i'm fine.

It isn't the nights when Jim screams that Leonard has to worry about.

Even though the twisting and contorting and dry-screaming scare him, scare him horribly, McCoy has learned to sleep through it. Now the soft sobs from Jim's throat are like a dull roar or white noise that the twenty-first century people used to help them sleep. Now he doesn't worry and rant about back health when he goes to pull Jim out of bed and he is twisted in a way that anyone except Jim wouldn't be able to do.

The first week was the worst. McCoy spent nearly every night by his bed, waking him up and reassuring him every time a nightmare began. Jim would just blink up at him, each night becoming more and more tired and aggravated, and tell him that It's fine, Bones, stop worrying. Go back to sleep. I'm fine.

McCoy first started to hate those words that week.

It took weeks for them to settle into an easy habit or Leonard ignoring the easy nightmares, and making some kind of 'accidental' noise to wake the golden-haired cadet during the worst. Jim always woke with the same words on his lips, every time.

I'm fine.

But it wasn't those nightmares that scared Leonard. They were scary, yeah, and McCoy got why Jim never stayed with a girl at night, or with a guy, because Jim wasn't picky about who he fucked, only that he did. The screams were bad enough, but Jim's bedmate would probably wake up with a black eye and at least three bruises.

McCoy always did, those nights when he clambered into bed with Jim to help calm him down. It worked, sometimes. Other times he had to give up and make his way back to his own mattress, for fear of Jim leaving a bruise that he would see.

No, the loud nightmares weren't the scary ones. They weren't the ones that had Leonard dry-sobbing in fear and desperation for Jim to just wake the hell up, please, Jim, wake up already.

It was the ones where Jim didn't scream or move at all the terrified him.

They started the same, small murmurs that grew in crescendo to whimpers, but never above a whisper. Then the sweating would start, as if his body automatically associated moaning with heat. Sometimes that stage was skipped, and went right into the one that scared Leonard the most.

Jim's face would twist up in a soundless snarl, emitting a scream that would never be heard.

If Leonard listened closely, he could hear the pleading and words that were just barely said.

I'm fine.

He didn't listen.

On those nights, Leonard stayed up until the sun rose and Jim relaxed again, or inasmuch as he ever relaxed, and he could grab a few hours' sleep.

Those were the days that he was extra mean to Jim, hoping that every bit of normalcy would jolt him back into the normal terrors.

On days like that, he had to reschedule all his surgeries, because his hands shake too badly with the urge to punch whoever scarred Jim like this to do any kind of operation, except maybe with an axe.

Leonard doesn't think that Jim knows about those nights. He wants to keep it that way. If he ever found out, he would request a new room, because Jim couldn't stand to have someone see what he, himself, perceived as weakness.

And always, always, he would say those thrice damned words, I'm fine, Bones.

I'm fine.

Let me know what you think—this was one of those horrible plot bunnies that I will probably take down tomorrow. It's eleven fifteen at night right now, and I'm tired, but this wouldn't leave me alone. Any and all feedback much appreciated! XD

Also-I'm looking for a beta. Let me know if you're interested! :)

Jayme.