I am pretty nervous about this - not only is it my first fic in the Star Trek fandom, but it didn't turn out at all the way the way it sounded in my head. Story of our lives, I know.

This was prompted by an absolutely mind-blowing story entitled "The Shape of an Unrestful Dream" on Archive of our Own by Eyres which was not only an emotional punch in the gut but a writing masterpiece. After reading this story, in which Jim is trapped inside his own mind and he's unresponsive, I wanted to write the reverse - everyone being able to see Jim's mental state but Jim himself being unable to respond. I can only hope I did not fail too much in this.

Title comes from Eyres' summary.

"You suck." He tells the alien, blob-shaped… Thing. Whatever. "You really, really suck. I wanted you to know that."

The alien-blob-thing isn't interested. In fact, the only thing it does is twist one of those metal needle-things poking into his thigh to make him shut up. Which works, since Jim's vision goes white and when he's able to lift his head up again, the alien-blob-thing has left the room. Fucker. Just for that, he's officially christening them alien-blob-things.

"You're an asshole." He tells the next alien-blob-thing that comes in. Then again, it might be the same again. They all looked pretty identical even before they started pumping all sorts of shit through his veins. "You've officially all been graded on the Entreprise Scale of Crazy Shit, and you're all Delta Vega-grade assholes."

The alien-blob-thing slams his head down onto the stone slab he's lying on. Jim waits until the stars have cleared to go on.

"That's a shitty place to be. Only place further up you can go right now is Narada Shit level. But you're on your way there, I can tell."

He coughs. Blood. Great.

"Sulu and I came up with the scale. Because we're awesome like that. Or he's awesome like that. He's really fucking cool, you know? Like, he's got a sword and he is badass with it. And he's an even more fantabulous pilot."

His head swims. He's not entirely sure whether he's talking to the alien-blob-thing or to the wall.

"Spock thinks we're ridiculous. Except he doesn't say it. He just goes all 'it is illogical to rate future events based on past achievements, especially using such colloquial vernacular". Obviously he doesn't recognize the awesome that is our scale. 'Cause so far it's worked for everything. You might even get your own classification."

"Bones would be very angry with you if he were here." Jim tells them when they burst into his cell, creaking excitedly at each other. "He has, I quote, 'invested a lot of time and work in keeping my ass healthy and mostly in one piece'. So I don't think he'd like it if you damaged that. Anymore, that is. Ow."

They're rushed and not the least bit careful as they haul him off his slab, nearly throwing him down on the floor. He bangs his knee and shoulder and the metal things still poking him tell him bad idea, bad idea, Kirk.

"He will kill you. Probably by hypo, he likes that. If ever it doesn't work he could always beat you to death with a chair. He did that on the Beta Quadrant. It was awesome, man, awesome." They manhandle him onto a stretcher and lift it, jolting – well, every bit of him that hurts. "Ow, assholes. I told you that hurt. And I told you Bones was going to kill you." He pauses to reflect on this. "Actually, he's probably going to kill me first."

The stretcher lurches, and Jim's stomach lurches with it. It's probably a good thing he doesn't have anything to throw up.

"What was that thing you gave me anyway? I feel floaty. Like, seriously, seriously high. You should sell it, you'd make a fortune." His brow furrows. "And I can't seem to stop talking. Which is weird, because I'd think you'd want me to shut up, considering how you reacted every time I tried to talk to you. And it's stupid anyway, because even if you wanted to question me, I don't understand you and you don't understand me. Unless you're pretending. Which is still a pretty dumb thing to do, by the way. Like that time we beamed down to a planet and Uhura tried to talk to the natives in every language she knows – and believe me, she knows a lot – and they just never answered, and she was going crazy, and we later found out they were all deaf and basically we'd been talking to ourselves and Uhura's reaction was the funniest shit I -"

The blast deafens him, and Jim rolls right off the stretcher in an agony of pain pain pain burn. There's a lot of alien-blob-thing creaking-chatter going on above him, but he's concentrating on breathing through the pain, breathe Jim, goddamit breathe! Something grabs him by the ankle he's pretty sure is broken and he screams, can't stop himself as they drag him back onto the stretcher. There's a fuckload of noise but it's all mixed up in his head. One of the alien-blob-things bends over him (he thinks, because everything has gone all blurry and the blobs are all really blobs now) and Jim can't stop himself, he really can't –

"Motherfucker you cock-sucking son of a fucking whore –"

It grabs his leg and the metal thing and twists, and everything dissolves in an agony of pain.

"'M gonna kill you when I wake up." He mumbles before he even opens his eyes. "Or I might even let Spock let him do it. He's very very good at strangling people to death. Hurts like a bitch. Trust me, I'd know. Or I might tell Uhura you're being misogynistic. She'll kick you with her boots. Her kick-ass boots. Man, I love those boots."

He's being manhandled, his head shaken from side to side and banging on the floor. Grey blob squints (more or less – he doesn't actually have eyes) at him.

"Your entire fucking planet sucks. Even Chekov and Sulu don't manage this much destruction when they try to out-prank each other. They've blown up a rec room, nearly destroyed a shuttle and accidentally poisoned my dinner and even they didn't create this havoc. Was funny as shit, actually. Even when Sulu slipped me the plate he'd doctored for Chekhov, dye and all. Except it wasn't the dye that fucked up everything up. It was the strawberries, actually. Can you believe that? Of all the fucking things in the universe I'm allergic to all the good-tasting ones so one minute I'm like this tastes good for a change and the next I'm on the floor not breathing and Sulu and Chekhov freaking out on me. And then Bones charges in with his hypo – fucking hypos, man, I hate hypos – and he's not laughing at all."

He's being carried again, he becomes aware. He didn't feel it when they hauled him back on the stretcher. There's a large hand-paw-blob-thing-whatever poking at his neck and it makes him laugh roughly.

"Can't have the fucking Federation captain dying on your hands, can you? Should have thought of that before you put all the sharp, pointy things in me. Bones is sooooo going to kill you. Going to kill you dead. Thought he was going to kill Sulu after the strawberries thing. Laid into him in the middle of the mess hall while I was still choking on air. Sulu looked like he wanted Bones to kill him, too. Kept apologizing for a week afterwards. I told him we were good as long as the next time he poisoned me he made sure Bones was on the premises first."

Jim coughs again – his throat's sandpaper dry.

"He threw a fucking fit – like it isn't Bones' mission in life to regulate what I eat. I swear he knows what's on my plate better than he does what's on his. And sometimes he even looks like he enjoys it – he smiles and shit when I eat the damn vegetables. Fucking weird. And he bitches me at all the time about everything – the missions, the shifts, the food – because it doesn't fit his Jim-Kirk-safety-standard. He actually said that shit in front of me! And he even said it in front of Spock, which is even worse because Bones gave him an entire lecture on "the care and feeding of James T. Kirk" like I wasn't sitting between them to prevent bloodshed as usual and Spock actually listened."

"'S like he really cares about what happened to me y'know? And I dunno what I did to deserve that, 'cause I was a little shit to him. I insulted him. And his mom. Just after she'd been vaporized. And I hacked his test and I hit on his girlfriend. So it's like, anyone would just be really really happy for any excuse to boot me off the ship and he just listens and nods seriously and actually asks fucking questions when Bones tells him about all the ways he could get me killed and never even be suspected. 'Cause if anyone was able to drive a Vulcan to homicide, it'd be me. Mom said so."

The stretcher slips and he slides sideways, head lolling helplessly. Jim squints at the blob-thing looming closer and decides that his vision hasn't cleared up from earlier, if anything it's worse because he doesn't remember there being bright patches of color hovering over him earlier.

"But Spock never tried to kill me. After the first time, anyway. Sulu said that means he likes me, and Sulu's really good at making friends so he ought to know, right? Except it's me. And Spock. So I don't think it's gonna happen."

Breathe, cough, breathe. They grab hold of his knee and he checks out for a minute – vision gray and ears humming and all that shit. He comes to when they slap him across the face. Well. Saying they slap him makes it sound like a girl slapping her boyfriend. This is more like a kid ripping off the head of his doll.

"That knee is fucking broken, asshats, you shoved a sharp metal whatsit in there. Stop touching it, I can tell it's broken, I've had enough of those. Bones'll fix it for me. 'S what he does. He fixes broken things. Broken bones and spleens and Jims."

"I love him so much, you know? He doesn't need to put up with me, and he does, and he cares and I don't know what I've done to deserve him and just, I don't know, somehow he likes to spend time with me and take care of me and he's my best friend."

They roll him off the stretcher and the pain spikes so hard he nearly checks out again.

"Right now, I'm pretty sure even Chekhov's puppy eyes couldn't stop me from murdering you right now. And let me tell you, they're effective. Even Spock can't resist them. I always knew he was a big softie. Big ol' softie. You just hav'ta look at the old Spock to know. 'Cause he's really nice. He likes me and all. And like, he likes me because I'm Jim Kirk and not just because I was his friend and an awesome person in his universe. Said he liked me just 'cause I was a good person. Even if I'm not as great and not-fucked-up as his Jim Kirk."

He coughs and gurgles blood, gasping.

"So if Spock gets even half as great as Old Spock is, he's gonna be amazing. Even if we're never friends. It'd be nice if he liked me just, y'know, 'cause of me. Not 'cause of some other version of me who was a real nice guy."

He's cold. So fucking cold, and he's shaking. His hands are clenched and white and his teeth chatter. The world shivers and dissolves into a kaleidoscope of colors and still Jim talks on.

"Chekhov wanted to review the next star system. I told him no, 'cause they told us to explore this planet, and we went. And he was right, he was so fucking right, they're always right all the time 'cause they're all so fucking smart and I don't listen and I don't deserve them –"

"The kid's really, really good." He slurs when he awakes. "So fucking brilliant, he'd already gotten through the Academy at seventeen and he was amazing during the Narada battle. He caught Sulu and me when we were plummeting down to Vulcan and I never said thank you. But he was probably the only single person on that ship that could have pulled it off. And he managed to hide the ship too. I love that kid. When he says 'Keptin' I don't want to let him down. I don't want to let any of them down."

Every time he wakes again the world is just a little bit more fuzzy and slipping out of his reach. He feels like he's floating in a sea of abstract shapes and colors.

And every time he wakes he's already talking. Talking away, though his voice is rough and scratchy and he's so fucking tired and he just wants it all to stop.

"It's a good thing I have Scotty. I liked that dog – but Scotty fixes the ship. He fixes my messes. The ship's the only thing I have and he always, always fixes her. And he loves her. He gets that she's not just parts of metal, but she's got a heart. She's our home. My home, at least. And he takes such fucking good care of her. He could go anywhere, do anything with all his transwarp research and when I asked him he came on the Entreprise. Just like that." Jim smiles sloppily. He hopes it freaks out the aliens. "My crew's full of crazy bastards, and they're so awesome."

"Sometimes I love them so fucking much it hurts. Because people like me don't get to keep the good things. We only get to have them a little before they take them away. I'm so fucking scared I'll lose them. All of them."

"If Sulu were here – well, he wouldn't be here anymore. 'Cause he'd already been gone, see. He's a badass like that. A serious badass. He wouldn't let fucking alien-blobs take him hostage for God knows how many days already. How many fucking days has it been already?"

His voice is raw and barely intelligible. It hurts to speak but Jim just can't stop.

"I'm so fucking sick of you all. I think I'd even be glad to see Cupcake right now. He's an asshole, but he's a damn good security officer. They all are. And they're not allowed to die. I told them so. The red-shirts on the other ships can do what they want, but mine aren't allowed to croak."

"I wish Bones were here." He whispers, and the words physically hurt, rasping up through his throat, and echo in the weird space Jim hovers in. "I'd even let me hug him, if he were here. He tries to do it all the time, and I act like I don't like it, except I do. I really, really do. It's just weird, because I can't remember the last person who hugged me before I met Bones. I mean, I know someone must have hugged me when I was a kid, Sam maybe, but I don't remember. I used to hold the kids, but it was to keep them silent while the guards passed. I wasn't good at keeping them quiet, so I just gave them my rations so they'd stop crying. I tried so hard to keep them safe."

"I miss Uhura's voice," he says, his own voice trembling in exhaustion. "I'm so fucking tired of hearing you all creak and click at me. I'm so fucking tired of talking. I want to hear someone fucking talk to me, and Uhura's got the most amazing voice. She's got this inflexion that sounds like a drum, that resonates, and it never changes no matter what languages she speaks in. And when she speaks it's like listening to the softest of drum roll. She's such a fucking good Coms officer. She's the fucking best, because I only wanted the best on my ship."

"The best officers, the best medics, the best engineers, the best pilots. I've got the most fucking awesome crew ever, and an amazing ship. It's like with her even I can't go wrong, like we can go anywhere, everywhere, and never leave home."

"It's the greatest ship ever built." His voice cracks, and he tells himself it's because he's been speaking for probably days now and he's thirsty and his throat is probably bleeding and Bones will kill him, goddamit, Jim –

A tear leaks out of the corner of his eye.

"I want to go home." He whispers.

There's a stab of pain in his neck and suddenly his dreamy, cotton-soft world is ripped to shreds and he knows immediately something's wrong – he starts shaking, and within seconds he's in full-blown convulsions, and the pain crashes into him –

"I told you you were shit." He gasps. "Bones'd've known not t'give me that. Bones would've known..."

There's screaming, and pain shooting through his chest, and he arches up and everything disappears.

He's drifting, and there's a low rumble of noise above him. It's almost like voices, almost like someone talking to him, and he could weep from relief if he weren't so distant and detached from everything. Something strokes his brow, and he feels the hiss and press against his neck, before he sinks back under.

He comes to slowly, like he's swimming upwards through murky water. Everything is soft and muted and for a while he just lies there, not quite awake but halfway there. There's a soft hum, and a few beeps, and slowly he becomes aware that he can hear them because of the silence around him.

Blessed, blissful silence, he thinks as he realizes that for the first time in who knows how many days he isn't speaking. The lack of sound is like a soothing balm on his entire bruised, battered body.

He opens his eyes.

The ceiling swims into view, and for a few seconds that's it – until Jim's sluggish brain recognizes it as the sickbay one. He turns his head slightly and catches sight of a glorious image – sickbay, still a little blurry but free of all psychedelic colors and blessedly, wretchedly silent, save for the quiet beeps coming from his monitors.

Something clangs to the ground and rushed footsteps draw closer to his bed. He turns his head just in time to catch sight of Bones as he seizes the edge of the bed.

"Jim?"

His voice is small and scared, even through the haze of exhaustion and drugs weighing over Jim, and his face is wild and terrified and hopeful all at once, hair in a disarray and days-old stubble on his chin. His hands hover over Jim like he doesn't quite dare touch him and Jim may be exhausted, but he still can read Bones like a book.

"Bones." He croaks out, or rather tries, because what he gets is more like "bnz" after his voice breaks on the first sound. He coughs, and the world swims, but Bones' hands are immediately on his face, gently holding him down as he whispers, "Jesus Jimmy, don't try to talk. Just ride it out."

The coughing eventually tapers out and Jim cracks an eye open. Bones is hovering worriedly, and Jim looks at him and gives him his best wan, exhausted, and utterly sincere smile. Bones' shoulders immediately go down in a relieved slump, and he shakily cards a hand through Jim's hair. Jim just blinks and lies there, fuzzy but compliant and wholly content in basking in the affection.

"Jesus, Jim."

Bones' voice is shaking, too, and something stirs in Jim, hauling him out of complacency. He leans a little sideways, trying to catch a glimpse of Bones' face. When he does it's like a punch in the gut. Bones is crying, silently, tears running down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. Jim makes a wordless sound of distress and gropes for Bones' arm, but Bones startles and pushes his hands down, taking hold of Jim's shoulders and stopping him from rising off the bed.

"It's okay, Jim. It's okay. Shh, shh, it's fine, okay? I'm sorry. Everything's fine. Everything's fine. You're gonna be fine."

He runs a hand over his mouth, releasing Jim's shoulders, and when Jim does not move, blinking owlishly at him, he sinks down onto the bed next to Jim's hand and resumes carding his hand through Jim's hair. Jim can feel it trembling, occasionally closing on a few strands.

He drags his own hand up, and covers Bones' free hand, clenched in the fabric of his sheets. Bones gives a start, then closes his fingers around Jim's. It makes him feel a little more anchored, a little more here.

"Everything's fine." Bones continues, his eyes on Jim's and his hand sliding lower to cup Jim's cheek. "No one else is hurt, the ship's fine, I'm here. Okay?"

Jim nods a little. He still feels pretty out of it, but Bones seems to know what he wants to know, better than Jim does actually, because the thoughts are still coming at a snail's pace.

"We got you out." Bones continues, and Jim's eyes follow his Adam's apple, bobbing nervously. "You were hallucinating. A mix of drugs and a scorching fever. We couldn't do anything except let the drugs run their course and try to bring your fever down. And just when we thought we'd beaten the thing –" His breath hitches. "- You had an allergic reaction. You nearly slipped through our fingers again."

His accent is thick, and the words permeate Jim's brain slowly, lazily, like they're taking a stroll through the air before they translate into ideas, and when they do he just sort of tries to pat Bones' hand because he can't speak and even if he did, he's too drugged to think of anything. Bones looks back at him with wide wet eyes and makes a painful, choking sound and drags Jim up into a hug.

Jim's ribs hurt like fuck and there's a distant flare of pain in his knee, but Bone's shoulder is really comfortable so he rests his head against it contentedly and lets his friend hold him, shaking and stroking Jim's hair softly.

"Don't – don't do that again, kid, alright? Christ, do you have any idea how hard it was to – to just see you lying there, delirious and hallucinating, and all – all you could talk about was how your crew was awesome, how you loved us, how much you loved us all –" His grip tightens and Jim brings up a hand to vaguely pat his back and Bones makes the choking sound again and buries his face in Jim's hair. "I had to send half the nurses away, they were crying so hard; and the bridge crew came by, they were –"

He swallows.

"I think you broke Spock," he says, and gives a watery laugh, and Jim tips his head back slightly to look at him. "He stormed out of here so fast, I'm pretty sure he was crying."

Bones twists his head sideways and looks at Jim, his face so close Jim can feel his breath. He rests his forehead against Jim's and closes his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I know this is a lot to take in and you need to rest. Just – please – please stay, alright? Don't go away again. Not where we can't reach you."

Jim smiles sleepily at him as Bones lowers him down – carefully, like he's fragile, but also like he doesn't want to let go yet – onto his pillows. He has one hand at the back of Jim's head, placing it on the pillow, and Jim clumsily snatches it before Bones can pull it away.

"Bones," He says, taking great care to articulate though his throat is on fire and Bones' worried eyes are on him and he's already trying to quiet Jim. "Th'ks fer bringin' me home."

He slurs the last words, but Bones gets him, like he always does, and his whole face goes soft.

"Always, Jim," He says, sitting on the bed waiting for him to fall asleep and his eyes gentle. "Always."