Work Text:
Jim stumbled forward. His feet dragged against the rough pavement, too heavy to be raised, to step over any uneven ground; he found himself flying off in different directions every time his toes caught some sort of root or pothole, his arms shooting out to protect himself, before he crashed into a sign or wall or unidentifiable object in the dark.
Jim swayed. His body slumped forward, his head lolled side to side, and his legs threatened to give way beneath him. There was an ache behind his eyes, a thumping in his head, and a sharp, painful stabbing against his eardrums. It made his head feel as heavy as his failing feet. Maybe even heavier. It dropped forward, weighing him down, and he floundered to balance himself.
He thought it would help. The night out. The laughter. The games. The drinks. Anything to erase Spock’s broken face from his sight, to stop hearing his screams; his cries… Fuck, they were t’hy’la, and he had destroyed him.
Jim slammed against the wall, pressed his hand against his mouth, and choked on his sobs. Everything hurt and he deserved it. He deserved it all. His knees finally gave way, he collapsed onto the floor, and his head lolled against the pavement. His head couldn’t stop crashing. Why wouldn’t it stop crashing? Tears blurred his vision, or were they floaters? Jim was too far gone to tell. All he felt was pain. Pain that he had brought onto himself. Pain that he deserved.
Something eased him from the ground. Strong arms raised him upright, supported his back, and caressed him. Jim stumbled into a chest, clutched onto a shirt, and buried his head. A soothing hand brushed through his hair, and talked softly into his hair. He couldn’t hear nor understand what the voice was saying, yet he knew that he was safe. That he would bring him home. Jim closed his eyes and slept.