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Steven had been going on like this for five years. Five miserable years, without Marc and Jake there for him in the way he needed, in the way they had always been for him before but couldn't be now. It was too much. It was never enough to imagine them, hearing their laughs in his head as he pretended they were with him, watching cheesy movies and trying to steal his popcorn. It was too much pain, not enough comfort. So he decided to do something about it.
He grabbed the pills, and chased them down with gin. It wasn't his usual drink of choice, but it would be far more potent and that's what mattered. All he could see as he looked around his apartment was mementos of their lives. Marc's paintings from when he was in art therapy. Jake's punching bag and exercise gear. Steven never got rid of it. He didn't have the heart to.
Next came the vodka. He had several more pills, just tallying them up. He moved to the bathroom at one point, because he had started to vomit and it wouldn't do to have whoever found his body have to clean that up. Steven remembered the dust, the pain, the shock, the anger. He remembered it all and forced himself to forget it, as much as he could. He could see them again soon, when he had finished off this bottle.
He imagined the ghost of hands and arms hugging him, reassuring him. His vision was growing blurry and he coughed and gagged, throwing up into the toilet. He drank some more.
"Hey, we're...What's that noise?" And that sounded so much like Jake that Steven could feel himself starting to sob more than actually registering what was going on with his emotions.
"It's coming from the bath...room...Jake, get the fuck in here and call an ambulance!" Marc's voice was so impossibly panicked, and Steven couldn't understand why this imaginary version of the conversation was so loud, so real-sounding, when it had never been before.
"Oh my fucking god," Jake breathed, and when Steven put unfocused eyes upward, he saw Marc and Jake standing there, horrified. Jake had grabbed the phone and was hollering through it in an instant.
Marc knelt down next to Steven taking the pills and vodka out of his hands. Steven whined, reaching for them again, before he realized. That wasn't...possible in his imagination. He wouldn't...he never...they wouldn't be able to take away his plan if they weren't real. Marc put his hands on Steven's shoulders, shaking him, and Steven was so overwhelmed with the feeling of real, they're real, they're back, how are they back? that he nearly missed Marc's frantic question. "Steven, how much have you had to drink?! How many pills did you take?!"
And the reality crashed into Steven like a freighter--they were back, and he was dying in front of them. "Too many," he breathed, before choking and throwing up in the toilet. "I had too many. I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die! I don't wanna die, not if you're back!"
"Steven? Steven!" Marc exclaimed, shaking him some more. "You're not gonna die, not if we have anything to say about it, all right? An ambulance is on the way. They're gonna take you to the hospital. You might be in the psych ward a couple days, but we'll be here when you're out, okay? We're not going anywhere, and you're not dying."
Steven was sobbing for an entirely different reason now, and Jake knelt in front of Steven as well, hugging him close. "You idiot," he breathed. "You idiot, you die on us and I'll resurrect your body just to kill you again, do I make myself clear?"
Nodding, Steven retched, pulled away and threw up some more. The sounds of an ambulance siren came closer. "Steven? Steven, you need to stay awake," Marc said, shaking Steven's shoulders. "Steven...awake, come on, you...keep awake!"
He was trying, but it was so hard, and he was so sleepy...he just closed his eyes for a minute and when he opened them again he was in the back of an ambulance, a paramedic treating him while another hurtled down the streets. He closed them again and the next time he opened them, there was a tube in his throat and he tried to yank it out, to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. Machines beeped and something was injected into an IV, and he was out like a light.
When he finally woke up and stayed awake, Marc and Jake were standing in a corner of his room, in a highly spirited debate. Steven coughed, trying to get their names out but feeling too weak to actually do so. Marc and Jake were instantly at his side. "Hey, how you feeling?" Marc asked.
Steven pulled a face and stuck his tongue out.
"Not surprised, they had to pump your stomach and you very nearly died several times," Jake replied. "Why would you do something so stupid?!"
"Jake!" Marc lightly chastised.
"Missed you," Steven managed, before coughing heavily. "Didn't wanna...wanna go without you anymore."
"Oh, you idiot..." Jake said, but there was no heat behind the words. Rather, an intense love and care behind them that had Steven tearing up. "You scared us!"
And as Steven felt two sets of arms wrap around him, he wept into their shoulders. "Thought I wouldn't see you again," he mumbled. "Didn't wanna deal with that."
"Yeah, well," Marc said, "You're stuck with us a while yet, now. Apparently the Avengers did some time travel thing, it's all over the news. And we're very thankful they did, because I don't know where we'd be without you."
"Probably dead in a ditch somewhere," Jake said. "At least with me. Violent impulses and pissing off the wrong people, and all."
Marc rolled his eyes. "You would," he scoffed. "I'd probably be dead in a week, too, just because Steven's the only one who can help keep me centered."
Steven laughed, before coughing again. "Need...sleep," he mumbled.
"We'll tell the doctors you were up, buddy, just rest," Marc suggested.
"Yeah, when the crisis evaluator gets here you'll need all the strength you can gather," Jake said. "Just...don't ever do that again, are we clear?"
"Don't need to if...you two...are alive..." Steven said with a slightly dopey smile. "Laters...gators..." and soon enough, he was resting peacefully, safe with the knowledge that his two favorite people in the world were finally back.