My first Turn fic! (For Jay)
A frat AU cause I’ve gotta stay on brand. Inspired by that ‘starting in the middle’ meme and the prompt “Oh, my God, I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.” Also based on true events. Please seek real medical help if you or a friend is having a real allergic reaction. Warning for descriptions of DIY surgery.
Ben is well and truly drunk, but not so wasted that he doesn’t know this is a terrible idea.
“This is a terrible idea.”
“No, no, it’ll be fine. Look.”
Caleb lurches into Ben’s space. His face is red and blotchy under the beard, and Ben can’t tell if that’s alcohol- or allergen-induced. He really hopes it’s the former.
Caleb grabs Ben’s hand and presses his fingers to the line of his throat. Caleb’s beard is rough against his knuckles and Ben’s heart almost beats out of his chest.
“You cut right here, and then stick the pen in. It’ll be easy.”
“Here?” Ben asks, flattening the pads of his fingers out on Caleb’s throat.
“A little lower,” Caleb says, and his voice echoes through Ben’s fingers and into every part of him. Caleb is still holding his hand.
Ben pulls away and touches the pocket knife and gutted ballpoint pen on the crate between their beds. “This is a terrible idea. I should just take you to the ER.” He’s already stripping off his polo and shorts.
“Nah,” Caleb scoffs. “I’ll be fine. You’re not gonna need to do it. Anyway, I trust you, dude.”
Ben almost doesn’t hear that over the sound of Caleb’s boots hitting the far wall. He’s still thinking about it as they drift off.
Ben doesn’t sleep well. He’s gotten used to Caleb’s snoring, but tonight every sound jerks him awake. He keeps one hand on the knife, and the other on his phone. Caleb Brewster is not going to die of an allergic reaction to fucking Bud Lite Lime. Not on his watch.
He gets some real sleep in the early hours of the morning as the hangover starts to hit and he decides that Caleb’s not in any real danger of going into anaphylactic shock. So he’s more pissed than worried when Caleb wakes him up by blasting music.
“Mornin’ Tallboy! I made it through the night I see.”
“Oh my god,” Ben groans. “I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I make no promises, Benny. Urgh, except a promise never to drink that shit again.”
Caleb reaches across the gap between their beds and pats Ben’s hand where it’s still clenched around the knife.
“You’d better not,” Ben says, opening his hand and offering up the knife.
For a second they’re palm to palm, warm metal cupped between them. Then Caleb picks up his knife, the drag of his fingers leaving burning trails on Ben’s skin.
“I saved your life, Brewster.”
“Alright, alright. I’m buying.”
