fic: To sleep, perchance to dream
Title: To sleep, perchance to dream
Author: writteninhaste previously feathergirl89
Rating: R
Warnings: attempted suicide
Word count: ~580
Summary: The beep of machinery is loud in Arthur’s ears.
To sleep, perchance to dream
The beep of machinery is loud in Arthur’s ears. Eames looks so small and thin amidst the sterile white sheets of the hospital bed. The bandages wrapped around his wrists look dirty in their plain, off-white. Arthur wants to leave and never come back.
“You must think I’m pathetic.” Eames’ voice is broken and disused. An awful rasping husk that tears from his throat and hurts to listen to. Arthur looks at him and thinks ’Yes. Jesus fucking Christ, yes. Because who does shit like this? Who does that? Jesus Eames. but he opens his mouth to say ‘No. No you’re not pathetic.”
The truth must show on his face, however, because Eames laughs hysteric and fractured and wrong and closes his eyes.
“That’s what I thought.”
Arthur doesn’t know what to say. Christ, he doesn’t want to be here. There was a reason he left in the first place - he couldn’t deal with this sort of thing and now Eames has -
The bandages reach from wrist to elbow. Arthur knows they required stitches. He feels vaguely sick.
“Why?” He asks. He’s not entirely sure he wants to know.
“You were gone.” Eames says. “What did I have left to live for?”
And now Arthur’s angry. Because that’s bull. Eames has so much - so much more than Arthur ever had. And he’s built Arthur into an ideal, into some sort of Messiah and it’s so far from reality but Eames just can’t see it. Won’t see it - refuses to. And Arthur just can’t deal with it - he never could. Never could handle Eames treating him like some sort of earthly-deity: infallible, indestructible - so fucking unattainable and so desperately wanted all the same. Because Arthur had been there. He’d fucking been there. And Eames had never really seen him; never fucking reached out and touched. Despite the fact that Arthur had been clinging to him, dragging him forward - trying to build a life together, one that they could share. And Eames had always stumbled onwards as though waiting to wake up from the dream. And Jesus Christ, now it had all led to this.
They sit in silence. Eames’ I.V. drips into his veins, and outside there’s the clack-click of a wheelchair passing down the hall. Arthur wants to go, to get out of here because this isn’t his fucking job anymore and Eames never should have been his responsibility, but he can’t leave. Not when Eames is lying there quiet and unmoving and Arthur’s terrified - absolutely fucking scared that Eames is going to try again. Because if he tries again, the he’s going to succeed. Guilt keeps Arthur in his seat because he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to stand by Eames’ grave. And damn it, Eames has no goddamn right to make Arthur feel this way. It isn’t fair. But still, the guilt remains.
A nurse comes in and Arthur knows he’s not going anywhere. He’s going to stay by Eames’ side until Eames is allowed to go home. And he’s going to be there through all the therapy and all the hurt and he’ll still be there when Eames gives up and stops going to sessions. He’ll be there to realise that all the counselling in the world won’t really help - not when Eames doesn’t think that there’s a problem. And Arthur’s going to be there when it all comes crashing down, again.
But Arthur knows he won’t be going anywhere else. Despite the fact that he doesn’t want to stay.
End.
Author: writteninhaste previously feathergirl89
Rating: R
Warnings: attempted suicide
Word count: ~580
Summary: The beep of machinery is loud in Arthur’s ears.
To sleep, perchance to dream
The beep of machinery is loud in Arthur’s ears. Eames looks so small and thin amidst the sterile white sheets of the hospital bed. The bandages wrapped around his wrists look dirty in their plain, off-white. Arthur wants to leave and never come back.
“You must think I’m pathetic.” Eames’ voice is broken and disused. An awful rasping husk that tears from his throat and hurts to listen to. Arthur looks at him and thinks ’Yes. Jesus fucking Christ, yes. Because who does shit like this? Who does that? Jesus Eames. but he opens his mouth to say ‘No. No you’re not pathetic.”
The truth must show on his face, however, because Eames laughs hysteric and fractured and wrong and closes his eyes.
“That’s what I thought.”
Arthur doesn’t know what to say. Christ, he doesn’t want to be here. There was a reason he left in the first place - he couldn’t deal with this sort of thing and now Eames has -
The bandages reach from wrist to elbow. Arthur knows they required stitches. He feels vaguely sick.
“Why?” He asks. He’s not entirely sure he wants to know.
“You were gone.” Eames says. “What did I have left to live for?”
And now Arthur’s angry. Because that’s bull. Eames has so much - so much more than Arthur ever had. And he’s built Arthur into an ideal, into some sort of Messiah and it’s so far from reality but Eames just can’t see it. Won’t see it - refuses to. And Arthur just can’t deal with it - he never could. Never could handle Eames treating him like some sort of earthly-deity: infallible, indestructible - so fucking unattainable and so desperately wanted all the same. Because Arthur had been there. He’d fucking been there. And Eames had never really seen him; never fucking reached out and touched. Despite the fact that Arthur had been clinging to him, dragging him forward - trying to build a life together, one that they could share. And Eames had always stumbled onwards as though waiting to wake up from the dream. And Jesus Christ, now it had all led to this.
They sit in silence. Eames’ I.V. drips into his veins, and outside there’s the clack-click of a wheelchair passing down the hall. Arthur wants to go, to get out of here because this isn’t his fucking job anymore and Eames never should have been his responsibility, but he can’t leave. Not when Eames is lying there quiet and unmoving and Arthur’s terrified - absolutely fucking scared that Eames is going to try again. Because if he tries again, the he’s going to succeed. Guilt keeps Arthur in his seat because he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to stand by Eames’ grave. And damn it, Eames has no goddamn right to make Arthur feel this way. It isn’t fair. But still, the guilt remains.
A nurse comes in and Arthur knows he’s not going anywhere. He’s going to stay by Eames’ side until Eames is allowed to go home. And he’s going to be there through all the therapy and all the hurt and he’ll still be there when Eames gives up and stops going to sessions. He’ll be there to realise that all the counselling in the world won’t really help - not when Eames doesn’t think that there’s a problem. And Arthur’s going to be there when it all comes crashing down, again.
But Arthur knows he won’t be going anywhere else. Despite the fact that he doesn’t want to stay.
End.