The kitchen tap dripped with a pit pat noise, the curtains rustled slightly, and the sounds of footsteps running up and down the hallway were all enough to wake a sound asleep Brad up. He was a very light sleeper, so the smallest of sounds could wake him. Rarely did he get a peaceful sleep with no disturbances. His lashes fluttered for a few seconds before he finally opened his eyes.

Awake again Brad thought grumpily. I'd give anything to be a deep sleeper

He groaned and glanced at his alarm clock (he took it with him on every tour), hoping he hadn't been woken up at an absurd time. Three forty-nine it read. Brad pulled the duvet over his head and laid back down again, wisps of ginger hair getting in his mouth. Ew! Ppffftt. He immediately spat them out into a tissue, wiping his lips after. He hated when this sort of thing happened. Patting at his warm temple, he attempted to go back to sleep, but after a few long minutes of laying still with his eyes closed, it was rendered useless. He was fully awake now and he wouldn't go back to sleep.

Sighing, the guitarist kicked the cover off and reluctantly pulled himself out of his cosy hut, shivering when the freezing temperature of the room hit his skin. He patted down his pillow and sleepily walked into the kitchen, feeling in need of a drink. Brad slapped his palm on the light switch, almost missing as his eyes teased him, threatening to close. The hallway suddenly lit up as golden light spilled out, illuminating the kitchen and scaring all the shadows back into their corners.

Yawning, he grabbed a solitary glass from the cupboard and filled it with tap water. He quickly gulped it down, slamming the glass down when it was empty. The cup refilled a couple more times before Brad decided his thirst had been quenched. He placed it in the sink before plucking up the remote control that he'd tossed onto the sofa hours earlier and returning back to his spot.

The bed squeaked as he collapsed back down onto the bed, bouncing slightly. The remote clutched in his hand, Brad propped himself up on the pillows and flicked through the channels. He quickly grew bored, his eyes growing heavy as he ran through everything that was airing. It was all shitty films.... tv shows from the 1930s... something about Steven on the news... Wait. What? Brad shot up like a bullet and ran to the tv, turning the volume up as he knelt down in front of the screen, his eyes glued to the live footage that played.

"We have just received news that Aerosmith frontman, Steven Tyler, is being rushed in for emergency surgery due to severe internal bleeding," the news woman reported, her eyes meeting with his. "We will update you with more details later.

Brad felt the blood drain from his face as he watched the camera zoom in on an unconscious Steven who lay motionless on a stretcher, a breathing mask covering his nose and mouth as he was rushed into the ambulance that was waiting for him. The doors slammed shut and the sirens began to wail as the vehicle sped away, yellow and red lights flashing.

He sat there motionless for a moment, the live footage vanishing, before it clicked. He had to wake Tom and Joey! They had to go to the hospital! So why was he just sat there like a duck? Hitting the off button, he jumped up and threw a pair of blue velvet trousers over his boxers, wiggling his feet into a pair of boots as he struggled into a green t-shirt. With one arm in his coat, he grabbed his room key and ran out the door, locking it behind him.

"TOM!!!" he shouted, desperately banging on Tom's door. "Wake up!!! It's an emergency!!!"

A groan came from inside the room before a groggy, half-naked Tom Hamilton opened the door. "Yes?" Tom yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Do you have any idea what time it is? I was asleep-"

"It's Steven! Steven's in trouble!"

"What's new? He gets into trouble all the time, so, goodnight."

Brad jammed his foot in the closing door, making Tom raise a questioning eyebrow. "Listen to me. Steven is being rushed into the hospital, it was just on the news!!! We have to go!!"

Tom's eyes fully opened as the weight of the situation sank in, a look of tiredness still visible in the blue of his irises. "Alright, alright!!" he exclaimed, snatching his arm away when Brad tugged at his wrist. "You go wake Joey whilst I get dressed. I can't go in my pyjamas."

"Well, hurry the fuck up!" Brad urged, running to Joey's room, shouting the drummer's name. "Kramedog, open the door! Steven-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah!! I heard! I'm out! I'm out!" Joey panicked, coming out of his room, his stomach on show as he wriggled into a red t-shirt. "Tom, why are you blushing?" he smiled, finding the younger man's embarrassment cute.

"I'm not!!" Tom exclaimed, his pale skin flushed. God he hated how Joey made him so nervous- but in a good way.

"Come on!!" Brad urged, dragging Tom and Joey down the stairs and out the hotel. This was a life or death matter, and he wanted his best friend to be okay. In fact, Steven was more than a best friend or bandmate to him. He was family. . "Uh, fuck," he cursed when it dawned on him that a taxi would be ages. This was urgent and there was no way he was going to be a sitting duck and wait around in the dark like an idiot. "A taxi will take too long- Tom, what are you doing?"

"Getting some transport for us," Tom hummed, kneeling on the pavement as he superbly picked the locks of three bicycles that were securely chained to a railing.

"How'd you know how to do that?" Joey wondered, mesmerised by the nimble hands. He had never seen someone be so focused and precise.

"Magic."

"Isn't this stealing? I feel bad about taking someone else's property," Brad admitted, his eyebrows turning up slightly. "And I'm not riding the pink bike," he insisted, folding his arms tightly.

Tom scoffed, sharing the three bicycles among them. "What's more important? Steven or the bikes?"

"Okay, fine, fine. Let's just hurry up."

The tips of Brad's shoes brushed the pavement as he slowly wheeled down the street, careful not to bump into anyone or anything. He wasn't looking to pay hospital fees. Looking around, he saw that Tom and Joey were already pedalling away, becoming black dots on the horizon. Jesus, okay. Brad wasn't much of a bike rider, he'd prefer to run or swim, so the feeling of being sat on a bike - a pink bike at that - was quite foreign to him. After much hesitation and a quick pep talk, he too found himself pedalling rapidly through the strips, only stopping to profusely apologise to a woman he almost collided with.

After what seemed like a lifetime, they finally arrived at the hospital. They abandoned the stolen transport in a tenebrous back street, and ran around the perimeter of the facility, desperately searching for any sign of Steven, but no such luck. Damnit. He must've arrived before them.

"Where could he be?" Joey mused, ruffling his curly hair. "I doubt we can see him, but," he shrugged, messing with his jacket's faulty zipper. "It was just an idea," he mumbled, seeing that his muse had gone unheard.

"We could always ask," Tom suggested, reclaiming his title as being the most rational out of the boys. "Come on." He nodded towards the entrance and started walking away when he was greeted with blank expressions.

"We should've worn gloves - like they do in those detective films, so people don't find our fingerprints," Joey piped up as he followed Tom to the doors, hurrying to keep up with the big strides that were being taken.

Brad laughed. "We should have. Hang on, we just stole, so does that make us criminals?" He frowned again, still feeling guilty. "I don't want to be a criminal, I want to be a free man."

Joey echoed the laughter, wrapping his arm around Brad's tiny shoulder. "Don't worry, you're as much a free man as any of us. And if we get busted, no big deal. Bicycles get stolen all the time." An amused smile sat on his lips.

Brad chuckled, his mood lightening. "That's true. I still feel bad though. But it's for a good cause, right?"

"Right. Even if the 'good cause' is Steven."

The two giggled, holding each other close. It was little moments like these that brought them closer together. Yes they saw each other every day, but their friendship was much more than the band. They weren't as close as Steven and Joe (no one could be as close as them, they were pretty much brothers), but they still valued their relationship no matter what happened.

"Politely shut your traps," Tom interrupted, feeling a twinge of jealousy.

He looked away when he was given looks of pure confusion from his two friends. He didn't mean that to come out so aggressive, but he couldn't help it; seeing Joey and Brad holding each other and giggling made something inside him snap.

Rubbing at his face, he scanned the scenery, his eyes quickly falling on the reception. At last, someone who could help him! Tom quickly hurried over with a new wave of hope.

"Hi." He smiled politely, placing his hands on the desk. "I'm looking for a Mr Steven, um...Tallarico."

The receptionist glanced up at him and then down at his positioned hands, indicating that he was being intimidating and should take his hands away. Tom gave her a sheepish smile and stuffed his hands in his empty jacket pockets.

"That's better. Who did you say you're looking for?"

"Steven Tallarico"

"And who are you?"

"William."

Tom closed his eyes, cringing. He couldn't believe he just said that. Panic does certain things to people.

"Uh-huh." The lady bombastically side-eyed him, not quite believing his words. "Hmm." She scanned through the long list of names of people who'd been admitted, her glasses sat on the end of her nose. "Sorry, hun, no Steven Tallarico has been admitted," she concluded, leaning back in her chair and giving Tom a sorry smile.

"Please," he begged. "He's one of my best friends and I want to know that he's okay." There was a long pause. "How about under the surname...Tyler?" he tried, his eyes lighting up as he tried to remain hopeful.

The woman sighed and took her glasses off, wiping down the dirty lenses. "Hang on a moment. I'll go find out for you." She got up from her seat and disappeared, leaving the bassist even more anxious.

Tom ran a hand through his hair. He just wanted a yes or no, or anything that confirmed that Steven was here and his whereabouts. Anything that confirmed that he was okay. He looked over his shoulder as he tapped his fingers on the desk, smiling when he caught Joey's eye. He loved the little drummer, he was practically his world at this point. His heart melted as Joey awkwardly smiled back, a smile line appearing in the corner of his mouth.

"Okay, we did find a Steven Tyler," the receptionist confirmed when she came back, sitting back down behind her typewriter.

"Can we see him?"

"He's currently in surgery, so unfortunately no. Sorry. But I can pass on a message for when he wakes up," she added, seeing how lost Tom looked.

Tom sighed and shook his head. "It's okay, love, don't worry about it. Thanks for the help." He walked back over to Joey and Brad, shaking his head. "We can't see him."

They all pulled faces of disappointment.

"Maybe we should just go back to the hotel and then come back this afternoon during visiting hours?" Brad suggested, shrugging.

"Yeah...Let's go. You okay, Joey?" Tom asked when Joey brushed their hands together.

"Anxious. Do you think Steven will be alright?"

The blonde bit the inner corner of his lip, contemplating what to say. "I don't know...but let's keep our fingers crossed."

~

"Go fish."

Joey glanced down at his cards and back at Tom who slowly slid a card from the ever decreasing deck, trying to wear his best poker face.

There was a low hum from the blonde as he stared at his cards, thinking hard. He then smiled rather smugly and displayed his book of cards.

"I fished," Tom snickered.

"How?!" Brad screeched, dramatically throwing his cards down. "This is bullshit! You've won every game so far!"

"Beginner's luck."

The guitarist scoffed, taking an angry sip of his water. "I swear this game is rigged."

Tom was hands down the champion of card games. No matter what happened, he always won. It was a mystery how he got so lucky.

Joey laughed and too threw his cards down, giving up on playing anymore rounds. "No, no, no, you've definitely played this game before, Tom. But well done."

"Thank you. Who wants another game?"

"Hell no. That's enough card games for one day," Brad declared, taking a slice of pizza from the open pizza box and starting to eat it. "Well, I'm going to bed now, goodnight. Well, I suppose it's good morning. Let me know if you guys hear anything." He pushed himself up and left the room, taking the rest of the pizza with him.

Joey chuckled as the door closed. What a performance. He looked over at Tom who sat to his left.

"Still troubled?" Tom asked, scooting closer as he reshuffled the cards and put them back in their pack.

He nodded. The nail had been hit right on the head.

"A little. But Steven's in good hands, right?" The drummer smiled confidently, trying not to listen to the little demon of doubt that sat in the back of his mind.

"Of course. Look, Steven's a tough guy, he'll get through this."

"Yeah, but surgery," he sat back on his elbows and sipped his soda. "is a big thing. What if he doesn't pull through?"

"Hey," Tom roughly grabbed Joey's hand, making him pull back. "Sorry," he apologised, annoyed at himself. "but don't think like that. I know you're worried, we all are, but you have to think positive. No one gets anywhere thinking negatively."

Joey nodded in agreement. "Yeah. It's not that I want to think negatively, I want to be positive, but there's always that slight chance." He trailed off, his lips turning down and into a frown.

Tom sighed and took his hand in his own again, blushing. "It's gonna be okay. He's gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay, okay?"

Joey smiled abashedly, locking their fingers together. "Okay."

The two sat there for a while, holding hands, before Joey reluctantly broke away.

"Umm..." he cleared his throat and got up, disappointed in himself that he'd let go of Tom's hand so soon. "I'm going to go out for a run."

"At five o'clock in the morning?"

"Yeah, I just... gotta clear my head. See you later."

"To clear your head," Tom repeated, letting Joey's words sink in. "Later. Stay safe!"

"I will."

~

Still eyelids twitched and thin cotton sheets rustled as Steven finally began to stir. His nose twitched and he slowly opened his eyes, squinting as he adjusted to the dazzling lights. Where the fuck was he? He blinked a couple of times and began to sit up to get a better idea of where he was, only to slump back down when a jolt of intense pain shot through his stomach.

Steven groaned at the agony that he felt in his stomach. Awkwardly propped up, he examined his surroundings. Weird bed, spotless floor, white walls...

"No, come on, this isn't happening," he whined, holding his head in his hands. "First Joe, and now me? Fuck."

Ending up in the hospital was just his luck. He sighed and leaned back, bummed that he'd ended up here. Actually, what the fuck had happened to him? Curious, he pulled the duvet up, only to find that his body was obscured by a flimsy hospital gown. Well, shit. He'd just have to wait and see, and hope that someone could explain themselves to him.