Unfinished Stories That I Will Likely Never Finish

Pepper Spray (unfinished)

TW: Pain, cursing, descriptive memory of an allergic reaction, anxiety. If there's more, please tell me.

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Ethan stood very still. Or, he tried to. Mark, an ever comforting presence, stood near him, but not near enough to touch. All Ethan needed was a hug, then maybe he'd get through this easier, but no. He had to grow up a bit. 

He was… willingly….getting pepper-sprayed. He was the biggest idiot.

Ethan crouched on the balls of his feet, murmuring to himself as he came to terms with what he was going to do. 

"C'mon, Eth." Mark encouraged. And so, Ethan stood. 

"Listen, Ethan. This will not kill you." Mark reassured lowly. Ethan huffed out a shaky response. "No, I know. It's not it killing me that I'm worried about now."

"Just keep that in mind," Mark said. Then he turned to face the officer that would be spraying them.

"You guys ready?" He asked. Ethan nodded, barely hearing Mark's affirmation through the ringing in his ears. 

"Three, two, one, go." 

Liquid was sprayed onto Ethan's face, and that's when the panic set in. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." Ethan was regretting every decision he'd ever made. It was officially too late to go back. 

For fifteen seconds, it was merely uncomfortable- and then it felt like hell. "Oh shit- oh no. Oh it just got so much worse. Oh my god."

He faintly heard Mark narrating the feeling. Then his skin started to itch, and the burning increased. It reminded Ethan of the one time he'd gone into anaphylactic shock. The swelling, burning, and uncontrollable itching. And now he couldn't breathe. 

Ethan started to shake. 

"No, no no. Fuck. It hurts so fucking bad." The terror in Ethan's voice was palpable. "Calm- calm down, Ethan. You're okay. It's okay." Mark's voice sounded just as strained. Ethan stepped from side to side, panic clinging to his every movement. The burning slid down his neck while continuing to destroy his eyes. Ethan let out a high keening sound, rendered intelligible by a mixture of agony and fear. What if he actually was going into anaphylactic shock? What if this was the way he died? 

"One more minute," one of the officers called. Ethan didn't pay attention. He wanted to curl up and die. He wished he could scream, or cry, or do literally anything other than just sit here, helpless. 

His brain seemed to short circuit. There was too much pain to coherently handle. Ethan just stopped moving completely, muscles tensing and staying locked. His breaths were shallow and shaky. 

He didn't hear the timer go off. He only heard Mark urging him to move forward, and felt water on his face. He couldn't move. Minutes of frantic washing, and he was passed on to the next person. Milk was sprayed on his face, and repeat. Over and over and over again, until all Ethan knew was the cold feeling of liquid and the simultaneously agonizing burn of everything else. It was declared that there was nothing else to be done, and Ethan was led to a wall where he could steady himself. He slid down the wall, the touch material scraping his back. He sat like a figure made of stone, unable to function. It hurt, but it scared him. Pain wasn't the main factor here. It was the fear. 

Ethan wasn't the type to throw around the term "terrified" much, but there was no other way to describe his emotion. He was in a weird headspace. One of panic, of memories, and of recollections of the worst day of his life. All of it was similar to the pain he felt. So he sat, drowning in the sensations and emotions. There was a ringing in his ears that was impossible to block out. 

"Eth? Bud, how're you holding up?" Mark's voice was oddly staticy. Ethan couldn't answer even if he wanted to. "Ethan?" Mark's voice was closer now. Ethan barely moved his head in acknowledgement. He couldn't bear to open his eyes. He lifted a hand to rub at his face- and then the itching spiked again, along with the burn. "Shit…" Ethan's voice was painfully quiet, and it broke with fear. It felt almost exactly like the first time he'd eaten something with a peanut in it. If he hadn't had his EpiPen at the ready, he would be dead. Poof. Bye-bye Ethan Nestor. 

"Eth. Talk to me. Please?" A hand was on his knee. 

"It- it hurts. I mean, duh. But it's- it feels like-" Ethan clenched his teeth. The swelling was so much more noticable. He could hear the beeping of the hospital monitor from all those years ago. Ethan's breath hitched. 

"Ethan, breathe. You're safe. It's okay." One of the officers was talking, but Ethan didn't know who. 

"What does it feel like, Eth? Can you tell me?" Mark had sat next to him. Ethan knew this because he could feel Mark's shoulder pressed against his own. 

"I-- I had eaten a peanut a few ye-years ago. I was s-so close to dying. It f-feels like th-that. I c-cant breathe right." Ethan's voice sounded vulnerable even to himself. 

"Mark, I'm scared. It hurts. I don't want to go through that again, Mark. I s- I still he-hear the h-hospital monitor. T-the beeping th-thing." Ethan's voice dropped to a whisper. Talking was somewhat distracting him, but not enough. He could clearly recall the tightening of his throat, the dizziness and heat that spread throughout his body. He could hear the panicked shout of Mika, who'd been about to put his EpiPen away. He could feel the air rush out of his body, as it had when he'd hit the floor. 

He wanted to open his eyes now. To make sure he wasn't just back at the worst moment of his life.

Ethan trembled helplessly, then sought out Mark's hand. After a bit of awkward fumbling, he found it. Ignoring Mark's surprised noise, Ethan held Mark's hand tightly. He breathed as deeply as he could muster, and forced his eyes open. 

It fucking burned, but Ethan was too exhausted to care. Everything was blurry for about five seconds, then it came into focus. Amy, Evan, and the officers had all come to sit down, waiting for something to change. The concern they radiated was oddly comforting to Ethan. They really cared. Ethan forced his eyes open a bit more. "Huh. Everything's tinted orange," he commented quietly. Mark's thumb rubbed Ethan's hand. 

"Good job, Ethan. You okay?" Ethan nodded, then looked at his arms. He searched for any sign of inflammation, relaxing when he saw none. 

"I'm… okay?" His response came out like a question. Then the exhaustion slammed into him like a brick. Sighing, Ethan rested his head on Mark's shoulder.