Rob Thurman - Blackout

There wasn’t much I could say about that as I didn’t know if it was true or not. But when the amnesia was gone and it turned out not to be true, I was kicking Niko’s ass—the very one I saved right then. While the last three spiders came swarming down the walls and simultaneously launched themselves toward us, I ignored them.

Instead, I slammed a boot into Niko’s ribs, throwing him off-balance for a second as that evil refrigerator spider popped its bloated body out, leaping as fast, injured or not, as the other spiders. Thanks to my kick, it barely missed Nik except for a furrowing of its claws at the end of one leg across the back of Niko’s thigh. I hoped there was no venom there, only repulsive spider cooties. As Niko lifted the katana to chop his attacker in several hundred parts, I shot the last three spiders, thinking that I was concentrating all right, but Niko wasn’t, not on what he should’ve been—himself. Brothers were supposed to watch each other’s backs. It sounded like something from that brother handbook I mentioned before. But besides watching his back, you had to watch yourself too or you wouldn’t be around to read the rest of the handbook. “Work on your concentration there, Leandros. I might have lost my mind, but the killing part of me works just fine.”

“It’s Niko, and, yes, that was fortunate, the venom affecting what you use the least,” Niko said with not much gratitude. If I found this elusive handbook, I might smack him in the head with it.

I waited cautiously, but there were no more spiders. I relaxed enough to wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. It was over, and through it all, the worst thing that could’ve happened didn’t happen. Not one of those bastards touched the TV on the wall—that damn magnificent TV. Now that was luck.

Fifteen minutes later I wasn’t feeling as lucky.

Niko was lying on his stomach on his bed. His pants were off, his underwear was … you know; let’s not go there. Who cares? Underwear is underwear. Boxers versus briefs? Did we need commercials here? No, we did not. Beside him on the bed was our first-aid kit/hospital-in-a-box. “You seriously want me to bandage that?” I asked warily. There hadn’t been any venom, but the gash from the claw was four inches across the back of his upper thigh, ragged, not deep, yet a breeding ground for all sorts of killer monster spider germs. What did you put on killer monster spider germs? Hydrogen peroxide? Acid? Cut off the leg?

“It’ll be difficult to reach myself.” Niko was doing his best to see over his shoulder as there was no mirror in his room to catch the reflection. Because I didn’t like mirrors very much and when he wasn’t lunging under the nearest form of public transportation under the delusion it would save my life, he also kept his room reflection free in deference to my delicate psyche. First there was Doctors without Borders and now we had Brothers without Brains. Self-preservation meant nothing to him, when it came to me at any rate.

My hands were already opening a bottle of Betadine and a packaged brush. Good for them. If they knew what to do, I’d sit back and let them drive. “Yeah,” I commented dubiously, “but you’re … you know … a guy.”

“I’m your brother . We discussed this so thoroughly before the spiders attacked that even my attention span was challenged,” he semi-snapped. At the loss of temper, which some part of me recognized as a sign of a good deal of pain on his part, I automatically reached for a bottle of pain pills, prescription strength and illegally obtained—go team. I’d seen both our scars. Tylenol didn’t cover that level of boo-boo.

“True, and brothers are guys,” I pointed out. A thirteen-hour car ride with that horny-ass puck would spook anyone. If I could’ve picked the day I forgot, that one would’ve been it, but no. Goodfellow said he was monogamous—yeah, he said , but that didn’t keep him from telling tales of the nonmonogamy days. That and his great love of a challenge—there was no mountain he couldn’t climb and no dick he couldn’t get to do the same. That was when I tried to kick out the back window of the car. In a perfect world, I would’ve made it out. No such luck.

“Buddha, I wish the spider had killed me instead. Never mind. I’ll manage it myself.” He started to push himself up, sounding tired and in pain, with a massive desire to smack me in the head. He also sounded resigned. It wasn’t a good mix, not to mention so complicated that I was surprised I could pick up on that many emotions. Could be I was one of those sensitive guys all the women wanted. Then I thought about that first T-shirt, EAT ME (BEFORE I EAT YOU). Nope. That didn’t sound sensitive.

Well, fuck. Whatever I was, sensitive or an ass, he was family, and it seemed family trumped T-shirts.

“No. Wait. I’ll do it. It’s what brothers do and that means I do it.” I might not have sounded fully confident, but he settled back down on the bed after a glance to see if I meant it.

“It’s hardly that big a deal,” he said, laying his head on folded arms. “Especially considering I changed your diapers when you were a baby.”

“Jesus Christ!” I dropped the bottle of pills to roll in a circular pattern on the floor. “Don’t say that! That took this to the weirdest place ever. What the hell’s wrong with you?” I bent down to pick up the bottle and thought about winging it at his head to see if that helped his pain any, but I didn’t. I pushed diaper images to the farthest corner of my mind—weirdest fucking place ever —and did my best to get on with the task at hand.

Eventually pills were passed out; one was accepted and one sent back. You can’t nobly overcome suffering if you’re not suffering to begin with. I didn’t see myself falling in that category. If it had been me, I thought, I’d have wolfed both down. Inflicted pain was one thing much better to give than receive. I cleaned the wound thoroughly with a brush, then peroxide, applied an antibacterial ointment, bandaged it, and gave two shots—one of Benadryl in case of a mild allergic reaction, with epinephrine on hand in case of a more severe one, and an antibiotic shot. I didn’t know where that spider claw had been, but soaking in a footbath full of rose petals was not my first guess.

I did all that. It would’ve been impressive if my brain had been more involved on the conscious level, but my body and my subconscious weren’t waiting for me to catch up. This came from the kind of practice of something you do more than once.

Time and time again.

What a crazy fucking business, but we were in it and, from the number of scars we both had, we had been for a while. Saving the innocent and killing the wicked, the evil, and the big-ass vermin; it was more entertaining than working at the diner, despite what I’d said back then. For supernatural cops, as for normal cops, getting hurt was going to be a possibility—or in our case, a sure thing. We’d survived so far or I wouldn’t be standing here still trying not to think about the diaper thing.

Talk about evil—as it turned out, Niko could pull his weight there if he had to. I knew he’d said that on purpose, knowing what my reaction would be. Knew it.

I started to give him crap over it, but his noble suffering had turned into sleep. Eh, I’d get him later then. I wasn’t about to let him one-up me. Hmm. That must be a brother thing too. I gathered together all the supplies. I took a blanket from the end of his bed, covered him and left his door open. When things were slithering into your home on a regular basis, it was best to hear them coming.

In the kitchen I could see where the spiders had gotten in. There was a circular hole in the top window, about two feet across. It was perfectly cut, as if with a diamond-tipped tool instead of a sharp spider claw. They must have used their web to prevent the glass from falling and then they had their doggy door.