Fic: Re-Animator, "Professional Conduct"

[severa]

Title: Professional Conduct
Fandom: Re-Animator
Pairing: Herbert West/Dan Cain
Rating: PG-13 (substance abuse, adult themes, swearing)
Word Count: 3752
Summary: Dan has to take care of Hebert as he goes through withdrawal from the re-agent. Some decidingly vanilla h/c.
A/N: Prequel to The Eye of the Storm, so only pre-slash. Muchas Gracias to wemblee for being my (hilarious) beta.



Herbert took in the shattered remains of his lab equipment and sighed. Dan had been home a couple days already while Herbert was kept at the hospital for his injures and police questioning. Surely, Dan had time to start at least some clean-up. No, he was probably too busy moping yet to be actually useful. The open refrigerator was the most disheartening. It was a reminder of how much of his re-agent Hill had stolen; how much more he'd have to make and with no equipment to start over with.

Herbert had then taken most of the supply from his room to pump into Hill, but he knew there was still a bottle of his weakened, personal-use solution. But that wasn't enough to experiment on a dead hamster with.

He had already gone two days without his injection. At least the painkillers and sedatives the hospital had him on dampened the usual side-effects. Unfortunately they also made his head feel heavy and stuffed with cotton. He needed to think, dammit. There was only one thing that could clear away the fog deadening his mind.

He trudged back out of the basement. The house was quiet. If Dan was home he probably wasn't keen on Herbert's company. Just as well. Herbert wasn't too keen on Dan either; wasting a full syringe on that ...girl.

As he opened the door to his room, his neck twitched as the hospital drugs began to fade and the first prick of pain flared at the back if his head.

Just in time. He opened the mini-fridge and blinked once. Then, again. And a third time just to be fully sure his eyes were, in fact, seeing correctly.

It was empty.

The little bottle of glowing green fluid was gone. He was certain he had left that one behind. Herbert's breath hitched as the pricking turned sharper, hotter.

"Dan?" Herbert called. He lurched towards the door and shouted down the hall. "Dan!" His own voice drove needles in his skull. Dan finally appeared, pale and red-eyed. "What did you do with it?" Herbert demanded through clenched teeth.

"With?" Dan looked at him properly. "Oh, I uh, had to get rid of it."

"You what?" Herbert's throat was tight. His voice coming out high and pinched.

"The police came to the house! If they saw that, they'd take it. I was trying to protect you."

"And you couldn't just hide it, you moron? Ah!" Tremors seized every muscle in Herbert's body. The headache turned into a knife buried to the hilt at the base of his skull, the point stabbing through his eyes. If he shed any tears they went unnoticed, mixing with the sweat running from his hairline.

Dan and the hallway blurred before him. His stomach lurched and everything went dark just before he hit the floor.

He saw it coming, the way Herbert's eyes unfocused and his knees buckled. But Dan's reaction time wasn't quick enough, and perhaps unmotivated. Herbert's shoulder slammed into the wall before he slid to the floor. Dan stared for a moment. Then the numbness that had enveloped him since Meg died started to seep from his limbs.

He went to his prone roommate's side, fingers reaching out for the carotid artery. The skin at his neck was slick with a thin sheen of sweat, the pulse beneath quick. Herbert's chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Dan, without further thought, slid his arms under Herbert's knees and shoulders, lifting him easily. Jesus, he's almost as light as Meg. The sudden and unwelcome comparison made his grip slip a little, but quickly recovered.

It was with some surprise Dan found himself having taken him to his own room, instead of Herbert's. He stopped at the edge of the bed. Somehow it seemed wrong to place Herbert there, the same bed Dan and Meg had shared, slept in, made love in.

But they were here now, to go back down the hall out of what, principle? Seemed ridiculous. Herbert shivered and flinched in his unconscious state. Dan set him down atop the covers. Hitting the mattress, Herbert turned on his side, curling up on himself. He looked all the smaller like that, like a sick, helpless child. Dan reached over to remove his glasses, and paused a moment to brush his fingers through damp hair.

He considered taking him back to the hospital. But then, how would Dan explain exactly what Herbert was withdrawing from? It would defeat Dan's purpose of ditching the reagent in the first place. Not to mention that any indication of drug abuse would worsen Herbert's chances of finishing school and continuing his medical career.

Dan bit his lip and thought quickly of what he was going to need to take care of Herbert on his own. He slid the waste bin to the edge of the bed, then left for the kitchen. With the sweating, fever, and nausea there was a great risk for dehydration. He filled a drinking glass from the tap. Back in the bedroom he placed it on the nightstand next to his framed picture of Meg.

Herbert's eyes were still squeezed shut. He shivered and whimpered, but it was hard to tell if he was conscious yet or not. His sweating was getting worse, his white shirt getting damp around the collar and under the arms. Dan had long suspected that if Herbert slept at all, he did so in a suit a tie. Dan reached and undid the knot. As he slid the tie from around his neck, Dan glanced back up to his face, certain that if he were aware, Herbert would protest the removal of his clothes.

Dan started on the shirt. With each button removed, though he tried to keep his mind and feelings professional, seeing Herbert as only another patient, he could not help but feel a twinge of discomfort and awkwardness at the intimacy in undressing his roommate. He pulled Herbert forward to peel off his sleeves and take the shirt away. There was a one long continuous bruise that wrapped around his stomach, and ribs, like a thick rope; dark and stark against his pale skin. Dan nearly gagged, remembering what had actually caused the injuries.

He sat him back down on the bed, limp as a rag doll. Dan hesitated at Herbert's belt and removed his shoes and socks instead.

Then, he undid the belt, having to grip his waist and pull his hips up to slide the leather out form under him. To undo the fastenings on his pants, Dan's knuckles brushed low against Herbert's stomach.

Herbert gasped and kicked out, nearly sending Dan off the bed. "Dan? What?" Herbert had curled up on himself again, jostled awake from all the handling. "It hurts," he ground out, clutching his head.

"I know... Just let me-"

Herbert started gagging and coughing. Dan rushed to maneuver him to other side of the bed where he had placed the trash can. But for all the noise and convulsions all that came out was a thin, sticky stream of bile and saliva. Idiot must have not eaten any of the hospital food.

The nausea passed and Herbert just lay where he was, slightly over the edge of the mattress.

Dan positioned him up to sit against the headboard. Herbert continued to moan and clutch at his head. Dan presented him with the glass of water. When Herbert didn't react right away he moved to help him drink. But Herbert snatched the glass then and glared. "I can do it." He drank only a couple sips and Dan took it back, afraid Herbert would spill.

"Why were you taking my clothes off?" Herbert asked, wrapping his arms around his chest.

"You're burning up, sweating everywhere. I need to cool you down."

"Nonsense, I'm freezing." His entire body shivered just to prove his point.

Dan felt his forehead again. Still hot. "You're cold because the sweat is drying on you."

Herbert tried squirming away from Dan's touch. "Just give me some aspirin. I'll be fine."

Dan was pretty sure Herbert couldn't take any pills for the pain without them coming immediately back-up. And told him so. "You're enjoying this aren't you?" Herbert snarled, but weakly. "Watching me suffer."

Dan took too long to deny it. "I'm only trying to help."

He scoffed. "You're punishing me."

"You know what? Fine. You can suffer on your own. I won't watch if that'll make you happy."

"No. Wait. Dan. I didn't mean-" Herbert reached for him, but resolute, Dan left, slamming the door behind him. He stood out in the hall, seething over Herbert's ingratitude. It could have just been the withdrawal talking, but deep down Dan knew there was truth in his rants.

He had only been out of the room for about thirty seconds when from within came a crash and the shattering of glass. Dan rolled his eyes. He had half a mind to let Herbert have his tantrum, and not give in to his childish games. The other half thought of broken glass and whether intentional or not, Herbert hurting himself and bleeding to death.

He was expecting to find the water glass having been thrown against a wall. Instead, the cup was on the floor, intact, lying in the spilled water. The noise had come from Meg's photo being knocked over, the glass in the frame having broken.

Herbert stared wide-eyed at him. "I didn't mean to."

"God dammit, Herbert."

"I just wanted the water. I'm not the one who put it right next to the picture."

Dan knelt, picking up the cup, the photo, and started collecting the little slivers of glass. If it was an accident, the cup and the photo should have fallen with the same force. That only one was damaged in the impact was suspicious. "I didn't do it on purpose," he reiterated, more defensive.

"It doesn't matter," Dan said. He tossed the bits of glass away, took the cup to refill, and placed the broken picture, face-down, in the nightstand drawer.

All in all, the first night wasn't that bad. It took a while get Herbert to sleep; he would constantly switch between wrapping himself in blankets for the chill, but then flinging them off because of the fever. It was a tedious display and Dan bore it, tried to keep him hydrated through the dry heaving.

Hours later, Dan was awoken by screaming. He sprung from the couch without even a moment to properly gain full consciousness. He rushed, stumbling into the bedroom. "Herbert?"

The shudders and spasms had evolved into full convulsions, Herbert's body jerking uncontrollably. His fingers clawed through his hair. Dan could see blood under his nails. Dan grabbed for his wrists. "Knock it off, you're hurting yourself."

Herbert made a sound like a growling whine and pulled away. Dan couldn't keep a grip, Herbert fighting him off and his skin so slicked with sweat. The previous day Herbert had been weak, but in this new mania he had found a surprising strength, desperate to escape. Again, Dan thought about calling the hospital. There they would have straps on the beds and IVs to keep him hydrated.

Although Herbert was lashing out with renewed vigor, Dan was still stronger and bigger. His own anger and frustration gave him the determination to hold on, locking Herbert's wrist together on the pillow above his head. He locked his legs under his roommate's, knees digging into Herbert's thighs. "I said, knock it off!"

Still, Herbert bucked and writhed under him, struggling. Finally, his muscles all relaxed at once and Herbert gasped. "If you want to kill me, do it already."

Dan shook his head. "Dammit, you're not well! I'm trying to help."

"Let me go! You can't stay like this all day."

Herbert tried to thrash again, but Dan held firm. For a mad moment Dan considered how they must look if someone came in on them: Herbert, half-naked and glistening with sweat, bucking under him... Dan looked away from Herbert's wet face and panting, open mouth. Doing so, he noticed on the floor the small pile of Herbert's clothes.

He let go, but keeping their legs locked and quickly grabbed the necktie. Herbert tried to take the advantage of the opportunity, but Dan was faster. He bound Herbert's wrists together with the strip of black material, then tied the end around a slot in the headboard. Dan silently thanked his years in Boy Scouts and hoped the tie would hold. That's when he remembered the belt. He scrambled off Herbert and the bed to find it.

Herbert kicked out, trying to repay some of the harm inflicted on him, pulling at the tie. Dan found the belt and wrapped it around Herbert's wrists, too, to reinforce the bindings. Herbert continued to shout and curse at him. Dan wasn't sure if he could effectively do something to his legs, so he decided to just stay out of kicking range.

He hoped that Herbert would wear himself out to something more manageable. He left the room and decided to take a shower.

He took a long shower. He had his own perspiration to wash off from his exertions along with what rubbed off from Herbert. Dan grimaced. The bedroom was getting pretty ripe. The sheets needed changing, Herbert needed a good wash... Dan closed his eyes, bowing his head to let the hot water help work-out his stiff neck. He could keep his professional distance. He could totally pretend that giving his roommate a sponge-bath was not going to be awkward at all. At all.

He ignored the shouting and thumping from his bedroom on the way to the kitchen. He made himself coffee and a sandwich and tried to regain some sense of sanity. He hadn't had the time for that in the past couple of days, hell the past week, month, whenever the hell it was Herbert West showed up on his doorstep. There were times it all seemed so unbelievable. Dan didn't believe it, despite living it.

It was all madness. He didn't want to be crazy. He just wanted to be grounded in reality. He needed reality. His mind couldn't handle the walking dead anymore. It could handle a withdrawal patient, though. That was safe. That was normal.

Finished with his breakfast or lunch, he didn't know what time it was, Dan decided he was ready to check on Herbert again. Nothing could be heard from the hall. Dan wasn't sure to be encouraged or worried by that. He opened the door a crack to peek in.

Herbert was still. The sheets and blankets had been kicked off onto the floor during his struggles. His arms were stretched taut above his head. The tie and belt had not relented.

Dan stepped into the room. "Herbert?" He could see now that Herbert was trembling, and that the soft sounds from him were sobs. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling as heavy tears fell freely down his face. He only focused on Dan once Dan sat next him and placed a hand on his carotid artery.

Herbert's dry, cracked lips moved, but Dan heard only the faintest of scratchy whispers. "What?"

"Make. It. Stop."

Stop? The pain? The shaking? The tears? Everything? No, even in this state, Herbert thought too much of himself for that route.

Convinced that Herbert was truly docile for the moment, he carefully undid the makeshift restraints, rubbing at his wrists to help facilitate the return of circulation. The skin around them was red and likely to darken into blue and purple later. Herbert hissed as blood returned, and his arms were moved from their overstretched position. They'd be extra sore later, too. Dan actually felt a little sorry for it.

"Uhm, Herbert, it's starting to get a little rank in here, so I, uh, I'm going to get a couple towels and water and... I'm sure you'll feel better, too, if you let me ah-" He suddenly, desperately needed Herbert's consent. But Herbert had closed his eyes, turned his face away, and only moaned softly in response. Well, if he wasn't entirely cognizant, maybe that'd be better. Spare at least one of them the embarrassment.

"You're trying to be a goddam doctor," Dan muttered to himself in the bathroom, grabbing a clean wash cloth and towel. He took a large bowl from the kitchen, tossed a bar of soap in it and filled it with lukewarm water. Without spilling, he made it his way back to the bedroom. Herbert's breathing had evened out. He twitched occasionally in a fitful sleep, dreaming of God knew what.

Dan sat on the bed, soaked the wash cloth and started at Herbert's head and face, sweeping over forehead, brow and gently around the eyes. He retraced his strokes with the dry towel. Neck and shoulders next, slow and gentle, trying not to wake him. When Dan made a broad stripe down his chest and stomach, Herbert's lips parted in a quiet gasp, and his body arched slightly into the touch.

Dan snatched his hand away quickly like a burned man. He looked up at Herbert's face and swallowed thickly. Herbert slept on.

The sweat-soaked pants still had to be removed. Button, zip, and Dan pretended his fingers weren't ever so slightly shaking. He stood at the end of the bed and easily slid the pants off by the cuffs of each leg, leaving Herbert only in his underwear.

All of it, "Doctor" Cain, Dan scolded himself.

Well, just because he had a man stripped naked in his bed didn't mean he had to stare at the other guy's junk nor dive in with the soap and water right away. He studiously started again at his hips and down each leg. He reached the feet and toes, and prayed Herbert wasn't ticklish. Finally, he made quick work of the groin area, fiercely reminding himself that it was okay to touch your unconscious roommate's dick as long as you had something covering your hand and he was your Patient, patient, patient.

Dan slowly turned Herbert over on his stomach, revealing a man-sized dark spot of dampness, yellowing as it dried. With less sensitive areas to deal with, he finished the wash hurriedly. He crossed the hall to Herbert's room and brought back a sheet from the other bed to wrap Herbert in before picking him up. Herbert muttered a sleepy protest and nuzzled closer into Dan's neck. If he didn't know Herbert was actually sound asleep, not aware of what he was doing, Dan probably would have dropped him.

He deposited Herbert back in his own room, and left to put clothes and bedding in the laundry.

Everything hurt. Not a sharp, intolerable pain coursing through every vein, but a deep ache in every muscle making him feel heavy and useless. His head throbbed dully, blood sluggish in his ears. It was like having the flu. He opened his eyes slowly, his lashes resisted, gummed together with salt.

He was in his bedroom. His lips stuck together a little as well as he pried them apart to take a deep breath. He grimaced, his mouth tasted bitter and foul, worse than any normal morning breath. What time was it?

The door opened and Dan poked his head in. He actually smiled at seeing Herbert awake. Dan shouldn't have been smiling, especially not at him. It was worrying.

"How're you feeling?" Dan asked, sitting on the bed.

Finding his throat tight and dry, Herbert only managed a grunt in answer.

"You're looking better, anyway." Dan put the back of his hand on his forehead making Herbert feel all the more like a child home sick from school. Dan moved his fingers down to the pulse at his neck. "Think you can take some water?"

He thought he'd rather swallow a glass of Listerine.

"Come on." Dan slid his arms around his shoulders and helped him to sit-up. Herbert would have commented on the manhandling, but hadn't found his voice yet.

He eagerly accepted the glass of water Dan proffered, but was mindful to take it slow. When he finally felt like his throat wasn't lined with sandpaper he was going to ask what exactly was wrong with him, but a far more important question presented itself. "Where are my clothes?"

Dan blushed and ducked his head. "Ah, what exactly do you remember of the last few days?"

Herbert's eyes widened in alarm. Few days? What day was it, then? Why didn't he remember and where were his clothes?

Dan, clearly reading his expression, fidgeted before continuing. "It's Saturday now. What do you last remember?"

"I remember being released from the hospital. But that was Tuesday."

"And that's it?"

Herbert closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the wall. There were some dim, swimming images and sensations, but nothing concrete. It all felt somehow as something detached from him. What he could remember clearly was, "I came home. We fought." He said it like it was the everyday occurrence it practically was. Just part of the routine.

"Think. What were we fighting about?"

"The lab was a mess. My formula-" His eyes popped open. "The re-agent! You- I-"

Dan nodded. "The withdrawal hit you pretty hard. You're not entirely well yet, obviously, but we're through the roughest part. Nothing a little tough love couldn't handle." He patted Herbert's bare shoulder.

Herbert stared at him. "'Tough love?'"

Dan flushed deeper and cleared his throat. "Uhm, I'll let you rest or get dressed or whatever."

Herbert blinked at the blurry space Dan had quickly evacuated. Days missing from his mind, except some half-remembered fever dreams. Dan being flustered, and Herbert naked. He pulled the bed sheet up around his shoulders, frowning deeply. Whatever happened Herbert might never recall and Dan wasn't talking. For the sake of his sanity and dignity, maybe that was for the best.

Herbert squinted harder at his surroundings wishing Dan could have at least told him where his glasses were before he ran out the door.