AN: This is just something I wrote quick after seeing tonight's episode. I really, really didn't mean for it to turn out like this. It was supposed to be a hurt/comfort fic with Michael hurt and Nate comforting him while they wait for help...and then it suddenly turned into a DeathFic. How do these things keep happening to me? I'm on a DeathFic streak. I can't help it. Sorry!
Warning: Major Character Death
My Big Brother the Spy:
I guess even spies can get sick. And I don't mean stomach-flu sick or sore-throat sick. I mean sick—like having to watch your big brother puke his guts out every half hour because chemo and radiation are poisoning his body, watch him shake with weakness and vulnerability...watch him cry because there's nothing else to do.
Michael has cancer. And the only thing I can do is stand by and watch him suffer.
Mom's there, of course. Everyday. All day. Sometimes all through the night. She holds his hand and brushes what's left of his sweaty hair back away from his pale, drawn face, whispers things in his ear that make him roll his tired eyes or laugh until it hurts or breathe a long, exhausted sigh. She cries a lot, too, but only when she thinks he's asleep.
Sam's here just as much as Mom is. He fills in when Michael tells her to go home and get some rest, and he sneaks in better food when the nurses aren't looking. He brings in pictures, and they reminisce about the "good old days." Sam can always make Michael smile, but he never seems to himself as often as he used to.
Fiona is different. I know she cares, even if she doesn't visit everyday. She hates hospitals; always has. And I see the hurt and anger in her eyes when she comes to see him—hurt because Michael is hurting, and anger because Michael isn't angry.
Michael isn't angry. He's just the way he's always been. Calm, cool, collected. My big brother, the man who can walk through a fire-storm and come out unscathed, who can stroll through gunfire without a single bullet wound...who's put up with too much shit to go out like this. It isn't fair. It isn't fair.
"It isn't fair."
The room goes quiet, and I look up to find four pairs of eyes staring in my direction. I didn't mean to say the words out loud, but they're in the open, and I can't stop more from bubbling up my throat and spilling past my lips.
"This isn't right. After everything...After all that you've done...all the people you've helped..." I choke on the words, shaking my head and looking to the ground.
"Hey." The word is soft, and I look up to see Michael reaching out to me. I cross the room and slump over him, burrowing my face into the crook of his neck. The familiar muscle that used to line his shoulder and collarbone is distressingly absent, and I can't help the first of several sobs that tear through my throat.
His arms encircle me in a weak embrace, his hands massaging the back of my head and neck. He quietly shushes my sobs, murmuring into my ear. I can't make out what he's saying, but just the tone of his voice begins to soothe my anxiousness.
"Nate," he rasps, and I flinch. I don't want to move. I feel safe here. I've always felt safe here, with my brother. But I lean back, and I look—I really look. And I see cool blue eyes that aren't hidden behind dark shades, and I see smooth, taut skin that isn't covered by expensive fabric. I see my brother, Michael Weston, the bravest man I know.
"Nate," he says again, wheezing this time, and he has to close his eyes to regain some strength. "You have to promise..."
"Anything," I breathe desperately, placing my hands over the ones he has on either side of my face. "Name it."
"Take care of Mom," he chuckles with a Michael-Weston smile. It fades, and he suddenly looks very serious. "And don't do anything stupid. Don't...Don't be like me, Nate. Be smart."
The tears I've been trying to keep at bay break free, rolling down my cheeks and gliding over his fingers and mine. "You're the smartest guy I know." I swallow hard. "And I wouldn't want to be like anyone else, Mike. No one but you."
He smiles sadly and shakes his head. He's gone before the sun splits the horizon.
AN: Well, that's all I have for now. I'm thinking of going back, maybe adding some chapters that show what happened up to this point. Poor Michael. Poor Nate. Poor, poor boys.