Dan had learned a lot about side effects since they let him come home from the hospital. For example, Vicodin was great at its main responsibility, which was making the former hole in his stomach feel perfectly fine. However, it made him sleep like Rip Van Winkle. And it gave him bad dreams. For about three nights running, he dreamt there was someone crying. He searched his dream-house over and over, looking in every corner, behind every door, even in closets and cupboards, but he couldn't find the source of the crying. It made him crazy in the dreams, because he knew the someone was important (Sam? Charlie?), but he couldn't help them.
The fourth night he fought his way out of the dream and lay there, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand and trying to clear the drugfog from his brain. It took him a minute to realize that he was still hearing the crying, and he was awake.
He stumbled out to the living room, one hand protectively over his stomach. The lamp by the couch was still on. It threw odd shadows over Casey's face as he tossed and turned, pushing against his blanket as though it were pushing back.
"No...no..."
Danny's first craven impulse was to turn around and go back into his room. Whatever Casey was dreaming about, it must be pretty bad. He wouldn't be happy to know Dan had seen him crying, and Dan wasn't sure he had the strength to put up with Casey being angry to hide whatever he didn't want to talk about.
Friendship won over selfishness, though, and Dan shuffled around to the front of the couch. He leaned down to shake Casey's shoulder.
"Danny!" Casey shouted, and sat straight up.
Unfortunately, that rammed his shoulder right into Dan's stomach, and Dan went down with a grunt.
"What the hell--what happ--oh, fuck," Casey said above him, and Dan laughed, even as the pain radiated out from his wound, making every nerve in his body scream.
"Well put."
"Are you okay? Of course you're not okay. Should I call someone? Are you bleeding? I'm so sorry, Danny."
"It's okay. I mean it's fine. I mean it hurts like a son of a bitch, but I don't think you did any permanent damage."
"I am so--"
"Sorry, yeah, I get it." Dan pulled himself up and rested his head on the cushion by Casey's leg. "Are you okay?"
"What?" Casey sounded honestly confused.
"You were having a nightmare. I was trying to wake you up when you threw--what was a very nice foul, by the way. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, of course, I'm fine," Casey said in a tone that easily translated as "No, but please don't ask."
Dan groped around until he found the nearest bit of Casey he could reach--probably an ankle--and patted it gingerly. "Okay."
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The fourth night he fought his way out of the dream and lay there, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand and trying to clear the drugfog from his brain. It took him a minute to realize that he was still hearing the crying, and he was awake.
He stumbled out to the living room, one hand protectively over his stomach. The lamp by the couch was still on. It threw odd shadows over Casey's face as he tossed and turned, pushing against his blanket as though it were pushing back.
"No...no..."
Danny's first craven impulse was to turn around and go back into his room. Whatever Casey was dreaming about, it must be pretty bad. He wouldn't be happy to know Dan had seen him crying, and Dan wasn't sure he had the strength to put up with Casey being angry to hide whatever he didn't want to talk about.
Friendship won over selfishness, though, and Dan shuffled around to the front of the couch. He leaned down to shake Casey's shoulder.
"Danny!" Casey shouted, and sat straight up.
Unfortunately, that rammed his shoulder right into Dan's stomach, and Dan went down with a grunt.
"What the hell--what happ--oh, fuck," Casey said above him, and Dan laughed, even as the pain radiated out from his wound, making every nerve in his body scream.
"Well put."
"Are you okay? Of course you're not okay. Should I call someone? Are you bleeding? I'm so sorry, Danny."
"It's okay. I mean it's fine. I mean it hurts like a son of a bitch, but I don't think you did any permanent damage."
"I am so--"
"Sorry, yeah, I get it." Dan pulled himself up and rested his head on the cushion by Casey's leg. "Are you okay?"
"What?" Casey sounded honestly confused.
"You were having a nightmare. I was trying to wake you up when you threw--what was a very nice foul, by the way. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, of course, I'm fine," Casey said in a tone that easily translated as "No, but please don't ask."
Dan groped around until he found the nearest bit of Casey he could reach--probably an ankle--and patted it gingerly. "Okay."