It was the Helicarrier dream; over and over he went in the loop. When Brock finally did wake up, it was with a gasp. He tried to calm his beating heart until he realized the body next to him. It was Jack but why the hell was he in Brock's bed?
Brock was so preoccupied with that, he didn't even realize that he could move his legs as he threw the sheet off.
The blood was overwhelming.
He saw the wound, right in the main artery of the leg. The blood was everywhere, on him, on the cloths, under his finger nails, and on the floor.
"No. No no no!" Brock covered up the wound with his hands, he had to stop the bleeding, he couldn't let Jack die.
But there was no bleeding left to stop. It was only then that Brock realized how cold Jack was.
"No! You're not dead! You can't be dead! Stop it right now! Stop it!" he screamed only to be shaken awake by Jack.
The sudden shock of seeing Jack's face again but with eyes open and breathing evident sent Brock reeling and it was only Jack's hands on his shoulders that stopped him from falling backwards.
Jack stared at him, probably trying to gage whether or not Brock was with reality or not, but he finally seemed content with the results and quickly wrapped his arms around Brock to put him in the wheelchair.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing?" Brock asked, his voice slightly breathless even though he wasn't sure if he'd been screaming in just the dream or not.
"We need to clean your hands. You did quite a number on them," replied Jack.
Brock looked at his hands and saw what he meant. They were as bloody as they had been in the dream only instead of Jack's it was his own blood. His fingernails had scratched them raw and it hurt to open or close them.
As Jack started the running water and looked for anything that could be used as disinfectant, Brock had time to calm himself. He'd never had a dream like that. Seeing Jack there, so still, it was a terrifying idea and made Brock wonder why he had such a dream now. He looked up as Jack began tearing apart parts of a shirt he had gotten.
"I'll have to go get something to clean the wounds later but for now we should try to clean them as best we can," Jack said, very slowly and methodically washing Brock's hands of the blood. He took time to help get the bits of flesh and blood from under Brock's nails as well and finally began to bandage up the hands.
"What did I say?" Brock asked softly.
"Nothing. Your breathing just became elevated. Your hands were acting like they were trying to cover up something but because nothing was there, they just clenched and unclenched rapidly," Jack answered.
Brock nodded, watching Jack finish. The dream had made him afraid of losing Jack. He didn't want that to happen. He couldn't allow it to happen.
Jack took him back to his bed and helped him into it but as he tried to turn and go Brock stopped him, grabbing on to the back of his shirt. Jack turned but Brock looked away, not being able to look him in the eyes.
"You were dead," Brock whispered softly. "I never want to see that again so don't ever leave me, understand? Never leave me whether it's in death or by choice. I can't lose you."
And Brock meant that. The dream told him something that frightened him. He had found a connection with Jack and now he couldn't lose him no matter what. It was the only connection with anyone that he had now.
However, Jack only said, "Go back to bed Brock," and slowly removed himself from between Brock's fingers.
Brock slowly fell back onto his pillow, his heart remaining cold. What had that meant? Did Jack not believe him? Why? Brock was being pretty fucking honest there and all Jack had to say was go to bed. Where were his words of wisdom that he'd spouted out over their trip here?
Pissed, confused, and exhausted, Brock passed out again, this time to no dreams. When he woke up, everything was ready to go and Jack was lazily watching television. He glanced over to Brock and asked, "Are you ready to go or do you want breakfast first?"
In response, Brock's stomach growled causing Jack's lips to twitch but there was honestly something sad in his face that didn't quite make since. "Here, I'll help you get your pants on then," Jack said, getting up walking over to him.
Both remained silent as Jack helped him first with the pants and then the shoes. It was only after he was done that Brock asked, "What the hell was that last night?"
Jack frowned. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."
"Don't play fucking coy Rollins," Brock growled, his temper flaring. "After what I said last night all you had to say was go back to bed. Like, why the hell would you say that?"
Surprise flitting across the man's face, Jack said, "I honestly didn't think you meant it. You'd just had, what I gathered, was a very disturbing nightmare. I didn't think you would stick by any words that you said at the time."
"I may be brash, I may shout things out on a whim but I will always stick by them," Brock said. "So answer me now. You will never leave me, understood?"
Jack looked surprised but slowly gave a small nod. "I understand."
"Good, then hurry up and take me to breakfast."
"I agreed to stick by your side, not be your servant."
"I don't fucking care. You put me in a bad mood and now I'm hungry so hurry up before I run over your god damn toe."
It was only once they were actually out of the room and nearly to the elevator that Brock realized the strange sounds coming from behind him was Jack trying not to laugh.
When Jack had seen Brock freaking out in his sleep, it hadn't been the first time he'd known the man to experience a nightmare. On the road here, there had been plenty of times when Brock had struggled in his dreams but never had he harmed himself while stuck in one.
Afraid that he may harm himself further or even start sleep walking, Jack had to shake him awake. Once there, he took him and cleaned his hands but as he helped Brock back into bed, he was shocked by the words. It was impossible for him to tell if they were sincere or promises built on a fear that would disappear in the morning.
And Brock mentioned him dying. Jack had never been in a near death situation, at least not around Brock, so whatever he was talking about had to have been made up from imagination. He wondered if this was the first time Brock had experienced a dream similar to that or if this wasn't the first time.
Going back to sleep, when Jack woke up again, Brock was still asleep. He gathered there things and then sat and watched TV, nothing of interest really on.
When Brock told him that he meant the words of the night before though, Jack honestly wasn't sure how to react. If Brock kept his word, then Jack would love nothing more than being with him, even if it was as nothing more than partners in crime.
Now Jack found himself sitting across from Brock in the breakfast area. Brock had been right, he was in a pissy mood, but as he swallowed more coffee and ate more bagels it certainly seemed to lighten. Jack didn't want to piss him off again but he was still curious and if his questions hadn't pushed Brock away before, they certainly wouldn't now. Besides, if Brock's temper was his greatest downfall, then Jack's overwhelming curiosity was his own.
"You said I died. How?" asked Jack as he sipped his coffee.
Brock jerked ever so slightly, it was small and well controlled but Jack still caught it. "I don't know…actually."
Jack cocked his head to the side.
"You were already dead."
"Ah." Jack waited for more but nothing else came. That was interesting. Jack left it there but promised himself he would see if he could find out anything more later on.
Jack then took Brock to the jeep and went back inside to grab their things. Getting in, he said, "We can either drive straight to AIM or we can take a break in between. It's your choice."
"How many hours?"
"Around twenty-five."
Brock hesitated, obviously wanting to hurry, but finally said, "Break in between. I think that's for the best."
"Good, then let's stop and get something for your hands first."
It was a quick stop at a gas station and though his hands still hurt like hell, Brock bit his lip and ignored the pain.
They got back into the car, lapsing into silence, when Jack happened to glance over and noticed the book in Brock's hands.
"So you do like it."
"Shut up. I'm reading," muttered Brock.
"Fine," Jack said, a small grin on his face. "You're a fast reader. Almost done with it I see."
"I said I'm reading," Brock repeated. It would appear that he was still a bit pissed at Jack but also completely engrossed in the book. It wasn't until he was finished that he finally seemed calm enough to talk to Jack. "Where are we?"
"We just left Serbia and have entered Croatia. You were reading for about four hours."
Brock seemed a bit surprised by that. Looking down at the book, he asked, "Are there more?"
"Are there more? God I don't know how many Star Wars books there are. But there are six movies too."
"There are? I thought there was just the one."
"Seriously? How could you not know there were six movies? Everyone knows that. Even people who have never seen them know that."
"I led a very warped childhood okay? Not my fault," muttered Brock as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Where were you thinking of stopping?"
"Somewhere in Italy so that means we'll have driven over half the way there," Jack responded. "So you liked the book?"
"Yes, I did actually."
"Good. I'll have to find something else for you to read and then get you into music and movies."
Brock snorted but smiled at that nonetheless. However, it slowly disappeared as he said, "I'm sorry about this morning. And last night."
"You can't control what you dream," Jack said with a small shrug. "I've had my fair share of nightmares as well, though probably nothing like you're experiencing now."
"Well that's the thing, the dream, last night, it made me realize something," Brock admitted, looking away. "I realized that I need you. And I hate needing people but really, I've never been able to stay on my own for long. I'm not like you. I'm not fine with being an outsider, the loner. And I need you. You're the only person I can connect with."
Jack gave a small, sad smile. "I already promised I'd stick by your side. No matter what. I may have died in your dream but I won't in real life. Even if that means outliving you, I'll never leave your side."
"Then believe me when I say that means more to me than anything else ever could," Brock said. "You know, I've never had a friend, not really. I called HYDRA my family but I didn't know any individuals, not personally enough to call them friends."
"And we are friends now?"
"Yes," responded Brock. "So thank you, for sticking by me even when all I've done is yell at you."
Jack's heart swelled, the words meaning everything to him. "No, thank you."
Brock looked like he might want to argue but stopped, shook his head, and simply smiled. Jack noted that he seemed more at ease now than ever before. Seeing him looking out the jeep window, loose and calm for the first time in days, it was a good view.
They drove for several more hours, stopping for lunch and then dinner, the sky brightening and then darkening all over again. Finally, Jack stopped at a hotel and after getting them a room went back to grab their few bags and help Brock into the wheelchair. He'd gotten better at the transition from the vehicle to it but he still needed someone to grab it out of the trunk for him.
"Now, before we get in there and you throw a fit, they didn't have any rooms with two beds but I can sleep on the floor if you want."
Brock sighed shaking his head. "Jack, you slept on the floor for over a week in Ethiopia waiting for me to wake up. Besides, you've seen me naked. I think we can act like adults and sleep in the same goddamn bed."
"Fine, but next time you mention something like that you might want to say it a bit quieter," Jack responded as he rolled Brock into the elevator. "I think we just got some strange looks."
Brock threw a fist backwards, hitting Jack in the center of his chest. "Oh to hell with them. Besides, were in Italy. The strange looks were probably just due to us being Americans at least and how we look at worst."
Jack chuckled, pressed the button for their floor, and then waited as the elevator moved up, stopped, and the doors opened. He pushed Brock down the hall and into the room, closing the door behind him.
"Let me take a look at your hands."
"They're fine."
"You hide it well but I can tell they're hurting you. We definitely don't need them getting infected," Jack said.
Brock rolled his eyes but let the other slowly unwrap them. They'd gotten proper bandaging at the gas station as well. Scabs had developed but most of them were cracked, thanks to how much Brock moved his hands.
"Not bad though it'll be a while before they're completely healed," Jack said as he bandaged them back up. "It's late. Do you want to go to bed now?"
"Most definitely," Brock responded.
Originally he wanted to tell Jack to switch sides. Not because he had a preference but because Jack plopped down on the same side as where he'd been in the dream. He even flopped over on the same side, back facing Brock.
But the lights weren't on, there was no blood, and Brock could see the small movement of Jack's shoulders going up and down. Brock couldn't get the idea out of his head that when he woke up, Jack would be dead. So instead, he changed his position from how he had been in the dream.
The bed was certainly big enough to keep a safe distance from Jack but instead he pulled himself over, made more difficult from being paralyzed. He was more in the middle of the bed now but still not touching. He lay on his back for some time and then finally rolled over and closed the few inches in between them.
Either Jack was an extremely light sleeper or he had been faking it because he asked, "What are you doing?"
"Shut up. I'm testing something," Brock shot back. He moved closer until he was flat against Jack and then slowly moved one arm to lie across Jack.
"What-ow! Was hitting me really necessary?" asked Jack as he shook his head.
"Yes because you keep talking. Now shut the fuck up."
Jack grumbled but turned silent and still.
Brock stayed where he was, wondering if this would change anything. He'd never slept with someone like this, for comfort. Usually it was alone or surrounded by his STRIKE team while regularly changing who was on watch. With one night stands, he either was passed out and woke up to an empty bed or left before his one night stand woke up. It was somehow different, knowing Jack would be there in the morning and they didn't have that threat of being ambushed at any moment (at least it wasn't likely).
He also needed some conformation that the dream wouldn't come true. Though reading had helped a lot, he'd thought about the dream plenty afterwards. He knew Jack would never go down so easy as to just let someone cut a main artery but Brock knew he didn't want to see all that blood again.
Brock fell asleep with his face pressed up against Jack's back, curling over the larger man.
Nevertheless, Brock did wake up to an empty bed and he immediately started to panic. Before he started yelling though, the bathroom door opened and Jack walked through it.
"Where the hell were you?"
"In the bathroom," Jack said slowly, pausing mid-step to give Brock an odd look. "Am I no longer allowed to go to the restroom?"
Brock just fumed and replied, "You're an ass now get back here. It's like three in the morning."
Jack rolled his eyes and climbed back into the bed. He was still surprised when Brock resumed his prior position though.
"Are you really more comfortable sleeping like this?"
"Why?" Brock asked hurriedly. "If it bothers you I—"
"No, you just never struck me as the cuddling type," Jack teased.
"Shut up," Brock responded, hitting him in the back again. "This calms me."
"Says the one who keeps punching me," muttered Jack which earned him another punch. "Okay, okay I'll shut up."
"Good, now go to sleep and no moving," growled out Brock.
He didn't have to see to know Jack was rolling his eyes at him.
"Whatever you say," Jack responded, with a sigh.
Brock tightened his grip ever so slightly and then fell asleep for the second time that night.