Through the fire, p.15
Through the Fire, page 15
Jake was lifting a couple of Chris's bandages, examining the lesser wounds, when Nick came out again. There was new pink skin there under one of them, the cut more a memory than an actual hurt. Nick stared at that without fully understanding it, sat where Shy told him to, and put an arm out so she could give his blood to his brother. Somewhere in there, Jake got him orange juice and he drank it slowly, waiting for it to warm in his mouth before he swallowed it. Chris looked better, but not good. Nick's head hurt. He couldn't remember when that had started. Had an awful feeling it had been during the fight with Saboac. It wasn't safe to think about Saboac. Just safer than thinking about Chris, dying.
"He's going to be okay," Cheyenne finally said. She'd never really stopped working on him, treating burns, checking his breathing and his heart rate, unhooking Nick from the transfusion with a muttered promise that it was enough. The bedroom's light still seemed warmer than it had been before she arrived, but it was dimmer now. "He's warm, he's topped up with new blood, the worst of his injuries are stitched or bandaged. Let's take five outside."
"I'd like to stay," Jake said, and Shy shrugged.
"You do you, buddy. Nick, out."
He got up obediently and left the bedroom. The rest of the house was noticeably colder, although nothing was on fire anymore. Maybe Jake had taken care of that. Maybe Saboac's death had. Nick didn't know. Shy threw herself heavily into an armchair and pointed at another. "Sit."
Nick sat, and all at once the glimmer of warmth, the gold hint to the light, went out, as did any gentleness in Cheyenne's voice. Not that 'gentle' usually played in the same arena Shy did. "Talk."
"I've got powers," Nick said flatly. "Freak powers. And—"
Shy held up one finger, stardust paint on the nail. "Powers since when."
"I don't know, Friday? Saturday morning? I don't even know what day it is."
"It's Monday. Monday evening. Okay, so this is a new thing, which means you two assholes aren't keeping secrets. Fine. Go on."
"We went looking for the thing that killed Dad and we met a…" Nick shrugged. It sounded stupid, but the truth didn't care what it sounded like. "A fallen angel. A desanctified angel. And it came after us again today and I wasn't here to protect Chris."
"You two fuckers and your protection thing. So it's what happened to the house? To Chris? What happened to it?"
"I killed it," Nick said flatly. "I used my power and killed it and then I called you to help Chris."
Shy stared at him for what felt like a long time, then nodded. "Okay."
"Okay? That's it? Just 'okay?' I'm a fucking freak and it's okay? Chris almost died and it's okay?" Anger built behind Nick's eyes, filling his head and throat and spilling toward his chest.
"Don't be a fucking moron, Nick. You know what I mean. What else am I supposed to say? Are you okay?"
"No. I don't know. I'm not hurt."
"Close enough. You did good in there," she added, voice softening. "You're going to make a hell of a doctor, Nicky."
"Freaks don't heal people. They hurt them."
"Guess you're going to have to change that, then." They stood, glaring around the house. "Come on, let's get this place sealed up so you two idiots don't freeze to death tonight."
Nick stood, glancing hesitantly at Chris's bedroom. "Can I check on him first?"
"This mess isn't going anywhere."
Jake looked up as Nick came into the room, then stood. "He's woken up and gone back to sleep a couple times already. Wait for a minute and he'll probably come around."
"Thanks, man." Nick grunted as Jake gave him a quick, hard hug, then left the room so Nick could sit at Chris's bedside.
Chris looked so much better and utterly terrible all at once. Nick could see the blue veins in his eyelids, and even the green of his eyes looked drained when he opened them. "Ayyyyyy, Nicky. You okay?"
"Me?" Nick's voice cracked. "I'm fucking peachy, thanks. What the hell were you doing, fighting that thing alone?"
Chris's eyes drifted shut again on a whispered chuckle. "Wasn't my idea, bro. Got blindsided. Dad'd've hit me alongside the head for that."
"Yeah, well, Dad was an asshole."
A twitch of Chris's eyebrows agreed before his breathing steadied out into sleep again. Nick drifted off for a minute, too, or maybe longer: when he opened his eyes again, Chris was pulling at bandages, trying to remove them. Nick leaned forward to catch his wrist. "Cut it out, you need those, you're all fucked up, man."
Chris rolled a shoulder, showing Nick the sticky spot where he'd taken a bandage off already. Tender-looking skin shone pinkly, new scars forming, but Nick knew for a fact that had been a two-inch-long cut a few hours earlier. "Where's the bandage for that?"
"I dunno, I threw it…" Chris made a vague motion and Nick stood to find the piece of gauze, which was streaked with old-looking blood, but not a lot of it. Way less than there'd been when Shy had removed the bandage Nick had put on, cleaned the wound, and rebandaged it.
By the time he looked back, Chris was out again. Nick took the bandage into the living room and said, "What the fuck?" to Shy, then, belatedly, "Thanks," as he realized most of the holes and fire damage had been roughly patched over.
"What the fuck, what?" She caught the bandage when he threw it at her, then shrugged. "What's this?"
"Chris just took it off his shoulder where that two-inch cut was."
"Looks more like an old period pad, with the blood that color." Shy went back into the bedroom and emerged again a couple minutes later, confusion written across her features. "What'd you do?"
"What'd I do? I didn't do anything. You're the one who came in all glowy and shit."
"All gl—what?"
"You were glowing," Nick repeated. "Or the light changed when you came in, I don't know. That's why I kept shaking my head, trying to clear it."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Nick." Cheyenne dropped into an armchair again, visibly tired. "You just said you had freak powers. You did something."
"I didn't." Cold certainty ran through the words. "I tried. I couldn't. I can tear shit apart, Shy, I can't make it better. You're the paramedic."
"I'm a paramedic," she echoed, stretching the syllables out to emphasize them. "I can't make cuts and burns vanish in a couple hours. Wouldn't that be fucking great! You said you got freak powers on Saturday. Maybe Chris did too."
Nick's heart clenched and he sat like his knees had been taken out. Missed the edge of the sofa, smashed all the way to the floor, cracking his tailbone when he hit. The next heartbeat felt too big, like it had to expand too far in order to make up for the tight squeeze it had contracted to. His head hit his knees and he mumbled, "Didn't think of that," around a sick feeling of relief. Maybe Chris hadn't been in so much danger after all. Still too much, but not as much. Maybe Nick hadn't almost let him get killed just 'cause he wanted to walk off his own drama.
"We can test that," Jake said from where he sat patching up another hole in the wall, then brushed off the scathing look Shy gave him. "Not now. When he's better. I don't propose we go stab him again right now."
"I don't propose stabbing him at all!"
"Stabbing who?" Chris's voice, raspier than usual, came from the hallway entrance. "Where's Nicky?"
"Here." Nick stood, moving into Chris's line of view. Chris limped over, grabbed the back of his neck, and examined him from up close, close enough that Nick could see how badly injured his brother still was. He was months past any summer tan anyway, but the new shining scars stood out vividly pink against too-pale skin, and his eyes were sunken with exhaustion. "You shouldn't be out of bed, Chris."
"Me? I'm fine. Who's getting stabbed?"
"Nobody." Shy's voice bounced across the room. "Go lie down. You shouldn't—"
"Be out of bed, yeah, I got that."
"Be able to stand, you idiot. I don't know what it is with you Cassidy brothers, always trying to be the toughest son of a bitch in the room." A beat passed, and Shy muttered, "All right, that's a lie, I knew your dad, obviously I know what it is with you two, but you still need to get over it. Go lie down, Chris."
Despite the fact that Nick was supporting at least half of Chris's weight through that grip he held on his neck, Chris managed to a cocky, self-sure grin at Cheyenne. "Look, I know you finally had me in bed where you wanted me, Shy, but it didn't have to take this much effort. I'm easy for beauty."
"You're a shallow, self-centered prick who couldn't turn my head with a wrench," Shy said mildly, "and you're about to pass out."
Chris went, "Pffhhh!" dismissively and turned his attention back to Nick, the grin fading away. "Nicky—"
"Chris, I think Shy's right, you look really bad—"
Chris got about halfway through another pfffhh before he went limp. Nick, half expecting it, mostly managed to catch him, although what started as a grab under the arms became a frantic hug around his brother's chest, because it turned out that if you just grabbed an unconscious person under the arms, their arms rose up like noodles and they kept right on falling. "Fuck!"
Cheyenne started giggling like an eleven year old, tears of laughter running down her cheeks. Jake came to the rescue, grunting as he helped take Chris's weight and staggered toward the bedroom. "I thought you were strong these days, Nicky."
"Dead weights aren't as easy to lift as barbells!" They pretty well threw Chris on the bed, there being no less awkward way to get him there. He bounced once and made a pained sound, but didn't come to in any meaningful way. "Shy, is he concussed?"
She came to the doorway, wiping tears away and sounding serious enough, despite the grin. "Probably should be, but no, not as far as I can tell. Guess you two can thank your dad for your thick skulls. Look, I'll stay in town overnight if you need, but I got a late shift tomorrow night and have to head home."
"Maybe stay," Nick said uncertainly. "He's better than he was, but he's still passing out every other minute."
"Yeah, well, I'm not staying on that ugly-ass couch of yours. The living room's freezing."
"Take...take Dad's room." Easier for Shy to sleep there than either Chris or Nick, and maybe if she stayed the night it would make it feel a little less like Dad's room, and more like a place one of them could someday sleep.
"You can stay at mine," Jake offered. "Walls are whole, there, and it's close enough for an emergency."
Cheyenne shot Nick a glance that almost looked apologetic. "Yeah, that's better. Sorry, Nick, I just, uh…"
"Yeah, no, I get it, we can't sleep there either."
"You want me to clear it out?" Jake asked quietly. "I won't throw anything away, but I can take it to mine for a while. Might neutralize the space."
Nick closed his eyes. "Honestly, that would be great. I know I should be able to, but I…can't. Not right now."
Jake knocked his shoulder against Nick's on his way past. "That's why we have friends, man. Come on, Shy, gimme a hand with it."
"What, now? What the hell." Cheyenne followed Jake, protesting all the way, and the last argument Nick heard from the other man was, "You don't want Nick sleeping in the cold either, do you?"
He wouldn't put money on Shy caring that much, but appreciated the thought. He sank down on the chair, half listening as their friends thumped and banged around, cleaning out their dad's room. Half listening, half sleeping. Half hearing Saboac's hissing laughter, the crackle of its power and its wings, and trying to shove those things out of his memory.
Somewhere in there, Jake and Cheyenne got quieter, or left, or maybe Nick just fell asleep, because the next thing he knew, weak early morning light seeped through his eyelids as Chris growled, "You should have just let me die."
CHAPTER 12
"What?" Nick had heard Chris well enough. He just didn't believe what he'd heard. Except he did believe it, because of course his asshole older brother would decide—"Why the actual fuck should I have let you die?"
"You had to use that grendel power to save me," Chris said hoarsely. "That can't be good. And maybe all that thing wanted was me. Maybe you could've gone back to Cali after that."
"Yeah, back to college and the girlfriend who's terrified of me now, that'd be great." Nick was on his feet somehow, bubbling over with anger. "You can't really think I'd be happier with you dead."
"It'd get you out of this life. All I'm supposed to do is keep you safe, Nicky—"
"Bullshit! Jesus, that's such bullshit! You—" Nick's hands turned to claws, throttling the air, and he had to back off, trying to find a way through anger to speech. By the time he trusted himself to speak again, Chris was sitting up. Pale and shaking, but sitting up and prodding at the wounds Shy had tended to the night before. "You're alive," Nick said, trying to sound calm. "And that's good, Chris. You've got to learn that you're more than just my guardian angel."
"You gotta learn I never needed to be anything more than that."
Frustration flooded through Nick again, turning his thoughts sharp and dangerous, like they'd cut him apart, never mind Chris. "Maybe you didn't, but I'm trying to build a life, Chris. You have to build one too."
"I've got a life, Nick!" Chris stood like he was seeing if he could. He could. Just. He knocked away Nick's offer of help, because of course he did, and Nick stood back, eyes closed and mouth pinched while he worked through not feeling childishly rejected. Chris limped to the bedroom door—Nick could hear it in his uneven footsteps—and stopped there like he wanted to be dramatic. Nick bet he just needed to lean against something and rest for a minute.
"I know my life looks like shit to you, but I'm fine with it. And I'd be fine dead, too, Nick. It doesn't matter that much. It doesn't matter if you don't like it. I get to decide what's worth dying for."
Losing his temper wasn't going to help. A fight wasn't going to help. Nick set his teeth together, trying to hold anger back. It fought to get free, feeling like the grendel power, pressing within him, bubbling up, ready to be used. He opened his eyes again, in case that helped. It did, maybe a little, or maybe being able to see Chris made it worse, like his brother was a focal point to explode his frustration toward. "Don't I get to decide what's worth fighting for?"
"Not if it's me!"
"Who the fuck else am I supposed to fight for?" Nick's voice rose and cracked, his control slipping. "Dad's dead, Stephanie's gone, Tyler's a dick, you're all I've got left! Family is all I have left!"
"You left your family!" Chris had to be running on willpower alone, the way he turned on Nick, fury flushing his skin and exhaustion weakening his actions. "You fucking left, Nick, you don't get to decide you stay and fight for family now!"
"You told me to leave!"
"I did more than goddamn tell you, I signed every piece of paperwork you needed signing—" Something happened behind Chris's eyes, a panicked retreat, like he hadn't meant to say that, and Nick caught his breath, trying to parse that before Chris doubled down. "But the point is you left, Nick, you left me here with Dad and you went off to have a life and you were supposed to, you should have stayed there, if you had stayed you wouldn't have this grendel problem—"
"What'd you think I was going to do, not come to Dad's funeral? You're the one who told me about it!"
"That's exactly what I thought!"
"Well why the hell did you even tell me about it then?"
"I don't know!" Chris slammed his hand against the doorframe, like the pain could drown out emotion. "But you should have stayed away!"
"Well it's too fucking late for that now isn't it! Christ, Chris, you just—I can't win, can I? I betrayed you by leaving, I betrayed you by coming back, what the actual fuck do you want from me?" Nick slammed past his brother, just enough in control to keep from smashing his shoulder into Chris's.
The sound Chris made indicated he wished Nick had bashed into him, and Nick pretty much wished he had too. Maybe it would knock Chris on his stupid ass hard enough to keep him down for a minute, until he started thinking again. "Not that thinking is your strong suit," he snarled, probably not enough under his breath.
Definitely not enough under his breath. "Yeah, we know you're the smart one, Nick—"
Nick bellowed, "I'm not goddamn smarter than you, Chris, I'm more studious, there's a fucking difference—"
"Oh yeah, more fucking studious, let's split those hairs, you roll out that dictionary vocabulary you've got and make me look like an assh—"
"Believe me, you're doing that all on your own!" Nick stomped through the living room like he could find something to wreck, barely fighting a boiling darkness inside him that wanted to do nothing else. Except that would be infantile and he was a goddamn adult and besides Chris was shouting and stomping out behind him and he sure as hell wasn't going to give his jackass older brother the satisfaction of watching him melt down. He raised his voice, deliberately drowning Chris's lecture out. "I'm sorry, I don't even know what you said, I can't hear it over the sanctimonious prickitude!"
"Oh, just fuck off, Jesus, if you came back to be a dick I'll be glad when you're gone—"
Guilt and anger spiraled in Nick's chest, flaring toward destruction. Self-destruction, maybe. Anything was better than screaming, though he couldn't stop himself from that, either. "You've always been glad when I'm gone! I know how much fun it was for you, watching out for your nerdy little brother when we were kids—"
Chris yelled again and Nick still couldn't hear it past the tide of anger in his mind, the blind rising rage that felt like Saboac cackling somewhere at the bottom of his soul. "Shut up shut up just shut up!"
"Like I started this bullshi—"
"Shut up!" Nick swung wildly, like he'd shove his brother away. Power arced, the same as it had in the remote cabin, except no, it was worse, that had only erupted, this was directed, this—
—this caught Chris in the chest, threw him backward, slammed him into the wall. The whole trailer shuddered with the impact and he fell, not even making a sound. Other things made sound: the tv, wobbling and then crashing to the floor; a couple pictures thumping against the walls without quite dislodging; the floor itself, creaking.
