From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 28 Mar 2002 13:27:35 -0000
Subject: Thicker Than Water (Langly/Byers, slash implied) by Alison
Source: direct

Reply To: xalison@excite.com


THICKER THAN WATER by Alison

Feedback: Yes please!
Email:  xalison@excite.com or lammasday@yahoo.com
Web Page: http://netjeru.ma-at.net/SurrealArts/Annex.html
Category:  Slash, Langly/Byers 
Rating:   Nothing heavy, just schmoop
Status:   Complete:  PWP
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc
Archive:   Lone Slasher, Basement, WWOMB, Gossamer, Ephemeral
Summary: A visit to the supermarket nearly ends in tragedy for 
Langly and Byers.



THICKER THAN WATER


Thursday

6 PM

It was just starting to get dark as Langly pulled the VW van off 
the expressway and into the parking lot of the supermarket.  The 
blond man drove slowly up and down the rows of parked cars 
looking for a space, muttering in frustration.  Beside him in 
the passenger seat, Byers ignored the monotonous complaints as 
he concentrated on finishing the shopping list.

Finally with a whoop of triumph Langly spotted an empty space 
about a hundred yards from the store entrance and slotted the 
van neatly into the space.  He turned to the other man with a 
satisfied grin.  "Not bad, hey, John?  C'mon, let's go."

"Yeah, just a minute, let me make sure I haven't forgotten 
anything . ."

Langly opened the driver's door and jumped out, followed a 
couple of minutes later by Byers, who handed him a piece of 
paper.  "Here's your half of the list, Ringo.  And DON'T get 
anything that's not on the list, okay?  

"Sure, mom, yeah, mom . . ."

Byers swatted at Langly's backside in affectionate exasperation 
as he followed his energetic friend towards the entrance.

Inside they split up, taking half the list each by mutual 
consent and heading for different sides of the store.   Byers 
watched Langly's retreating back view fondly.  Langly would take 
twice as long to do half as much.  A kid in a candy store  . . . 
the phrase could have been written for Ringo Langly.  Taking 
every day at top speed, grabbing at life as if every day might 
be his last.

Langly took his shopping cart towards the back of the store at a 
speed just short of a run, doing everything in overdrive as 
usual, especially when it was a chore he disliked.   At least 
John had given him the interesting half of the list . . . 
breakfast cereal, cookies, potato chips, pizza . . . I get to 
choose all my favorite munchies, Johnny gets the soap, toilet 
tissue and the bathroom cleaner.

He allowed himself a round of his favorite supermarket game, 
which involved standing at ever increasing distances from his 
shopping cart and throwing all the unbreakable items into it.  
He finished with his best score yet, a packet of Snickers bars 
from twenty paces into a shopping cart that now more resembled a 
landfill site.  Byers' shopping cart, he knew, would in contrast 
be packed as neatly as the geometric shapes in a game of Tetris.

He grabbed the latest new breakfast cereal with cookies, three 
types of chocolate chip and marshmallow pieces.  A second 
thought, and he regretfully put it back on the shelf.  
Experience had shown him that Byers WOULD make him go and put it 
back.  A third thought, and he took it down again.  John was SO 
cute when he got that disapproving look.  It'll be worth it . . 
. I'll sulk for a while, then he'll forgive me, and I'll let him 
forgive me again tonight  . . .

He was lost in a daydream of just HOW he would allow Byers to 
forgive him tonight when he was jerked back to the present by a 
yell from the front of the store.  A hoarse voice yelling 
something unintelligible  . . .  then shots.  

"John!  Johnny's always way quicker than me.  He'll be waiting 
out there . . ."

Then the screaming started.

===000===

Byers had just paid at the checkout and was loading his bags 
back into the shopping cart, smiling goodbye to the woman who 
had been in line behind him.  He had felt guilty about not 
letting her go first, as she had only one small basket. And 
she's old enough to be your mother, his conscience scolded him.  
He looked over her head, trying but not really expecting to see 
Langly yet, and barely noticed the very tall, very thin guy in 
line behind her with his hands in his pockets, face almost 
entirely hidden by a hooded sweatshirt.

He had turned to look out the window, idly trying to check on 
the van, when it started.  With his back to the checkout, the 
first he knew was a yell from behind him, something pushing him 
hard between the shoulder blades and knocking him to his knees, 
then a high pitched scream that went on and on.  

After that it all happened so quickly;  the sight of the tall 
guy thrusting a gun in the face of the checkout girl, yelling 
threats at the top of his voice;  the continuing screaming of 
the woman who had fallen against him and knocked him over;  
yells and screams of confusion from other customers as 
realisation spread.  Byers struggled free of the older woman, 
slipping on smashed packages and broken bottles and puddles of 
liquid;  seeing the scenario unfold before him with the numb 
certainty that there was nothing he could do.

Then the shooting started;  and the world exploded in a mist of 
red.  Something hit him a hammer blow in the chest and he 
collapsed again to the floor, his head slamming against the side 
of the checkout desk with stunning force and he lost 
consciousness.

===000===

Langly raced up to the checkout and skidded to a halt, the 
horrifying scene unfolding before him.

The checkout girl was slumped on the floor, moaning, both hands 
clasped across a bloody wound in her stomach.

A middle aged woman was kneeling in the middle of a scattered 
heap of groceries, sobbing and trembling in shock.

The shooter was lying on his back by the checkout, a bloody hole 
in his forehead, a gun lying a few inches from his outstretched 
hand.  

Over him stood a stocky middle aged man in a combat jacket, a 
pistol in his hand still pointed at the downed man,  his police 
badge held up in his other hand.  

And a few feet away Byers lay on his face in a spreading pool of 
crimson, still and quiet.  

===000===

"JOHN!"

The cop swung towards him.  "Police!  Stay where you are, sir."

Langly raised his hands.  "Please, that's my friend over there.  
Let me go to him."  

The cop gave him an assessing stare.  "Okay."

Langly vaulted the checkout counter in a single leap, landed 
awkwardly and stumbled shakily across the few feet separating 
him and Byers.  "John, oh my God, John . . ."

He flung himself down beside Byers in the sticky dark red 
puddle. Panic threatened to overwhelm him as he reached out.  
Wetness soaked through his jeans as he reached out to touch the 
still shoulder.  Behind him he could hear the cop calling for 
backup, for medical assistance.  God, let them be in time!

He could hardly make his hands do what he needed them to do.  He 
stiffly reached out, took Byers in his arms and turned him over.  
Byers' eyes were shut, but he was still breathing in shallow 
gasps.  The whole of the front of his shirt was soaked red.  
Langly was afraid to look for the source.  He pulled his friend 
against him, cradling him gently, one hand searching frantically 
for a pulse in the neck and feeling almost dizzy from relief 
when he found it, faint and unsteady.

//This can't be happening, it's not real . . . please, God, no . 
. . it's not fair, we've only been together a couple years . . . 
don't take him away from me now . . .I never told him I love him  
. .  oh God, I don't know what to do  . . .Johnny always said we 
should take a course in first aid . . . gotta stop the bleeding  
. . .//

Fumbling with the buttons on the shirt, pulling the soaked 
cotton aside, he ran his hand carefully down the labouring 
chest.  Blood was trickling from a ragged wound at the top of 
Byers' chest, a few inches below the base of his throat, but not 
nearly enough to account for all the blood.  God, John, what's 
happened to you?  He realised that his own hands were covered in 
blood, the sleeves of his sweatshirt soaked in it, and suddenly 
he wanted to throw up.  He swallowed hard.  Johnny needs you, 
hold on, focus . . . suddenly as if a switch had been thrown, he 
knew what do do;  and skinning out of his shirt, wadded it up 
and pressed it firmly against the bloody wound.  

He stroked his fingers down Byers' face, needing to feel the 
familiar sensations, the warmth of his skin and soft hair of his 
beard.  If only John would open his eyes, speak to him, tell him 
everything would be okay . . . He still couldn't believe this 
was really happening.  He had never felt so helpless or scared 
in his life. He pulled Byers' soaked shirt off him, searching 
with sick apprehension for another wound, another bullet hole.  
Was the bullet still in him  . . . where would the exit wound be  
. . . oh god, if it's in his lung . . .  he could die before the 
ambulance gets here . . . He wasn't aware he was speaking out 
loud.

"God, John, please don't die.  I love you, please don't die."

Byers twitched and coughed, one hand moving, searching, and 
Langly caught it in his own and bent down so his mouth was next 
to Byers' ear.  "Johnny, can you hear me, it's Ringo.  John, 
you're gonna be okay, just hang in there, the ambulance's on the 
way.  Just hold on, babe, I'm here."

Byers' hand squeezed his own and a frown creased his forehead as 
his eyes slowly opened.  "Ringo  . . . what happened?"

"There's been a shooting, you stopped a bullet.  Just lie still, 
try not to talk."

"No, I'm okay  . . ."  Incredibly Byers was moving, struggling 
feebly in his arms, trying to get up.  "The cashier, she was hit  
. . ."

"Godsake, Johnny, lie still, you've been shot!"  He looked 
around wildly.  "Need some help here!  John, you're losing a lot 
of blood.  Please, stay still."

"No, I'm okay, gotta get up . . . "  Torn between restraining 
him and hurting him, Langly let him sit up a little, supporting 
him against his chest.  Perhaps it would help him breathe.  
People were moving now, emerging from hiding places;  a security 
guard - where had he been when he was needed! - was helping the 
sobbing woman to her feet, and a young guy who looked like he 
might have been a medical student was kneeling over the checkout 
girl, now lying ominously still on the floor.

Sirens outside, flashing lights and the welcome sight of 
paramedics shouldering their way through the gawping crowds of 
onlookers. One rushed straight to the checkout girl, another 
headed towards Langly's shout.

"Over here!  Help, please, here!"

She was a middle-aged, dark-skinned woman, reassuringly 
confident in demeanour as she knelt down beside them, checking 
Byers' vital signs, asking him his name,  shining a light in his 
eyes, checking him all over for injuries as Langly had done a 
few minutes earlier.  Byers was answering her questions in a 
shaky but coherent voice, fully aware now of his surroundings.  
She helped him into a sitting position, his back leaning against 
the checkout desk.

Langly could barely contain his panic.  "Where's he hurt?  Lady, 
he needs to get to the hospital right now, what are you waiting 
for?  He's bleeding to death here!"

She flicked him a quick glance of sympathy as she firmly applied 
pressure to the wound on Byers' chest, but not for a second 
stopping what she was doing.  "Just let me do my job here, sir, 
your friend's doing okay, he's going to be fine."

"What do you mean, fine?  He's got a bullet in him!  He should 
be on his way to the hospital!"

Byers coughed slightly and pushed against Langly's restraining 
arm.  "She's right, Ree  . . . I'll be okay, don't look so 
worried."

"Johnny  . . ."

The medic slapped a dressing on Byers's chest wound and smiled 
down at him.  "Just stay there, Mr Byers, you're gonna be fine 
but I want you to come down to the ER for a check up.  Looks 
like you might need a couple stitches in that cut.  Just hang in 
there."  And she was scrambling to her feet, looking already for 
the next patient.
  
Langly grabbed her arm.  "But . . . look at all the blood,  he 
needs blood  . . ."

She smiled broadly at him, suddenly looking twenty years 
younger. "If that came out of him, my friend, I'd really be 
worried."  She bent down and picked up a piece of broken glass 
with a label adhering to the curved side.  "California Zinfandel 
2000 - looks like it was a good year!"  

"Wine  . . . it was wine  . . ."

Suddenly weak at the knees and speechless, Langly subsided to 
the floor beside Byers.  He buried his head in his hands, relief 
making him as dizzy as the fear had.  Suddenly his stomach 
heaved, nausea swept over him and he tasted bile in his throat.  
The smell  . . . he had always hated the smell of red wine.  
God, why hadn't he realised?

A familiar touch on his arm, a well-known hand sliding round his 
shoulders, and he looked up to see Byers looking anxiously at 
him.  The other man shifted to sit beside him and pulled him 
close.  Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, just incredibly 
relieved that they were both alive.

Langly pulled Byers even closer, resting his chin on the top of 
the other man's head and breathing deeply.  He drew back, his 
nose wrinkling.  "Euuwwhh  . . . even your hair's soaked in this 
stuff."

Byers sighed tiredly.  "At least it wasn't blood."

"Mm.  God, I don't know why I didn't realise.  You stink."

Byers laughed softly.  "You were freaking out.  I could hear 
you, even before I opened my eyes."

Langly blushed furiously.  "You could have told me, instead of 
letting me make a fool of myself."

"Ree, I didn't know.  I felt something hit me, I thought  . . I 
thought I was dying.  And then I heard your voice, telling me to 
hold on."

Langly breathed in relief.  As long as that was ALL John had 
heard.  He looked away, distracted by the sight of  a second 
team of paramedics wheeling the still figure of the checkout 
girl away on a gurney.  That could have been John . . . he heard 
a choking sound from Byers and looked round in panic.  His 
friend had his hands over his face, his body trembling.

"Johnny, it's okay, you're okay, it's just the shock -"  his jaw 
dropped as Byers looked up at him.  His face was screwed up in  
. . . laughter?  Langly stared at him in astonishment as Byers 
began to laugh at him.  "Oh Ree . . . "  he was laughing so hard 
he couldn't speak. "You thought it was blood . . . " 

Langly felt an unreasoning rush of anger.  "Yeah, I was worried 
about you, okay?  I thought you were bleeding to death, okay?  
Pretty dumb, huh?"

Byers gasped for breath, tried to stop for a second but broke up 
again in giggles.  "Sorry, Ree, it's just . . . . omigod, the 
look on your face  . ."

Langly gaped at his friend, hurt and resentful. He gives me a 
fright like this, I think he's dead and all he can do is laugh 
at me, the bastard . . . he turned his head away.  "Fuck, John, 
it's not funny!"  

Byers stopped as if he had been slapped.  His mouth fell open 
and he stared at the angry young man, taking in for the first 
time his shirtless condition, his soaked jeans and his hands and 
arms stained with a mixture of wine and blood, his naturally 
pale face even whiter than usual.  Langly was shivering, whether 
from cold, shock or anger it was impossible to say.  It acted 
like a bucket of cold water on Byers, bringing him abruptly back 
to reality.  "God, Ringo,  I'm sorry, I guess I'm in shock  . . 
."

Langly had his head turned away, one hand wiping over his face.  
But when Byers put his hand on his shoulder, he reached behind 
him and grabbed his lover's hand and squeezed it hard. Byers 
leaned his back against the checkout desk and put his arm back 
round Langly, holding him tight.

They were still sitting like that, side by side, in silence, 
when the paramedic came back.   "Mr Byers  . . . if you can walk 
out to the ambulance, we're ready to head back to Washington 
General now."

Byers started to lever himself to his feet, but Langly was there 
already, one hand reaching for him, pulling him up, one arm 
going round him protectively as his anger was forgotten.  Byers 
leaned against him, and supporting each other they walked slowly 
away from the scene of carnage, the living and the dead.


===000===

Two hours later, after Byers had been examined in the ER, x-
rayed and had six stitches in his chest wound and had several 
pieces of glass removed from it and  other minor cuts,  they 
were finally allowed to leave the ER;  and having managed to 
avoid giving a statement to the police ("I had my back to the 
checkout the whole time, officer, I didn't see anything") they 
climbed wearily back into the van to head home.  

Byers shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat.  "God, I just 
want to get home and have a shower."

"Me too, I got that shit all over me too."

Byers chuckled.  "Sorry Ree, too bad.  I know you don't like red 
wine."

Langly bit his lip.  He was still more shaken than he wanted to 
admit, and wasn't ready to be teased about it yet.  "Please, 
John, I feel stupid enough about this already."

Byers looked across at him and his expression softened.  "Ree . 
. . I heard what you said."

"Huh?"

"When you thought I was unconscious.  I heard what you said."  
He reached out and put his hand on Langly's thigh, squeezing 
gently.  "I love you too, Ree." 

Langly felt his throat grow tight and he had to swallow hard.  
He took one hand off the steering wheel and put it over Byers'.

"I know."

Byers leaned towards him, and they kissed softly, intensely.  
Byers pulled Langly close, and they hugged each other tight for 
a long moment in sheer relief.  Langly whispered "God, I was so 
scared . . ."

Byers squeezed him tight then broke away, a small smile on his 
face.

"C,mon, let's go home."





END