𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚜 // 𝚊𝚡𝚕 𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎 [𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎]

X: Should've Known Better (I Wish I'd Never Met Her)

Axl POV

The four stood outside the door of Izzy's apartment. It was open a crack, but none of them were quite prepared to see what was behind it. 

"I think he took too much," Kurt had told them, a resigned grimace spreading across his features, when they arrived. "You should see him first, but he'll need a hospital."

"We'll give you space, but tell us if you need anything." Dave had added.

The thing was, Axl had known of, or experienced, countless such situations before, and the knowledge of their ending settled as a sick feeling in his gut. The heart-wrenching pain, yet resignation, of hearing that someone else you'd once played with, been friends with, or had even simply seen in a club a few times, had overdosed, been in an accident, been in a fight... it was horribly familiar. Life and death were cruel, and nowhere were they crueler than the LA streets, where drugs, money and alcohol flowed from one person to another like the very air they breathed - perhaps even more essential.

"Axl, you should go." Slash said quietly. "Izzy means a lot to all of us, but you grew up with him. Go first, we'll give you a minute."

Axl nodded, his usually extravagant personality enveloped instead by a sombre feeling of dread. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, walking towards Izzy who lay on the floor, breath catching in his throat at the sight. He knelt by his best friend, the boy who had been there for him through everything for so many years - through Layla, through that previous incarnation of what now lay out in front of him.

When thinking back, those images would always be fractured snapshots in his mind - the frames of reality of which he gradually became aware whilst his heart ached for the suffering that had happened to Izzy, loyal, talented, thoughtful Izzy of all people - the dusting of white powder across the table, across his lip - the carpet, gradually staining with splotches of crimson - the contrast between deathly pale skin and the obsidian  hair in a messy fan around his head - images that echoed of the moment when the abyss rose back from their pasts to swallow them once again in beautiful highs and damning lows, wonderful moments of flying and terrible moments of grief.

In that moment, though, the images registered in seconds, panic overriding the foreshadowing of the rollercoaster future soon to be launched into. Within a minute, Axl turned, calling for the others.

"Slash, Duff, Steven! Someone call an ambulance!"

As the other three rushed in, shock and horror registering on each of their faces as they saw the situation - an overdose, they all recognised it, their time in LA had ensured that - Axl would later remember one thought crossing his mind for an inexplicable reason. Because it felt like it was his fault.

Fuck, Izz. I'm so sorry.

General POV

They arrived just like you would expect Guns N Roses to arrive - in a terrifying frenzy, talk of drugs thrown around between the men - but also vastly differently. 

Though known as the crazy wannabe-rockstars of LA, this craziness was different - not a freestyle, uncaring riot of hedonism, but a selfless, worried panic for a friend; not ignorance and carelessness about what substances could do to them, but a sudden and sickening awareness of their danger.

None of the staff had time to process that it was Axl and Slash at the front desk, Duff and Steven gracing the waiting room chairs, or that Izzy Stradlin was in their care - any member of the public in such a state, emotionally like the four or physically like the one, would immediately herald such an efficiently rushed response. Before any of the band had had time to properly process what was going on, Izzy was gone, wheeled in a hospital bed to the department of God-knew-what for testing.

It was a long day, waiting.

Duff POV

One of the scariest things, Duff thought, was when someone was in a horrible situation that you could do nothing about. Waiting was killing him, killing them all; no matter how many times any of them went out for a smoke or meandered to the vending machine, the hours dragged on, news in scattered snippets barely a relief from the monotony of fear.

He observed the others as they waited, communication sparse. Axl rested his head on his hand, gazing at the medical-advice posters on the wall without really seeing them; Slash tapped his foot gently, leaning back with his hair covering his face;  Steven was pacing up and down the rows of seats, nervous energy running every movement.

Yes, Duff mused, they were the hard-rocking bad boys of these streets. But they had also seen the streets' darker side first-hand.

After what felt like aeons, an endless age of seconds straining by as if the very movement of time had become a burden to the universe, a doctor walked in, calling, "Friends of Jeffery Isbell?"

Their heads snapped up, and Duff stood with the others as they approached the doctor, who nodded at them. "This won't be easy to take, but remember it's not a death sentence," she said, quiet enough to be private but with professional conviction, he noted. A sense of dread pooled in his stomach at her statement. "What is it? How is he?" They all asked the same questions, in slight variations, at the same time.

The doctor took a deep breath. "He is stable, vitals are all okay. You were right in your suspicions, dangerous levels of cocaine were found in his blood. But as a result of that, he has fallen into a coma."

Sorry for the wait, and may I dedicate this to Annadaisylee for reminding me to update! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, sorry if I'm screwing with your emotions... but not really lol. Don't forget to comment/vote if you enjoyed or had any feedback, thank you :)