FicWad

Joe, Andy and Pete had each been allocated empty rooms in the large hospital and although it had taken a great deal of convincing, Pete had finally agreed to go to his and get some rest. Despite being certain that he wouldn't easily be able to relax, the bassist found that a deep restful sleep caught up with him much quicker than he had expected. Joe, on the other hand, well, he fought the urge to rest. Thinking that someone should stay with Patrick but that his friends needed to rest, he quietly returned to Patrick's room.

“I see you don't take your own advice either,”

At the words, Andy looked up and greeting Joe with a lopsided grin.

“Or yours,” he agreed with a smile. “Get some sleep, Joe. If you like, you can come back in a few hours and we'll swap.”

“Okay, but if I don't, come and get me, yeah?”

“Definitely! I'm not going to be the only one around here that gets no sleep.”

“Okay, I'll see you in a couple of hours,” Joe offered a vague wave as he headed back to his room.

*

“How is he?”

Andy jerked his head up as the voice stirred him from a light sleep. Still in the chair at Patrick's side, Andy didn't recall even feeling excessively sleepy. Neither did he have any idea how long he had been sitting there. As his bleary eyes focused, he was surprised to see Mr Sandman standing alongside him, next to the bed. Taking a brief look at Patrick and the monitors, he gathered enough information to enable him to reply.

“No change,” he answered with a faint sigh. “But no worse,” he added with a hopeful smile.

“I'm sure he'll be fine,” Sandman nodded slowly. “Silas... he's a good doctor. And, he's sleeping, it's very therapeutic, sleep, you know?”

“Is he dreaming?” Andy asked.

Sandman tilted his head as he tried to read Patrick's sleep. “No, not yet,” he replied after a moment's pause.

“Can you give him a dream? A nice one?”

Sandman smiled to himself. They all resembled their counterparts in more than looks. It was typical of Donnie to be thoughtful and care for the comfort of his friends. And here was Andy doing exactly the same thing.

“Yes, I can do that,” he replied, waving his palm briefly over Patrick's eyes. “When he's ready to dream, it'll be whatever he wants.”

“Can I ask you something… it might be personal,” Andy ventured.

“Go on,” Sandman replied with a certain amount of trepidation.

“That black glowing thing,” Andy began tentatively.

“I don't even want to think about it,” Sandman sighed, his voice dropping a tone. “I certainly don't want to talk about it.”

“Perhaps not, but I'd like to,” came a quiet yet firm voice from the doorway.

Sandman turned slowly. He didn't need to look, he knew exactly who it was. Only two people had that voice and one of them lay unconscious on the bed at his side.

“Silas?” his voice had dropped almost to a whisper. “I… I can't… I mean… I…”

“Andy,” Benzedrine began, not taking his eyes off Sandman for a moment. “Can we have the room, please?”

“Well…” Andy replied with an uncertain tone.

“I'll look after Patrick, don't worry.” After a brief pause, Benzedrine continued his voice sounding increasingly tense. “Andy, please.”

“Sure, yeah, sorry,” Andy replied, rising from the chair. “I'll be in my room.”

“Thank you.”

The door closed behind Andy and tension in the room thickened almost immediately as the two brothers stared at each other for what seemed like an age.

“Aren't you going to say anything?” Benzedrine finally asked.

“I… I don't…”

“Never mind,” Benzedrine turned on his heels, trying to hide the glistening in his eyes as he headed back to the door.

“Wait!” Sandman called; relieved as his brother paused at the door, even though his back remained turned. “Silas, wait, please.”

“What?” he asked, still without turning; trying hard to will away the stinging behind his eyes and any outward that this was killing him.

“It's not that I don't have anything to say… it's… I don't even know where to begin. Silas… I don't want to talk to your back. Please look at me.”

Benzedrine exhaled quietly, his shoulders dropping as he released the tension in them. He hated showing weakness in front of anyone, least of all his brother, and here he was, his eyes tearful once more. Sandman gasped as his brother turned to face him and he noticed the depth of pain in his eyes.

“So talk,” Benzedrine choked out.

Sandman lowered his eyes briefly as he gathered his thoughts.

“Silas,” he began, “I'm… I'm not going to start by saying I'm sorry and not because you don't deserve it and not because I don't mean it, but just… it doesn't begin to cover how I feel. I've been so selfish, so wrapped up in my own needs that I had no idea that you had put all your dreams aside to let me enjoy mine. And what did I do? Did I thank you? No… I hated you. I can't describe how ashamed I feel about that. But, worse than that, it started even before I left home. I was… I was jealous of you.”

“Jealous?” Benzedrine replied with surprise. “Why?”

“You were always much more intelligent than me, it just seemed to me that things came easier to you and instead of being happy for you, I was jealous. My stupid insecurities caught up with me and I convinced myself that not only was I stupid, but you were deliberately trying to point it out.”

Benzedrine lowered his eyes and nodded with a faint laugh on his lips.

“What's funny?” Sandman pouted, trying hard not to believe that his brother was laughing at him.

“You thought that?”

“Well?”

“Well, while you were thinking that, I was thinking that I was a dull, unimaginative shell. That all I was able to do was to tackle a logical problem and I didn't have a creative bone in my body.”

Sandman offered a weak smile in return.

“Silas, I wouldn't blame you if you never spoke to me again, but I need to say one thing to you.”

“Marcus…”

“No, let me say this,” Sandman begged.

“Mar…”

“Silas, please!” Sandman interrupted him. “I need to say this! You're my little brother and I… I've treated you so very badly. I can't offer any excuses that mean anything. How could I when too many times I've set out deliberately to hurt you? All this because I blamed you for something that wasn't even a problem and I'm so ashamed of myself. I can't ask you for your forgiveness, because I just don't deserve it - even more so now that you've seen how much hate I had. But, even if you don't believe me, and I don't expect you will, I have to tell you… I love you, Silas. I really do and I'm so deeply sorry for everything I've done to hurt you over the years.”

Benzedrine's mouth twisted into a pained frown. He had wanted to hear those words for so long it almost didn't seem real. It felt as if any moment he would wake and find himself back in the Fun House. Taking a sharp deep breath, he nodded.

“My turn,” he began, his expression softening as he saw Sandman tense. “I'm not the easiest of people to get on with. I'm a lot like father and you're more like our mother in your abilities and talents - you're both very creative and father and I are both quite analytical. It's inevitable that we'll clash from time to time, but it's how we deal with it that matters. It sounds stupid, but even if the truth seems to be the thing that hurts, it isn't, not when you compare it to the damage done by a lie, or even by saying nothing. Your imagination is your special talent, but you have to be aware that it works against you too.”
“You say you have no imagination, but you couldn't have had that nightmare without it,” Sandman added, hoping to correct his brother's opinion of himself.

“Comforting!” Benzedrine pouted. “I have enough imagination to conjure a deadly nightmare!”

“I didn't mean it like that!” Sandman replied with a small, embarrassed laugh. “I'm sorry about the Nightmares, I should have dealt with them a long time ago.”

“We should have dealt with a lot of things a long time ago,” Benzedrine added with a knowing nod. “By the way, don't beat yourself up over the ball of hate.”

“How can you be so understanding?” Sandman shook his head in bewilderment. “It was huge!”

“It was hollow!” Benzedrine returned immediately.

“Hollow?” Sandman frowned. “Hollow? I've never seen a hollow one before.”

“Me neither. Marcus, it was just a shell, a veneer. There was no real hate, just a surface layer. A protective coat.”

“I don't hate you,” Sandman insisted sincerely.

“I know,” Benzedrine smiled in return.

“Well, it's about time!” came a strained voice from the bed.

“Patrick?” Benzedrine turned sharply at the sound of his voice. “You're okay?”

“I'm fine,” he sighed as he pushed himself up on one elbow. “I could use some water… but you two hug it out or whatever you do down here.”

“I… er…” Benzedrine was torn between his brother and his patient.

Turning back, Benzedrine almost took a step back in surprise as he saw Sandman only inches from him. Pulled forward, Benzedrine went easily and gratefully into the embrace. Momentarily too shocked to react, it wasn't long before Benzedrine's arms curled around Sandman's back. He had waited so very long for this one single moment, barely daring to hope it could ever happen. The sudden damp sensation on his shoulder told him that Marcus had been moved to tears too.

In the bed, Patrick lay back, a broad smile fixed on his face as finally the brothers were reunited.