If You Didn't Stop Me

by RafiTaffy (Gothiirafi)

Summary:

"Egon, this reminds me of the time you tried to drill a hole in your head, remember that?"
"That would have worked if you didn’t stop me."

A.K.A. The Drill Fic, A.K.A. I get way too into untapped angst potential. Inspired by a thread with some good friends that immediately snowballed into a ten page draft's worth of content.

One. Two. One. Two.

 

Peter’s footsteps pound the pavement as he charges across campus. His breath came in short puffs, and he blinked back tears.

 

“Please, please, don’t let it be too late.”

 

His pulse thuds a wild drumbeat, every synapse firing and every nerve on fire. He rounds the corner, skids a few half-steps, and corrects his course to barrel into the dormitory.

 

“Please let there still be time. Please, please, please-”

 

There’s no time for an elevator, not with the people milling about and calling ups and downs like they had all the time in the world. Peter has to rush up the stairs, carried on raw adrenaline as he flies up two at a time. His body’s protests are ignored as his brain continues to shriek out a desperate alarm. Every passing second is another moment he may very well be too late.

 

One. Two. One. Two.

 

Egon Spengler was.. Strange wasn’t exactly the right word. He was strange, there was no doubt about that, but he was also collected. Whip-smart. Funny. Caring. There was a distinct twinkle of mischief in his eye at all times, and the way he looked at people upon first meeting them - as if his first and only thought was of which of his experiments they would be the best test subject for - only hid the soft interior that he had protected since he was a small child.

 

Peter Venkman knew that all too well, having been his college roommate since they were just freshmen. He’d initially brushed Egon off, willing to go along with his peers’ impressions of his roommate. Egon was not unknown to the wider student body, the teaching staff, and especially not campus security. Rumours of his scientific exploits, whether true or not, circled him before he even entered a room.

 

The Brooklyn, Ohio brownout. His arsenal of sonic weaponry, with which he’d (allegedly) gleefully blown apart his class pet, after hypnotizing it to do his bidding. People especially tended to latch on to one particular rumor: Egon was one half of a set of twins, but had turned his twin brother into an explosive device and used him to destroy a train station.

 

That last one was especially hard to believe, given that not only was Elon Spengler alive and well (and nowhere near being classified as an explosive device , to boot!) but Peter had multiple pictures of both the twins together, and spending time with him.

 

After a certain point, Peter became more willing to stick up for the guy. 

 

“Yeah, Spengler’s my roommate. He’s kind of freaky, but harmless.”

That, of course, may or may not have come about after Egon had saved Peter’s ass during finals week. He’d pulled through at the absolute last minute, patiently sitting through a near six hours of tutoring and letting Peter ask as many questions as he needed without prying for more. Peter had gone from sailing a steady C+ average to full marks. All the while, Egon never asked for anything in return, let alone condescended to him for needing the help.

 

The pair had become fast friends from then on, with Peter and Egon warming to each other every passing day. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t long after they’d begun getting along better that Peter had realized something - every time he’d stumbled in late from a party, or a girl’s room, or wherever he had decided to spend his time after class, he’d woken up to a clean room, a glass of water, and a dose of aspirin. Whether he needed it or not.

 

Spengler had been looking out for him.

 

It didn’t take long for Peter to start doing the same for Egon. He’d toss a blanket over Egon’s shoulders whenever he came home to the poor guy asleep and hunched over his desk, pen still in his hand. 

He’d stock Egon’s snack stash when he noticed it had dipped significantly - mostly because he was responsible for it, but also because it was something that made Egon happy. They started communicating like this, leaving little things undone if there was something bothering them, and doing a little extra for each other when they needed the pick-me-up.

 

It was when the laundry went undone for two weeks that Peter first realized that something was beginning to go wrong.

One. Two. One. Two.

 

Trembling hands fumbled with keys. Too many keys, Peter’s mind frantically screamed at him, too many keys on a single ring. He easily ruled out the key to his car, along with the key to his parents’ house and a few others he hadn’t bothered to remove from the ring, but his locker, Egon’s spare filing cabinet key, and the key to their dorm were far too similar now that he was panicking.

 

“Stupid! Fucking- Who even keeps this many keys they don’t use? I swear, as soon as I know, I’m throwing half these fucking keys away!”

 

He’d rushed up to their floor, anxiously clenching and unclenching his fists. He’d felt something off about Egon. Felt it for weeks, but didn’t want to put his hunch over Egon’s privacy and feelings. He wasn’t going to do that to his friend based on a bunch of circumstantial evidence. As soon as he reached their door, he found it locked, and his stomach sank like a stone.

 

One. Two. One. Two.

 

“I’m telling you, Ray, something is seriously wrong with Egon. And not in the usual way that something’s wrong with Egon,” Peter whispered, looking at his friend over a takeout container. Although Egon was well out of earshot, he didn’t want to cause anymore stress. Knowing that Peter was even aware, let alone that he was telling Ray, probably would have just set Egon off.

 

He’d become increasingly defensive lately, brushing off any sign of Peter’s concern with more scientific lingo than Peter could realistically wrap his head around. That wasn’t new, per se, but what was was that Egon was doing it because Peter had started to worry. Usually he would only give Peter this kind of treatment when Peter decided to be willfully obtuse.

 

“He’s probably just getting absorbed in another experiment,” Ray responded, although Peter could tell that Ray was just as concerned. 

 

“That’s just the thing, Ray. He’s been getting a little too absorbed. He spends all day, every day, either in the library or at his desk. If I come up to him, he just turns in the other direction or covers up his work. It’s like he thinks I’ll belittle him or something.”

 

Ray frowned, starting to pick at his food. “I mean.. Maybe he wants to keep his findings to himself? Either that or he thinks you’ll turn him in or something. You remember the incident with the transformer.”

 

Peter snorted. “Of course I do, I’m the one who helped him scale the fence. He knows me better than that, Ray.”

 

Ray sat for a moment. Peter could tell that the conversation was really starting to upset him, and that was no good. Ray’s bleeding heart could very well tip Egon off if Peter wasn’t careful, and he wasn’t sure yet if he wanted to fully put this on Ray as well.

 

“Y’know what, Ray, you’re probably right. He might just be planning to figure out another answer to a question nobody thought to ask, like, if you can make an incendiary device out of boiled spaghetti.”  

 

Ray gave a small smile at that. “I may start asking that, actually. It’s a much better use of plain spaghetti.”

 

Peter smiled back. “Here’s hoping that’s what he’s got going in that beautiful brain of his, and not just another giant holiday gift, because I still haven’t figured out what I'm getting him for Chanukah.”

 

One. Two. One. Two.

 

If he’d only paid a little more attention. He should have stayed in the dorm, made sure Egon would be coming to class with him. 

He jammed the key into the lock, swearing when it didn’t turn. 

 

One of their professors had caught him on the way out. Told him that Egon’s attendance ledger was concerningly blank. This was the third day in a row that Egon hadn’t turned up. Peter had heard the rest of the teacher’s words turn into a high mosquito-like whine as his mind raced. 

But- Egon had been getting out of bed these past couple days. Getting dressed and leaving the dorm before Peter was even fully awake. He had seemed like he was starting to get better, why would he - 

 

Of course. Of course. This was what Egon had been planning this whole time.

 

One of the first things they teach you about how to help a suicidal person, is that when they suddenly start acting like everything is right with the world, that’s when you should expect an upcoming attempt. They’re at peace because they’ve made up their mind.

 

One. Two. One. Two.

Egon had always been thin. He was lanky, almost too tall for their cramped dorm, and despite being healthily broad, he wasn’t exactly athletic. Peter had taken to joking that the most exercise Egon got was running from someone - bullies, campus security, girls (the last of which he’d stopped shortly after a long conversation, he’d honestly had no clue Egon swung in any direction, but was willing to let the joke die.) - but lately, he’d changed.

He’d started to look gaunt. His eyes were always ringed with dark circles. His cheeks hollowed, and his eyes were always either red, like he’d just managed to stop crying, or blown wide in an attempt to keep himself awake. 

Egon’s hair, long brown curls that he’d kept pulled neatly out of his face to reveal a prominent widow’s peak or let fall onto his shoulders when he decided to turn in for the night, had become frizzy and unkept. Peter realized he hadn’t even seen Egon’s hairbrush move from its place in the bathroom in weeks.

 

His clothes had started hanging off him, and he’d taken to oversized sweaters in an attempt to make it less obvious. It was such a departure from his usual attire (a clean and freshly starched button-up and carefully knotted tie under a sweater vest, usually paired with well-pressed slacks and a pair of smart dress shoes) that Peter had picked up on it immediately.

 

“Hey, Egon,” Peter began, cautiously. “You’d tell me if you were coming down with something, right?”

 

Egon looked at Peter, and Peter had to keep from wincing when those big, sad, shiny brown eyes snapped from the paper before him up to Peter’s face.

 

“I would. I’m not feeling ill, if that’s what you’re asking.” His mouth twitched, the corners pulling down for the briefest moment. “I can show you, I’ve been monitoring my health consistently for the past-”

 

“Hey, hey, cool it.” Peter smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, but he figured Egon would appreciate it over the concern that was trying to claw through. “I don’t need any spreadsheets, or charts, or graphs of your basal body temperature. I just wanted to check in on you.” he hesitated for a moment, and rested his hand on Egon’s shoulder. 

Couldn’t keep back the wince when he felt his fingers dip into the space between his friend’s collarbone and shoulder blade.

 

“Still, if you’d find it reassuring,” Egon pressed.

 

“I’m good, I promise.” Peter moved his hand. “Hey, I’m going to grab some Chinese food, do you want me to bring you back some broccoli and beef? I’ll even buy.”

 

Egon shrugged. “I’m not hungry. If you really want to, you can put it in the fridge for me.”

 

“Sure thing, E.”

One. Two. One. Two.

 

Thinking back, Peter’s stomach churned. Was the offer a cry for help? Did Egon insist as an attempt to get Peter to notice that he was drowning? 

 

Maybe, just maybe, Peter thought, if I had taken him up on it, maybe I would’ve been able to get him help. 

 

His pulse was still skyrocketing, the keys in his hands seeming to become more and more similar the longer he tried to find their differences. The first key was a bust, but the second key was proverbial pay dirt. 

Peter practically broke the door down when he finally got it open, scrambling into their shared bedroom. Egon wasn’t in there, which only made Peter panic further. His papers were scattered, piles of notes in disarray. Peter tried to take deep, steadying breaths as he took what felt like the longest walk of his life from the doorway to the desk.

 

The spiritual and ritual effects of trepanation. Anatomical diagrams of the brain, marked with red pen. Notes on which psychological and physical functions would be affected by prolonged or traumatic damage to the brain. Physiological effects of botched lobotomization. 

 

Egon’s neat, even script turned into loose print, then chicken scratch. It looked like the ravings of a madman. There were other notes, as well. 

Babylonian deities. Ancient spirits. Gods of war and terror through the ages. 

Sumerian death gods. 

Every single sheet of paper scattered about the desk had something to do with the supernatural, or with destroying the human brain. 

 

This was what had absorbed his best friend. A dark and delusional quest to- To what? Communicate with the dead? Gain some sort of psychic power? Peter’s stomach churned, and he could barely stand to read anymore. Just when he was about to turn away, he managed to make out a phrase in Egon’s frantic, scattered new writing that made his skin prickle with ice.

 

“Ray, Peter, I am so sorry. I have to.”

 

One. Two. One. T-

 

Peter jumped out his skin at the sound of a power drill whirring to life.

“Egon!”

 

Peter slammed his shoulder against the door, the wood rattling, but resisting the blow. His hand fell to the doorknob, frantically twisting it. 

 

Locked.

 

The sound stopped for a moment, then began again. 

 

“Egon, open the fucking door!” 

 

“Peter, please,” Egon’s voice carried thinly, and Peter had to strain to catch it. “I know what I’m doing.”

 

“Egon, you’re about to drill a hole in your head!” Peter slammed into the door again, driving his shoulder hard against the wood.

 

“It’s going to work, Peter, it-” A half-choked sob. “It has to work.”

 

“Spengler, you fucking idiot , what could drilling into your brain possibly solve?” His words came out harshly, all but spat as he reared back to ram the door again. He heard the wood begin to splinter. Hopefully, the bolt would crack through the frame. If not, he’d tear the entire door off if he had to. He couldn't lose his best friend, not now, not like this. 

 

“You wouldn’t understand, Peter, you would think I’ve gone crazy.”

 

Peter’s chest heaved as the drill started back up. He was on borrowed time.

 

“You have ‘til the count of three!” He shouted, feeling like all he could hear was the whirring of the drill. Feeling like any second, he would learn what the sound of blood, bone fragments, and brain matter being spun at 800 rotations per minute was.

 

“One!”

 

His shoulder rammed the door. It shook, and he felt it push inwards. Peter reared back and steeled himself.

 

“Two!”

 

He slammed his full weight against the door, hoping against all odds that this one would finally do it. The sweetest sound Peter had heard in his entire life up to this point met his ears - the door swung inwards, the bolt ripping out of the frame and the hinges creaked as Peter all but fell into the bathroom. 

 

He scrambled to his feet, every last instinct set on getting the drill away from Egon. Egon gave a scream, one of desperation and pure, unbridled grief as Peter began wrenching it from his hands. Peter wrenched the bit away from both of them, pulling Egon’s wrist at an angle that was absolutely going to hurt in the morning, but at the moment, all Peter cared about was Egon seeing tomorrow morning. 

 

He pried Egon’s fingers off the trigger, gritting his teeth as he forced the other man to drop the drill. 

 

“What are you doing?! Stop, Peter, just stop!” Egon wailed, writhing in Peter’s grasp as the drill hit the floor. He rushed to pick it back up, only to be met with Peter wrapping his arms tightly around his torso and lifting him. 

 

“This is for your own good, Spengler! Someday, we’re gonna look back on this, and have a good laugh.” Peter said, half for his own sake. Egon was too light. It was a wonder he had the strength to lift the drill, let alone cling to it the way he did. Regardless, Peter carried Egon as he fought to get loose, twisting and kicking the entire way. 

 

“Put me down, Venkman! Put me the fuck down!” Egon fought against Peter’s arms, but he couldn’t break loose. His fists clenched and unclenched. His eyes welled with tears. “Put me down..”

 

Peter clung on, collapsing onto the floor and pulling Egon into his lap as the other man finally gave in, too tired to fight anymore. Egon’s chest began to heave, tears rolling down his face. His whole body shook, and Peter pressed him to his chest to keep him steady.

 

Peter didn’t say a word. There were no words to say, not at a time like this. He just held on for dear life as Egon buried his face in his shoulder and began to cry. 

Egon’s fists balled up the back of Peter’s t-shirt, and Peter began rocking him gently as he cried, slowly relaxing his hold to just one arm so that he could use his free hand to smooth Egon’s hair. His fingers carded through his friend’s curls, gently detangling them. He rubbed at Egon’s scalp with his fingertips, letting Egon let go of the tension he’d been carrying.

 

Egon’s sobs turned into hiccupping, and slowly eased. He still held onto Peter like a lifeline, though, and kept his face hidden. 

 

“Hey now…” Peter said softly, finally finding his voice again. “You're safe now, Egon. You’re safe.” He continued to run his fingers through Egon’s hair, the other man’s shivering breaking his heart. “I’ve got you.”

 

Egon nodded, whether because he believed Peter or because he didn’t know how to respond, Peter couldn’t tell. He took stuttering breaths, the air catching in his chest and coming out as a ragged sigh as he slowly began to calm. 

 

“It would have worked if you hadn’t stopped me.”

 

Peter just held him tighter. “Egon…” A million different scenarios flashed before him in a second. Terrifying visions of being anywhere from moments to hours too late. 

 

Peter had to blink them away alongside his tears, still rocking his friend gently.

“Egon, when’s the last time you had a shower?” He made an attempt at comfort and levity. It was all he could do to keep from breaking down.

 

Egon sat there for a moment, before beginning to hiccup again. “I d- I don’t know. ” His body shook with sobs. “I don’t know, I- I don’t remember anything anymore.” 

 

Peter rubbed small circles into Egon’s back with his fist. “That’s okay, E, that’s just fine. We’ll worry about it later.”

 

“I feel like I’m losing my mind, Peter, nothing makes sense anymore, I can’t remember what I have and haven’t done, I can’t bear to look at myself, I can’t-” Egon’s voice broke, his cries falling into hyperventilation.  “I don’t feel safe, no matter where I go, I always feel like something’s coming to get me.”

 

One. Two. Three.

 

Ray nearly ran right past Egon and Peter’s dorm. The door was still wide open, looking askew, as if one of the hinges was barely hanging on. His mind skipped over it entirely at first, and he had to stop and double-check. The number was correct, but the room was pin-quiet. As a matter of fact, Ray realized, the entire hallway was.

 

He stepped in, looking for any sign of Peter. For any sign of Egon.

 

He found them on the floor of their shared bedroom. The bathroom door was also wide open, the door knocked inward and their entire bedroom was a mess. Peter’s side of the room, Ray had come to expect, but Egon’s side was just as disorganized. He stopped in the doorway, his breath catching in his throat.

 

Peter was crying.

 

His head was tilted up, tears sliding from his face down to the collar of his shirt. He had his lower lip caught between his teeth.  He was biting down hard, too, Ray could see droplets of blood beading up where bone met flesh. His face was red, his eyes squeezed shut, and his body shook with the effort to stay quiet.

In his arms, Egon lay motionless. Slumped against Peter, who was all but crushing him to his chest. His arms dangled limply to either side, his legs positioned awkwardly, half folded and all askew.

 

Ray’s eyes widened. His textbook fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He tried to step forwards and fell to his knees as horror, remorse, and despair washed over him in such a deep wave of grief that, for a moment, he thought he was dying. His eyes welled with tears of his own, wanting to move forward, to say something, anything.

 

All he could do was collapse into sobs of his own. His body felt like it was being crushed, his chest and stomach constricting so painfully he thought he was going to throw up. Every cry was all but ripped from him. He was too late, he had to have been too late. He writhed in his anguish, his mind trying to rationalize and deny all at once, approaching full short-circuit with the crushing weight.

 

In-between gasps, his lungs fighting for breath as his world ended, he managed to catch a noise not unlike the cooing of a dove, and force himself to look back at Egon’s body.

Egon shifted. His legs scooted up to support his body, and his head turned one way, then the other as he tried to sink back into deep, dreamless sleep.

 

Ray gripped at the carpet, tears still pouring. He crawled closer, overwhelmed with emotions that he could no longer identify. Egon was alive. His heart swelled and his hands shook as he reached out, fingertips brushing over the soft wool of Egon’s sweater-

 

Peter yanked Egon out of Ray’s reach without even looking. His eyes snapped open and bored down into Ray’s skull for the split second it took to recognize who it was that had tried to take him. They immediately softened upon seeing the look on Ray’s face, and he swallowed in an attempt to find his voice.

 

Ray found his first.

 

“Peter, what happened? ”

Notes:

And there you have it, beloveds!
Feel free to crucify me in the comments.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of The Cold Bite of A Drill's Bit