"... No ... n-no ... no! NO!"
Ethan's well-trained ears perk up the instant Mark raises his voice. He snaps out of his light sleep and flails around in bed for a few seconds before reaching over to switch on his bedside lamp.
"NO NO NO STOP STOP IT —"
He scrambles out of his bed and climbs onto Mark's across the hotel room. Fuck, not another one, he thinks despairingly as he kneels beside his injured friend. "Mark!" he calls, wondering if he should shake him awake or if that would hurt him worse. There's tears streaming down Mark's red cheeks and his face is pulled tight in an expression of pure terror and pain. He's not thrashing too much, though, which gives Ethan enough space to grab his shoulders and jostle him a bit. "Mark, c'mon, wake up! Wake up, it's a dream, you're safe! Mark!"
After a long minute, Mark's anguished cries finally grind to a halt, and he awakens from the nightmare with a violent start. From the way he's panting and looking around the room with an unfocused, panicked gaze, Ethan knows he isn't fully awake. He leans down and grabs Mark's face in his own, turning it so their eyes can meet.
"It's not real," Ethan says, drying Mark's frightened tears with shaking thumbs. He stares into those petrified brown irises and waits for the spark of recognition to light in them. "You're okay, I'm here, it's just me, you're okay, I promise."
Mark blinks, then blinks again. The shroud of sleep finally lifts from his eyes and he stares up at Ethan like a parched shipwreck victim being offered a bottle of Fiji water. "E-Ethan?" he asks, voice hoarse and trembling.
Ethan nods. "It's me." The unbridled horror lingering on Mark's face is enough to break his heart a little. "You had another ... another dream, but I'm here." I'm always here.
Mark swallows hard, reaching up to grab one of Ethan's wrists in a white-knuckled hold. "J-Just a dream?"
"Just a dream." Ethan repeats the mantra the same way he has for the past two days. They've got a week left in Boston before Mark will be healed enough to fly back to L.A., and this hotel room has become a haven for him and Ethan. Mark hasn't left it since he was discharged from Massachusetts General Hospital, which means Ethan pretty much hasn't left it, either. This means lots of bandage changing, lots of MarioKart, and unfortunately, lots of nightmares Ethan's been witness to.
Thankfully, Ethan knows one sure-fire way to get Mark back to sleep after a nightmare: his painkillers. Glancing at the bedside clock, Ethan sees it's already past three a.m. — Mark hasn't taken his pills in almost seven hours now, which means it's safe for another dose. They put him in a weird fog and make him uncharacteristically quiet, but they also keep him from writhing and whimpering in pain, so Ethan figures it's a fair trade-off.
"I'm gonna get up for a sec, okay, baby?" Ethan murmurs, carefully pulling his wrist out of Mark's iron grip. The pet names are slowly becoming less foreign on his tongue. "Gonna go get your pills."
Predictably, Mark's face crumples and more tears spring to his eyes. "N-No, don't leave," he begs, voice cracking as he reaches for Ethan. He tries to sit up but collapses back against his pillows with a pained gasp. "Don't, where're you going, please ..."
"I'm just gonna run to the bathroom for five seconds," Ethan says calmly. He's been through this scenario three times already, but his heart still aches terribly at the look of fear and need on Mark's tear-streaked face. As he stands up from the bed, he leans over and kisses Mark's forehead. "I gotta grab your pills and some water for you, but I'll be right back."
Mark lets out a broken sob but nods, clenching his fists in the sheets still covering him from the chest down. He looks like a lost child, uncertain and insecure, and the bandages on his bare chest peeking out from the edge of the comforter only make it worse. Before he decides to just curl up in bed beside Mark for the rest of the night, Ethan turns away and hurries to the en suite.
