Different Kinds of Hell

By Alone Dreaming

Rating: PG-13 or T for descriptive sickness, blood and violence

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek. If I did, this would not be posted under fan fiction.

Warnings: Blood, Reference to Deleted Scenes, Dark Humor

Author's Note: And the title is different because I've had stories removed for less...This story references one George Samuel Kirk who was seen briefly traipsing the dusty Iowa road. Or, at least, that's what my roommate told me. Anyway, if that really was him then my other stories are mildly AU as I do reference him not existing at all in this alternate reality. But, that doesn't really matter. Please enjoy.

There are many versions of hell, James T. Kirk decides as he hangs over the side of the metallic disk and gags. For instance, there is the typical hell with the fire pits, lawyers and little men with horns, tails and pitchforks. In that hell, you get to shovel coal, watch reruns of The Brady Bunch, and take breaks by sitting in class with your least favorite teacher from the third grade. Another hell is his stepfather's house with his mom gone, a place he frequently goes back to in dreams. That place is far more palpable than Satan and eternal damnation; he thinks its because he's lived it and no matter what he does, he cannot really escape it. Even in his happiest moments, it hovers in the corner of his eye like a ghost.

But right now, he's in a totally different sort of hell. This hell involves being stranded in the middle of an ocean, on an unstable piece of wrecked boat with a stiff, overly logical Vulcan and a normally irritable, brash and currently, unconscious doctor. Rather like the devil hell, this one is a conglomeration of some of the most irritating-- well, he does appreciate the both of his companions, just not in this case-- things, terrifying situations, and of course, a tongue-in-cheek irony that makes Kirk even more nauseated. He's sick again, watching yellowy bile decorate the surface of the red water. Ten to fifteen feet down, something long and fishy with teeth like broadswords watches him with a disconcerting sort of interest. He inches back so that he cannot see it, pulling the old ostrich and child idea of "if I can't see it, it can't see me."

"Captain, you must control your persistent vomiting," Spock says. He's handling everything in that high and mighty way that makes Kirk want to strangle him.

He crawls over the metal piece-- they cannot stand up lest they flip it-- so he's near Bones instead. "Sorry, I'm offending your delicate, Vulcan sensibilities. I'll try to get a handle on the INVOLUNTARY reaction."

He knows Spock is processing his reaction and coming up with a disgustingly calm and intelligent response. "I am merely thinking of our minimal supply of water, Captain. Continued expulsion of fluids means you will need to replace them lest you become dehydrated and we only have one container left which will need to be split between you and Doctor McCoy. I--"

"We can always drink the water around us," asshole, he thinks, because he's annoyed and Spock seems to like rubbing in weaknesses at the least appropriate times. He's a Vulcan, he can go for days without water and sleep and oxygen, well, that's spectacular. Then he regrets the thoughts because he knows Spock doesn't think that way. He has their best interests in mind. He's just not too good at expressing himself in a non-offensive manner. But he is better, when Kirk really thinks about it, than he was before.

"I think it would be unwise to disturb the water. As you recall, the creatures on this planet are both carnivorous and able to consume vast amounts of food. The fewer that realize our presence here, the better."

Kirk hates him for two more reasons now. The first and most petty of them is the fact that Spock is undeniably right. The second, and only slightly less petty, of them involves the reminder of exactly what all is below the surface. Of course, he knows that there are hundreds of vicious animals dwelling just below them. Of course, he knows what they are capable of having seen it first hand only three or four hours before. The fact is, he doesn't want to be reminded of it, thanks. He'd rather forget if he can even if he shouldn't. His mind is already wandering back to how he got here and a shudder creeps over his shoulders and down his spine.

The Emperor of Kah-Li-Nu wore the façade of the friendly, jovial, Santa Claus like character who wanted to join the Federation. They'd been sent to negotiate and investigate; you know, typical, double-checking of basic human rights and all that bullshit. For the most part, it had seemed clean, though Kirk kept getting a whiff of a world-wide underground prostitution ring but he had to let it slide when he couldn't find any evidence, and they'd all been prepared to report that Kah-Li-Nu, a planet composed almost completely of water, seemed to have itself in order. Technology wise, they'd be an asset; culturally, they aimed for peace; unfortunately, they had a penchant for poorly cooked, nasty smelling squid like things but Kirk was certain that would not affect the Federation's decision.

However, it may have affected the Emperor's feelings about Kirk who had been edgy from the beginning. Spock had conducted the main part of negotiations while Kirk went off like a bloodhound on a bear to see if there was any truth to the prostitution ring rumors. The Emperor, Spock had informed him when he came to their suite, windswept and damp in the evenings, took this as a personal affront to his ruling and ability to control his people. Kirk had apologized and, having not had luck anyway, backed off. At the final dinner, he'd appeared as he was supposed to and sat down for the food only to discover the gross smell of pickled fish. Apparently, his refusal to eat it, however polite it had been, was the final straw. So when the ship came under attack by a group of thirty foot tall, one eyed eel animals, the Emperor had taken a hover craft to safety and left the delegates to survive on their own.

And survived they had; Bones got whacked on the head by something in the water, Kirk was so seasick he could barely see straight and Spock had more bruises than Kirk thought possible. But together, they'd managed to find a piece of flotsam that would hold all three of them and Spock had obtained a canteen full of water. The downside was their communicators met a watery grave and their phasers didn't affect the nightmare animals of the deep. But, Kirk thinks they are lucky that the ocean here is not salty but rather sweet, and completely consumable if necessary. Spock is right about the fishzillas but at least they know its there if they need it.

He turns his attention to Bones who is quiet, still and completely unresponsive. His head isn't bleeding, the thing that hit him was blunt, but it has a bump the size of a baseball sprouting out of it. Kirk thinks they have every reason to be very concerned but, as Spock pointed out earlier, concern is a waste of energy at this point. The doctor is still breathing and there is nothing Spock or Kirk can do. Kirk's medical knowledge is basic and barely applicable; Spock's is greater but most of it is Vulcan physiology which is no good to them at all. He touches a hand to his friend's forehead, finds it cool and shrugs out of his jacket. It's not cold on this planet but he knows enough to realize that this could be a sign of shock. No way he's letting his Chief Medical Examiner get away with that.

"How does Doctor McCoy fare?" Spock inquires. He's watching the distance, flat on his stomach, upper body propped up on his elbows.

"Bout the same as before," Kirk tells him. A wave of nausea hits him and he lies down next to the good doctor. "Spock, I think I'm dying."

"I think you are exaggerating your situation, Captain," Spock replies, completely unconcerned. "Sea sickness has rarely ever killed a healthy individual such as yourself."

He thinks lack of sympathy will eventually be the Vulcans' downfall. Someday, they are going to offend the wrong people with their cool dismissal of emotion and bam, those people will not put up with it. It won't be like with Nero, who was out for vengeance and had slightly psychopathic. These people, whoever they are, will make the decision based on irritation and disgust over perceived nothingness. He just hopes that when it happens, he's there to watch. He won't join in, of course, because he respects the Vulcans in general. Their complete control is something to be respected. It's just he won't stop it either. After all, his first mate has frustrated him in a similar manner far too many times.

He can't stop the heaves so he crawls over to the side and lets loose again. This time, the yellow is tinted pink and he has a sinking feeling that's a bad thing. He spats the lingering taste out of his mouth and then feels his heart sink as one of the things in the water swims up close. It has to be at least as long as the animals that attacked the boat and it's teeth look scarier. A long, gooey, translucent tongue zips out of its mouth and breaches the surface of the water. It licks the mixture then retreats so quickly that Kirk barely catches it. One moment the eel thing is there, the next moment its zipping away like a spooked fish. Serves it right, he thinks, for trying to eat someone else's puke. He wipes his mouth and slides down into their little raft. Last time he checked, when he sat down at the dinner, they had twelve hours before their next mandatory contact with the Enterprise.

The canteen of water lands in his lap. "Replenish your fluids," Spock all but commands.

"I'll just puke it back up," he replies, leaving the canteen where it is. "Best to save it for Bones if we can get him to swallow properly."

"Captain--"

"Don't push me on this one, Commander."

Spock raises an eyebrow at him but listens. He's back on gigantic, alien Kraken spotting and Kirk's just trying to keep his stomach from escaping his body. The fact is, there's more to it than just the deadly fish, and the sea sickness and the frustration; this is far too reminiscent of an unfortunate summer he spent without his mother on the farm. He keeps trying to not think about it as they bob up and down but this motion is the same as it was when he was trapped out on the dock in the middle of the lake. His stomach lurches and he's hanging over the side again. This time, there's more red than yellow. He clutches his abdomen and feels a rigidity that he was unaware of before. Lifting his shirt, he stares down at the dark blue bruising. Oops; maybe he did take a blow. Another creature, which is not as large but looks more threatening, darts away from the dark red mixing with the paler color of the water. Interesting.

"I hate large bodies of water," he groans as he settles himself again.

"I find them to be soothing," Spock says and Kirk wonders if he's being contradictory merely to be contradictory. "Though this place would not be my first or most ideal example."

"Scary monsters are a turn off?"

"They are detrimental to relaxation."

"I'd have to agree on that one," his stomach lurches again and he hisses. "Damn, I hate it."

Spock stiffens as a spiny back pops out of the water a hundred yards away. It squiggles through the water briefly, ending in a pair of clawed, flippered feet and a tale topped with a spike. Spock does not move until the ripples from it fade away and then the only visible motion is the slightest easing in his shoulders. He flips over to look at Kirk who is trying not to puke down his own front. His eyebrow raises.

"And why do you have such intense negative emotions towards water?" he asks, as Kirk leans over the edge again. "I must insist that you hydrate, Captain."

Kirk's busy watching the bright red blood dilute into the pink water and the retreat of a monstrously creepy lizard thing. There seems to be a growing pattern here. Every time he gets sick, whatever massive animals are coming towards them go away. "Really rather not, Spock." But to appease his first mate, he takes the canteen and lets a little of it trickle down his throat. The water feels excellent on his sour throat but sits testily in his sore middle, threatening to immediately come back up. He fights against it. "And the whole water thing's a childhood experience. Not particularly a good one."

"Nyota has told me about her ocean memories. She is fond of them on whole, especially when she recalls playing in the water," Spock says.

"Yeah, well, Uhura probably had a nice set of parents. My step dad went out of his way to make my life as miserable as possible," Kirk snaps and then regrets it. He sighs. "I'll admit I brought some of it on myself but he wasn't a good man by any standards."

Spock nods. "And yet, you turned out well despite him. I find this to be an impressive show of your character."

"Yeah, well, I liked to fight him as much as possible. Consider this a form of rebellion," Kirk replies. The water creeps back up his throat and he spews it over the side. "Well, that sucks."

While he's wiping his mouth, Spock queries, "I would have to assume you blame your water phobia on your step father."

"It's not a phobia really. Just an intense dislike," Kirk mutters in reply. He decides to distract himself by checking on Bones again. He doesn't like what he sees. The doctor's paler than before, and his breathing's no good. Fine tremors are running up and down his frame. Kirk scoots close to him, pressing against his side in hopes that it'll help provide body warmth. His stomach aches at the movement. "And yeah, my dear old step dad had a hand in it."

"May I ask what happened?"

He doesn't particularly want to tell but they are killing time and Spock seems genuinely interested. Besides, he's feeling pretty lightheaded and loose in the tongue. He can talk about it easily. "I was seven and couldn't swim. So, my mom goes away for a week or so on a mission and he decides he's going to teach me to swim as a surprise to her. And I'm already not listening to him, never really did, and I tell him I'm not interested. I want to go play. Anyway, he says I don't have an option and I fight him over it until, one night, while I'm sleeping, he moves me out to a dock in the middle of the lake. The water wasn't really, really deep-- maybe twenty five feet-- but it was a long swim to shore. At least half a mile. So, he leaves me there and I wake up all alone, in the middle of the water, with no way back and no food or water. I think he thought I would be desperate enough to try it. But I wasn't stupid. I knew I couldn't get that far even if I could swim well. So I stayed out there, watching the water and hoping he'd come get me."

Spock's face is passive but Kirk imagines he's a bit disgusted. His eyebrow goes down instead of up. "Did he return for you?"

"Nah, I think that's when I first realized he didn't give a flying fuck what happened to me," Kirk continued. "He left me out there all day and most of the night. It's real hot in Iowa in the summer. I burned pretty bad, drank the lake water and got sick. Hell, I probably would've died if Sam hadn't gotten curious as to where I'd gotten off to and rescued me. He was pissed-- but, of course, didn't do a damn thing about it."

"Sam?" Spock is focused on the water again. Something bigger than everything they've seen has just lifted its head from the water. Hundreds of tiny eyes peer myopically at them.

"My older brother. His name's actually George Samuel but I called him Sam. When I was little, it was easier to say."

The thing does not make any sudden movements. It stays precisely where it is, fixated on them. Kirk hopes its not planning an attack. There's nothing they can do to stop it, and if their little boat tips over, they're doomed. Spock has clearly stopped listening so Kirk tries to forget the panic he'd felt during that long day sitting on the dock. Several times, he'd considered just giving it his best fling but his sensibilities had kicked in just in time to save him. After drinking the water and throwing up, he'd not been able to move much anyway. Flashes of feeling too hot and then far too chilly touched his mind including his brother's outraged face. Then days in bed and Sam backing off when his step dad raised his voice.

"You've never mentioned a brother before," Spock commented a few moments later. "I was unaware you had siblings."

Kirk shrugged. "I sorta disowned him when he ran away and left me when I was twelve. Haven't spoken with him since. He was never much of a big brother anyway. Said he'd never let anything bad happen to me but never once did he stand up to the big man."

"He saved you on the dock, though."

"One of the few good things he ever did for me."

The thing sinks back into the water and Kirk feels awkward when Spock turns back to him. He curls closer to Bones. He hasn't thought of his brother in a while. As an adult, he can understand why Sam left. But when he was young, all he'd felt was deserted no matter what reasoning he received. Nowadays, he's not even sure where Sam is or what he does. Sam's alive; he knows this much because his mom still communicates with him on occasion. As he lies here on the raft, he wishes that he had an older brother to come rescue him right now. Perhaps it would be a good idea to start talking to Sam again if he manages to survive this expedition. Of all people, he should know that one should never wait to fix relationships.

He's leaning over the side again, staring into the face of something that looks like a Chinese dragon and coughing up a mouthful of blood. It splatters onto the water and the thing dives. "Take that you, bastard," he croaks. "Fish repellant vomit. Hah."

Spock's eyebrow goes up sky high when he's settling himself again. "Jim, how badly are you injured?" Jim takes moment to decide if the Vulcan is expressing concern or curiosity or a combination of both. Then he decides he doesn't really care. His head hurts from too much thinking. He wipes at his mouth, sees the blood staining his sleeve and knows why Spock's asking.

"I'm fine," he assures though he can tell Spock doesn't believe him. "Just cut my mouth."

"I see," Spock says and that means 'bullshit' in Vulcan.

A tail lashes up a foot away from Spock's face. It disappears and then thirty feet of body shoot out of the air. Hovering above them is the same kind of creature that destroyed the ship in the first place. It gurgles and drips the water all over them, bending down close to inspect the three people below it. Kirk stares up into the wide mouth and sees chunks of people, vehicles and other water dwellers. He can already feel those sharp teeth crunching down on his bones, tearing him to shreds so he can join those people in the hell of slow decay in the watery deep.

He prefers his current hell.

Bones is still unconscious, he's paralyzed and Spock is planning something. He can tell by intensity of the Vulcan's stare that he's trying to figure a way out of this that doesn't end in them all dying. Kirk's brain is going that way too but his only thought is to spit in its face and say, 'bring it on, fugly.' What happens after that will all depend on fate, of course, but he's not as good at the small little details. Hand him the big picture and he'll give a good overview. His stomach roils as the face gets closer to him, the smell of its breath beyond rancid, a culmination of machine and animal death. So, he does his plan kind of; except instead of spitting, he throws up right onto the creature's outstretched lip.

It backs up slowly, coming up its full height. It's oversized eyes blink slowly. Then, without any warning, it's eyes get glassy and it keels over backwards. The splash that follows rains them with water and creates a huge ripple. It hits the edge of their raft, almost flipping it. Bones begins to slip over the edge as they tip and Kirk dives on top of him. He can feel them both slipping, slipping and he scrabbles on the perfectly smooth material to find some sort of handhold. His feet touch the water then his ankles. It's only a matter of time before he's all the way in. The boat's starting to right itself but he still can't get a grip. So, he does what comes into his head again. He shoves Bones up and on and stops his struggle.

The water is warm, sweet and doesn't burn his eyes when he is submerged. Below him, he sees the flaccid body of the sea monster being shredded by its cohorts. They are rather like piranhas, taking it apart quickly and without mercy. He can already see grey bones being exposed and purple blood flowing through the water. Chunks of flesh bob up around him, enough to attract the attention of a few of the smaller monsters. They turn up towards him and he gets a very uncomfortable feeling they aren't grinning at him because they are friendly. He suddenly wishes he'd been braver when he was seven and jumped off that dock. Maybe Sam wouldn't've left him alone. Maybe his step dad would've liked him a little better if he had.

Maybe he would've learned how to swim.

His head's buzzing, his chest hurts, his stomach's creeping up his throat and there's a set of razor teeth just an inch below his boot. It's too bad he refused for years to talk to Sam. Now he kind of regrets it. There's a couple of things he's wanted to say and now its going to be too late. After the last brush he had with death, he nearly wrote a set of notes to those he loved as a precaution. Just a reminder to them that he had cared and Sam had been one of the names on the list; but he'd backed off last moment. Now, it's too late and he's about to become dinner to an alien. His stomach comes up and vomiting is much less fun without oxygen to gasp up. Blood trickles around him and he sucks in water like a vacuum.

He isn't aware that he's partially out of the water until he's hacking it out of his body. Someone is holding him close, dragging him through a thick substance and shouting in his ear. Or, maybe not shouting; just speaking very, very loudly. Something about moving his legs, or his arms; help me swim, he thinks the voice says but he's feeling kinda detached at the moment. Sorry, Mr. Demanding Voice, I need to remember what my arms are, first, thanks. He coughs some more, throws up because his stomach hurts and gags. He sinks again, only to be pulled completely out of the water and onto a supportive surface.

"Sam?" he mumbles even though he knows it can't be Sam, right, because Sam is on Earth somewhere.

"I am not your brother," the same voice says.

He blinks up at the soggy ruffled dark haired being hovering over him. This is not Sam. This is someone he can depend on. He opens his mouth to say so even but the person suddenly turns into bright sparkling lights over him. It hurts his eyes so he closes them. The next thing he knows, he's lying on the Enterprise with the same face over him except its not looking at him anymore. Weakly, he makes a grab for the front of its shirt, trying to get his lifeless fingers to close on its collar. They hook it loosely, grabbing the person's attention.

"I got acid vomit," he tells it though that's not what he initially meant to say.

"I did notice that the creatures were retreating where your blood mixed with the water. That will be worth investigation," Spock appeases as they are swarmed by medical personnel. He can see someone taking Bones away and knows he's only seconds from being carted off himself.

"You know what, Spock?" his voice is starting to slur.

"I do know the word, Jim, but I am assuming you are referring to something you have to say."

"I like you better than Sam," he pats the Vulcan's chest to emphasize his point. "You actually take care of me." And he takes a trip to la-la land to avoid the Hell of the sick bay.