Cain POV

Three weeks of bullshit. Three weeks since Abel had his little episode and then went blank and refused to wake the fuck up, stubborn little bitch.

"Cain?"

Who else would it be, sweetheart? Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. And there's that dick Praxis competing with me to spend the most time in medical, a fucking lightning bolt out of the mess hall after each meal before patrol or training. And Deimos following me around like a lost puppy filled with pent up sexual frustration that's apparently lacking understanding in the meaning of the word no, whether it's pushed up against a wall with a hand against his throat or not.

And then there's Abel. Abel, who just lays there and doesn't move, doesn't open his eyes, doesn't do shit. So tempted to shine another torch in his face and see if he flips out again, just to get a reaction out of him that isn't this comat-. This com-.

"Stop shaking him, moron!"

All my fault.

Abel's stupid fucking medic and nurses throwing around words I don't understand, like I ever got past 10th grade. Guess they think Abel's education somehow filtered through to me via osmosis or something, I don't know.

"See that shadow? That's bad news. I'm so sorry, but you're going to have to get a new navigator."

Worst of all is how cold Abel is. When I asked the medic what it meant, he started throwing some textbook crap around the room until I shut him up with a well aimed punch, which got me thrown out of the room again. When I came back Abel's hand was so cold I got a little dizzy because that was it, he was gone, but then I felt the pulse and everything came back into focus. Just sleeping. Not dead.

"Cain."

What now? Just want a fucking smoke before I have to go back into that tiny room and try to hide the shaking in my hands from everyone while they hook him up to another machine or put another blanket on, or worse, get out the brain scans again and try to explain to me that Sleeping Beauty was never just a fairytale. That I have a new navigator now and maybe I should go to the psych centre and talk about it.

The new navigator is blonde and tiny, just like Abel and every other navigator in this flying shit hole. Flies well enough. Hasn't gotten us killed yet, so that's something. The last assignment we went on he weaved in and out of the formation, directing me to blow things up, and that's what I did because that's all I'm good for, and everyone congratulated us for killing the most. But when we got back to the room and he climbed onto his bunk to get changed, chatting about fuck knows what, I had to get out of there because he was too much like Abel, and not like Abel enough.

Screw that, I don't need anyone to speak to. Abel will wake up. He fucking better.

Praxis comes up next to me but stands back a little, keeps a bit of distance. Good. I hear him rustle through his pockets and the tell tale click and hiss of a lighter. Each time reminds me of my father lighting one up that night before he died, walking out the front door in the heat of a summer night, a bright flame before darkness swallowed him up and didn't relinquish it's embrace. Maybe that's why I'm addicted, waiting forever for him to come back, trying to hold onto an impossible spark. A hiss and flicker to substitute the man who raised me. Addicted to a dream.

"Cain," and here we go, fucking cyclops with all his feelings worse than Abel on his period.

If I ignore him, maybe he'll go away.

"Look, I don't care if you don't like me. But Abel wouldn't want you to be doing this to yourself. You need to talk to someone, and... "

If I punch his face in then maybe he'll go away too.

"...well, I owe him."

I feel him step closer to me, hesitating like he wants to comfort me somehow like I need it, so I spin around and... freeze. Praxis is covered in blood, his hand is outstretched and clawing at the air, searching for an invisible rope to hang on to. What? Shit. Shit. The fuck is this. I reach forwards to steady him, and he slumps backwards dragging me down with him, his face inches from mine, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water making some horrible fucking rasping noise and gasping for air, more blood pulsing from his head in time with a heartbeat.

Except he's got two eyes instead of one, and the red stands out against his hair because it's pale and blonde and it's not Praxis at all. I try and stem the blood flow, try to grab Abel up because medical isn't too far away except something is stopping me and I realise we're back in the middle of space, back on the fucking Reliant, back in the blinding light and I try and steer the ship but I can't see anything because the dashboard is covered with blood-

And suddenly I'm in the medical bay. Just a dream, just a dream, just a stupid dream. I take a couple of breaths like I learned in basic when the nightmares threatened to take over reality, dripping sweat on my lap.

A hand brushes against mine, warm and familiar.

And there's Abel, eyes wide, looking at me all confused. Closes his eyes, and I go to grab his shoulders and shake them back open again, but he doesn't need my help: just blinking.

Followed by an inhale, a fit of coughing. Some part in the back of my head tells me to get some water, but I can't think clearly with the room tilting at this angle, struggling to hold myself up, waiting to wake up again and wishing this was real.

And again with the inhaling.

"Cain?"

There's something messing with my vision, and I realise it wasn't sweat after all.

A/N Cain, did you just... not suck at feelings? I know, I know, I said no more for a while but insomnia is insomnia and parties don't help. I'm half asleep/drunk so I hope this makes sense.