Terror Twin [Def Leppard] #Wattys2016

XXVII: Switch 625

Phil yawned from his spot on the couch, spooning Steve from behind. The TV was turned to a small news channel, which was showing the ball drop over in America.

Steve had fallen asleep around eleven, but Phil was determined to stay up. And stay up he did. He always seemed to be the one who stayed up.

The news lady had stepped off screen, and the large numbers flashed in the darkness of the room around them.

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1," people chanted. The ball had hit its lowest point. It all seemed quite anti-climatic to Phil as everyone screamed. The ball didn't even really drop, just slowly was lowered down. But it was a huge "crystal" ball, they didn't want to break it.

Steve had woken up just in time to see it flash midnight.

"Happy new year, baby." He murmured sleepily, turning around in Phil's grip and pressing a kiss to his boyfriend's lips.

"I love you, Steph'." Phil mumbled, resting his forehead against Steve's. Steve giggled, a cute little smile crossing his lips.

"I love you, too. Welcome to 1989."

Steve snuggled up to Phil again and promptly fell asleep, and Phil was not far behind.

•

Welcome to 1989.

The words repeated in Phil's head over and over again as he buried his face in his hands.

The guitarist blinked tears out of his eyes, wringing his hands together. He glanced at the door again, the sickeningly bright hospital lights burning his eyes.

The bed was empty for now. Steve would be back in soon. Hopefully.

Phil thought everything was alright. Steve had been sober for so long. But one extreme nightmare, and everything had come crashing down again when Phil found him passed out on the floor, barely breathing.

Welcome to 1989.

1989 had been splendid.

Until now.

The 90's were about to start officially. Less than a month to go now. Technology had caught up and while glam metal was weeding its way out of the mainstream, more and more bands were losing their way; making room for grunge bands to take the spotlight. Def Leppard hadn't put out another album since Hysteria, and certainly were losing their place in the brains of the mainstream artists. The gap between albums was growing, just like the hole in Phil's heart.

Growing, just like the levels of alcohol in his love's blood.

0.41. The percentage of alcohol in the blood that had killed John Bonham of Led Zeppelin.

0.59. The percentage of alcohol in the blood of Stephen Maynard Clark, the name written in fancy cursive on the clipboard at the end of the plastic bed.

Phil realized someone was knocking on the door. He picked himself up and opened it, wiping the tears off his cheek, expecting a nurse. Instead, a pair of arms wrapped around him.

A sniffle sounded in his ear.

"Hi, Phil."

"Hey, Sav." He smiled softly, burying his nose in his friend's fluffed hair.

"Joe and Rick are here, too, they're getting water bottles at the vending machine." Sav gently pushed Phil inside the room and back into his seat in front of the bed. Sav sat in the chair next to him, taking Phil's hand in his own.

"Sav, he's going to die. He isn't going to fucking survive this time." Phil squeezed Sav's hand, burying his face in the bassist's shoulder.

"No, no, Phil.. Steve is going to be okay. He's gonna be fine. He'll pull through." Sav gently reassured him, but Phil wasn't so sure.

"Hey.." Joe's soft voice broke the silence, minus Phil's sniffles, and he rested a hand on the guitarist's back.

Phil didn't reply besides a soft mumble of something that could've been 'hello'.

The door swung open, and a gurney was wheeled through the doorway.

The two doctors moving it paused, gently moving the limp body on the small cot onto the bed. One flashed a sad smile over at the men in the chairs before they exited with the stretcher.

Silence fell over the room.

Phil was the first to move. He stood over the bed, gently running his fingers through Steve's hair, pushing it out of his closed eyes. The shorter man quietly moved his chair over to the bedside, then took Steve's hand. Too many times had he been in this position before.

Rick sat down in the chair next to Joe. Running his fingers through his hair, he blew out a breath. He was thinking about cutting his hair anyway. Long hair obviously wasn't going to cut it in the music scene anymore. He knew Joe was thinking about it as well. It just felt like more than hair to Rick. Like getting rid of his past.

I may want to get rid of my past if Steve doesn't make it, he thought sadly.

Rick's faith in Steve was faltering, although he never wanted it to. He wanted to believe as strongly as Sav that Steve would pull through this, but it seemed to be becoming more and more unlikely every time something like this happened.

Joe wrapped an arm around Sav, who was silently watching Phil have his time with Steve. The need for sleep was obvious in his eyes, as Joe had been staying up later and later each night trying to come up with material. It just wasn't coming to him anymore. But with all the negative events occurring in his life, coming up with inspiration wasn't as hard, but Joe didn't want to write about negative things. Negative just wasn't Def Leppard.

Steve was cold, knocked out with either drugs or drink. Phil could barely stand to glance at the catheter sticking out of Steve's neck, although it was doing his lover nothing but good.

The amount of needles and tubes poking out of Steve's forearms made Phil feel nauseous. All the bandages keeping them in place. And the fluid bags pumping into his body surrounding the bed.

Sickening.

Phil stood and backed away from the bed, slightly reeling. After almost knocking into a table, he found his feet and then was sprinting down the hallway to the nearest bathroom.

He slammed the stall shut behind him, bent over and vomited.