Page 67 of Changeling
Jim sighed. “I’m going back to bed. I suggest you do the same, okay?” He turned away and retreated back into the darkness.
Nathan tried to bounce off as few pieces of furniture as possible as he made his way across the room. He was pathetically grateful that his duffle was between him and the bathroom, and he grabbed it on the way by. He suspected his first aid kit would come in handy, considering he still had blood down his face that Jim had thankfully not noticed in the dark.
He made it into the bathroom, flicking on the light and softly closing the door. He dropped the duffle and reluctantly looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t tell how bad the cut was, with all the blood.
Suddenly, the world pitched nauseatingly around him and he lunged for the toilet. He lost everything in his stomach and continued to retch and dry heave until he passed out cold, bumping his head on the porcelain for good measure as he slumped bonelessly to the floor.
“Nathan!”
Nathan was shuddering uncontrollably when he awoke to the sound of Walter’s voice. His Spirit Guide’s image hovered over him, as if Walter were crouched there on the floor with him, shaking him awake. He hurt everywhere. He was freezing and the room was still spinning.
The evening replayed in his mind. The thought of Pete and what might have happened washed over him. Nathan pushed himself quickly off the floor as saliva flooded his mouth, and leaned over the toilet again. The dry heaves pulled violently on his ribs and shook his still tender chest wounds. At least none of the goons had punched him there.
As much as Nathan wished he could hide this from his brother and Sasha, he was relieved when he heard Jim’s gentle knock.
“You okay in there, Nathan?” Jim’s soft voice penetrated the closed door.
“C’min, Jim,” Nathan managed to slur through chattering teeth.
Jim slowly opened the door, causing Walter’s image to flicker and then fade, traces of a furrowed brow still prominent on his face before he vanished. “Nathan!” Jim cried. “What the hell happened?”
“Shhh. Don’t want Sasha in on this just yet,” Nathan said before leaning back over the toilet to dry heave some more.
“Why didn’t you say anything? I couldn’t tell you looked this bad in the dark.”
“Fuck you, too,” Nathan spat into the toilet.
Jim sighed. He stepped out of the bathroom for a moment and came back with a blanket from one of the beds.
Nathan leaned his forehead against the cold porcelain of the toilet as Jim set the blanket around his shoulders and gently laid a hand on his back.
“Shit, Nate. Where all are you hurt? You have to let me look at you. What the hell happened?” Jim’s voice was low, but Nathan could hear the concern turning to anger.
“Be faster if I told you where itdidn’thurt.” Nathan tried to give his brother at least a shadow of a smirk.
“Don’t expect me to be kissing your elbow, Indie,” Jim fired back. “I hope the other guys look worse anyway.”
“Not so much…this time.” Nathan’s voice faded to barely a whisper and he dropped his eyes.
“Okay. Let me look at what you’ve done to yourself, then.” Jim reached out gentle hands to tilt Nathan’s head. “Damn. This cut’s going to need a couple stitches. Might have a few bruises, and—” He hissed, probably noticing Nathan’s blown pupils. “Did those bastards drug you? This isn’t just alcohol or tempersgetting the better of them, is it?” Jim’s voice was tight with outrage.
“Yeah. Walter warned me they slipped something into my beer. Thought I could…get out before it became a real problem. Didn’t give me an option about drinking it…”
Jim shook his head and moved his inspection lower. He reached for the hem of Nathan’s shirt, but Nathan made a startled noise and grabbed Jim’s wrists.
“Not hurt anywhere else, Jim. Okay,” Nathan said evenly. He was quickly losing any energy he had left and wanted to just lie down and sleep.
“Let me at least make sure your wounds haven’t bled through again,” Jim insisted, and since Nathan was still alert enough to recognize the sense in that, he let Jim lift up his shirt. Thankfully, his bandages looked clean.
The gash on Nathan’s abdomen was slight, but when Jim glanced down at it, Nathan knew his brother had to be wondering why he’d dropped his pants before taking off his boots, when he obviously hadn’t used the toilet other than to toss his dinner into it. The missing button and slashed zipper were all the additional evidence Jim needed, before he looked into Nathan’s eyes with deeper concern.
“Nate,” Jim said quietly. “Umm…did they…?” He trailed, unable to force the words past his lips.
“No. No, Jim. I never lost my boxers,” Nathan said plainly.
“Okay. Let’s start by getting your head cleaned up then get you into some fresh clothes.”
“S’ok, Jim. Jus’ wanna…sleep.” Nathan’s eyelids fluttered as he felt his will to stay awake slipping.
