Aftermath

"Huh?" He sits up, frowning. All at once the words kick in and he climbs off the bed, reaching for the waste paper basket and handing it to him. "What's wrong?"

John quickly takes the bucket before he started retching all the contents of his stomach into the basket. He groaned. He hated puking, and wished he had told Heath form the get go he couldn't eat alfredo sauce. Now he was embarrassing himself by puking his guts out in front of the one person he wanted to impress.

Heath winces a little; he absolutely hates the sound of puking, something about the noise makes his skin crawl. Despite that, he goes over to Johnny, holding his hair back without a word. It's definitely not the first time he's found himself doing this for someone, but he can't help but be a little confused. "What happened? Are you okay? You sick?"

John whimpered. "Alfredo sauce... lactose intolerant." He managed to get out before going back to retching in the trash basket, so much so that his throat hurt.

Heath frowns. "Well why in the hell didn't you say something, dumbass?" He's not angry, just confused as to why Johnny would put himself through something like this.

"Embarrassed..." He got out before once again, going back to puking out his stomach. But he was embarrassing himself know by heaving up his insides.

"Dude, honestly. If it's a matter of saying 'Can't eat that' over puking your guts out. Please, just tell me." Heath pets his hair a little.

When he's pretty sure Johnny is done, he kisses the top of his head. "I'll go grab you some water."

Heath heads over towards the washroom, but in his sleep deprived state and in a darkened room, he doesn't see one of Johnny's boots on the ground. He stumbles over it, then throws himself backwards, trying to balance himself, but failing. He smacks into the end table at the arm of the couch and just lays on the ground, groaning. "Ow."

After a minute, he rolls on to his back. "Ow." He mutters again, reaching up and touching his temple, rolling his eyes when his fingers come away bloody. "Son of a bitch," he mutters.

"You okay?" John slurred, feeling very light headed from throwing up and his reaction to dairy was not a normal one like most people.

He closes his eyes, groaning. "Ugh, just give me a minute. The floor is pretty damn comfortable right now. And the carpet's soaking up most of the blood. How're you feeling?"

John groaned. "I..I'm gonna...pass..." John passed out unconscious before he could finish his sentence. He just knew he felt too sick and light headed to even attempt to stay conscious.

"Johnny? J-John?" Heath tries to get up, but his vision suddenly goes on him, as if someone has taken the whole world and tipped it on its side. He tries to grab on to the end table, but misses, falling back down. He fights to stay conscious, but fails.

John tried to wake up from consciousness but he couldn't. He hated these side affects of his lactose intolerance. He knew Heath was hurt but he just could awake.

Heath moans in pain. He's somewhat aware of his surroundings, but he just can't get his body to listen to him.

John awoke, and suddenly felt like puking again. He cursed and started retching into the trash basket, yet again.

"J-John," Heath gasps.

"Never eating dairy again..." John gasps before puking again in the trash basket.

Heath tries once more to get up, then groans, going still.

John hissed as his throat started to burn. There must have been something else in that food. John was also allergic to garlic. He thought he tasted it in the food but thought nothing of it. John felt his throat start to swell. Definitely garlic. He start gasping and choking for air as he felt his throat slowly start to close up.

Heath can't move. He can't speak, he can't do anything, but lay there and bleed.

And the only thought going through his mind was how tonight started off so damn nice... and now he's probably going to die on this hotel room floor.

John was loosing air quickly. He used what last amount of energy he had left and reached for the phone, dialing 911. "Help... please... can't...breath..." He gasped into the phone. The woman said the ambulance would be their in 3 minutes. But John already started feel himself fade.

Heath shudders, still fighting, still trying with everything he's got to make it to his feet, to move, to help, to do SOMETHING, but he can't. He's lost a lot of blood and the room won't stop spinning. Maybe there was something off with the meal...

The next time they woke up, it was in the hospital. John's eyes fluttered open. He let out a breath of relief. He looked over to see Heath, he was still alive. John wasn't very religious but he felt like praying. He sighed. Hopefully nothing like this would happen again.

The next morning, Heath comes into John's room. He sits down and smiles at him, setting a small plush red bear into his hands. And before John can say a word, Heath falls back on to exactly what he always does when nervous.

"Would you believe this is the second ever date that I've had end up in the ER? Let's just say Daniel Bryan can get a liiiiiiiiiiitle too determined when you offer to spar with him. And hell, this one has that beat; at least then it was only the two of us who wound up in the waiting room. Turns out something actually got into the chicken. That's why I couldn't get up. I got a concussion and a coupla stitches, but I'm all right." He pauses, brushing back his hair a bit so John can see the crisp white bandage adorning his forehead. "Yeah, looks like the whole hotel is going to get sued all to hell over this, 'cause about twenty other people got sick too. Doc says we'll be okay, but we're going to have to take the week off. Mr. McMahon approved it and everything, since he doesn't want to put us back on the road before the doc tells us."

He pauses, taking a deep breath. "All in all, probably the worst date I've ever had." He laughs softly. "For the second date, you pick the food and I'll choose the movie, deal?"

John chuckled and nodded. "Deal." He said softly. "And from now on, I promise to tell you when I can't eat something." He said.

"Please, for the love of god, fucking do that next time, Darlin'. Ya scared the crap outta me. I don't care if you're coming over to meet Momma, you freaking open your mouth the next time. You may be hot, but seriously, nobody is hot when they're puking."