteps approaching until it’s too late.
When Dave stands back up there’s an arm suddenly slung around his throat and you realize some guy is holding a knife on him.
“What the fuck!” you snarl, taking a step forward with the intent of beating the guy to death.
“Neal!” Dave barks, holding up a hand to stop you.
You freeze because you realize you can’t stop the guy with the knife from hurting Dave before you reach him. “What do you want?” you snarl at the intruder, because you’re willing to give anything to keep Dave safe.
The sonofabitch holds the knife closer to Dave’s pale throat an orders, “All your money, watches, whatever you have that’s worth something!”
You’re reaching for you wallet even as you sense movement behind you and you start to turn even as Dave shouts, “NO!”
Too late. Something hard slams into your skull and you feel yourself falling to your knees. You’re down, but not quite out, although everything is blurry around the edges and the voices you hear are muffled. You blink hard and shake your head and there’s movement and sounds around you but you can’t focus properly. There’s a piercing noise that makes your ears ache and you think maybe somebody is screaming.
Then, suddenly, hands are on you and you start to fight them only to recognize the touch. Dave. Then his voice is in your ear and the sound sharpen and becomes crystal clears as you hear him shout, “Call 911!” He sounds scared and panicked and you hurry to reassure him.
“I’m okay,” you croak. And that’s when you remember the bad guys and you try to get up but Dave is holding you in place in the circle of his arms. You grip his forearms and feel him shudder and know he’s worried about you. But you really are okay. Head aches a bit but you can see and hear clearly again and you reach up to cup his face with one hand only to notice your fingers are wet and dark and a smudge of blood is staining his cheek. “What the fuck?”
“Help is on it’s way, Doc,” Dave replies.
But you’re shifting now, pulling away from him to stare hard. You remember everything. The two assholes that tried to mug you. One bastard holding a knife to Dave’s throat. You stand up fast, head swiveling as you search them out and then you spot someone on the ground and he looks beat down and that makes you happy. But you don’t see the guy that clubbed you.
Dave is gripping your shoulders, trying to get your attention. “Cops are here and an ambulance should be soon,” he tells you. “You’re gonna be fine.”
You are fine, but you don’t waste your breath repeating it. You know Dave is too shook up to hear you. He’s pale as alabaster and his grip on your shoulders falters and you realize he’s swaying on his feet and it’s your turn to support him. You do so while asking, “What the hell happened?”
It’s a woman’s voice who answers. She’s standing about ten feet away and looks like she might puke, but there’s adoration and awe in her voice as she points to Dave. “He took that guy down with one punch.” You watch her point to the guy with the knife who’s sprawled on the pavement. There’s a cop hovering over him and you smile when you see cuffs being clapped on the asshole.
“Where’s the other guy?” you off.
Dave laughs softly, a shaky sound that doesn’t have a smidge of humor in it. “He ran away when she screamed.” He’s pointing to the woman. “Thanks for your help,” Dave says to her.
“Sure,” she replies, before shuffling over and asking, “Can I get an autograph? I know it’s bad timing.” She sounds sincerely apologetic for asking, but at the same time she has a pen and a pad of paper held out to Dave.
Dave being Dave, reaches for it. “Least I can do,” he assures her, scrawling his name.
It’s then you notice the blood on his fingertips and soaking his forearm. That’s where the blood on your own fingers had come from. Dave. He’s bleeding. You grab his arm, almost letting go when he hisses in pain, but then you turn it into the faded moonlight and gasp. There’s a deep slice across his arm and it’s bleeding heavily. You release him long enough to yank off your overshirt and then you’re pressing it to his arm, despite his protests.
“Shut up and hold still!” You snarl. “Why didn’t you tell me you got hurt?”
“It’s just a scratch!” Dave protests, still trying to pull away and you realize that the pressure on the cut is hurting him, but he’s tough and you’re more concerned about stopping the bleeding. “You’re the one who got clocked in the head, Doc. I’m fine!”
You don’t get to reply because a cop is suddenly looming beside you and asking questions and then there’s a wailing siren cutting off all communication as the EMT’s arrive with the ambulance and suddenly you and Dave are arguing about who’s injured and who’s not.
In the end you win, mainly because Dave listed hard left and nearly passed out, so he’s the one on the stretcher in the ambulance, but you’re right beside him, one of the cops across from you and asking questions and you pay as much attention to what the EMT is doing to help Dave as you are the story Dave is telling the cops about the mugging.
You lose track of the story when one of the EMT’s lifts Dave’s shirt, his black t-shirt and you see another slash across his pale torso.
“Bastard!” you hiss beneath your breath. You wish the guy who did this, who hurt Dave, was right in front of you. You’re furious enough to rip him to shreds with your bare hands.
The cop hears you. “We’ve got him locked up safe and sound and I have a feeling he’s going to rat his friend out. They’re both going to do some jail time.” He turns his attention to Dave. “What you did took a lot of guts, Mr. Cook. But it could have ended badly.”
Dave winces, looks a bit guilty, and looks away. He’s pale and sweaty and, according to the EMT, a bit shocky.
You’re scared to death because it hits you, just then, what Dave did. He took on two muggers, one with a knife, and he could have died. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?” you snap at him, but his eyes are closed and he doesn’t look so good.
Before you can freak out, the EMT says, “I gave him something for the pain. He needs to rest.” He’s taking a blood pressure reading as he speaks.
“He’s okay though, right?” You hear the desperation in your voice and don’t care. This is Dave and you love him and he has to be okay, and his blood pressure is an issue.
“He’ll be fine.” The EMT sounds like he means it, but you don’t relax until you reach the hospital and they wheel Dave inside.
You want to follow but they won’t let you into the exam room. So the cop leads you outside, so you can smoke while you tell your own side of the story. A very short story, since you were out of it from the moment you got hit. The cop asks if you’re okay and you nod. You have a slight headache, but nothing more. The other EMT had checked you over anyway and confirmed what you already knew, you have a hard head.
“I have to call my friends,” you state bluntly, crushing out your cigarette and reaching for you phone. You don’t even notice the cop walking away as you punch in Andy’s number. He sounds groggy from sleep and it takes a moment for what you tell him to sink in. Then he’s assuring you that he and Monty will be there as soon as possible and you’re alone in your own head again.
You smoke another cigarette before going inside, only to be told that Dave is still being examined. The nurse is nice and a bit peppy and the way she says “Mr. Cook is in good hands,” makes you think she’s a fan of Dave’s. That would amuse you, the way it always does, if you weren’t so damn worried.
The peppy nurse shows you where the waiting room is, but you end up pacing the hallway until Andy and Monty arrive. You lead them to the waiting room to catch them up on what happened and now they’re as worried as you are, but Andy is also impressed.
“Remind me not to piss Dave off or he might punch my lights out.” There’s definite awe in Andy’s tone.
Which kind of pisses you off. “The idiot got cut and could have been killed!” you snarl, stalking into Andy’s personal space and glowering over him.
Which he doesn’t back down from because he’s Andy and he trusts you to control yourself. He doesn’t apologize either. “Are you really surprised that Dave took on the bad guys?” Andy locks eyes with you as he waits for your reply.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you snap back, only to be interrupted by peppy nurse.
“Mr. Cook is asking for you,” she says from the doorway.
You turn away from Andy and stride over to her. “He’s okay?”
She smiles. “Dr. Turner will answer all of your questions.” Smoothly, she steps back and leads you down the hallway.
You push past her when she stops at the doorway at the end, almost barreling into the room, but stopping short when you notice Dave isn’t alone. There’s a tall man in a white coat chatting with him. Obviously, Dr. Turner.
Dave notices your arrival and makes to sit up, but the doctor pushes him gently back. Which makes Dave pout a bit and you think that’s a good sign. Striding over to the bed, you’re relieved to see that Dave doesn’t look as pale as before, but you’re startled to see that he’s attached to an IV, which is taped to the back of his right hand. His forearm is bandaged and it’s a reminder of his injury and how close he came to being dead instead of just hurt.
“What’s going on?” the question comes out as a demand, and you lock eyes with Dave as you move to the side of his bed.
“You must be Neal,” the doctor intervenes, not looking at all upset by your attitude. “I’m Dr. Turner.”
You nod then gesture to Dave. “Is he okay? Why is he hooked up?”
Dave reaches out and pats your arm with the hand not attached to the IV. “I’m good, Doc. This is just a precaution.”
Dr. Turner chuckles, before explaining his amusement. “Interesting nickname.”
“Yeah.” You’re in no mood to explain it. “Is Dave okay?”
“He’ll be fine,” Dr. Turner replies, which isn’t exactly the answer you were looking for. But then he clarifies and you feel a bit better. “Mr. Cook lost a fair amount of blood and it turns out he’s a bit dehydrated, which is why I have him hooked up to the IV. Also, between the adrenaline rush and the alternating shock he suffered during the mugging, it’s messed with his blood pressure a bit. He’s also suffering from a mild concussion so I want to keep him for 24 hour observation. Which he’s being a bit difficult about.”
Dave piped up before Neal could. “I don’t need to stay here, Dr. Turner. Seriously. I have a hard head and roommates who’ll make sure I make it through the night.”
Neal glared at Dave. “You’re staying!” No way in hell were they taking chances with his health. If the doctor feels Dave needs to stay, then you’ll tie his damn ass to the bed if necessary. And how the hell did he end up with a concussion?
“I’d listen to your friend,” Dr. Turner comments, while checking on Dave’s IV line.
Dave doesn’t look happy, but he sighs and nods, only to wince at his actions. Which tells you that he’s been hiding just how shitty he really feels.
“Andy and Monty are here,” you tell him. “Can they come in?” You’re looking at Dave but asking the doctor.
“We’ll get Mr. Cook settled into his room first,” Dr. Turner replies. “Then you can bring your friends in.”
You’re watching Dave, so you notice him suddenly go pale again. “You have to call my mom, Neal!” he sounds panicked and you want nothing more to calm him down.
“I’ll go call her right now,” you promise, because you know what he’s thinking. The news of the attack is going to hit the internet and then the media. You curse yourself for not thinking about this sooner. The girl who called for help is surely going to tell her friends all about it. And she had a phone, which probably means camera phone, which means pix might have already hit twitter.
Patting Dave on the arm, you nod to Dr. Turner then practically run for the door. Cell phones aren’t allowed so you’re going to snag Andy and Monty then head outside. But Monty is the only one in the hallway, pacing outside of Dave’s room.
“Andy’s outside,” Monty answers, before you even ask. “He’s checking twitter.”
“Dave’s gonna hate this,” you mutter, slipping past Monty and heading for the exit. He follows close behind and you both find Andy pacing in the parking lot. You don’t have to ask to know that the news is out. Nodding at him, you grab your phone and search for Beth’s number. You’re going to have to call his dad after and you’re really not looking forward to it. This is the kind of thing Andy is better at.
While the phone is ringing, Andy asks, “Is Dave okay?”
You nod because Beth is picking up. At her greeting you reply, “This is Neal. Dave asked me to call you. There’s been a little…uh…accident.” He wasn’t sure what else to call it.
“Is he all right?” Beth’s voice goes up an octave and you rush to reassure her, all the while resisting the urge to hand the phone over to Andy.
“He’s fine. I’m calling from the hospital and the Doctor said he’s going to be fine.” Somehow you doubt she’s going to believe you, because you sound pretty damn lame to your own ears.
“Why is he in the hospital if he’s all right?” Beth demands.
It’s a good question and you’re not sure how to answer it. You figure it’s best to tell her the whole story and you blurt it out, making sure to mention how brave Dave was, because you’re so damn proud of what he did, even though you still intend to read him the riot act about it later.
Beth is silent for a moment, when you’re done, then she says softly. “Can I talk to him?”
“They’re moving him to his room, but I’ll make sure they hook up a phone so he can call you,” you promise. “He just wanted me to talk to you now, before you read about it on the internet or heard it on the news.”
“It’s already on the internet?” Beth isn’t really asking, he can tell, she’s just upset. She knows how this celebrity stuff works better than he does. It’s been a part of her life since the moment Dave auditioned for Idol over two years ago.
You wish you could deny it though, but you tell her what you know. “According to Andy it’s all over twitter already.”
Another moment of silence then Beth declares. “I’m coming out there. I’ll be there some time tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you wait until you talk to Dave to decide that,” you counter, knowing that Dave wouldn’t want her going to the trouble or the expense.
“I’ll call his father and tell him,” she replies, ignoring what you said, which doesn’t surprise you. “Can you call Andrew and tell him what happened?”
You nod, only to remember she can’t see you. “I’ll call him.”
“Thank you, Neal.” Beth sounds near tears, but she sniffs and clears her voice. She’s a strong woman. “Tell David to call me as soon as he can.” And with that, she hangs up.
You look at Andy as you light a cigarette. “How fast do you think this is going to spread?”
He shrugs. “It’s already gone viral and MTV online has picked it up.”
“Fuck!” You take a deep drag on your cigarette then start looking up the number for Dave’s brother. Ten minutes later you’ve told the story again and convinced him to wait for Dave to call him before he flies out here.
You smoke two cigarettes while Andy updates you on twitter and face book and DCO and the news of the mugging and Dave’s hospitalization is now everywhere. And, not surprisingly, there are pictures and even a short vid. The woman who asked for Dave’s autograph is the obvious culprit here, but you realize you don’t even care. Dave is going to be okay, the bastard who cut him is in jail and that’s all you give a shit about.
“Think he’ll be moved?” you ask in general.
Monty claps you on the shoulder. “Only one way to find out.”
The three of you move as one unit, back inside the hospital where you find peppy nurse waiting for you. “I’ll take you to Mr. Cook’s room,” she tells you, already leading the way.
You walk in first and almost skid to a halt. Dave is lying in bed, still hooked up to the damn IV and he suddenly seems so small and fragile all swathed in white sheets and a pale green blanket. His skin is paler than the hospital gown he’s wearing.
Andy is stepping around you, going to Dave’s side and giving him a hug. You listen to them chat for a moment, to Dave insisting he’s fine and blushing when Andy calls him a hero.
Then Monty is doing the same, and you just remain where you are, watching. Until peppy nurse informs them that they have to leave. You realize it’s after six am and that probably the only reason the nurse let you guys visit is because of who David is. Sometimes his celebrity status, along with his ability to draw people to him like moths to a flame, came in handy.
Andy says goodbye and tells Dave he and Monty will be back later with clean clothes and stuff. You watch Dave hug them both, then they’re leaving, saying their goodbyes to you as well. They know you. They know you’re not leaving Dave alone.
“I have to call my mom,” Dave says, already reaching for the phone by his bed.
You nod, remind him to call his dad, and Andrew as well, then you pace the room while he’s reassuring his family he’s fine. To not listen to, or watch, the media brouhaha that was going to happen. Dave knew how things worked. He didn’t need to be told that the story was already in the media. But he would have to be told about the video though, but that could wait.
Then he’s off the phone and peppy nurse is hovering over him and checking his line, then she’s standing in front of you and pointing out the recliner chair in the corner of the room.
“I assume you’re staying?” she queries.
You nod, eyes locked on Dave’s face and seeing the relief there. Of course you aren’t going to leave him. You know he knows that.
Peppy nurse leaves, closing the door behind her after reminding Dave to use his call button if he needs anything. But he won’t need her. You’re there.
Finally moving to the bed, you lock your eyes on his face, seeing how tired he is, knowing he’s hurting. But the words that tumble out of your mouth aren’t comforting. “Stupid, goddamn idiot!” you blurt.
He winces, but holds your glare. “I’d do it all again,” he whispers.
“You could have died!” You’re tone is soft because you don’t want to get kicked out for yelling at him, but you’re screaming inside your head. Doesn’t he get how close he came to dying? Doesn’t he know what that would have done to you?
“But I didn’t.” Dave is almost smirking as he softly counters your fear and anger with logic.
You’re not interested in logic, though. You want him to understand how fucking scared you are, so you lean in, cupping your palm to one of his pale and scruffy cheeks. “I could have lost you, Dave. I can’t handle that. And all because you had to be a goddamn hero! What the fuck? Being an American Idol isn‘t good enough for you?” You let him see just how fucking scared you really are. He’s the only one who ever gets to see that.
He looks at you, seeing into your soul in that way he does, before leaning into your touch, eyes closing for a moment, and you begin wonder if he’s falling asleep because he’s still and quiet for so long. But suddenly his eyes pop open wide and anger makes them an almost luminescent green. You almost flinch away from the intensity, until you realize his eyes are glowing because they’re wet.
“That bastard hit you!” David growls, reaching out with his good hand and clutching your forearm. “What was I supposed to do, Neal? Just stand there? I wanted to kill him with my bare hands!”
You can feel fine tremors rippling through him, even as his voice breaks on a sob and then you’re on the bed, pulling him into your arms and you get it now. Dave wasn’t trying to be a hero. He was doing what you would have done in his place. He wanted to keep you safe because he couldn’t bear to lose you, anymore than you could bear losing him.
Even as you hold him tightly against you, you feel a bubble of laughter gurgling for release. Sometimes the two of you were such fucking girls and you tend to blame Dave for that, but you know you’re just as bad as he is it’s just that most of the time the two of you emote through your song writing and Dave through his singing. You’re guitar often wails your emotions, but that’s not what matters in this moment. Right here and right now you’re both together and safe and you don’t give a damn about anything else.
Later, the media will swarm Dave like vultures and you’ll have his back as he wades through them, all smiles and diplomacy. Then you’ll be back home and you’ll write a song about this, the two of you, and maybe even share it with the world someday.
But right now you hold onto Dave and whisper in his ear, “Love you, rock star.”
He’s stopped sniffling, and is now verging into his cuddling phase as he whispers back, “Love you too, Doc.”
“You need to sleep.” You untangle him off you, pressing him gently back against the pillows. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”
“Got all I need already.” Dave is mumbling, already half asleep. He cracks one eye open to watch you settle into the chair in the corner. “Sleep to,” he orders.
You smile and nod, watching his eyes close and you can hear his breathing change. Relief washes over you as you feel the tension of the past few hours finally fading. Sleep isn’t an option at the moment because you’re brain isn’t ready to shut down, but you’re more than happy to watch Dave sleep.
In the morning you’ll face the chaos that awaits - the press, statements for the police, dealing with his worried family and friends - together. But for now you’re content to listen to Dave breathe.
THE END
AUTHOR: Merlin7/Clark angel
DISCLAIMER: They are real people who DO NOT belong to me. I’m just playing
RATING: M- for language
PAIRING: CookMann
SUMMARY: H/C abounds when Dave and Neal get mugged after seeing a local band
MY HERO
You watch him more than you watch the musicians on the stage, loving the way his face lights up as he listens to the music. Loving, even more, his enthusiasm as he claps and whistles loudly after every song, getting the crowd to cheer along with him. This is the David Cook you love most. The guy who always roots for the underdog, who always supports his friends, friends of friends, fellow musicians - strangers or not. The guy who lives in the moment, soaking it all in and letting it linger like a perfect scent on his skin, even as he continues moving on.
“David Cook!” shouts the singer of the band on stage.
It’s a local LA group called Fog the Log, and they’re heavy metal and Dave dragged you out to see them because he knew you’d like them. Although he had to make sure by asking if you loved them after the first song. And you, happily, assured him that you did, leaning in and whispering how you were going to thank him for tonight. Later. In bed. Repeatedly. You smiled again, remembering the way Dave had blushed.
“What?” David calls back to the singer, a big grin on his face.
A minute later Dave is dragging you onstage and he’s at the mic while you’re slipping a guitar over your head and settling it into place. You sink into the music, watching Dave do the same, loving the way he can sing anything, even heavy metal with pitch perfect notes too melodic to call screaming, but they still translate into heavy metal wailing to you and the crowd and you’re both loving it. And him.
Then it’s over and you’re back in the audience and, once again, watching Dave soak it all in. When the band ends their set you’re invited back stage to hang out and it’s almost 2am when you and Dave slip away to head for home.
The club has a back exit and you let Dave lead you out and back over to the car. He hasn’t been drinking so he’s driving and you’re okay with that. Not that you’re drunk or anything, but you wouldn’t put his life at risk by getting behind the wheel.
He’s chatting on about the band and how he can’t wait until *our* next album comes out so you can all go back on tour and you’re agreeing with him. You miss playing gigs. Miss standing to his left on stage, night after night.
“Hey, Doc?”
You love the way your nickname sounds, rolling off his sweet lips. “Yeah, Dave?” you drawl back.
“Hungry?” Dave is smirking at you, because he knows you so well.
“I could handle a taco or two,” you reply. Then you’re the one smirking when he drops the keys and bends over to fumble them off the ground. You pause to enjoy the view and are so wrapped up in your thoughts about what you’re going to do to his sweet ass when you get home, that you don’t hear footsteps approaching until it’s too late.
When Dave stands back up there’s an arm suddenly slung around his throat and you realize some guy is holding a knife on him.
“What the fuck!” you snarl, taking a step forward with the intent of beating the guy to death.
“Neal!” Dave barks, holding up a hand to stop you.
You freeze because you realize you can’t stop the guy with the knife from hurting Dave before you reach him. “What do you want?” you snarl at the intruder, because you’re willing to give anything to keep Dave safe.
The sonofabitch holds the knife closer to Dave’s pale throat an orders, “All your money, watches, whatever you have that’s worth something!”
You’re reaching for you wallet even as you sense movement behind you and you start to turn even as Dave shouts, “NO!”
Too late. Something hard slams into your skull and you feel yourself falling to your knees. You’re down, but not quite out, although everything is blurry around the edges and the voices you hear are muffled. You blink hard and shake your head and there’s movement and sounds around you but you can’t focus properly. There’s a piercing noise that makes your ears ache and you think maybe somebody is screaming.
Then, suddenly, hands are on you and you start to fight them only to recognize the touch. Dave. Then his voice is in your ear and the sound sharpen and becomes crystal clears as you hear him shout, “Call 911!” He sounds scared and panicked and you hurry to reassure him.
“I’m okay,” you croak. And that’s when you remember the bad guys and you try to get up but Dave is holding you in place in the circle of his arms. You grip his forearms and feel him shudder and know he’s worried about you. But you really are okay. Head aches a bit but you can see and hear clearly again and you reach up to cup his face with one hand only to notice your fingers are wet and dark and a smudge of blood is staining his cheek. “What the fuck?”
“Help is on it’s way, Doc,” Dave replies.
But you’re shifting now, pulling away from him to stare hard. You remember everything. The two assholes that tried to mug you. One bastard holding a knife to Dave’s throat. You stand up fast, head swiveling as you search them out and then you spot someone on the ground and he looks beat down and that makes you happy. But you don’t see the guy that clubbed you.
Dave is gripping your shoulders, trying to get your attention. “Cops are here and an ambulance should be soon,” he tells you. “You’re gonna be fine.”
You are fine, but you don’t waste your breath repeating it. You know Dave is too shook up to hear you. He’s pale as alabaster and his grip on your shoulders falters and you realize he’s swaying on his feet and it’s your turn to support him. You do so while asking, “What the hell happened?”
It’s a woman’s voice who answers. She’s standing about ten feet away and looks like she might puke, but there’s adoration and awe in her voice as she points to Dave. “He took that guy down with one punch.” You watch her point to the guy with the knife who’s sprawled on the pavement. There’s a cop hovering over him and you smile when you see cuffs being clapped on the asshole.
“Where’s the other guy?” you off.
Dave laughs softly, a shaky sound that doesn’t have a smidge of humor in it. “He ran away when she screamed.” He’s pointing to the woman. “Thanks for your help,” Dave says to her.
“Sure,” she replies, before shuffling over and asking, “Can I get an autograph? I know it’s bad timing.” She sounds sincerely apologetic for asking, but at the same time she has a pen and a pad of paper held out to Dave.
Dave being Dave, reaches for it. “Least I can do,” he assures her, scrawling his name.
It’s then you notice the blood on his fingertips and soaking his forearm. That’s where the blood on your own fingers had come from. Dave. He’s bleeding. You grab his arm, almost letting go when he hisses in pain, but then you turn it into the faded moonlight and gasp. There’s a deep slice across his arm and it’s bleeding heavily. You release him long enough to yank off your overshirt and then you’re pressing it to his arm, despite his protests.
“Shut up and hold still!” You snarl. “Why didn’t you tell me you got hurt?”
“It’s just a scratch!” Dave protests, still trying to pull away and you realize that the pressure on the cut is hurting him, but he’s tough and you’re more concerned about stopping the bleeding. “You’re the one who got clocked in the head, Doc. I’m fine!”
You don’t get to reply because a cop is suddenly looming beside you and asking questions and then there’s a wailing siren cutting off all communication as the EMT’s arrive with the ambulance and suddenly you and Dave are arguing about who’s injured and who’s not.
In the end you win, mainly because Dave listed hard left and nearly passed out, so he’s the one on the stretcher in the ambulance, but you’re right beside him, one of the cops across from you and asking questions and you pay as much attention to what the EMT is doing to help Dave as you are the story Dave is telling the cops about the mugging.
You lose track of the story when one of the EMT’s lifts Dave’s shirt, his black t-shirt and you see another slash across his pale torso.
“Bastard!” you hiss beneath your breath. You wish the guy who did this, who hurt Dave, was right in front of you. You’re furious enough to rip him to shreds with your bare hands.
The cop hears you. “We’ve got him locked up safe and sound and I have a feeling he’s going to rat his friend out. They’re both going to do some jail time.” He turns his attention to Dave. “What you did took a lot of guts, Mr. Cook. But it could have ended badly.”
Dave winces, looks a bit guilty, and looks away. He’s pale and sweaty and, according to the EMT, a bit shocky.
You’re scared to death because it hits you, just then, what Dave did. He took on two muggers, one with a knife, and he could have died. “What the fuck did you think you were doing?” you snap at him, but his eyes are closed and he doesn’t look so good.
Before you can freak out, the EMT says, “I gave him something for the pain. He needs to rest.” He’s taking a blood pressure reading as he speaks.
“He’s okay though, right?” You hear the desperation in your voice and don’t care. This is Dave and you love him and he has to be okay, and his blood pressure is an issue.
“He’ll be fine.” The EMT sounds like he means it, but you don’t relax until you reach the hospital and they wheel Dave inside.
You want to follow but they won’t let you into the exam room. So the cop leads you outside, so you can smoke while you tell your own side of the story. A very short story, since you were out of it from the moment you got hit. The cop asks if you’re okay and you nod. You have a slight headache, but nothing more. The other EMT had checked you over anyway and confirmed what you already knew, you have a hard head.
“I have to call my friends,” you state bluntly, crushing out your cigarette and reaching for you phone. You don’t even notice the cop walking away as you punch in Andy’s number. He sounds groggy from sleep and it takes a moment for what you tell him to sink in. Then he’s assuring you that he and Monty will be there as soon as possible and you’re alone in your own head again.
You smoke another cigarette before going inside, only to be told that Dave is still being examined. The nurse is nice and a bit peppy and the way she says “Mr. Cook is in good hands,” makes you think she’s a fan of Dave’s. That would amuse you, the way it always does, if you weren’t so damn worried.
The peppy nurse shows you where the waiting room is, but you end up pacing the hallway until Andy and Monty arrive. You lead them to the waiting room to catch them up on what happened and now they’re as worried as you are, but Andy is also impressed.
“Remind me not to piss Dave off or he might punch my lights out.” There’s definite awe in Andy’s tone.
Which kind of pisses you off. “The idiot got cut and could have been killed!” you snarl, stalking into Andy’s personal space and glowering over him.
Which he doesn’t back down from because he’s Andy and he trusts you to control yourself. He doesn’t apologize either. “Are you really surprised that Dave took on the bad guys?” Andy locks eyes with you as he waits for your reply.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you snap back, only to be interrupted by peppy nurse.
“Mr. Cook is asking for you,” she says from the doorway.
You turn away from Andy and stride over to her. “He’s okay?”
She smiles. “Dr. Turner will answer all of your questions.” Smoothly, she steps back and leads you down the hallway.
You push past her when she stops at the doorway at the end, almost barreling into the room, but stopping short when you notice Dave isn’t alone. There’s a tall man in a white coat chatting with him. Obviously, Dr. Turner.
Dave notices your arrival and makes to sit up, but the doctor pushes him gently back. Which makes Dave pout a bit and you think that’s a good sign. Striding over to the bed, you’re relieved to see that Dave doesn’t look as pale as before, but you’re startled to see that he’s attached to an IV, which is taped to the back of his right hand. His forearm is bandaged and it’s a reminder of his injury and how close he came to being dead instead of just hurt.
“What’s going on?” the question comes out as a demand, and you lock eyes with Dave as you move to the side of his bed.
“You must be Neal,” the doctor intervenes, not looking at all upset by your attitude. “I’m Dr. Turner.”
You nod then gesture to Dave. “Is he okay? Why is he hooked up?”
Dave reaches out and pats your arm with the hand not attached to the IV. “I’m good, Doc. This is just a precaution.”
Dr. Turner chuckles, before explaining his amusement. “Interesting nickname.”
“Yeah.” You’re in no mood to explain it. “Is Dave okay?”
“He’ll be fine,” Dr. Turner replies, which isn’t exactly the answer you were looking for. But then he clarifies and you feel a bit better. “Mr. Cook lost a fair amount of blood and it turns out he’s a bit dehydrated, which is why I have him hooked up to the IV. Also, between the adrenaline rush and the alternating shock he suffered during the mugging, it’s messed with his blood pressure a bit. He’s also suffering from a mild concussion so I want to keep him for 24 hour observation. Which he’s being a bit difficult about.”
Dave piped up before Neal could. “I don’t need to stay here, Dr. Turner. Seriously. I have a hard head and roommates who’ll make sure I make it through the night.”
Neal glared at Dave. “You’re staying!” No way in hell were they taking chances with his health. If the doctor feels Dave needs to stay, then you’ll tie his damn ass to the bed if necessary. And how the hell did he end up with a concussion?
“I’d listen to your friend,” Dr. Turner comments, while checking on Dave’s IV line.
Dave doesn’t look happy, but he sighs and nods, only to wince at his actions. Which tells you that he’s been hiding just how shitty he really feels.
“Andy and Monty are here,” you tell him. “Can they come in?” You’re looking at Dave but asking the doctor.
“We’ll get Mr. Cook settled into his room first,” Dr. Turner replies. “Then you can bring your friends in.”
You’re watching Dave, so you notice him suddenly go pale again. “You have to call my mom, Neal!” he sounds panicked and you want nothing more to calm him down.
“I’ll go call her right now,” you promise, because you know what he’s thinking. The news of the attack is going to hit the internet and then the media. You curse yourself for not thinking about this sooner. The girl who called for help is surely going to tell her friends all about it. And she had a phone, which probably means camera phone, which means pix might have already hit twitter.
Patting Dave on the arm, you nod to Dr. Turner then practically run for the door. Cell phones aren’t allowed so you’re going to snag Andy and Monty then head outside. But Monty is the only one in the hallway, pacing outside of Dave’s room.
“Andy’s outside,” Monty answers, before you even ask. “He’s checking twitter.”
“Dave’s gonna hate this,” you mutter, slipping past Monty and heading for the exit. He follows close behind and you both find Andy pacing in the parking lot. You don’t have to ask to know that the news is out. Nodding at him, you grab your phone and search for Beth’s number. You’re going to have to call his dad after and you’re really not looking forward to it. This is the kind of thing Andy is better at.
While the phone is ringing, Andy asks, “Is Dave okay?”
You nod because Beth is picking up. At her greeting you reply, “This is Neal. Dave asked me to call you. There’s been a little…uh…accident.” He wasn’t sure what else to call it.
“Is he all right?” Beth’s voice goes up an octave and you rush to reassure her, all the while resisting the urge to hand the phone over to Andy.
“He’s fine. I’m calling from the hospital and the Doctor said he’s going to be fine.” Somehow you doubt she’s going to believe you, because you sound pretty damn lame to your own ears.
“Why is he in the hospital if he’s all right?” Beth demands.
It’s a good question and you’re not sure how to answer it. You figure it’s best to tell her the whole story and you blurt it out, making sure to mention how brave Dave was, because you’re so damn proud of what he did, even though you still intend to read him the riot act about it later.
Beth is silent for a moment, when you’re done, then she says softly. “Can I talk to him?”
“They’re moving him to his room, but I’ll make sure they hook up a phone so he can call you,” you promise. “He just wanted me to talk to you now, before you read about it on the internet or heard it on the news.”
“It’s already on the internet?” Beth isn’t really asking, he can tell, she’s just upset. She knows how this celebrity stuff works better than he does. It’s been a part of her life since the moment Dave auditioned for Idol over two years ago.
You wish you could deny it though, but you tell her what you know. “According to Andy it’s all over twitter already.”
Another moment of silence then Beth declares. “I’m coming out there. I’ll be there some time tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you wait until you talk to Dave to decide that,” you counter, knowing that Dave wouldn’t want her going to the trouble or the expense.
“I’ll call his father and tell him,” she replies, ignoring what you said, which doesn’t surprise you. “Can you call Andrew and tell him what happened?”
You nod, only to remember she can’t see you. “I’ll call him.”
“Thank you, Neal.” Beth sounds near tears, but she sniffs and clears her voice. She’s a strong woman. “Tell David to call me as soon as he can.” And with that, she hangs up.
You look at Andy as you light a cigarette. “How fast do you think this is going to spread?”
He shrugs. “It’s already gone viral and MTV online has picked it up.”
“Fuck!” You take a deep drag on your cigarette then start looking up the number for Dave’s brother. Ten minutes later you’ve told the story again and convinced him to wait for Dave to call him before he flies out here.
You smoke two cigarettes while Andy updates you on twitter and face book and DCO and the news of the mugging and Dave’s hospitalization is now everywhere. And, not surprisingly, there are pictures and even a short vid. The woman who asked for Dave’s autograph is the obvious culprit here, but you realize you don’t even care. Dave is going to be okay, the bastard who cut him is in jail and that’s all you give a shit about.
“Think he’ll be moved?” you ask in general.
Monty claps you on the shoulder. “Only one way to find out.”
The three of you move as one unit, back inside the hospital where you find peppy nurse waiting for you. “I’ll take you to Mr. Cook’s room,” she tells you, already leading the way.
You walk in first and almost skid to a halt. Dave is lying in bed, still hooked up to the damn IV and he suddenly seems so small and fragile all swathed in white sheets and a pale green blanket. His skin is paler than the hospital gown he’s wearing.
Andy is stepping around you, going to Dave’s side and giving him a hug. You listen to them chat for a moment, to Dave insisting he’s fine and blushing when Andy calls him a hero.
Then Monty is doing the same, and you just remain where you are, watching. Until peppy nurse informs them that they have to leave. You realize it’s after six am and that probably the only reason the nurse let you guys visit is because of who David is. Sometimes his celebrity status, along with his ability to draw people to him like moths to a flame, came in handy.
Andy says goodbye and tells Dave he and Monty will be back later with clean clothes and stuff. You watch Dave hug them both, then they’re leaving, saying their goodbyes to you as well. They know you. They know you’re not leaving Dave alone.
“I have to call my mom,” Dave says, already reaching for the phone by his bed.
You nod, remind him to call his dad, and Andrew as well, then you pace the room while he’s reassuring his family he’s fine. To not listen to, or watch, the media brouhaha that was going to happen. Dave knew how things worked. He didn’t need to be told that the story was already in the media. But he would have to be told about the video though, but that could wait.
Then he’s off the phone and peppy nurse is hovering over him and checking his line, then she’s standing in front of you and pointing out the recliner chair in the corner of the room.
“I assume you’re staying?” she queries.
You nod, eyes locked on Dave’s face and seeing the relief there. Of course you aren’t going to leave him. You know he knows that.
Peppy nurse leaves, closing the door behind her after reminding Dave to use his call button if he needs anything. But he won’t need her. You’re there.
Finally moving to the bed, you lock your eyes on his face, seeing how tired he is, knowing he’s hurting. But the words that tumble out of your mouth aren’t comforting. “Stupid, goddamn idiot!” you blurt.
He winces, but holds your glare. “I’d do it all again,” he whispers.
“You could have died!” You’re tone is soft because you don’t want to get kicked out for yelling at him, but you’re screaming inside your head. Doesn’t he get how close he came to dying? Doesn’t he know what that would have done to you?
“But I didn’t.” Dave is almost smirking as he softly counters your fear and anger with logic.
You’re not interested in logic, though. You want him to understand how fucking scared you are, so you lean in, cupping your palm to one of his pale and scruffy cheeks. “I could have lost you, Dave. I can’t handle that. And all because you had to be a goddamn hero! What the fuck? Being an American Idol isn‘t good enough for you?” You let him see just how fucking scared you really are. He’s the only one who ever gets to see that.
He looks at you, seeing into your soul in that way he does, before leaning into your touch, eyes closing for a moment, and you begin wonder if he’s falling asleep because he’s still and quiet for so long. But suddenly his eyes pop open wide and anger makes them an almost luminescent green. You almost flinch away from the intensity, until you realize his eyes are glowing because they’re wet.
“That bastard hit you!” David growls, reaching out with his good hand and clutching your forearm. “What was I supposed to do, Neal? Just stand there? I wanted to kill him with my bare hands!”
You can feel fine tremors rippling through him, even as his voice breaks on a sob and then you’re on the bed, pulling him into your arms and you get it now. Dave wasn’t trying to be a hero. He was doing what you would have done in his place. He wanted to keep you safe because he couldn’t bear to lose you, anymore than you could bear losing him.
Even as you hold him tightly against you, you feel a bubble of laughter gurgling for release. Sometimes the two of you were such fucking girls and you tend to blame Dave for that, but you know you’re just as bad as he is it’s just that most of the time the two of you emote through your song writing and Dave through his singing. You’re guitar often wails your emotions, but that’s not what matters in this moment. Right here and right now you’re both together and safe and you don’t give a damn about anything else.
Later, the media will swarm Dave like vultures and you’ll have his back as he wades through them, all smiles and diplomacy. Then you’ll be back home and you’ll write a song about this, the two of you, and maybe even share it with the world someday.
But right now you hold onto Dave and whisper in his ear, “Love you, rock star.”
He’s stopped sniffling, and is now verging into his cuddling phase as he whispers back, “Love you too, Doc.”
“You need to sleep.” You untangle him off you, pressing him gently back against the pillows. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”
“Got all I need already.” Dave is mumbling, already half asleep. He cracks one eye open to watch you settle into the chair in the corner. “Sleep to,” he orders.
You smile and nod, watching his eyes close and you can hear his breathing change. Relief washes over you as you feel the tension of the past few hours finally fading. Sleep isn’t an option at the moment because you’re brain isn’t ready to shut down, but you’re more than happy to watch Dave sleep.
In the morning you’ll face the chaos that awaits - the press, statements for the police, dealing with his worried family and friends - together. But for now you’re content to listen to Dave breathe.
THE END