Julie and the Phantoms One-Shots

Don't Look Down ('Cause We're Still Rising)

Title: Don't Look Down ('Cause We're Still Rising)
Author: Anchor_Red
Word Count: 1480
Summary: This is the story about how the boys died.
Notes: This is a whump/sick fic. Title comes from "Now or Never".
Warnings: Blood, vomit, death

*

"Eat up, boys. 'Cause after tonight, everything changes." Luke held up his hotdog. The others tapped their dogs to his, in a sign of cheers.

They chewed happily, savoring the moment. This was the night their lives would change. Tonight, their dreams were going to come true.

Alex scrunched his brows, turning to look at the others. Something about the taste seemed off. "That's a new flavor," he said.

Reggie looked over at him, annoyed. "Chill, man. Street dogs haven't killed us yet." He continued chewing to prove his point. Everything was fine and Alex needed to relax. He always thought too much about everything.

Luke looked at his hotdog in hesitation. Maybe Alex had a point, he wondered. He internally shrugged. Alex was overreacting. It was fine. He took a large bite.

They finished their meal in record time, since they had been starving after rehearsal. It was hard to believe that in just a few hours, they would be playing at the Orpheum. They were sure to be picked up by a record executive, and then they'd be living the life they'd been dreaming about.

Luke leaned further into the sofa cushions and propped his feet on the coffee table. His stomach gurgled and he laid a hand on it. It had started aching and he could feel everything sloshing around. Maybe street dogs had been a bad idea.

He pressed his hand into his gut, trying to get it to settle, or at least get the pain to lessen, but it didn't help. The cramps only got worse as his stomach seemed to burn painfully.

He leaned forward with a groan, hunching over as he hugged his middle.

"Dude, you okay?" Alex asked, glancing over at him as he sat slouching into the couch cushions.

"I'll be back," Luke answered. He jumped up and darted to the nearest restroom.

He locked himself into a stall and did his business. His stomach kept cramping, preventing him from feeling any relief. He only felt worse with each passing moment, and was only vaguely aware of his bandmates barging in and also barricading themselves in the stalls. It seemed as though they were all experiencing the same thing.

By the time he had finished up and was washing his hands in at the sink, he was beginning to feel nauseous. In the cracked mirror, he saw he was pale. His skin looked sickly and he had beads of sweat along his forehead. The only color he had was a tinge of pinkness on his cheeks, and along with the sudden chills and aches wracking his bones, he knew he had a fever. A lightheadedness had begun creeping in, so he hurried to dry his hands so he could get back to the old ratty couch.

He walked drunkenly back to the sofa. He felt dizzy and out of touch with reality as the room spun. Why was he sick? Food poisoning couldn't set in this quickly, right? He didn't think he'd ever felt this sick before in his whole life, not even when he'd had pneumonia a couple of years ago.

He just had to shake it off. Tonight was their night. They'd just have to power through it. It'd work out.

Luke sank into the couch, feeling his muscles melt into the plush fabric. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the pain, which was only steadily getting worse. His teeth clenched as he held his middle, his fist clutching his shirt tightly. He felt like he'd swallowed poison; he'd never felt anything like this before.