Warnings for suicide, PTSD, alcoholism, depression. This is one of the darker chapters of the story.

What If...Nick Kept His Eye, But Lost Something Else?

Nick found a new bar to frequent after some crazy bearded hooligan built like Mr. Fucking Incredible punched him in the face so hard it broke his jaw. At least he could still drink with his jaw wired shut for six weeks, but it just didn't taste the same through a straw. Talking became much more difficult, leaving him with plenty of time to do nothing more than think.

He decided not to press charges against the guy, despite the indisputable evidence for grievous bodily harm. Nick knew he hadn't been dealt anything he didn't deserve. Of all the horrible things he'd ever said in his life, the worst of them came out while he was inebriated. All that time with his mouth locked shut practically locked him away in his own head. He recognized exactly why he'd said that, but Nick didn't like to dwell on it.

His little brother Jake went off to war fresh out of college. He didn't come home in a flag-draped coffin. Jake came home with the light extinguished from his eyes and a thousand pounds on his shoulders. He came home to a country unprepared and unwilling to get him the help he so desperately needed. Night after night, he'd show up at Nick's door well after midnight, barely coherent. Nick would bring him inside, offer him food and water and a warm place to sleep—which more often than not ended up being the floor because Jake insisted beds were too soft and he worried about sinking through to the floor.

One morning, Nick stumbled out of his room and into the kitchen only to find Jake's body sprawled on the floor.

Dawn blamed him. So did Mom. It happened on his watch, so it must've been his fault. Nick couldn't help but agree with them. How could he have been so blind? He beat himself up for months, years, over it, running through the long list of things he should've done better. He should've talked to Jake, not just silently let him into the apartment. He should've sent him to an expert, found a support group, done research, or something. Only a horrible brother would've done as little as Nick did.

The only time he ever stopped thinking about Jake, his little brother who he could have saved, was when he was drunk, so he started spending more and more hours a day drunk. Somewhere along the line he got the idea that it would've been better if Jake died overseas. It wouldn't alleviate the grief, but it would alleviate the guilt and the hatred his mother and sister now harbored for him. Whenever he wasn't thinking straight (which was often) it generalized into believing that it would be better if they all died overseas.

Nick knew it wasn't true, but he said it anyway, and he got clocked for it. Rightfully so. He didn't want to press charges against the man; he wanted to find him and thank him for finally putting Nick in his place. Countless other patrons had heard him say equally horrible things and done nothing.

Nick went to his first AA meeting the week after his jaw wires came out. It still hurt to talk normally, so he mostly listened, but he went back the next week. And the week after that. He stopped phoning it in at his job and started actually engaging with his colleagues. His boss noticed the positive change and, after a few months, gave him a raise. Instead of spending it on booze, as the Nick of last year would have, he donated it to a charity that helped provide free counseling to veterans with PTSD, survivor's guilt, and other issues.

He called his sister for the first time in years.

Dawn picked up with an understandable degree of wariness. "Nick. Why are you calling?" she asked bluntly. Nick could tell by the tone of her voice that she wasn't particularly happy to hear his voice. But he expected nothing less.

"Hey Dawn," he began. "I'm calling because I'm trying to do better."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't change what happened, but I can stop myself from losing another sibling. I told myself that I would spend the rest of my life never regretting not doing something I could've done. So here I am, reaching out."

Silence.

"Also…I've been sober for a few months now, if that means anything to you."

"It does. Congratulations."

"Listen, Dawn, I know I messed up. Bad. And I don't expect you to forgive me for it, but I wanted to ask if, maybe we could…try to move on?"

She paused. For a very long time. Nick worried she'd just hang up. When she finally spoke again, it was to say, "You're right. I don't want to lose both of my brothers."

Nick released the breath he'd been holding since he picked up the phone. "I'm so glad to hear that."

"I'll be in town next week. Do you maybe want to get coffee?"

"Yeah, I'd love that. See you soon."

"See you soon."

~0~

That coffee date led to several more, and within a few months Nick could once again say that he had a relationship with his sister. They even visited Jake's grave and it didn't spiral into an argument.

Two years after that fateful night, he started going back to that bar. Not to drink—he didn't dare set foot in any bar until he trusted himself to maintain control—but in the hopes of finding that man who hit him. It took two months, but one night, Nick found him. He was seated among four other people, two men and two women, all of them laughing jovially. Nick ordered a soda and watched from the other end of the bar.

His beard and hair were trimmed a bit shorter, but Nick would recognize him anywhere. People who physically attacked you weren't easy to forget. He took a deep breath, waited for a lull in their conversation, and strode up to him.

"Excuse me," he said.

The man turned around. Recognition flickered across his face and his eyes narrowed. He didn't say a word, just silently seethed.

"Steve, what's wrong?" one of the women asked. "Who is this?"

"I'm Nick," he said, before he could get hit again. "I came here to apologize."

The man—Steve, he'd just learned—now looked a little bit less like he was about to strike out again.

"I was in a very dark place, and I said some horrible, untrue things. But I'm sober now, and I'm starting to make up for what I've done, and I just wanted to tell you that it was you punching me in the face that finally started me on the right path. So thank you." He trailed off, unsure if this apology was enough to stop the guy from hitting him again. Nick would've gladly taken another punch.

Instead, the man looked at him with genuine appreciation. "That's really big of you, man."

"Thanks. Anyway, enjoy your evening."

And with that, Nick walked out of the bar, feeling for the first time in a long time that he might actually be doing some good in the world.

I guess this is also sort of a sequel for Steve's chapter. I didn't want to end on a sad note, so I kept writing through Nick's redemption arc. I started with the idea that he'd be a drunk grump in this AU, thinking it would be humorous, and then I decided to weave it into Steve's story, and this this tragic backstory arose. Also...Beyond Gravesen has just reached 100k. I estimate the grand total when it's finished will be somewhere between 120k and 150k. Would you like me to cut together a little trailer for it the same way I did with After Gravesen?