Chapter Text
“Dex, will you sing to me?”
Dex pauses, gives a long-suffering sigh, and then keeps walking Nursey up the stairs towards their room.
“For the millionth time, Nurse, we’re not Ransom and Holster, and not every pair of D-men have to be best friends, and I’m not going to fucking sing to you. Jesus. It’s not even your birthday or anything. Just – let me get your drunk ass into bed in peace for once, okay?”
I’m not even that drunk, Nursey thinks as Dex shifts them a little so he can get their door open one-handed, keeping his other arm firmly around Nursey. He stays quiet, though. He's learned by now that it's best to just go with it when Dex is on Nursey Patrol, since he's been known to get all huffy if Nursey tries to so much as walk by himself after he’s had a few drinks. It's kind of annoying, but, well, maybe that's what Nursey gets for spilling things on the dude so often.
Dex guides him towards the bottom bunk and pulls out a couple of Altoids from Nursey’s bedside drawer (some very taxing trial and error had been involved, but eventually they realized that getting Drunk Nursey to brush his teeth was a recipe for disaster. Breath mints or some gum made dealing with his hangover easier in the morning, though). Nursey obediently pops them in his mouth and lies down as Dex finds the Advil and puts two on the bedside table, then takes the cup that’s there and goes to the bathroom to fill it.
“Does that mean you’ll sing on my birthday?” Nursey asks, knowing that he’s pushing his luck. Right now, Dex is just his usual levels of post-kegster tired and grumpy, but he’s been known to flip out suddenly. Especially when Nursey is involved.
But Dex doesn’t snap. Instead, he comes back into the room, places the cup next to the Advil, and sighs. “Go to sleep, Nursey,” he says, looking worn out all of a sudden.
Nursey frowns a little. “Okay,” he says, watching as Dex moves around the room, carefully placing his snapback on a shelf, taking off his flannel and undershirt and pulling on the Samwell #24 t-shirt he sleeps in.
And maybe he should just leave it, but, well, he was never good at letting things be. “You know,” he says, “I’m not asking just to annoy you.”
Dex turns around, looking at him. “What?”
“The singing thing.” Dex is frowning at him now, the furrow between his brows making an appearance. Nursey continues. “You never asked why I keep asking you to sing to me, but it’s not because I want to annoy you.” Well, not just because he wants to annoy him. He’s a simple guy with simple needs, all right?
Dex walks towards the bunk bed, a wary look on his face. “Okay, then – why?”
Suddenly Nursey isn’t at all sure that this was a good idea. He got himself into this mess, though, so he might as well get himself out of it. Or dig yourself in deeper, his mind helpfully supplies. Shush, Nursey tells himself. “It helps me go to sleep. The singing.”
The look on Dex’s face is golden. If only Nursey wasn’t lying down, and slightly drunk, and with his phone probably somewhere deep within the gross green couch downstairs, he would totally be taking a picture right now.
“...Oh,” is all Dex says, though.
“Yeah,” Nursey says, because what the hell, right? “My mom used to sing me to sleep when I was sad, or after a long day. At Andover sometimes I would call her at night and she’d sing to me over the phone. Later on I’d usually just listen to music instead – calling my mom became embarrassing at some point, you know?”
“Sure,” says Dex, still looking completely baffled.
“So anyway,” Nursey continues, still not totally sure why on earth he’s telling Dex all this (alcohol, he tells himself. Alcohol is why), “that’s the reason. You want me to go to sleep so bad, maybe give it a shot.”
Dex stares at Nursey for a long moment without saying anything.
Then: “Okay.”
Nursey almost falls out of bed. "What?"
“Okay,” Dex repeats, coming closer. “You’re right, I never asked why. I keep telling you to go the fuck to sleep, so I might as well do something to help. It’s not like I want to be kept up all night by your drunken ramblings, you know. Mind if I sit here?”
He stands near the edge of Nursey’s bed, waiting.
“Um,” says Nursey. “Sure, man.” He watches as Dex takes a seat at the foot of his bed, carefully not touching Nursey or moving his blankets more than necessary.
“All right,” Dex says once he’s settled. “What’ll it be? Any particular Mama Nurse specialties?”
And isn’t that a terrifying thought. Dex, Ultimate White Boy Dex, mangling the soft Arabic of Nursey’s childhood lullabies, sung by his mom in her own mother’s native tongue. Rubbing his whiteness all over it.
Like hell I’m letting you colonize that, Nursey thinks, and some of it must show on his face, because Dex quickly backtracks.
“Okay, yeah, let’s not have me ruin your childhood memories and shit, good thinking.” He pauses, then nods decisively. “Poindexter family tunes it is, then. Fair warning, though, all of my mom’s music is, like, singer-songwriters from the seventies. Prepare yourself for a shit ton of John Denver.”
Dex clears his throat. “And don’t expect this to sound especially good, dude, I’ve been awake for, like, twenty hours.” He looks over at Nursey like he expects that to be a problem, which – what?
“No worries, Poindexter,” Nursey says, still not quite sure he’s not imagining this whole situation. He’s pretty sure he he only had two beers, but what other explanation is there for… whatever this is?
“Okay,” Dex says, takes a deep breath, and starts singing.
"Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine, I’ll taste your strawberries, I’ll drink your sweet wine…”
And Dex was right: his voice is scratchy, overused and tired, nothing like Mom’s soft croon. Dex is clearly uncomfortable, too, not looking at Nursey, not looking anywhere, fiddling with Nursey’s bedspread like it’s got a secret hidden within it that he wants to uncover. I know what that feels like, Nursey thinks, unbidden. Where had that come from? Where had Dex come from?
“A million tomorrows shall all pass away, ere I forget all the joy that is mine, today…”
“Wow, Poindexter,” Nursey says, hating himself just a bit for interrupting but unable to stop himself. “Big words. ‘Ere’,” he adds, laughing a little. Better to laugh than to focus on the situation. Dex, his grumpy, strait-laced frenemy, singing to him, the tune sweet and sad and soothing all at once.
Dex glares at him, finally looking at Nursey instead of literally everywhere else, but, for some unfathomable reason, keeps going.
"I can’t be contented with yesterday’s glory, I can’t live on promises winter to spring...”
And now he’s looking at Nursey, like, at him at him, which is really fucking unnerving. His gaze is intent, but there’s none of his usual anger or frustration. There’s something soft there, which is not a word that Nursey would ever have thought to associate with Dex.
"Today is my moment, and now is my story. I’ll laugh, and I’ll cry, and I’ll sing.”
Dex trails off. Keeps looking at Nursey for a long moment. Looks down at his hands holding onto the bedspread. Lets go.
“Well, hope that helped, Nurse,” he says, getting up. “And never let it be said that Samwell defensemen don’t have each other’s backs, right?”
He’s looking at Nursey again. It’s honestly a little concerning.
“Right,” Nursey says, on the off-chance that that wasn’t a rhetorical question. “Um – thanks, Dex. I – “
“Whatever,” Dex says, cutting him off. He goes to turn off the lights and climbs up to the top bunk.
Then, voice soft: “Night, Nursey.”
“Night, Dex,” Nursey echoes. “Sweet dreams.”