(no subject)
Title: OD
Author: duckgirlie
Fandom: Trainspotting
Pairing: Sick boy/Renton
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, even remotely
A/N: For the "death challenge".
When Mark found him, he was almost gone. The colour had started to drain out of his face, being replaced by the trademark greenish pallor of an OD. On Swanney’s floor, his arms lain out by his side like he was prepared, but how could he have been? They’d always joked about it.
“This one hit could be my last Rents. Don’t you want me to remember it?”
But that was just a joke. Because they only bought their stuff from Swanney, and Swanney would never sell them shit. Never. And he was too smart to go to anyone else. Swanney was the only one they could trust-or trust in as much as you could trust a drug dealer.
He’d called an ambulance immediately. The fucking thing took nearly half an hour to get there, but then, why should they care if another junkie died? They were surprised enough that he’d called at all. What could be so special about this one that the back of a taxi wasn’t enough?
They never got friends calling up with ODs. Usually the friends were so freaked out that they ran, leaving the poor victim to die.
And if being called was weird enough, weirder still was the second man climbing in the back with them. That never happened.
Junkies never cared enough to come along and risk their own safety.
But this time, the caller looked different. And scared. Not scared in the general ‘someone’s OD’d’ way, but genuinely afraid. Like this wasn’t just another junkie.
But when she arrived, the paramedic could see there was nothing to be done. The kid in the suit, if not quite dead yet, wasn’t coming back.
But the looks in his friend’s eyes made her go through the motions, slapping him on the cheeks, even delivering the shot of adrenalin she’d have to explain later. And when she finally gave up, she looked in the other’s eyes and nearly cried when she saw the emptiness inside. Nearly cried when Mark grabbed Simon’s hand and squeezed it as hard as he could, not wanting to believe. Not wanting to let go.
Author: duckgirlie
Fandom: Trainspotting
Pairing: Sick boy/Renton
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, even remotely
A/N: For the "death challenge".
When Mark found him, he was almost gone. The colour had started to drain out of his face, being replaced by the trademark greenish pallor of an OD. On Swanney’s floor, his arms lain out by his side like he was prepared, but how could he have been? They’d always joked about it.
“This one hit could be my last Rents. Don’t you want me to remember it?”
But that was just a joke. Because they only bought their stuff from Swanney, and Swanney would never sell them shit. Never. And he was too smart to go to anyone else. Swanney was the only one they could trust-or trust in as much as you could trust a drug dealer.
He’d called an ambulance immediately. The fucking thing took nearly half an hour to get there, but then, why should they care if another junkie died? They were surprised enough that he’d called at all. What could be so special about this one that the back of a taxi wasn’t enough?
They never got friends calling up with ODs. Usually the friends were so freaked out that they ran, leaving the poor victim to die.
And if being called was weird enough, weirder still was the second man climbing in the back with them. That never happened.
Junkies never cared enough to come along and risk their own safety.
But this time, the caller looked different. And scared. Not scared in the general ‘someone’s OD’d’ way, but genuinely afraid. Like this wasn’t just another junkie.
But when she arrived, the paramedic could see there was nothing to be done. The kid in the suit, if not quite dead yet, wasn’t coming back.
But the looks in his friend’s eyes made her go through the motions, slapping him on the cheeks, even delivering the shot of adrenalin she’d have to explain later. And when she finally gave up, she looked in the other’s eyes and nearly cried when she saw the emptiness inside. Nearly cried when Mark grabbed Simon’s hand and squeezed it as hard as he could, not wanting to believe. Not wanting to let go.