Title: Only In Sleep Do The Restless Find Peace
Rating: PG-13
Mood: Dark, Regretful, OH SO MUCH ANGST. o_o
Characters: Derek, Casey
Standard Disclaimer applies 'kay thanks.
Word Count: 3594
Author's Note: During the summer of 2009 (so basically last summer) there was a death in the family that shook a lot of people, including close friends of my family. I wasn't one of the devastated ones, but my mother and several of my cousins were, and watching them go through that was a very eerie, sort of lonely, very tear jerking experience. I was going through a bit of a Life With Derek kick at the time when it happened, and this story was, I guess, my coping mechanism for dealing with all sorts of lingering emotions that suddenly bombarded into my life.
Also, I tried catching most of my verb tense inconsistencies, and other random errors, but there are a few mistakes left probably. If you find any, don't hesitate to point them out. :)
Only In Sleep Do The Restless Find Peace
He hated sitting here. The blank walls, the cracks in the linoleum floor, the quiet, terrifyingly quiet bustle of the women and men wearing white and green uniforms. The place stank of detergent and Lysol.
Marti was the only one left, sleeping on his lap, her little brown head resting on his shoulder, hands curled in a little ball around the leather of his jacket. His hair was a mess, he hadn't brushed his teeth in probably sixty hours.
His little sister stirred as he grasped her and shifted her into a more comfortable position on his lap.
"Where's daddy? And Lizzie..." she said between yawns, rubbing her nose with the back of her fist.
Derek looked at his little sister, a small smile on his face. "Lizzie wanted to go be with Nora, and dad took her home. I can call dad if you wanna go home too..."
Marti yawned again, blinking and shaking her head. "Is Casey gonna be okay?"
He tried to answer. Marti looked at her older, biggest, bestest, most awesome brother in shock.
Without another word, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Derek wrapped his little sister tightly, and Marti pinky swore to herself that she would never tell the entire world that her older brother was acting like somebody about to cry.
Derek couldn't comprehend what was going on, despite the still hallway and the doctor's words- everything felt as though he was hearing it through a very long, long tunnel. He was on the other side of a void, and it was only when Smarti murmured against his neck: "Shhhhhhh Smerek. Don't cry," that he realized he was shaking slightly, chest heaving up and down noticeably.
He kissed his the top of his little sister's head. "I'm okay, Marti. Just tired."
A loud voice pulled them both of their Kodak sibling moment.
"Derek, right? Her stepbrother?"
It was a dark skinned woman, her vivid eyes shining, a white mask pulled down to her neck, and her gloves, her gloves are still red, and she was taking them off.
Derek didn't even wait for Marti to get off his lap, he picked his little sister from his lap and stood up, dropping her gently.
"The operation...well, it's over, finally. She's still fighting, and she's putting up one hell of a fight." The surgeon sighed, removing her gloves and pulling back a few loose strands of her hair from her face.
Marti looked up to her brother's face, before looking back at the lady. "Will she live?"
The surgeon fought to resist a very pained smile. Pearls of sweat her visible along her face. It had been a very, very long few hours.
"Yes...She's in a stable condition..."
Derek nodded. The words stable and condition made him feel like he was running out of air.
"Okay...I'll call my dad. When will she...wake up..."
Though Derek knew the surgeon wouldn't say anything with Marti there, her dark eyes betrayed everything.
"Tomorrow morning, at the earliest. If all goes well."
Marti smiled. "That's good, right Smerek? When is tomorrow morning? What time is it?"
Her older brother put his hand over his sister's skull, playfully pushing her an inch or so. "Calm down Smart, calm down. Wanna call dad using my phone?" Then, before he could really think through the idea, he turned to the surgeon, who was looking at them fondly, sadly.
"Can I see her?"
Why did he fucking have to ask?
She was there, on the bed, all the strange plastics and white sheets and monitors and intravenouswhatevers and there was a faint beap, ominous, too silent and yet too loud.
She was there, and yet he was the one dying.
Why was this happening?
Marti was outside, holding his cellphone in both her hands against her ear as she told her father everything the doctor lady said. Sure, in retrospect he should have called and told them what was really going on, how she might now make the night, how badly the operation really went... Derek was a master at reading body language, even though he couldn't give a flying fuck about tact, sometimes. Like when he wanted to really piss Casey off...
He winced to himself, standing there, against the wall. He crossed his arms over his chest, angrily, and wondered how long...no, he couldn't stay mad.
"God you're such a fucking idiot, Case." he said, regretting it immediately.
He couldn't stand this. He walked towards the bed, hand trailing over the wrinkle-free white hospital bed sheet. Drumming his finger along the covers, he froze completely when his hand met hers. He couldn't tell if he'd done this on purpose or not. God. Her hand was freezing. He quickly looked up at her chest to check the breathing, and regretted that move immediately.
Thick bandages covered her left shoulder, neck and chest, and she had a mouthpiece and the Vaderish sound of hollow breathing permeated his mind.
She had bandaids over a couple of her left fingers, and his fingers trailed along her palm. He wished she was awake, so he could call her the next Darth Vader.
Unable to handle the silence and the beeping and her closed, pale eyelids and the way her bandaged face looked like hell warmed over, he hated her, suddenly, her cracked lip and the slightly blue bruising apparent all over her (exposed) neck and her chest rising, and slowly, slowly, imperceptibly falling.
"Case.." he suddenly lost breath, unable to finish his sentence, he never knew what he was going to say, fuck. He was going crazy, talking to his ridiculous, superficial, horrendously aggravating stepsister who was in some sort of coma.
He glanced at the clock above the door, it read three thirty.
He'd have to wait a few more hours, so he could tell her in person how he was never letting her get in a car with that fucking dirty douchebag again.
George and Nora came in at four fifteen, Nora's hair a complete and utter mess and red from crying. Marti was sleeping on one of the chair's by the bed and Derek was standing, leaning on the window, looking at the parking lot outside.
George went over by Marti, waking her up by stroking her face, and Nora stood over her daughter, her eldest daughter, her baby, her first...at being a mother, at having a daughter, and Derek stood there, in shock, as Nora broke down completely in hysterical sobs, shoulders shaking violently, face buried into her palms.
George was immediately by her side, telling her it was going to be alright, that Case was a fighter, that if she could put up with Derek's pranking she could stand anything. His dad's fingers rubbed up and down her arms, though both Derek and George knew Nora couldn't hear a damn thing they were saying. Well, she could, but it didn't matter. Her beautiful eyes were completely drowned in tears, and she was hiccupping and choking. It wasn't loud, but it was desperate. Smarti ran to Smerek, and he picked her up. She was getting a little too heavy, but Smerek didn't care.
Casey's black monitor, hovering up over her face on its metal stand, kept beating, punctuating the sound of Nora's cries.
A nurse came in with more chairs stacked one on top of the other, and George helped put them around the room, facing Case. Derek took his chair and with one hand swung it around and placed it facing the dark window.
He couldn't see Case like that.
He couldn't face any of this.
George went home to get the other kids in line and brought a very sleepy, very distraught Marti home. Though it was a Tuesday, they didn't have to go to school. No one even brought it up. The MacDonald Venturi clan was solemn that gorgeous sunny morning.
Derek remained, sitting in his plastic chair grumpily. He'd refused to go home and remained rooted in the room wearing an old Pink Floyd t-shirt (George noticed it was one of his old ones), blue and yellow pajama pants, and his leather jacket. He just sat there, and though he was facing the window he couldn't tear his mind of the girl lying there, probably dying for all anybody knew. The surgeon had had a talk with Nora and George at about six that morning, and though everyone was fighting to remain hopeful and composed, as each hour wore on, it all just seemed so…so…
Derek got up abruptly. He was getting really antsy now.
Nora was crumpled over in her white plastic chair (why was everything white?) and her head was hiding between her raised knees, her arms wrapped around herself for warmth, and Derek noticed a shelf with extra sheets, and goes to get one to drape around her sleeping stepmother. When Nora doesn't wake up, Derek wanders the room, careful, for the first time probably since he started using his fingers, not to touch anything.
He finally arrives upon her, the small Canadian hospital room (some bizarre twist of fate, they had a single room, Casey would be so happy if she were awake) not big enough to keep his darting eyes occupied for long.
"God, you fucking moron. Look at your face. Now I get to hear you complain about your black eye for the rest of the fucking year." Her hair, unwashed, still has traces, very faint, very tiny, tiny traces of blood crusted along the strands. Nobody could ever tell unless they were really making an effort.
"Great. You do realize," he whispers, almost conspiratorially as he brings his chair close to her bed, to where her head is resting on some stupid, hospital white pillow, "That I'll have to start bugging Lizzie right? And she's no fun. So wake up, okay?" he looks at the clock.
Settling back in his chair, he rolls his eyes. "Typical."
Lizzie came, with Edwin and Marti, and George, and they took Nora home, and Nora kissed Derek on the forehead and told him to call, call if anything, anything happened.
And Derek was alone in this stupid white box, looking at this stupid girl lying there, a girl who couldn't even breathe on her own anymore.
He rubbed his eyes, elbows resting on his knees.
George had asked him if he'd wanted to go home.
Derek had shook his head.
"I can't. What if you farted, or something? I'd have to call your mom immediately." He snickered, "I'm like your bodyguard. Ha. Ha. Or babysitter. Fuck you'd hate that, wouldn't you."
The brown haired girl didn't even stir. The silence, punctured by the mechanical beep and the hum of medical devices, wasn't much of a response.
Derek sighed again. "Case, please…" he choked, alone, in the sterile white room.
The clock on the wall read twelve o'clock.
It's only when the surgeon comes in with two other nurses at about four in the afternoon to check her vitals and perform a couple tests, change her bandages, that it really starts to sink how much Casey is not going to be okay, at least not yet. Sure, the white coats keep telling him what a strong young girl she is, but there's something overly sincere, overly hopeful in their voice. Derek wants to know, and get this whole fucking ordeal over with. All he's doing is dozing off, and watching her, which is weird and creepy and frankly, not that interesting…right?
He just can't leave her side, as stupid as that sounds.
He can't really explain it, but everything he sees lying on the bed, there, before him (her lips, her fractured everything, her feet under the sheets, her limp hands, her closed eyelids…) reminds him of something else. He keeps trying to imagine what her fingers looked like holding him, what her eyes looked like open and happy and her smile and her dancing and her running up the stairs after him so that she could strangle him and he just doesn't understand how this not-quite-corpse, this beautiful girl lying there is the same beautiful girl who he takes such a devilish pleasure in tormenting every day.
Finally, George enters with Nora and he takes one look and his son and tells him he's going home right now to shower and change.
Nora presses her hand to his face and rubs his cheek gently. Uncharacteristically, Derek doesn't mind what he'd once found unnecessary display of affection.
"You can come back once you've freshened up and rested. I promise."
Nora is tearing up again when she says, "You've been so sweet, Derek."
George kisses his wife on the lips holding her for a moment, and then takes Derek by the shoulder and leads him, finally, out the door and down this white hallways and down an elevator.
George talks, about Case and the others at home, about how Derek's grandparents are here and Case's grandparents are at the house and everybody is really sad and what to tell Marti and Derek just lets it pass right over him.
Sure, he wants to shower (he probably reeks by now), but he feels this crazy guilt, as he steps into the hot shower and lets the water fall all over his shaking, weak, tired body, Derek tries not to cry. He silently apologizes to her, and then when he realizes he can't…really…hear her voice anymore…
Well, he can, sort of. He remembers her words, and how her tone would change when he said his name (never a more annoying sound in the whole world) but there's something wrong with him because he can't…remember…what…Casey's…voice…is…like…
The shower drains not only dirty water, but also his salty, foreign tears.
She hates him, and he hate her. That's been established since day numero uno, and nothing in the world- even her going and getting herself trashed and not in the fun, alcoholic sense of the world- would change that. Which is why Derek is sitting here, fuming, because his dad and her grandparents and Nora and Lizzie are all there, by her side, waiting for her to improve, to walk up, to twitch- anything, a sign that Casey Fucking MacDonald was going to be okay.
What was wrong with this world.
He should have known. You can't trust Case. She's got terrible taste in guys, and she just had to pick the asshole who would so conveniently wreck his car when she was sitting in the front seat next to him.
Derek wanted to hurt somebody, Bad. Instead, he was stuck in the house babysitting Marti and his little brother. His grandparents had left to go home, but promised they'd be back tomorrow to look after the younger ones.
Derek would have left if it had just been Edwin, but Marti was sitting on the couch watching TV with her best imaginary friend Daphne or Esmeralda or whoever it was this time.
He's lying on his back, staring at his ceiling, unable to sleep (though he hasn't slept in a while, now) and considered calling up Sam, or another one of the guys, just to take his mind of things. Maybe even call Emily, who was Casey's best friend in any case and should know what was going on, right?
Derek doesn't move from the bed, doesn't even look for his cell (it's in the back pocket of his jeans).
A loud sound of rustling reaches him and Derek sits up from bed. "Edwin? Smartipants?" he calls out, before moving off his bed and going to the door. He then notices the door to Case's room. Its open.
He walks across the hall, uncertain, again, a remarkable first in his life, of whether or not he should go in.
"Hello?"
Its Marti, sitting on Case's (unmade, which is weird) bed.
"Smarti, whatcha doing here?"
Marti looks really, really…dejected. Her round eyes blink several times and she says, with a sort of calm that just doesn't seem like her at all.
"Nora slept in here last night."
Derek nods and tries to joke: "Well, that does explain why the bed's unmade. Poor Case will have a fit when she gets back."
Marti swallows hard.
"I want you to tell me the truth, Smerek, pinky promise truth."
Derek, valiantly extends his pinky towards her and they lock pinkies. "Duh, Smartipants. What is it."
"Is Casey going to wake up?"
Derek sits down on the bed next to her and grabs his little sister by the shoulder, and ruffles her hair, an act of familiarity that does more to comfort him than it does comfort her.
Of course she'll wake up, dumbass.
He doesn't have the strength to lie to himself, he's so drained, and no matter how much he wants to, he's starting to dread, dread the next phone call from dad, the next visit to the hospital…what if he missed her last breath? Her last twitch? What if she woke up, if just for moments, before…
Marti starts sniffling, and Derek remembers his little sister.
"Oh Smarti. Don't worry. Casey is such a headcase, there's no way she'll give up now."
Selfishly, silently, he tells Case not to die and break Marti's heart, or else girl or no girl, Derek Venturi was about to go apeshit on somebody's ass.
Selfishly, silently, he tells her not to wake up until he gets there.
Finally, FINALLY, dad came home.
Derek didn't even wait for his father to say anything, though George did try to hold him back initially, but Derek was out the door and in the car, keys jingling between his fingers.
George picked up his youngest adorable daughter, and asked her if Derek caught any sleep.
Marti grinned. "Nope! We raided Casey's room and tried to find good blackmail material so that she would wake up and get better!"
George winced. Oh boy…
Her condition had worsened in the four or five hours Derek had left her side. Her breathing was becoming increasingly shallow, and the interior bleeding, according to one of the nurses, had probably started up again and then her temperature was falling and when Derek got to the hospital and found that Casey had been moved to a different room with more equipment, a horrendous feeling took hold of his stomach.
He soon found Nora, who hugged him, tears in her eyes, and the family stood in the white hallway, standing or sitting or pacing, unsure, and the surgeon was inside, along with a couple other doctor's, weighing the pros of cutting the girl open again.
Lizzie was in a state Derek had never seen before, eyes bloodshot and a runny nose and biting her lips. Nora looked like an arrow had hit her, except by an arrow he meant a bus, which by a bus he meant ten buses.
They were all waiting.
Derek stood by the wall, and hands shoved deep into his pockets.
Shit.
…
So much fucking waiting.
Casey…
…
De-rek…
"Derek, wake up, com'on boy. We're going home." George was shaking his son awake gently, and the teenager groaned, eyelids drooping groggily over his eyes.
"Wazzizit.." he slurred, "Is Case…"
George didn't answer the malformed question, "Derek." He called the boy, straightening up.
Derek looked around. He didn't remember sitting down in the small waiting room down the hall from Casey's operation room.
Derek heard a strangled sound, and peered down the hallway, through swinging green doors, and realized it was Nora, being led down the hall by a tall nurse back towards the waiting area.
"Dad." Derek said, pointing behind his father (who looked like he need a shave). George whirled around, immediately recognizing Nora and went abruptly to console her.
Derek just sat there, too weak to move.
He knew he wouldn't sleep for a long time now, kept awake by thoughts and memories and the regrets- of which there were too many to count. Times he should have smiled, said hello, called her by her name, told her she looked beautiful (despite her best attempts at dressing in the cheesiest, purplest, pinkest garments), times he should have been nice, let her have the remote, tone down the teasing… What a dream. Oh Derek knew he wouldn't sleep for a long time, and fuck did he want to fall asleep and dream and never wake up to the blood-chilling shrieks of a mother who's heart was not only broken, but pulverized by…by life and its Russian roulette probability.
He got up and walked down the hall, pushing open the double green doors effortlessly.
He could see her through the window of the third operating room, lying there, and he could see the lines and the zeroes on the monitors floating around in the darkened room. A nurse was in there, still, doing God knows what.
Peering through the window, Derek thought, how could they all be fooled- she was just asleep. Peaceful, serene, bluish face and bruises and blood still caked in her dark, dark hair.
Derek placed his forehead against the glass pane separating him from his sister.
Step sister. Klutzilla. Spacecase. Headecase. Cassie. Beautiful, Crazy, Loud, His Casey-
He wanted to go to sleep, if just to dream, a dream without crying and tears and Lysol and white hallways.
He wanted to dream again, because in his dreams, he could remember Casey's voice.
The end.