Dave sat, his eyes stinging from the endless tears, his breath hitching in his chest, and he scratched at the inside of his wrist. The skin there was red and inflamed, and he found that scratching at it only aggravated it further. But he didn't stop.
His sigh was dull and forlorn as a plan, or more aptly, a resolution, began to form in his mind.
I'm still going to tell him. I don't care if he wants to know or not. I'm going to tell him that I love him. I need him to know, because I never told him when we were alive, and it killed me, afterwards. I had three fucking years, to tell him.
It fucking killed me.
He hugged his knees against his chest, resting his head against his legs, and closed his stinging, aching eyes. I need to tell him. He's never going to love me back. But I love him. Fucking more than anything.
He knew perfectly well that speaking to Kurt would solve nothing; he was no idiot. After their last conversation, it was obvious to him how Kurt felt. He was disgusted with himself that he'd ever hoped it could be different between them. He was embarrassed and ashamed by his reaction, by his own loathsome tears.
He wondered if this was what Kurt had felt like in the last few days of his life, all alone, with no one to hold your hand, comfort you, or give you space when you really needed it-
I would've comforted you if only you'd asked.
-and say that one day, it would all turn out okay. He wondered if Kurt had felt as hopeless, as dejected, as isolated as he did. He guessed Kurt probably had. He wouldn't have chosen to commit suicide lightly. To take his own life, fucking end it all.
Dave also wondered if there was such a thing as Heaven and Hell, after all this shit, and if it were possible to die again, in the Afterlife. To just keep dying, again and again. It made him shudder. What happened when you died in this place, when you "faded away", as they seemed to call it? Did you wake up in some other, new, foreign place? Or would you simply wink out of existence, out of consciousness? Out of being? He thought about the alternative, about an existence without Kurt, and decided that simply ceasing to exist, in his case, would be for the best.
It would at least take away the pain.
Oh yeah? For some reason, his subconscious wanted to challenge this. Look what happened to Kurt, my thick, naive friend. He stuck a shotgun in his mouth and pulled the fucking trigger. His brains painted the inside of his skull, leaked out his fucking ears... "Stop," Dave moaned quietly, unaware he'd even spoken. He ended his life, you sorry sack of shit, and did ending his life take away his pain?
He groaned at the voice, trying to shut it out. Violently, he shoved it into a distant corner of his mind, where he hoped he'd never have to deal with it again. Again, he shuddered, and rubbed at his aggravated wrist. Large, silent tears were falling from his eyes.
He was going to do it.
He didn't care what anyone said or thought.
His mind was made up.
Kurt gazed up into Dave's face, filled with a sense of apprehension. And this Dave was neither young nor old, or rather, he seemed to be both at the same time. His dimensions were blurry, like he was seeing everything through a fine layer of fog. But the look in Dave's eyes was unmistakable. It made the blonde quake, and crumble under the weight of his intensity.
Dave's eyes were in flames.
"How dare you?" he demanded, and the walls themselves trembled. "How fucking dare you stab me in the back like this?"
"Please." Kurt was frantic. "You don't understand what I had to do. Let me try and explain-"
"Nothing you could say would possibly make me understand."
"But Davey, I-"
"Don't you fucking call me that!" he growled, and Kurt flinched convulsively. "You're not allowed to call me that, not anymore!"
Through his guilt and shame, Kurt felt a twinge of confusion. Not anymore? What did Dave mean by that? "D-dave." His voice was timid and meek, very humbled. Not his normal voice, at all. "I, I'm not sure if I know what you mean."
"You hurt me, you know. A long time ago, when you used to call me "Davey" - all the fucking time. You hurt me, so why would you hurt me again, now? Do you hate me, is that it? What?"
"What are you talking about?" Even as he asked, Kurt felt as though he almost, almost knew what was going on, like he could taste and smell and touch the answer. He tried hard to summon it, but thinking too hard hurt his brain, made it pulse.
"Of course, you wouldn't remember..."
"But what don't I fucking remember?" The blonde was past the point of being calm, desperate for answers. "What are you people hiding from me? What do they know? I want to know, Dave. Tell me!"
"You'll never fucking know, Kurt." And Dave was crying bitterly. "You'll never know because you don't want to know, you're a coward, and you hide the truth from yourself. But, but I guess that's how it should be, and don't fucking pretend you want it any other way. You don't care, why would you? You never did before!"
"Dave?" But now real, sharp pain was engulfing his head, and it was penetrating, snarling, into is brain, it felt like someone had pumped him full of white hot lead between the ears. He yelled, it was all he could do to yell, his brain and the poisonous tattoo embedded in his wrist throbbing, burning, swallowing him whole. "Oh God, my fucking head! What's wrong with my fucking head?"
"You shot yourself, you fucking moron, and I'll never, ever forgive you for it!"
Kurt tried to respond but could only cry in hollow pain, and he felt warm wetness across his cheek but when he pressed his fingertips to his face they came away slick and stained with blood...
"Siri!" Kurt stood in the middle of his apartment and bellowed, trying to summon the spirit. As much as he disliked talking to her, he was in desperate need. "Siri, damn it, get here! Now! This fucking minute!"
"What?" She materialized before him as silently and as fluidly as water, scaring him half to death. Her naturally pale face was pinched and drawn and as white as a sheet. She had dark, awful smudges under her eyes, which stood in stark contrast to her white skin. The eyes themselves were bloodshot, though Kurt was sure an unearthly being such as her would not require things like sleep. She seemed, pardon the expression, dead on her feet. "What's wrong, Kurt?"
"Where have you been? And what's wrong with you?"
"I'm sick. And so are you. Sick in the head. Why in the Afterlife would you hurt Dave like that? You just about tore apart his soul!"
His gaze was cold. "I though you would have been happy, to know he was no longer under the influence of a dirty, suicidal whore."
"No, forget that and listen to me for a minute. That's not why I asked you here." Kurt forced his voice to lower and he tried to be more civilized. Even in his frustration, he was unable to pick a fight with anything that took the form of the small, frail girl now shivering before him. He knew that form wasn't her true self, but he still felt ashamed, to yell at a young woman, a child really. "Siri, please. I need your help. I know it's against the rules, I get that, but I need this. I need to know, please. About my past. Who, who was I?"
Siri hesitated and something in her chest twisted for him. "Kurt, I..."
"Did I know Dave?" He blurted it out suddenly, which surprised her a little. "Somehow?"
"What makes you think that?"
"The dreams," murmured the blonde. "In them, he knows me. And I know him. But, it isn't just the dreams, Siri, it's something else, too. Something more. It's how I feel when I'm around him. I've never felt so close to someone so quickly, not ever. It's like I've known him for years. And, and it's how his eyes light up when he sees me; I know he feels the same way. He knows me. And I knew him!" His voice was loud but fragile, trembling with some strong emotion, and Siri felt herself regain a morsel of strength as she listened to him.
This is right what he's feeling is right you KNOW it is...
"Siri, this is serious now. I can't keep on going unless I know. You've got to tell me who I was. Who Dave was. And how I knew him, because I know I did!"
"I-" She sighed, weakening. Kurt's gaze was naked, devoid of pride or self esteem or frustration or anything. Just a sheer, desperate need for knowledge. And she knew she wasn't cruel enough to leave him in the dark for even another day.
"Siri" Kurt's voice was quiet. "Please."
Heedless to the consequences, she surged ahead, staring him down with sickly brown eyes. "You're right Kurt. But you knew that, didn't you? I only wonder how long you've known." He opened his mouth, but she help up a hand as a signal for him to hold his tongue, and continued. "You were Kurt Cobain from Aberdeen, Washington. You were in a band, you played music. The band was called Nirvana, and you were the guitarist-"
"I knew it felt familiar," he muttered, but Siri ignored him.
"And the lead singer, also. After a few years of playing in this band, you and your drummer parted ways, and you had to find a replacement. Luckily for you, at that exact time another band was breaking up, and their drummer needed a new band. So you hooked up. Got together."
She paused, knowing it was too late for second thoughts. "The drummer's name was Dave Grohl."
Kurt didn't even gasp. Even as he heard it, he found he wasn't all that surprised. Siri's words flowed, and they made perfect sense to him. But still, it felt odd, like he was hearing about someone else's history, and not his own. He remembered none of it. "Then what happened?"
"You got famous. Infamous. It-" Siri couldn't help but hesitate. "It wasn't really your fault, Kurt. It was no one's fault. It, it was just one of those things that happen, sometimes."
"The drugs." She lowered her eyes. "Heroin."
At the mere mention of the word, Kurt felt a raging heat rush over his skin, and his mouth went bone dry. Siri watched, dismayed, as the pupils of his eyes contracted to pin points, as he trembled all over. His hands instinctively went his elbows, and he cradled them. "Heroin." He tested the word, but there was no need to explain it. A part of him obviously still remembered what that word meant. She waited until she was sure Kurt had regained full consciousness before continuing.
"You married a stalker-turned-lover of yours when you realized you'd gotten her pregnant," she continued, hoping her soft tone would dull sharp words. "And she gave birth to a baby girl who you loved with all your heart. You had what you needed to keep you alive, for a little while. But then you lost it again. And then, then you died."
Shot myself in the head, you mean. "Yeah." And was obvious to both that his death was still a touchy subject.
"Okay, I won't get into that. You already know how that part of the story goes. But you don't know, well, how could you realize? Your death left a hole in the world. You were a celebrity, Kurt. Unwillingly, but a celebrity nonetheless. Some called you music royalty. When you killed yourself, millions mourned, some even followed you. And Dave... he was heartbroken." The blonde felt his insides ache, and a flush of dull shame at what he'd done to his friend. To them all. "It, it took him years to heal."
"I'm a fucking monster," Kurt murmured, instinctively bringing a hand to his mouth to chew on his nails. He bit hard, and drew blood. "I, I did that to them. And I had a daughter. How could I do that? A little, baby girl? And, and a wife, too?"
"Your wife's name is Courtney. Frances is your daughter." Siri smiled faintly, sadly. "She looks more and more like you every day. Like both of you. She, she has your eyes, Kurt." He sank slowly to the floor, trying to process information that was struggling hard to be ignored. His head was throbbing, split into two. It was all new and frightfully shocking, but then again, so damn familiar, like more fucking Deja Vu...
It was so bad it hurt.
He could almost feel the bullet. Oh Jesus, what have I done? What have I done?
Broke his heart-
"Kurt?" She was a little intimidated by his heavy silence, almost afraid to approach him. "Hey, are you going to be okay?"
But Kurt could offer no reply, which was truly an answer in itself. Siri knew she had to leave him then and she did, left him silent and shivering. Kurt held his hands in his lap and stared into the floor, and found he had never hated himself more than he did in that moment.
He gave himself up to the stone floor, the tattoo that had once been so vibrant and so strong now an ashen ghost stamped on the underside of his wrist.
Kurt glared and Jeremy glared back. The hate sparked and crackled like electricity.
"Let me go, Jeremy."
"Let me go, Jeremy!"
Kurt was heedless and struggled anyway to pass him, to get to the door. "Just, just because I'm not with Dave anymore doesn't, mmph, doesn't mean I'm going to stay here and put up with you shit for a moment longer! I can't stand being around you! I'm leaving, so get the fuck out of my way!"
"No." Jeremy was practically a stranger, hate disfiguring his face and making it ugly. He advances towards the blonde with malicious intent, and Kurt felt a sudden, hideous wave of pain roll over him all at once. He staggered, feeling dizzy and sick, and abruptly went numb all over.
Slowly, he glanced down at his wrist, and felt a very strange, but freeing relief. His tattoo was gone. In the space of two seconds, it had faded away completely.
Jeremy stopped short in his advance and winced, Kurt's wave of pain reaching him also. He cried out roughly, and brought his own wrist up to glare t it. His eyes widened and his face paled. His mark was also gone. There wasn't a single fucking trace of it left. For the longest time he stared at his flawless wrist, his eyes growing brighter and brighter with as his rage increased. Kurt felt no trepidation; he could only sit serenely and wait for punishment, too light headed to attempt anything else.
"You," Jeremy spat, stalking the blonde once more. "Look what you've done to me! You've killed me! You've killed me, you fucking little whore!" Kurt was unable to respond, he gazed up with blank eyes.
I'm really free.
"J-jer..." But the words cost him too much effort, and his voice failed him.
"You'll fucking pay now, Kurt! You worthless bastard." Roughly, Jeremy grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him face first to the ground, bruising him, hurting him. Kurt cried out, yet his cry was weak and without real resistance. Even if he'd really wanted to, he couldn't stop what was happening to him. I'm gone I hope I just fade away. With a growl Jeremy climbed onto him and tore off his pants, ripping his underwear to shreds. Kurt struggled when he realized what Jeremy was up to, feeble struggles, and the larger man was able to brush them off with little effort. Kurt was weak, and Jeremy's rage made him strong.
"I'm gonna fuck you now, you stupid bitch. I'm going to fuck you until I split you in half." The blonde moaned at this and kicked out, Jeremy simply clamped his hips down with one hand, and restricted his movements. Kurt moaned again, about to cry or pass out or both, he felt so sick. "I'm going to rape you, you fucking whore. You ruined me. Now, I'm going to fucking ruin you!"
Kurt came to life as he was torn open; a fire erupted in his abdomen and he whimpered and squeezed his eyes shut and thrashed his head to the side. "Fu-uck!" he screamed. Jeremy scraped and bruised his hips, his insides. Hard and violating. Hot and burning, like acid. Never this bad, never before. "Fuck, Jeremy! N-no!"
Jeremy laughed in his cruelty, leaning down to bite at Kurt's ear, and make it bleed. His breathing was harsh and intense, even as he groaned, even as he laughed. Kurt sobbed and struggled but was pinned down, and Jeremy liked it when they struggled. It turned him on something fierce. The crying was agitating him, but he figured he could work with it. He dove in harder to make Kurt scream and decided he liked that sound, jutting further, impaling Kurt on his cock. Splitting him apart.
Kurt screamed again and again. Blood was running down his thighs. He was filled with pain and blood and violent, bitter hatred.
Jeremy grinned at Kurt's pain and groaned in his own pleasure, as he raped the man he'd once dared to call his soul mate.