(Requested by @_Mad_Cat_ , who requested Good Lord by Birds of Tokyo)

(Good Lord, a short-ish story in which the reader goes through the darkest moment of her entire life. She is forced out of the place she called home, she has her joy and love ripped from her, and her responsibilities are quickly beginning to pile up. But, a certain doctor begins to notice the immense decrease in vibrancy his friend's personality once had and takes it upon himself to help her out.)

(WARNING: this comes from someone who has NOT experienced divorce, only a few minor breakups. If you have advice—I hope none of you have experience with this sad topic—don't be afraid to speak up!)

The door slams in your face. Rain drenches your jacket as you stand there, lips parted in shock. It still hasn't quite sunk in, even though it's happening right before your very eyes. Light snakes in flashes down through the clouds, thunder echoing off the buildings around your suburban home.

Well... what used to be your home.

Good lord, you couldn't even believe it. It was over. Done. Finished. After five beautiful years, this is what became of you both? Lying? Breaking hearts? Shame? Disappointment?

Cheating?

You realize your hand is still pressed against the door. Your eyes stare, empty, down at your shoes, tears beginning to sting at your eyes. Every Valentine's day, every anniversary, every sweet moment you got together... wasted.

The heartbreaking scene flashed across your vision once again; him, her; a passionate, not-so-secret picture taken and sent to an unknown number; affectionate texts sent back and forth; him reassuring her that you—his wife—were not a problem.

You sniff and wipe your tears before grabbing the last of your suitcases, though there was much to go back for on a later date. So many possessions shared between the both of you that had so much sentimental worth... all lost to his selfish lust. You drag your bags off the small porch, growling shakily when one of them falls over on its side as it slides off the last step. Repressing the strong urge to kick it, you try to keep your visage calm; knowing Malek's dramatic, somewhat nosey self, he's probably watching you leave from upstairs, just like they do in the movies.

You set the suitcase upright and continue. You step onto the driveway, tugging your suitcases out of the sticky grass and onto the smooth cement. You sit your suitcases up at the door of your blue Tahoe, struggling to open it and keep a rather top-heavy bag from tipping over. You loaded each bag into the backseat, where a few others had already been sat, and slam the difficult door shut. It never really seemed to want to shut all the way.

As quickly as your legs can carry you, you rush to the driver's side of your car and climb inside. The second the door shuts, the tears break through your defensive walls and stream down your face.

Surely... surely, it didn't have to end like this?

Something catches your eye as lightning flashes, a glint of light shining below your gaze. You look down, extending your hand out to examine it.

A ring. It was beautiful;

( https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQSFSVKqTi0ojaUj8qtqYIBgVV129jyJ4A4Lz8k0TFiFyuBjYoIlw )

You've loved it for three years. So much time had been put into preserving its worth and beauty; you remembered cleaning it every other Saturday afternoon, taking a wet bit of paper towel and ridding every inch of grime or dirt that had settled on the silver. Had none of this ever happened, you would have been cleaning it just hours before now. You would have been blissfully unaware of everything going on, still dreadfully caught on love's cruel, addictive high. You would have been... happy. But now, you don't know what was going to happen. You're so scared, angry, depressed, and such an emotional wreck you don't even know what your next move would be.

So, you turn the keys. The engine rumbled to life, and you press your foot gently to the gas.

You don't have any plans. So... you drive.

You just drive.

/_-|-_

The storm has only worsened. You sit, sobbing, in your cozy blue Tahoe, your entire body shaking from the cold air sweeping through the car and the destructive emotions rattling your lost soul. Rain pelts the window like bullets, drowning out your loud, uncaged melancholy. Your lamentation would probably cause people to stare if they were close enough, had the storm not come into down mere days before. It had been raining off and on lately.

You rest your head in your hands and curl up, your hair illuminated in the light of the streetlights and the sign of the Culver's you're currently parked at. Three empty mixer cups are strewn across the floor, (chocolate/vanilla) pooling in small drops at the bottom of each. Used napkins are crumpled inside one of them in an attempt to keep the car a tad bit clean.

The silver ring is sitting on the floor, peeking out from under the seat next to you. You didn't want that useless, stupid piece of silver anymore; it meant nothing to you.

You stare at it before looking away. That's a lie. You know that you want it more than ever right now.

I'm burnin' through the sky, yeah!

Two hundred degrees, that's why they call me Mr. Fahrenhe-eit!

It's your phone.

I'm drivin' at the speed of li-ight!

Gonna make a supersonic man of you.

You look over on the passenger seat, squinting through your tears to try and read the name on the screen. You know who's contact it is by the song, but it makes you feel better looking at the familiar face. The picture that pops up is one of a friend of yours, Henrik Schneeplestein. The German's name in your contacts is Ze Good Doctah, and the picture was of him standing with an over-dramatic look of concentration; his hand propped his chin up as he stared at a tilted angle up and past the camera.

Ah, Henrik. What an interesting friend he is. He's only a few years older than you, and unlike you, he was already working as a surgeon while you still had three years of medical school left. Sure, you'd gone to college a bit late, but at least you're there now.

You hesitate to pick up the phone. You don't want to talk to anyone right now. You look away, directing your burred, tear-covered gaze to the rain outside. The phone continues to play the "Don't Stop Me Now" until the sound disappears and a bing replaces it, notifying you that you missed the call.

You don't care.

The raindrops snake down your cold window in thick streams. The storm has yet to calm down. If anything, it's only getting stronger. On the dash's screen, you can see a weather warning being displayed for flooding and high-speed winds.

Let the floods drown me, you say to yourself as your lip starts to quiver again.

A loud ding comes from your phone, announcing that you've got a voicemail. You sigh and lean over, thinking that listening to it didn't mean you had to talk to him and grab your phone.

You stare at the lock screen.

It's of Malek and you just before you left for your honeymoon. Your heart crashes just a little more, and you begin to put your phone away when you remember who the photographer.

Henrik.

Now that you think about it... Henrik and you were pretty close friends. You hadn't thought of it like that before and found yourself feeling embarrassed about how you had been just brushing off your friendship like it wasn't that important. You had both helped each other a lot over the years and had made good memories with each other, but you know you had been much closer when you were younger.

What happened?

You sigh and tilt the screen back up at your visage, turning it just in time for a tear to lose its grasp on your lip and land on the dark screen. You wipe the drop away and unlock your phone, knowing that you'll have to change that lock screen soon. Just before you enter your home screen, you see that you also have a few texts. You must have missed them... you think nothing of it as you continue to your voicemails.

"Y/N, where are you? You vere supposed to be here forty minutes ago and you haven't answered any of our texts."

Realization suddenly washes over you. The movie! The movie, you were supposed to see Spiderman: Far From Home tonight with them! Oh, you'd completely forgotten.

As soon as you reminded yourself why you'd forgotten, a prickling sadness curled up tight in your ice-cream-filled stomach and writhed uncomfortably. You felt like you were going to pass out, or throw up, or both.

"We are supposed to be leaving in ten minutes! You bettah get your ass in gear and get over here!"

You laugh. It's short and empty, but you can't help it.

"Hey! Hey, Y/N!" It's your other friend, Veronica. "I will see this movie without you and spoil it! Don't think I won't!"

"All of zhe spoilers!" Henrik laughed.

"She will do it," Henrik's friend, David, said. "I couldn't see Endgame with her and I was welcomed to work with an entirely intact recollection of what went down in it."

"I will spoil it!" Veronica yelled from the back.

"Zhe moral of zhe story is get ovah here," Henrik laughs,

"We love you!" Veronica yelled. "Even though you're almost forty-five minutes late and possibly dead!"

You can't help but smile as they all say their goodbyes, and the voicemail ends. The smile shakes, faltering, and tries to stay up. But the situation brings it right back down.

You call Henrik back. He would understand.

It isn't long before he answers.

"Finally!" he exclaims. "You're not dead yet, eh?"

"Henrik," you say, "I'm not going to the movie tonight."

"Vhat? Vhy?" he asks.

"Malek kicked me out," you reply, trying not to start sobbing again. "W-well, I had to leave anyway. I guess he didn't really... kick me out."

"What do you mean, he kicked you out? Vhy?"

"He loves someone else. He doesn't want me anymore."

You hold your finger to your lips briefly, hushing your tears. There's silence on the other end, crackling replacing his voice. Henrik has gone through this too; his wife left him, took custody of the kids... you probably sounded like a whining child to him, didn't you?

"Vhere are you now?"

"I-I'm at Culver's. The one by Kwik Trip."

"...I don't remember zhat one."

"Where Veronica accidentally knocked over a little kid and then bought him a mixer?"

"Ah, right! I remember now. Zhat's not too far away, you could drive over here."

"I don't really want to," you said honestly. "I wanna just stay in my car tonight. I can stop by some other time, though."

"You should come here. It is safer here."

"No," you say, and quickly regret the harsh tone in your voice. "No, thanks. I'll stay in the Tahoe."

"But-"

"Goodnight, Henrik," you say quickly, and hang up before you have to hear anything else.

You knew that you couldn't stay in a Culver's parking lot forever. You shift the gear into reverse and back out of the lonesome parking lot. It becomes apparent as your windshield wipers begin furiously cleansing rain from the glass that it's a bit hard to see in the downpour. You squint into the rain as you drive out of the parking lot.

Your phone begins to ring again, "Don't Stop Me Now" quietly playing beside you. You look over at it briefly as you begin to pick up speed on the road, your eyes attracted to the light for a brief second before your gaze is snatched by the red lights of a car ahead of you. You slow down as they do, reminding yourself to keep your eyes on the road.

The red light holds the line in front of you up. You sigh and sit back when you realize you aren't going anywhere anytime soon. Your mind still hadn't drifted from the events of that afternoon, and you find yourself starting to cry again. Tears stream down your face as the light turns green. You try to think of the way to a motel you knew, knowing that sleeping in your car really wasn't a good idea. But you don't want to be by anyone, either. The motel was the cheapest option for you right now.

The rain is quite heavy at this point. It nearly blinds you, and you remind yourself to drive carefully as you begin to turn. Hydroplaning is a noteworthy danger.

It's a shame that not everyone is as careful as you.

As you began your journey down the road, bright lights suddenly blind you from your side. It all happened so fast. Just as you look over, a powerful truck slams into the side of your car. You shriek as your head collides with the window, disorientating pain flooding over your skull and down your neck. Your car hits another in the lane beside yours, twelve tires sliding across the puddles in the road.

Suddenly, a car hit you head-on right in the trunk, your head slamming against the steering wheel.

/_-|-_

Sirens. Crying. The crunch of glass under feet. The sounds hit you before the sight does.

Finally, your brain begins to register your surroundings. You're lying against the window of your little Tahoe, which is lying on its side. The pain gradually builds in your entire body, and after a short period of time, your muscles and bones are heavy with agony. Tears slide down your face, and your chest painfully heaves as you begin to sob. Horror overcomes your senses as you begin to realize what happened.

Suddenly, something falls down from the seat beside you, tumbling down and smacking the window only inches from your face. Bloodstains the seat and pools on the cold glass as raindrops plummet down through the broken window. It takes you a second to get the energy to move your head to look at it closer.

Your phone. It's terribly cracked and the screen is glitching uncontrollably, but you can see something on it...

A call. You can't see who's on the other end, but you can see that it's been going on for almost fifteen minutes. You close your eyes.

God, you plead, Kill me. Please, take the pain away. It hurts too much and I don't know what to do.

Your flesh is on fire. Your broken wrist hurts the most besides the massive migraine that pulses in your head. You internally cringe as you see how it's almost completely bent backwards. A sick feeling swirls and sloshes around in your stomach, and before you could close your mouth a surge of vomit slid out from your jaws. You cough as some slides back down into your throat and forces you to bring your head up so you don't suffocate on your own vomit. The revolting puddle of three containers worth of Culver's ice cream, saliva and stomach acid stings your nose; the stench is awful. You gag in disgust before throwing up again. The process repeats itself once more before you feel the need to push yourself up with what little strength in your arm you have. You cry out in pain as the slightest pressure is applied to the base of your wrist, snatching the other side of the console with your free hand and resting your upper arm on the steering wheel. Unfortunately, you were stuck on the side that was pinned to the road.

I need to get out of here, you think to yourself.

"H-help!" you rasp, having to clear your throat. You wince; your throat stinging as your voice scrapes out of it, but you can't let that stop you. "HELP!" H-HELP ME!"

Voices drift over to you. You're starting to get light headed again, spots swimming in your vision.

"Oh, God, she's still alive!"

"You said she was dead!"

"I said she looked like she was dead, you idiot, not 'yup, she's definitely dead!' We had definitely people to take care of!"

A familiar voice brakes through the strangers.

"Vait! Zhat's her truck!"

"You're certain? Wait- Sir, wait, get back here!"

The voice... it has a German accent...

Your eyes widen. Henrik. You look back down at your phone, a string of saliva dribbling down from your lip. The name. You can briefly see it in the glitching mass of glass and metal; Zhe Good Doctah. Just then, the screen goes black.

"Y/N!"

You look up, your eyelids fluttering heavily.

Henrik suddenly appears above you, clinging onto the smashed Tahoe's door.

"Y/N, do not vorry!" he cries, and you can visibly see the red on his face and the streaks of shining skin. Tears drip down to you from his cheeks along with the plump drops of rain zooming past him. He looks out at something else, lightning cracking wildly. You can see his brown hair and pale skin outlined perfectly against the dark sky. "They are coming! Hold on, Liebe, hold on!"

But your vision was already darkening. Lights and shapes dart around in your vision as your limbs tingle.

You weren't sure when you blacked out, but you knew it was soon after you got light-headed. When you next woke, you were being swept away on a stretcher, Henrik right at your side. Still in a daze, you began to panic.

"Hey," he said comfortingly, grabbing your hand. "Hey, it is okay. It is okay."

The next time you woke up, you were in an ambulance. You where being carried away from your once cozy Tahoe, and probably away from Henrik too.

The last time you wake up, you're in a hospital bed. A familiar hospital, too.

"Hello, Y/N."

You turn your head ever so slightly, your (e/c) eyes distant from the pain-killers. They fall upon a familiar doctor, dressed in his white coat with a stethoscope around his neck.

Henrik smiles sadly and pats your hand. "It is good to see you."