Re:life with Karmic Gacha (Modern Family)

[Edward POV]

Thursday. Four days after the incident.

RDJ and the others had returned to California, and filming for the movie was postponed once again.

Sitting on the bed, I held an incentive spirometer in my hand. I inhaled through the mouthpiece, watching the yellow indicator rise toward the optimal blue line in the plastic column.

"Hold it for as long as you can," my dad said, sticking strictly to the doctor's instructions.

I rolled my eyes and kept my breath steady. The yellow marker floated right on the blue line, unmoving.

Almost a minute passed.

Vanessa furrowed her brow and turned to my dad. "Isn't he supposed to hold it for only five seconds?"

"The doctor said, 'as long as he can.' Then exhale slowly."

"Huuuuuh—"

After 80 seconds, I finally stopped inhaling. "See? No trouble breathing. No mucus, no wheezing. Lungs are clear."

"The doctor also said you need to do this every day until your ribs heal," Dad said sternly. "Like it or not, you're doing this every morning for three full weeks."

I groaned and dropped my face into the pillow. Still, I couldn't bring myself to hate the care and affection surrounding me.

"That's... inhuman," Vanessa muttered. "How did you hold it that long?" She picked up the spirometer to inspect it, clearly suspicious.

I smirked. "That's what she said."

"She who?" Vanessa snapped, glaring.

Caught off guard, I stammered, "You?"

When the incident happened, I could've done what I always did — lock it away, bury it under a smile. Pretend none of it affected me. But Sage's interference made that impossible.

She made people see the damage. She made me see how selfish it was to risk my life like that. Sage wanted me to change — to stop carrying everything alone. To learn that human beings need each other.

And while the lesson was enlightening, all this affection was starting to suffocate me.

"I just called the doctor," Dad said, glancing at his phone. "He wants you to come in for a checkup. Says there's no way a normal person could hold their breath like that. Could be a puncture. That's why you're inhaling so long."

I rolled my eyes. "There's no puncture. I did some treatment myself. Glued my ribs back together."

"You did what?"

"I'm joking about the glue," I said with a shrug. "But seriously, I'm better."

Dad was quiet for a moment. "Fine. Here's the deal. I'll call a friend — he's a doctor, sort of. If he says you're okay, I'll let you go back to doing whatever you want."

"Deal."

While Dad made the call, I got out of bed and headed upstairs to the music room.

Vanessa followed, her eyes gleaming. "Are you gonna write a new song? Something about the fight?"

I sat down at the drums. "What? No. What would I even sing about — how everyone else is weaker than me? … Actually, wait. That's not bad."

Vanessa rolled her eyes and spun toward the door. "Not that! Hmph! I'm not staying here just to listen to that song." She stuck her tongue out and stomped away.

"You just want an excuse to go hang out with Maggie and not feel guilty for abandoning a patient!" I shouted after her.

Vanessa raised a finger and called back, "You said you're not a patient anymore! So I'm gone!"

I laughed at her dramatic exit and began tapping out a beat on the drums.

"Hmm…"

Without realizing it, I fell into the rhythm of Stressed Out. It echoed through the room as I drifted in thought.

Then I stopped abruptly. Grabbed a blank music sheet. Scribbled a few lines.

"She reads me like an open book. It's kind of scary." I peeked toward the door to make sure she was gone, then tried out a few other beats.

I switched between the drums, piano, electric guitar, and bass — experimenting, getting lost in the sound — until Dad's friend finally showed up.

He gave me a casual "You're fine" after two minutes and bolted back to the hospital.

"I'm still trying to process the fact that my dad's friend is almost Captain Raymond Holt's ex-boyfriend, Frederick," I muttered.

As I pulled on a clean shirt, I grimaced. "Also, he's an OBGYN. My dad brought an OBGYN to check up on me. The man squirted ultrasound gel on my ribs. I have a serious bone to pick with my dad."

The checkup had my dad scratching his head for an hour.

"Edward," he asked, genuinely confused, "do you really have the memory of being raised in a military facility?"

I groaned. "You raised me, Dad! You should know!"

With confirmation that my body had mostly healed, I convinced Dad to return to his original wedding date. He hesitated but eventually agreed after discussing it with Frankie.

All their excuses — guests being burdened, tight flight schedules, accommodations in Wisconsin — were easy to knock down. Our family could handle it.

…

That afternoon, just after lunch, I got a video call from Paige.

Except she wasn't alone.

Before she could speak, Abed snatched the phone.

"You shouldn't make it an action movie," he said instantly. "Make it a documentary with action clips. That way, you don't need to write or shoot as much, and it'll be theater-ready faster."

I scanned the background. "Wait—Abed. Are you and Paige at the airport?"

"Yep. Me, Annie, Paige, Troy, and the whole crew. We're in New York. Shooting for the documentary."

Behind him, Paige was struggling with her bags while Annie rushed over to help.

Abed's eyes lit up. "Hey! Can we interview the President too? If we get both him and you, we might be the first documentary team to break $1 billion at the box office!"

I rubbed my chin. Thought for a second. Then nodded. "Fine. Do it." Abed never said anything and opted directly to elect himself as the director of the documentary. 

Honestly, it took the pressure off. 

Also, now that I think about it, if I decided to make a movie about myself, showing my grandiose adventures and painting myself as a hero, it may turn people off. They would think of me as a narcissistic person. 

I was on the brink of shutting the project down today until Abed called me. 

Abed fist-pumped. "You won't regret it. Can you send someone to pick us up at the airport?"

I blinked. "Uh… sure. I'll send someone."

"Oh–OH!" Troy interjected quickly, smiling widely on the screen. "Can that someone be driving a limousine, because I really want to ride in one."

As I hung up the call, I muttered to myself, "Wait. I'm flying to Wisconsin tonight.

…Will they be mad at me? Or mad at themselves for flying here on impulse?"

…

Abed and Paige went directly to the convention hall to shoot a few scenes there. They even interviewed the general manager of the hotel for the documentary and copied the CCTV footage.

Some clips showed my figure, while others showed only the terrorists. Then, Abed went to the police station to interview Jake and Rosa.

As I left all the work to Abed, I gathered some of my friends at the penthouse. Abed only left me with one work to do, and I finished it pretty quickly. 

Max and Caroline arrived first while my cousins were out shopping. Vanessa went to meet a friend and will be back soon. 

In the kitchen, Max was helping me bake some cupcakes for the guests using my enhanced flour.

As Max licked the batter from the bowl, she said excitedly, "Are you sure you didn't put any cocaine in this flour? Because I've been addicted to it for three whole days now."

Caroline teased, "Max, you're going to get fat."

"Don't worry, all the nutrients are going to her boobs," I joined in.

Max grimaced and said, "With the cocaine in this, it's not possible for me to gain any weight. In fact, I think it would make a good diet food—"

"There's no cocaine in the flour. That's just flour made from genetically modified wheat," I replied with a deadpan expression, tired of Max's insistence on telling everyone it had cocaine in it.

Abby, who had just arrived, overheard the word "cocaine" and her face fell. "Edward, are you lacing the cupcakes with cocaine? Are you doing that old Hollywood dessert thing?"

I smirked and took a bite of one of the cupcakes. "You know about that?"

"Kinda… a little bit… okay, I heard it from my friend one time," Abby admitted under my pointed stare.

I shrugged and said, "For future reference, they laced it with what we smoked last night."

Max nearly jumped off the counter and teased, "The kind of stuff that made both you and his girlfriend suck on his neck—"

"MAX!" Caroline stopped her immediately.

Abby blushed and turned to me with an angry glare. "Did you tell people about that? It was a mistake, alright?"

"I didn't tell anyone," I replied calmly.

Max shouted from across the room, guffawing, "I knew it!"

"You did," I told Abby, as her entire face turned red while Max celebrated. While Max was running around, high on sugar, I added, "Yeah, she saw the hickey you guys gave me when she burst into the house this morning trying to get Vader to meet her orange cat."

Max stopped abruptly and shouted, "Her name is Nancy!"

"Max, you need to go lie down," Caroline said, grabbing her and pulling her away.

Mickey rushed into the apartment, huffing as he bent over and said with difficulty, "The mayor said okay."

"Okay? What's okay?" Abby asked, curious and relieved the topic had changed.

"I decided to do a guerrilla concert over at Times Square tonight. Me and Vanessa. She'll sing Dance Monkey and I'll do HandClap."

I grabbed the paper Mickey handed me. "We need permits to do it. I don't want to get into any trouble."

Confused, Abby stared at the paper before asking, "Your dad's okay with you going? With you being injured and all?"

"Yeah, I had a doctor's checkup this morning. Oh, before I forget—the wedding's back on, so you and your mom can fly to Wisconsin with me if you want."

Abby's eyes widened in shock. "It's back on?! I already rescinded my day-off request. I can't get it back at the last minute!"

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure your boss will happily give you the day off if you mention you're going with me," I said with a smirk.

Abby rolled her eyes. "You can't assume everyone's your fan and will cater to your every need."

"Wanna bet?"

"Sure," Abby agreed without hesitation.

After a short conversation with her boss—in which I only needed to give him a signed album—he agreed to let Abby take Friday and Monday off for the wedding.

Abby pouted and said, "Not fair. You already knew that was going to happen. What did you do, hack his search history?"

"A man should always be prepared when betting with others. Now, for the penalty." I took out some hair accessories and handed them to Abby.

Abby was exasperated as she took them and placed them on her head. "Cat ears? You want me to wear fluffy cat ears?"

"Until you go back to your place," I snickered.

Amy and Maggie returned, carrying numerous bags from luxury brands—Gucci, Louboutin, Prada, Versace, Louis Vuitton, and more.

"Hmm? I thought you were only going window shopping?" I asked, confused. They weren't the type to splurge on luxury items—well, maybe Maggie, but definitely not Amy.

Maggie blinked rapidly, hesitant. "Well, we were. Until…"

"Until what?" I asked, frowning.

While I stood there with my arms crossed, I noticed a tall blonde girl carrying the same bags behind them.

"Hey, Ed," Taylor said softly, letting herself into the house casually.

Amy pointed to Taylor, her arms full of bags. "She joined us, and—"

"She gave us all of these as gifts," Maggie finished, her eyes twinkling with admiration. "You know, I may have backed the wrong horse. Vanessa never bought me anything."

"I heard that!" Vanessa yelled from outside the door before bursting in and knocking everyone aside. "Move! Don't block the door!"

Vanessa stood beside me and took my arm, earning a brief glare from Taylor. Nessa looked at me and said, "Hey, Ed. We have a problem."

"Huh? What problem?" I said, leading her aside to talk privately. The other girls tilted their chins up like meerkats, trying to eavesdrop, but our hushed conversation was hard to catch.

Vanessa whispered, "Okay, so, I know you want us to go sing at Times Square tonight, but the dancers already flew back to California. Both mine and yours. Si—since you're injured and all, they decided to leave early."

"Oh, shoot." I was caught off guard by the sudden change. Vanessa continued, "But on the bright side, it's a guerrilla concert, so there's no marketing done—"

"There's some marketing done," I interjected. I'd hinted at the concert in my Instagram stories. People guessed it, though I never confirmed.

Vanessa inhaled sharply. "Nothing we can't skirt around. You're officially injured, so fans won't be mad if you cancel."

My face went blank for a few seconds as my brain short-circuited. "Wow. I really have to cancel this one, huh? I've never done that before."

"Not ever?" Vanessa raised an eyebrow, concerned.

"Not ever," I said calmly.

She nodded, then said, "More serious matter now. Since your dad decided to go back to the original plan, we're short one complete wedding dress and four bridesmaid dresses."

"Wait, Haley couldn't complete them in time?" I asked, shocked.

"She could have—if she didn't take it easy when your dad postponed the wedding."

"Ah, it's not really her fault. It's my dad's," I nodded.

"It's yours!" Vanessa snapped.

"Just tell her to come to Wisconsin. I'll help her get it done in time," I said casually.

"Alright. Last one—the bridesmaid list. We have eight people: Claire, the maid of honor; Maggie and Amy, your cousins; Frankie's sister, who has to be paired up with her father—"

"Her dad's coming? I thought she had a rough relationship with her parents?" I asked, slightly nosy.

"Well… it's complicated. But Frankie wants her sister there."

Frankie's mentally challenged sister, who was severely autistic, needed constant supervision. Frankie was supporting her instead of her parents. There was even a time she considered suing them because of the stress they'd caused her.

"Me, Taylor, Haley, and Annie," Vanessa added with a smile—then her smile turned devilish. "So, you'll need to pick one of the bridesmaids to walk down the aisle with."

"Nah, not me. Pepper's handling everything. He's assigning the pairs," I said, avoiding the trap.

"Pepper decided to let you choose," Vanessa said, casually dropping the bomb. "By the way, I already have a partner, so you'll need to pick from Taylor, Haley, Abby, or Annie."

"Abby's not on the bridesmaid list," I said, confused.

"What—" Vanessa feigned confusion. "I'm pretty sure the choices are only those four girls. You can only pick one of them—"

I ignored Vanessa and slid back into the conversation with the others.

"Edward!" Vanessa called after me, her voice sharp with dissatisfaction. All of the girls were here to discuss the wedding plans. Although it became a hang out quickly enough.

…

Abed and Paige arrived at the penthouse around midnight. Paige had heavy eye bags under her eyes, and her messy bun was disheveled. Abed, however, looked completely normal.

"You should've taken some rest to settle the jet lag," I said to Paige, handing her some pills. She took them and felt better within minutes, although the mental strain was still there.

Abed quickly said, "So, do you have an idea for the opening song sequence? I think I can edit the entire movie in just three days. I won't be at the wedding until Saturday evening."

"So you'll just make it to the rehearsal dinner and the ceremony. That's fine," I accepted easily.

Abed added, "If possible, I also want to shoot a few scenes during the ceremony to include in the documentary. It'll be part of the finale."

"I'll ask Frankie for you when I get there," I said. "As for the song, I did make something. I don't know if it will suit the vibe for the documentary. Also, does a documentary really need an opening sequence or a song? It's a… documentary."

Abed responded to my confusion with an excited smile. "I'm doing a documentary fusion. There are also some stuntmen who will recreate the fight you had."

I sighed inwardly and said, "That'll be hard to do. It was a very tough fight."

"Why don't we listen to the song first and discuss the documentary later?" Paige intervened.

"Sure." I said, then played the music on my laptop. Abed and Paige listened intently to the beats. The music was connected to the speakers, so it was audible to the others since we were all in the living room together.

[Markus King – Sucker] (A/N: Minor lyric changes.)

I sang with soulful resentment:

"♫♪ No red rose on your grave… You poor sucker ♫♪

♫♪ One by one, all these bloodhounds keep coming ♫♪

♫♪ Sleep in the casket you made! You're gone, sucker ♫♪

♫♪ But you're mad if you thought I'd let you go.. No~ ♫♪"

Abed's eyes lit up. "So it's about a warning. You're warning the NCS director that you're going to kill him the next time he shows his face."

"It is a warning, but to everyone targeting him, not just Peter," Paige added.

I looked at the duo with disbelief and said, "Just listen."

The chorus immediately drew everyone closer.

"♫♪ Get the fuck outta my head, so long, sucker!

I don't wanna see you, I hate this feeling, whoa!

(Ooh) get your fingers out of my hair, you're gone, sucker ♫♪

♫♪ Good luck killing me 'cause I'm already~

Already~ dead inside ♫♪"

Abby chortled but quickly covered her mouth. I gave her a deadpan stare, which made her avoid my gaze.

"♫♪ Dirty little animals~ You cannibals, eat your supper~ ♫♪"

Taylor inhaled deeply. "That's actually kinda hot."

"♫♪ One by one, all these vultures keep coming.

Pretty little lamb, don't come down here~!!! You're gone, sucker ♫♪

♫♪ But you're mad if you thought I'd let you go ♫♪"

Everyone was entranced by the song. I sat down on the edge of the sofa, and Vanessa suddenly sat on my leg, her arm wrapped around me.

"♫♪ Get the fuck outta my head, so long, sucker

I don't wanna see you, I hate this feeling, whoa ♫♪

♫♪ (Ooh) get your fingers out of my hair, you're gone, sucker

Good luck killing me 'cause I'm already, already (oh) ♫♪"

Paige smiled with satisfaction. "It's good. But… I really don't think it suits the documentary."

Abed focused on the bridge, not saying anything yet:

"♫♪ Nah, nah, nah, nah

Nah-nah-nah, nah-nah-nah

Nah, nah, nah, nah

Nah-nah-nah, nah-nah-nah (ooh) ♫♪"

As the last chorus played, Abed finally came to a decision.

"♫♪ Ooh, get the fuck outta my head, so long, sucker

I don't wanna see you, I hate this life, oh

Ooh, get your fingers out of my hair, you're gone, sucker

Good luck killing me 'cause I'm already

Already dead inside ♫♪

♫♪ Get your fingers out of my hair

You're gone, sucker

Good luck killing me 'cause I'm already, already

Dead inside ♫♪"

As the song reached the outro, Abby said, "It's a good song."

"But it's not suitable for the documentary," Abed said decisively. "You can keep it for Arcane or any other shows."

"Oh, I'm definitely going to put this on Arcane alright>For season 2!" I said with a smile. "I'll work on another song." I added, crossing my arms together.

Abed nodded, then said, "Or we can go with just instrumentals. Now that I think about it, pop songs aren't really suitable for documentaries. Unless it's a documentary about pop songs."

I nodded in agreement. 

"So you wasted his time for nothing." Taylor retorted. I turned to Taylor and laughed, thinking it was a joke. 

Abed and I talked while he recorded my scene for the documentary.

I only needed to recount my experiences during the terror attack. Abed would intercut my monologue with found footage videos others took of me and what was recorded on my button cam. The rest, he'd have the stuntmen recreate it.

Finally, I flew to Wisconsin for the wedding.