Disclaimer: I don't own total drama

Note: This fic will be sad and depressing at some moments. I hope no one who has had cancer or known someone with cancer finds this insensitive, and I apologise if anything I put in here is incorrect.

I have to admit, I got the title from the MCR song "Cancer." The fic wasn't actually inspired by the song, but when I was thinking up titles, it came to mind and just seemed to fit.

Also, I typed this via my IPad, so please excuse any weird typos that are due to autocorrect.

"Hello?" It was five am, and Heather really wasn't in the mood to take an early morning phone call. She'd been under the weather for a while now, feeling horribly lethargic and nauseous; she figured she must have caught some kind of extreme stomach flu, since she had been vomiting infrequently for two weeks now.

When the voice of Chris McLean responded a little too cheerfully, she cursed at her state-of-the-art cell phone; while it had been over a year since total drama world tour and she had not interacted with any of the contestants since, the threat of a reunion had been looming. Sure enough, Chris arrogantly bugled that she was invited to a "super fun and dramatic reunion!" on the Tuesday two weeks from then.

"Do I have to?" She groaned automatically, though her voice was a little hoarse due to whatever illness she had. Even in full health, she would have been deadest against reunitng with the others again on television, and this stomach affliction had been draining her of all energy. The sound of Chris's irritated whining set her teeth on edge; she really hated his stupid, smug voice...

"Look, I'm sick!" She snarled weakly, sinking down on her bed with a yawn, before wincing at the strange churning that empowered her stomach once again.

"Well, you have a con-tract!" Chris reminded in a sing-song voice, and she could almost see his grinning face, covered with "designer stubble," as he liked to call it. On better days, she would have spat some sarcastic remark to him about just where on the hosts's body she would have liked to insert her contract, but she felt another wave of sickness attack her intestines, and she found herself retching slightly.

"Look- whatever you say," she muttered, wanting to kick herself for being so submissive, but she couldn't; the darkened walls of her room seemed to blur slightly, her head feeling as though she was encased in water. Chris tutted mockingly.

"Really, Heather?" He snorted. "You're not tantruming? Are you planning to blow up the studio or something, then?"

However, before she could respond sarcastically, Heather felt her stomach twist once more and then, the phone falling from her hand onto the floor while Chris called her name loudly, she was stumbling across the hall to the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time for a fresh wave of vomiting. The violent retching sounds disturbed her parents; a light switched on from down the hall, while Heather winced internally, and she heard her parents' exhausted voices as they stirred.

"Selfish girl. Does she even know what time it is?" Her father muttered, and she only had time to grimace sourly at how insensitive her father was before once again she was leaning disgustingly over the bowl. However, her mother- the only one in her family to actually care for her middle child- muttered something gentle, before her light footsteps were heard padding down the hallway. Heather cringed as the bathroom light flicked on; she found it demeaning to be discovered doing something so foul. Her mother stared at her with pity that Heather refused to accept, before bending down slowly to her daughter's side.

"Go away, Mom." She muttered brusquely. "It's just this damn stomach flu, Okay?"

However, the look of concern on her mother's face was unconvinced, and she reached out to brush a strand of hair from her daughters's sweat-plastered face.

"Honey, I don't think stomach flu lasts this long," She informed her slowly, but Heather brushed her off with a roll of the eyes, trying to stare away from the contents she'd just purged into the lavatory. However, wrinkling her nose slightly, her mother stared down into the toilet, before a gasp emitted from her lips, and she flinched. Heather snorted slightly.

"Seriously, Mom, it's puke. I mean, I know it's gross, but you've seen it before..."

Howevef, the ashen look that had fallen on her mother's face silenced Heather for a moment, and she blinked slowly at her mother.

"Honey," she breathed slowly, placing a hand on her daughters's shoulder; Heather would have usually shrugged it off, but now she stared in confusion.

"What?" She barked out finally, feeling pretty disturbed by how horrors truck her mother's eyes were; slowly, she blinked down into the toilet, before recoiling instantly.

Amongst the bile that she'd just regurgitated, there was a thick stream of glistening blood.

"I'm fine," Heather growled sharply, while her mother stared disbelievingly at her, one hand poised on the phone.

"I really think you should see a doctor," She said firmly, folding her arms across her expensive kimono, while Heather glowered at her. The girl's fingers clenched in the wood grain of the table angrily; she hated the undeterrable expression on her mother's face, she hated being told what to do, and most of all, she hated doctors; hated the idea of being prodded and poked, and talked down to...

"Oh, yeah- Chris called, and we've got a stupid -CENSORED- total drama reunion in two weeks." She said, trying to evade the subject of her health.

"Language, Heather," Her mother chided, whipping pieces of bread from the toaster and dropping them onto an elegant china plate; Heather rolled her eyes at the reprimand.

"Ugh, I don't want to go, but Chris says it's part of our fu-" she cleared her throat, remembering her Mother's comment about language. "I mean, our stupid contract."

"I'll put it on the calendar, then." her mother set down a plate of toast in front of her, which Heather glared down at, though she was pleased that she seemed to have avoided the subject of her illness...

"You're still going to the doctor, Heather." Her mother threw over her shoulder while she made herself a coffee. Heather shrieked angrily, folding her arms.

"Mom, I'm nineteen!" She snapped, gritting her teeth. "I can do what I want, you know."

Her mother gave her a frustrated glance, and the clear anger in her eyes made her resemble her daughter more than ever for a moment.

"You're bringing up blood, Heather! It isn't normal!" Her voice ascended shrilly, causing Heather's father to grumble something about keeping it down from where he sat in the lounge room. Heather looked away childishly, refusing to listen. However, another wave of nausea triggered at the scent of the food set in front of her, and her mother gave a click of her tongue.

"This could be something serious, like a stomach ulcer." She reached out to gingerly touch her daughters's hand, but Heather snatched it back, scowling.

"Stop treating me like a child." She growled indignantly. Her mother's brow furrowed under her pristine black hair, and her lips twisted into the exact scowl Heather wore.

"Then stop acting childish." She shot back, her quick tongue yet another trait that Heather had inherited from her. Heather's eyes narrowed furiously, before she ascended sharply, shoving her plate away from her.

"Fine!" She threw her hands up violently. "I'll see the stupid doctor. Even though it is for nothing." Her head cocked to the side viciously, hair swishing as she angrily scrutinized her mother. "Happy, MOM?"

Heather's mother did not flinch; she was accustomed to Heather frequently rounding on her and using bitter sarcasm. Instead, she pushed the plate of toast towards Heather.

"You should eat something." She said, voice now monotonous. Heather looked down at the food, but felt another pang of fatigue run through her.

"I'm not hungry." It was stubborn, but she was not lying; Heather's appetite had quelled almost completely over the past few weeks, and the very notion of food just increased her stomach's churning.

Despite her protests, Heather's mother accompanied her to the Doctor's office, while her daughter complained that she was belittling her. Yet, they both knew that if Heather had gone on her own, she would have snapped bluntly at the doctor that she was fine, and turned on her heel and stomped away. She sat, dutifully and unwillingly reeling off a list of her symptoms to him, while the doctor jotted them down. He proceeded to question her, asking about other possible symptoms, forcing her to admit with mortification that along with vomiting, she had been noticing a pain whilst eating and swallowing, bouts or painful and extended indigestion and, though Heather was very reluctant to admit it, discolored faeces.

Her mother stared in shock as Heather admitted to symptoms she had brushed off, finding excuses for, while the doctor continued to take notes, asking her questions about her lifestyle and diet as well. When he had finished the look in his face was grave; it sent a chill down Heather's spine.

"I'm afraid that this is far worse than a stomach flu, Miss Wilson." He informed her, and a ripple of shock crossed Heather's face. This did not sound good; his voice had the strained calmness of delivering bad news, and panic crept in.

"Then, what is it?" She queried sharply, knotting her hands tightly together and praying that this was just some stupid nightmare; there was no way she could be seriously ill... Was there?

"It could be internal bleeding in the stomach, or a stomach polyp or ulcer. However, I am going to book you in for an endoscopic ultrasound to view your stomach more closely-"

Heather's mouth fell open. An ultrasound sounded suspicious, and her throat contracted at the hideous premonition.

"Why?" she spat out, and her mother's hand reached out and gripped hers, both feeling a mortuary source of dread for the word; Heather was in too much of a panic mode to pull away from her mother, and for the first time her fingers clenched tightly around her parent's in fear.

The doctor gave her a piteous look, eyes sad and burdened from behind a slim pair of glasses.

"Of course, we will need to conduct further examinations, but from what you have described to me, your symptoms seem to indicate quite a severe stage of-"

Don't say it, Heather thought wildly, Look, this has to be a mistake; please, whatever you do, don't say the C- word...

"Stomach cancer."

Well, quite a short first chapter. Poor Heather, I'm sorry for saddling you with the most horrible disease ever :( But who knows, maybe she'll get through her tests and be fine... Except, unfortunately, that isn't going to happen for Heather. :(

I've done research on the symptoms, stages, diagnosis and treatment, so hopefully this fic is accurate enough.

Alejandro will come into the story later, and play quite a large part. And yes, this is an Aleheather fic.