Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Day 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

It has been a long hot day full of training. Jason made them sweat all day long, all of them nearing exhaustion now. The last torture of the day was the O-course in full gear. They all made it, not near anyone’s best time, but they still reached the finish line.

Finally, Jason is satisfied and tells the team to go get rid of their gear and take that long overdue shower. Arriving in their cage room, they all grab one of the cold waters from the fridge, gulping them down while discarding their gear in their cages.

Sonny and Clay are the first ones out of the door, heading for the shower room, closely followed by Jason and Ray.

“You coming?” Trent looks at Brock in his cage, who only packed his gear away but doesn’t look like he is going to the showers.

“In a moment. I have to check on Cerberus first, make sure he has enough to drink and to tell the kennel master to check his paws for blisters.”

Trent gives a short chuckle. “Sure. But remember, you have to drink, too. And you need that shower. You reek.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Brock waves him off, closes his cage and follows Trent out of the door of their cage room. He turns in the opposite direction and heads for the kennels to make sure his K9 partner is well taken care of.

Trent just shakes his head. He knows his best friend; knows he won’t relax or look after himself before he is satisfied that his dog is ok. Even before entering the shower room, Trent can hear the laughter and bantering from his teammates, Sonny being the loudest of all. Entering the room, the other four are already in the different stalls, water running in all of them, joking loudly with each other. He is surprised that they have enough energy to fool around. He himself feels utterly exhausted and just wants to soak in the water to loosen his muscles.

Entering one of the stalls, he slowly undresses, letting his dust- and sweat-soaked fatigues drop into one crumpled pile on the floor. He turns on the water and steps into the spray, savoring the warm stream running down his body, feeling his tight muscles relax while he listens to his brother’s banter.

When the water starts to cool, he makes quick work of shampooing and washing off the rest of the grime. Stepping out of the shower, he towels himself dry. All of his brothers have finished their showers, all in various states of undress, and already discussing evening plans.

Sonny is talking Clay into coming to the Bulkhead with a little help from Jason. Ray has already excused himself for the evening, having to be home to look after the kids for Naima to go to a school thing he can’t remember. Finally, Clay agrees to come and Sonny turns his attention to Trent.

“You coming, too, right?”

A beer at the Bulkhead is not out of the question, but an early evening on his couch sounds tempting, too.

“I don’t know…” Trent looks around for Brock’s opinion, not seeing him in any of the showers. “Where is Brock?”

Sonny looks around, so do the others.

“Huh.” Clay looks concerned. “I haven’t seen him in here.”

“He wanted to look after Cerb before showering, but that was…” Trent checks his watch. “Wow, nearly 45 minutes ago. He should be here already.”

They all share a concerned look and as if on an unseen signal they all rush to the door. Trent reaches their cage room first. Pushing the door open with more force than he meant to, he scans the empty room for his missing brothers. He already starts to turn back to head for the kennels, when Clay’s shout has him stop and turn back.

“Brock! Oh, shit.” Clay rushes past Trent, pulling him along, the other three a little slower but following.

Brock sits crumbled in the corner of his cage, eyes closed, unmoving. Trent slides to his knees next to him and tries to wake him up.

“Brock, hey buddy.” Trent gives him a firm sternal rub that gets him a low groan. He taps Brock’s cheeks, checks for a pulse and breathing. “Skin is hot and dry, pulse is fast and faint, breathing is shallow and fast. Clay, grab my bag. Sonny, help me get him out of here so we have more space. Ray call medical, tell them to bring a gurney.”

His brothers all rush to heed his orders. Sonny takes Brock’s feet while Trent grabs him under the arms, and they drag him out of his cage. Clay drops Trent’s bag next to him and Trent gets everything to start an iv-line and push fluids in.

“Jason, Clay, strip him to his boxers. Sonny, get water, cold if possible, we have to cool him down."

While the others work, Trent connects the first bag of fluids with the iv-line and lets the fluids rush into his brother. Working hand in hand Jason and Clay take only a few minutes to get Brock’s clothes off of him. Trent exchanges the already empty first bag of fluids just as Sonny arrives with a bucket of water and a few towels. Jason and Clay have already stripped Brock of his fatigues and start to help Sonny wet the towels and cover him with them. As the cool towels touch the hot and dry skin, Brock starts to stir, slowly trying to remove the uncomfortable cold against his skin.

“Easy, brother.” Trent squeezes Brocks shoulder softly, gently holding him down, making sure the iv-line stays in place.

Brock opens his eyes, blinking several times before he can focus on his brothers.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Trent holds his thumb and index finger in front of Brocks face.

“At least two. Where am I?” Brock’s voice is dry, cracked and he lifts his head a little to look around, trying to find out why he is lying on the floor in their cage room. “What happened?”

“You swooned in your cage, princess.” Sonny’s drawl betrays how worried he still is about his brother.

“Didn’t swoon.” Brock closes his eyes again, letting his head fall back to the floor. “Might have passed out.”

Trent chuckles. “Whatever you want to call it, you scared the living shit out of us. Don’t do that to us again!”

Brock just nods, still not opening his eyes again.

“Brock, how much did you drink today?”

At Trent’s question, Brock furrows his brows, trying to think back over the day. “Not sure… Probably not enough.”

Ray arrives with two paramedics and a gurney, and with the opening of the door Brock finally opens his eyes again.

“Hell, no.” Brock shakes his head when he sees them entering, sitting up a little, but already feeling dizzy.

“Hell, yes.” Trent answers. “You passed out in your cage. You have had a heat stroke. You need to go to the infirmary and probably stay there overnight for observation. No point arguing.”

“Oh, come on. I’m just a little dehydrated.” Brock tries to argue but he is cut off, this time by Jason.

“No, Brock. Go get checked out. Or I’ll sideline you.”

“Fine.” Brock gives in, lying back down.

The medics have watched the argument with amusement. They already know the guys from Bravo, know they only agree to go to the infirmary if ordered. Just like all the other Tier One operators. Trent gives them an update on what happened and how much fluid he has already given Brock. They help an embarrassed Brock to the gurney, leaving him covered in wet towels, and make their way to the base infirmary.

The rest of Bravo watch them leave with Brock, all shaking their heads.

“I need a drink.”

They all look at Trent, not believing that statement came from him. They all expected him to follow Brock, not letting him out of his sight.

“I need a drink. Then I’ll get him some fresh clothes and check on him at the infirmary.”

They all agree, smiling. Jason slings his arm around Trent’s shoulder and guides him out of the cage room.

“Let’s all finish dressing first and then we head to the Bulkhead. First round is on me.”

Chapter Text

Day 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

Clay can clearly remember the exact moment when shit hit the fan.

Jason’s whispered “Execute, execute.” came over the comms and Clay started picking off the hostiles to clear a path for his brothers to make entry, only to be thrown backwards into the wall of the collapsing building he chose for his sniper perch. He heard the frantic voices of his brothers, calling for status but he was unable to answer before he was pulled into darkness.

Waking up here is… disorientating to say the least. He has no idea where “here” is, exactly.

As far as he can see he is in a small room with no furniture, whitewashed stone walls and a tiled floor. There are no windows, just artificial light from above, too far away to reach. He can’t see a door either, but is sure there is one. How else did he get in the room?

He is surprised to find that he is not wearing his fatigues anymore, all his gear is gone too. Instead he is wearing lint green scrubs, no socks, no shoes.

He is clean, too. No dirt under his fingernails, no dust on his bare arms, his feet are clean and his hair feels damp as if it is freshly washed. He doesn’t feel clean, though. When he touches his clean skin on his arms, he gets an odd sensation, like they are still full of dirt and grime, but they are not.

As far as he can assess, he didn’t suffer any injuries from the blast, which surprises him. He was thrown half way through the room and into a wall, after all. But he can move everything with only minimal aches and pains, his limbs are all still firmly attached to him and there seem to be no bones displaced.

Clay sits himself up and looks around the small room, checks the walls for cracks. He doesn’t find cracks but he does find a few cameras in the room, all of them out of his reach. He leans against one of the walls, arms loosely draped around his bent knees.

There is nothing he can do here but wait to be rescued. He just hopes his brothers weren’t taken as well or, even worse, killed by the explosion.

As there is nothing for him to do at the moment but hope that his brothers will find him soon, he decides to try and rest, conserve his strength, maybe even get some sleep. He puts his head down on his knees and closes his eyes, concentrating on slowing his breathing and nodding off.

“I knew you would end up like this. A total disgrace. Not only for me, but the entire Navy.”

Clay is woken by a sharp voice he knows only too well.

“And you thought you could erase my footsteps.” The voice sneers, dangerously close.

Snapping his eyes open, Clay sees his father towering over him. He tries to scramble backwards but he is already sitting against the wall, so there is nowhere to go. Trying to push himself up on his feet, he is restrained by the hands of his father, who pushes him back down to the floor.

“How did you get in here?” he manages to get out.

“Not as observant as you think you are, are you? Sleeping on the job when you should be on high alert! And you call yourself a SEAL.” Ash shakes his head in disgust, spits on the floor, just missing Clay’s left hand. “And they call me the PNG.”

Clay still can’t figure out how his father entered the room. Scanning the tiny room again, he still can’t see a door or any other way his father could have entered. And he wasn’t sleeping, just resting. He would have heard a door opening, someone entering. He should have. Why didn’t he?

“And how do you plan on getting out of here? Sleep it off? Dream yourself away?” Ash just continues with his taunting. “Waiting like a damsel in distress to get rescued?”

Focusing on his father, Clay can clearly see dislike, even hate on his fathers features, something he has never seen there before. He wonders when his father started to hate him.

An absent father? Yes. Always trying to use Clay for his own purposes and gains? Definitely. Disapproving of Clay choosing to be a SEAL? Absolutely.

But hate hat never been there before. Not like this. So, what changed? Did he push his father this far, by telling him he would erase his footsteps? Or was the hate always there and he just didn’t see it?

Whatever the reason, Clay knows it doesn’t matter now. He has found a place to belong, has found his new chosen family. People he trusts completely, who trust him and have his back, no matter what.

“Bravo will come and find me.” His voice is strong, doesn’t waver.

Ash just scoffs. “Don’t be stupid. They left you behind. They are not coming.”

Clay shakes his head. “No, they didn’t leave me. We never leave a man behind.”

“Yeah, right.” Ash sneers at him again.

Clay tries to ignore Ash, closes his eyes and just pretends that he is not here. Because discussing things with Ash when he is in a mood is just pointless.

But Ash won’t leave him alone. He shakes his shoulder, doesn’t let him keep his eyes closed and continues to taunt him. “Nobody knows where you are. Are you even sure they survived that explosion?”

Clay stays silent, but that thought is nagging at him. Had already been nagging at him when he woke up here. But he won’t tell Ash that.

“Ah, you already thought of that, didn’t you?” Ash gives him a mean smile. “Yeah. They probably think you died with your brothers in that explosion.” Ash starts to chuckle. “They’ll only send in a recovery team and if they don’t find your remains they’ll just assume you were blown to smithereens. Nothing to bring home.”

“No.” Clay glares at him. “No. They are not dead. And they are looking for me!”

“Noooo. They don’t.”

“I know they are looking for me. They will find me. They are my family, my brothers. They won’t leave me here.”

Ash looks at Clay pityingly. “Face it, son. They won’t come, because they don’t care enough to look for you. They don’t care about you. Nobody does. You’re gonna die here alone. And no one will even remember you.”

Ash starts laughing when Clay puts his hands over his ears and starts rocking back and forth.

“It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true.” He chants to himself, eyes closed against the looming figure of his father. “They will come for me, they will find me, I won’t die alone, they will come, I just have to hold on a little longer, they are on their way. They will find me.”

“No, they won’t.” Ash’s voice comes closer now until it is right in front of him, grabbing both of Clay’s arms with enough strength, that Clay yelps from the pain. “Even if they find you, they will be too late…”

And with that Ash wraps his fingers around Clay’s neck and squeezes tightly.

Clay starts thrashing around, kicking at Ash, making contact with his foot but not enough to get him off of him, tries with his hands to dislodge the fingers that close around his neck, crushing his windpipe. He tries unsuccessfully to draw in enough air, wheezing more and more, his lips turning blue and his movements start to get more and more sluggish, losing all the strength in them.

He looks in the menacing face of his father and with his last breath he chokes out. “Why? Why are you killing me?”

Ash just smiles.

And after that, there is only blackness.

Chapter Text

Day 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”

“Bravo One, this is Bravo Four. Jackpot! I repeat, Jackpot. We have eyes on Six.”

“Copy that, Four. What’s his status?”

“Unclear. We only have eyes on. Can’t get to him yet. Door is rigged. Five is on it.” Trent turns to Brock. “How does it look?”

“Sure wish Kairos was with us this time around. Looks a little complicated, I might need a little time. What about the kid?”

Trent looks through the tiny window into the small dark room, shining his flashlight in to see his brother lying on the floor, chained to the wall, unmoving. “Can’t say. Unconscious at best. They took his gear and chained him to the wall. There is blood everywhere.” A little confused Trent adds. “They took his boots and socks, too.”

“Maybe to keep him from running away. Would be nearly impossible in this rocky terrain without shoes. Kid would be stubborn enough to try anyway though…” Brock guesses, but doesn’t linger on the thought too long, concentrating back on the explosives that are strapped to the steel door that leads into the cell.

Sonny comes around the corner, quickly followed by Jason and Ray. “Where is he? And why aren’t we already in the room?”

“You can see him through the window, and we can’t barrel in because the door is rigged.” Trent informs Sonny, stepping aside to let the Texan have a look.

“I think he is coming around.” Sonny starts tapping the window, raising his voice. “Hey, BamBam, we are here, don’t move too much, we’ll be right with you!”

Trent, Ray and Jason crowd behind Sonny to get a look at their brother.

Inside the small room, Clay slowly lifts his head and looks around, but his gaze doesn’t stop when it wanders over their window, doesn’t halt when it reaches the door either, like he didn’t even see it, didn’t even register that they were looking in on him, that Sonny taps on the window with increasing force.

“Can’t we just smash in that window?”

“That wouldn’t accomplish anything, Sonny. It’s too small to get through, and Clay doesn’t seem to see or hear us anyway.”

They turn their attention back to Clay, who lifts his arms to check them over and they can see that his left arm is a bloody mess, but he doesn’t seem to see or feel that. He turns his hands over, inspecting them in wonder, rubbing over his naked forearms without feeling the blood or the wrong angle, doesn’t even seem to feel the chains that are attached to his wrists and ankles. When Clay sits himself up they can see his torn shirt, the torn pants, everything covered in blood. Trent can even identify a piece of bone sticking out of his left thigh. But Clay seems oblivious to his injuries. He scoots backwards against the wall, pulling up his knees and draping his chained arms around them, putting his head down in his lap.

The sight of Clay pulling his broken leg to him, not registering the pain he must feel, draping his broken arm around them and just putting his head down to rest, nearly breaks Trent. Clay shouldn’t be able to do that.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sonny asks confused and considerably paler after watching Clay adjusting his broken leg with ease.

“By the look of it, quite a lot.” Trent answers, somberly. “Looks like he has been drugged, too. We really need to get in there.”

“Sonny, go over to Brock and help him diffuse the explosives, so we can get in faster. Me and Ray will post security. Trent, monitor him from here and tell us if something changes.”

Jason and Ray pull back to opposite sides to guard their brothers, Jason updating HAVOC quietly, while Sonny and Brock try to get rid of the explosives as fast as they can.

Trent studies his younger brother, noticing him drawing labored deep breaths that slowly even out. It nearly looks like Clay has managed to breathe himself into a slight slumber. But the rest is short-lived. Clay’s head suddenly snaps up and his eyes pop open. He frantically tries to scramble away from something only he can see. When the wall and the chains don’t allow him to move backwards, he tries to stand, but again the chains limit his mobility and his left leg isn’t supporting his weight, letting him drop back on his ass. Trent can see Clay’s lips moving, but he can’t understand what he is saying. The look on his face shows confusion, hurt and a hint of fear.

Clay scans the room again, still not stopping at the window or the door. “Bravo’ll come.”

Clay’s voice is strong enough to be heard by Trent, but his speech is slow and slurred. Trent watches Clay intently as he sits leaned against the opposite wall, staring into nothingness, shaking his head and then closing his eyes again only to jerk a little when his messed up arm slides to the floor with clanking chains, jarring the broken bone and his eyes pop open again.

He stares again into the darkness before sitting up a little straighter. “No. No.” Clay states with confidence. “They’re not dead. ‘nd the’re lookin’ fo’ me!”

Trent’s heart breaks a little, seeing his little brother defending them against this invisible enemy, convinced that his brothers will have his back and come find him.

“How long Brock? We really need to get in there!”

“Just a minute. We are almost done!”

Trent turns back to Clay, seeing him mumbling again, starting to rock a little.

“Done!” Sonny stands up in triumph. “Let’s get in there!”

Brock gets up, too, and Trent hands his medpack to Sonny.

“Let’s go.” Trent enters the little room first, closely followed by his brothers. Jason and Ray stay outside, but it is clearly visible on their faces that they need all the self-restraint they have not to follow their brothers into the room.

Closing the distance to Clay, who has put his bloody hands over his ears, rocking back and forth, and has started chanting under his breath, Trent takes in all of Clay. As they come closer he can understand the words Clay is mumbling, even though they are slurred and he has started wheezing with every intake of breath.

“…won’t die alone… will come… hold on longer…on their way…find me…”

Trent takes a knee next to Clay, seeing the amount of blood his brother is sitting in, and gently touches his arms. “Clay, we are here.”

Clay gives a pained yelp at Trent’s touch and his eyes shoot open. Trent can see both pupils blown wide, the ocean blue of his eyes hardly visible, making them look entirely black.

Trent freezes in his movements, understanding that Clay has been drugged out of his mind, hallucinating something that has him terrified and that Clay won’t be able to recognize them or realize that they are here to take him home, that he is safe now.

Before Trent can warn Sonny and Brock, Clay claws at his throat with his hands and starts to thrash around, kicking wildly with his good leg and landing a direct hit to Sonny’s crotch, felling the Texan to his knees.

“Brock, get his shirt off and try and keep his torso still. Sonny, grab his legs.” Trent has noticed the increasing wheezes, the more prominent jugular veins, the lips slowly taking on the color of dark purple on their way to blue and he is already rummaging around his medpack for the decompression needle.

Brock rips the shirt off and all three gape at the deformed mass that used to be the left half of Clay’s chest. There is just so much open flesh and in between pieces of white bone sticking out.

Trent throws the needle back in his pack. This won’t be enough for that kind of damage. But by inserting a chest tube, Trent could damage so much more.

For the first time in his career as Bravo’s medic, Trent is unsure how to proceed.

Clay’s movements slow, becoming sluggish and weak. Trent hears the short and ineffective pants and sees Clay’s face turn ashen, letting the now deep blue lips stand out in contrast, and he knows he is out of time. If he doesn’t insert the tube, Clay will suffocate and die. If he does insert it, he might pierce the lung or the heart, even the kidney or spleen depending on the damage that already exists, and Clay could bleed to death. Trent grabs the chesttube, knowing that it’s the only way to give Clay a chance to survive this.

Clay draws one final, labored, wheezing breath. With his exhale, he looks straight through Trent and asks, “Why? Why are you killing me?”

Clay stops breathing, eyes blink closed and he goes limp. Frantically checking for a pulse, Trent finds none.

“Brock, start bagging him. Sonny, start with chest compressions. With the decompression we might get him back.” He keys his comms. “Bravo One, I need you in here.”

Jason emerges instantly and pales considerably at the sight in front of him. The kid is lying there in the dirt, torn clothes, rusty chains, a bloody mess. Sonny pumps Clay’s already broken chest, silent tears running down his cheeks, tears Jason thinks Sonny doesn’t even know he is shedding. Brock sits behind Clay’s head, bagging him, trying to push air into the compressed lung, hoping to get enough oxygen in. Trent is on the verge of cutting a hole in his brother to let the trapped air and, most likely, blood out, for the compressed lung to start working again, for the heart to have enough room to start beating again.

“Holy shit!”

Trent looks at Jason fleetingly. “Get the chains off of him and contact HAVOC, we need a medevac yesterday. Then alternate with Sonny.”

Jason gets to work, following Trent’s instructions and getting rid of the chains in short order. After that he leaves shortly to talk to HAVOC and get the medevac enroute.

Trent inserts the tube cautiously knowing what to expect but he is still surprised and scared by the amount of blood that gushes out of the tube. Slowly color returns to Clay’s face and the lips get their normal color back.

Brock signals Sonny to stop pumping, finding a faint pulse. “We got him back.”

Sonny nods and sits back on his haunches, wiping at his eyes, not even registering the tears he is wiping away.

“For now.” Trent clamps the tube shut and sutures it into place. “Start two large iv-lines and run blood and fluids while I check the rest.”

Sonny instantly complies and Brock keeps assisting Clay to breathe.

Finally able to assess the rest of the damage, Trent bandages the left leg and arm and puts sterile gauze on the open wounds of the chest. He is sure there is more damage inside that he can’t see, but he can’t do anything about that at the moment. Clay’s head seems to have been protected by his helmet and Trent can’t find any wounds there.

When Trent opens Clay’s eyes to check them, the fully blown pupils suddenly contract and Clay’s eyes shoot open wide. Trent can see the moment Clay realizes who is here with him, sees him start to relax, even smile a little, before he squeezes his eyes shut tightly and an ungodly shriek of pain rips from his throat, ending in a coughing fit, spraying blood everywhere.

“Please! Make it stop! It hurts so bad! Please! Make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!” Clay’s scream echoes from the walls and tears at the hearts of his brothers.

Trent shoots Clay up with opioids and watches as the screams turn into whimpers and subside completely when Clay is drawn into unconsciousness.

“Medevac will be here in a few minutes. We need to go.” Jason has come in to help with Clay. They have him ready for transport quickly, grateful that he is out and not feeling the pain of being carried and only a couple of minutes later the medevac lands.

The five operators hand their youngest brother over to the two corpsmen on board and hop in after him before the medevac lifts off again. Jason, Ray, Sonny and Brock sit in silence, watching Trent and the med team working on Clay, trying to stabilize him, transfusing more blood and fluids and inserting a tracheal tube to secure his airway.

A short chopper ride later even Trent has to stay back and watch Clay being wheeled off into surgery.

The team assembles around Trent, who stands at the entrance to the ER, covered in Clay’s blood, looking a little lost and drained. He studies his hands that are sticky with drying blood, unsure how to proceed from here.

Brock takes his arm. “Come on brother. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He guides Trent to the restrooms and the others sit down in the waiting area. Before Trent returns, they are joined by Blackburn, Lisa and Mandy.

“How is he?” Lisa quietly inquires.

“I don’t know. Bad. Real bad. He didn’t even recognize us. Didn’t even know we were there.”

Lisa can hear the distress in Sonny’s voice, can see the tears that threaten to fall again.

“He was drugged out of his mind, tripping real bad. But at the end he came out of it. He did recognize me, us. He knew we were there, Sonny.” Trent pads Sonny reassuringly on his back. “He is young and strong. He will fight!”

“There was just so much damage!” Sonny’s voice is only a whisper, and the tears start running down his face. Lisa pulls him into a tight hug, comforting him, holding him while his body shakes with silent tears.

Trent slumps into one of the chairs next to Brock, feeling the exhaustion, knowing he did all he could and hoping it was enough.

“Nothing more you could have done. You did good.” Brock nudges his shoulder, giving him an encouraging smile. “Now we have to wait.”

Trent nods and returns the smile, grateful for the steady strength and support from his best friend.

They all settle in, getting as comfortable as they can, knowing it will be a few hours before they hear something.

When the doctor finally makes his way over to them, all of them rise, steeling themselves for whatever news they will receive now.

The doctor gives a curt nod and a tight smile.

“He is alive.”

Chapter Text

Day 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”

Day 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

Day 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”

Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”

When the ice cold water hits his face, Ray jerks back to consciousness and instantly knows that he is in some deep shit. He is sitting in a cold metal chair, stripped to his briefs, hands and feet tied painfully to the chair. Ray shakes his head to get rid of the water dripping in his eyes and lets his gaze roam around the room.

The first thing he sees is a video camera, red recording light blinking happily. There is another one set up, but pointing in a different direction.

When he hears another splash of water he turns his head in the direction of the sound and finds that he is not alone up shit creek.

He and Clay had been on overwatch for this reconnaissance mission to find a HVT, making sure their brothers would make it in and out of the target zone unhindered. But on their way back to exfil they had turned a corner and a grenade exploded right in front of them, throwing them both back into a wall and knocking them out.

Clay is hooked up to chains hanging from the ceiling, stripped to his boxers like Ray, dripping wet now but still as unconscious as Ray had been two minutes ago.

The one of the five men in the room that had doused Clay approaches him and pokes him with a wooden pole. All that he accomplishes is that Clay is now swinging a little back and forth but doesn’t stir. The man gets closer, prodding him harder with the stick, in the ribs, in the stomach, on the butt, stepping closer all the time.

Suddenly there is a blur of movement, the stick clatters to the ground and prodding-guy’s neck is locked in Clay’s legs, squeezing his airway shut. The other men in the room start shouting in Arabic, rushing to help, but before anyone can reach the pair there is a loud ‘snap’ and prodding guy crumples to the floor with a broken neck. In the next instant Clay’s body goes rigid from the electric current that one of the remaining men sends through him with a cattle prod. When released, Clay hangs limply, eyes closed, most likely unconscious again.

A face appears directly in front of Ray, expression furious and Ray has only a second to register that they have found their HVT before his face explodes in blinding pain as he is thrown back along with the chair by the powerful punch to his nose. Bound to the chair, Ray can’t do anything to protect himself from the furious kicks aimed at him, hitting his face, chest and stomach, hitting the chair and sending it tumbling and skidding through the room with him in it.

When the attack finally stops, Ray lies face down, still tightly strapped to the chair, blood running down his nose and dripping to the dirt floor, feeling dizzy and nauseous. His chair gets picked up roughly and put back in front of the camera, where he is violently sick, throwing up over one of the men that had carried him and the chair back in front of the camera.

That earns him a hit to his jaw, making the world go dark for a while.

Another shower of cold water pulls Ray back from unconsciousness. When he tries to open his eyes, he finds his left eye swollen shut. Punching-guy aka their HVT is back in his face, but this time his glare isn’t followed by a vicious punch, he just stares at Ray.

Ray’s gaze wanders over to Clay who is still hanging limply from his chains, but now his feet are chained to the floor too. The two men who carried him back to his place pick their weapons back up and stand guard while the third man, a real giant, just stands to the side, observing everything.

Punching-guy prods Ray in the chest, drawing his gaze back to him. “You’re awake now.”

Ray is uncertain how to respond to that. Obviously he is awake. But it wasn’t a question. So he just sits there, staring back at their HVT, thinking through multiple waysto take him out, none of which are currently feasible, him being bound to the chair.

The HVT points in Clay’s direction. “Wake him up.”

Ray would snort at him, if his nose wasn’t broken. He looks over at Clay. Of course he can’t be sure, but he thinks Clay already is awake. He calculates his chances with only four men still in the room and decides to give it a try. He gives a short nod. “Ok. But you’ll have to free me from the chair. I can’t wake him up from here.”

The HVT throws his head back and barks a laugh. “You are funny.” He is back in Ray’s face. “I see the danger. It’s written there in your eyes. If I loose your restraints, I am dead.” He shakes his head. “Wake him up from here.”

Ray spits in his face, earning another punch to his already swollen jaw.

“No? Ok, we’ll do it the hard way.” He turns around and nods to the large bulky man standing to the side of the room, next to a rolling table.

Ray hadn’t registered it earlier, but now he can see all the different torture instruments lying on it and his gut churns.

This will be very painful.

The giant selects a long thin knife and approaches the still limp Clay. He trails a line around Clay’s chest, pressing not hard enough to draw blood.

“Wakey, wakey, soldier boy.” His deep grumble make goosebumps appear on Ray’s arms.

Not getting a response, the giant slices the knife across Clay’s chest in one swift motion before he embeds it in his left thigh.

Clay’s eyes shoot open at the sudden sharp pain and a deep growl rips from his throat.

“Ah, there he is. I think we can begin our little chat now.” The HVT looks satisfied and the giant twists the knife in the wound, pulling it out slowly, leaving behind a bleeding hole and a sweating and panting Clay.

The HVT turns his attention back to Ray. “Now you might want to tell me who you are and why you were in my town!”

Ray looks over to Clay again, whose eyes are squeezed shut, trying to breathe through the pain. “I’m ok, Two.”

The giant delivers a punch to Clay’s kidneys that makes Clay yelp, but Ray still stays silent.

“Hit him again. Harder.”

The giant complies, and it rains punch after punch, while the HVT fires his questions at Ray.

“Who are you? Why are you in my town? What were you doing with these rifles in my town? How many people were with you? Where is the rest of your team now? Who knows about me being here?”

Ray just shakes his head at every question, trying not to look at Clay being used as punching bag, trying not to listen to his grunts and the sound of flesh connecting with flesh. Finally Clay goes limp again, passing out, and the giant stops.

“You think about my questions. If you don’t answer me before he wakes up, well, I think we can take the fun up a notch.” He gestures to the giant, who steps to the rolling table, looking over his instruments. “Wake him up. But don’t kill him yet.”

The giant nods and approaches Clay, but before he reaches him, the door explodes inward and the giant drops to the floor with a hole in his head. The HVT drops not even a second later and the two remaining men in the room don’t even have the chance to lift their weapons before exploding in pink mist.

Jason and Brock rush to Ray’s side and he can see Sonny and Trent making their way over to Clay.

Jason ends the recordings of the video cameras, bagging them along with the attached laptop, before helping Brock to free Ray from his restraints.

“’Bout time. It was getting bloody in here.” Ray tries to quip, but it comes out a little slurred thanks to his broken jaw.

“Stop talking and let me look you over.” Jason starts his assessment, running his hands over Ray’s arms and legs, checking his chest and stomach. “If we are lucky, your face is the worst. Everything else seems to look worse than it is. Bruised to hell, but I can’t find anything broken.”

Ray nods. Everything hurts, but apart from his jaw and nose, nothing else feels broken.

His gaze wanders over to Clay. Trent and Sonny have him on the ground and Trent has already put pressure bandages on his knife wounds.

“Hey there Goldilocks. You still in there somewhere?” Sonny pats Clay’s cheek lightly, trying to wake him up.

Clay gives a groan, turning his face away from Sonny’s tapping hands, but Sonny holds it in his hands.

Suddenly Sonny finds himself flat on his back with Clay straddling his chest, pinning his arms down with his knees, ready to punch the living shit out of him.

“Woah, easy brother.” Trent holds his hands up to show Clay he is no threat. “It’s us. Trent. Sonny.”

Clay looks down on Sonny, looks over to Trent, slowly relaxing his shoulders and arms. “Hey Sonny.” Clay looks down again at his best friend, a smile forming on his lips. “Sorry.” He tries to get off of Sonny, but his thigh protests and he collapses falling to his side.

Trent is already there to catch him. “I got you. Let us help.”

Clay just nods, closing his eyes, relaxing now that he knows his brothers are here and they are going home. Exhausted and hurting from the beating and the electric shocks, Clay lets himself be drawn back into unconsciousness.

“Trent, how does it look? Can we move him?” Jason calls over, already in contact with HAVOC.

Trent just finished checking Clay over and gives Jason an affirmative nod.

“Ok, let’s go. Exfil will be here in 5.”

Jason and Brock help Ray up, Jason slinging his arm around Ray’s waist to make sure he won’t fall.

Trent helps Sonny pick Clay up in a fireman’s carry and they all make their way out of this chamber of horrors.

The exfil chopper is already waiting, and as soon as all of Bravo are in, it lifts off, returning to base.

Another mission success.

Not in a straight line, but mission success after all.

Chapter Text

Day 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”

Day 7: “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”

Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

“Where the fuck are they? We need to leave!”

“Easy, brother. Give them a few more minutes.” Ray tries to calm Jason, who has started to pace.

“Trent? Do we have a few more minutes?” Jason stops his pacing and turns to his medic who is trying his best to prevent their HVT from bleeding out.

Trent looks up briefly, shaking his head. “Not if we want her to live.”

Jason lets out a frustrated growl before keying his comms again. “Bravo Three, Bravo Six, this is Bravo One, what’s your status?” Like the previous times, there is only radio silence. “Bravo Three, Bravo Six, radio check!” Still nothing.

“Bravo One this is HAVOC. Medevac helo inbound. ETA 5 mikes.”

“Copy HAVOC. We’re still missing Three and Six. Do you have eyes on?”

“Negative One. Too much smoke.”

“Shit.” Jason starts pacing again.

“I’ll go find them. You take her to the helo and come back for us.”

Jason turns to Brock, growling at him. “I won’t let you go back alone.”

“I won’t be alone.” Brock smiles at Jason, patting Cerberus head who gives a quiet woof. “I’ll take the straight route to their position.” He trails his way on the map of the town Ray is studying. “If I don’t find them on that way, I’ll come back the longer route and meet you on the return trip.”

Jason doesn’t like the plan at all, but he has to agree that this is the only option left for them, short of leaving Three and Six behind. Trent needs to be with their HVT and they need to protect her and the intel she is carrying. Brock is the fastest of them and Cerberus gives him the advantage of an early warning system.

“Ok, be careful.” Jason concedes and gestures to Ray and Trent to get ready to move out to the LZ. “We’ll follow as fast as we can.”

Brock nods and turns, breaking into a slow run back the way his brothers should have come and melts into the shadows, Cerberus running at his side. Cautiously he turns the next corner, but the street in this city of bombed out ruins is empty. He continues on his way, scanning the surrounding buildings, listening for anything that might give him any indication that Clay and Sonny are nearby.

Hearing gunfire in the distance, he picks up his pace, following the sound of the gunfire to the next turn. Cerberus starts to grow impatient the closer they get to the corner of an alleyway, pulling on his leash. Brock holds him back, sneaking closer to the entrance to the alley and peeking around the corner.

All along the alley right to where it opens up into a bigger plaza, are mountains of debris, stone, wood and metal from the surrounding buildings that are in various stages of destruction, some of them half collapsed into the street. Half way to his corner he can see Three and Six covered by a large pile of concrete pieces, both alive and firing at the other end of the alley, Sonny lying on the ground using a hole in the rubble to fire, Clay towering over him in a protective stance. At the entrance to the plaza hide more than half a dozen hostiles, firing without pause on his two brothers.

“Bravo One this is Five. How copy?”

“Good copy Five. What’s your status?”

“Found Three and Six. They are pinned down by at least six hostiles. Will circle around and engage from the north.”

“Copy Five. Helo on approach. Will follow you after that.”

“Bravo Three, Bravo Six, this is Five. Can you hear me?” There is still radio silence from his brothers. He tries one last time. “Bravo Three, Bravo Six, circling to your north, don’t shoot. Do you copy?” But again, there is no response.

Brock leaves the entrance to the alley behind him and moves over to a side street, carefully making his way farther north to approach from behind the attacking hostiles. With a good vantage point and enough cover, he starts picking off the attackers, and assisted by his brothers they make short work of sending them to their maker.

When the last one falls, Brock and Cerberus move cautiously to the alley, shouting “Eagle, eagle. Don’t shoot.” to identify them to Clay and Sonny.

“Eagle, eagle.”

Brock peeks around the corner and, seeing Clay lower his assault rifle a little, moves into the alley to his brothers. Now that he is closer to them, he can see why they haven’t made it to their rendezvous-point. Sonny is still on the ground, his lower half buried beneath a few large pieces of concrete.

“Good of you to drop by, dog boy!” Sonny drawls, serious gratitude lacing his tone. “I don’t think we would have made it much longer!”

Brock takes a knee next to Sonny, looking at his predicament. “What happened? We tried to reach you over comms!”

Sonny holds up the pieces of his comm-unit. “I think it’s broken.”

Brock turns to Clay, who gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Same here.”

Clay points to the ruin of a house that they are sitting in front of. “We made our way back to meet you, hostiles on our tails and came through here. One of them fired a RPG, hitting that building here, crumbling it around us. The falling debris caught us mid-run. Sonny was buried under it and I was hit on the shoulder. I think it might be broken.”

Brock takes a look at the odd angle Clay’s left shoulder is currently standing at and gives him a confirming nod. “Yeah, looks like it.”

“I freed him as best I could, but I couldn’t move the larger blocks with only one arm and we were pinned.”

While Cerberus guards the three men, Brock helps Clay to move the large blocks of concrete from Sonny’s lower half.

“Shit. That looks broken too.” When the last block is moved, Brock can see the bloody mess that is Sonny’s right leg below his knee. “How’s the pain?”

“Not gonna lie. Would gladly take a few shots of morphine right about now.” Sonny’s drawl is nearly incomprehensible between the pants and the groans.

“You were always one for the good stuff.” Clay snickers, cradling his left arm against his chest and fumbling with Sonny’s medpack with his right hand and his teeth.

“Bravo Five, sitrep.” Jason’s voice over Brock’s comms sounds agitated, even a little out of breath.

“Bravo Five to One. Area secured for now. Three needs Four, Six is ambulatory.” Brock takes a morphine shot from his medpack and injects Sonny with it.

“Copy that. On our way.”

Brock moves to Sonny’s leg, pulling out a tourniquet and applying it to his right thigh to prevent Sonny from bleeding too much, now that the concrete is off his leg, eliciting a suppressed groan from him. “I’ll leave the rest for Trent. He’ll be here in a minute.”

Sonny just nods, not able to speak much through the pain.

After that, Brock moves to Clay’s side, taking Sonny’s medpack from him and secures his broken shoulder and arm to his side and front, immobilizing it with a strip of cloth. “You look pale, buddy. You doing ok? Anything else broken or hurt?”

Clay gives him a weak smile. “No, just the shoulder. Hurts like hell.”

Cerberus’ short whoof and the sound of approaching footsteps have all three operators lifting their weapons, but the shout of “Eagle, eagle.” announces the arrival of the rest of the team. Trent comes running around the corner, followed by Ray and Jason. He skids to a halt next to Sonny and gets to work immediately, listening to Brock’s quick sitrep, splinting the leg and checking the rest of Sonny over. Clay just sits at Sonny’s head, letting him crush his hand and coaching him to breathe through the pain.

With Brock’s assistance Trent has Sonny ready for transport in a few minutes. Checking Sonny over one last time, Trent moves on to Clay, checking him over, too, finding nothing but the broken shoulder. He finally gives the signal to move out and Ray and Jason pick up Sonny on the collapsible stretcher, while Brock with Cerberus lead the way to their exfil point and Trent and Clay cover the rear.

They reach their exfil just as their ride approaches over the tree tops. It hovers a few inches off the ground, letting the operators get in. Trent hops in first, receiving Sonny’s stretcher and helping Clay in next. As soon as all of them are securely on board, the bird lifts off to get them back to base.

Brock looks out the window over the small war-torn little town, glad to leave it behind, glad that Jason let him go find their brothers, glad to have found them in time.

With the setting sun, Brock closes his eyes, patting Cerberus’ head and rests.

Chapter Text

Day 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

Day 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”

“Guys, I’m heading out.” Clay claps a hand on Sonny’s shoulder who is just arguing with Jason about who knows what, trying to play darts at the same time, both already past a few pints of beer and a couple of shots.

Sonny stops mid-throw, looking at Clay, eyes already a little unfocused. “Why? Stay and I’ll buy you another shot.”

“If I have one more drink, I’ll probably throw up on you.” Clay raises a questioning eyebrow. “Still want me to stay?”

“Nah, you can go.” Sonny laughs and throws his dart, missing the bullseye but still managing to hit the target.

“Taking a cab?” Jason asks, not so steady on his feet himself.

Clay shakes his head. “No. I’ll walk. Still early. Need the fresh air.”

Jason squints at his watch. “Is it really only 9.30 pm? Feels later.”

“It’s 4.30 am where we stayed the last 10 days.”

“So it’s early and late at the same time.” Sonny supplies with a wide grin. Both men look stunned for a moment and then start laughing.

“You’re right, Sonny.” Clay gives him another pat on the shoulder, still laughing. “See you tomorrow.” He gives Jason a quick hug and heads for the door.

The fresh night air hits him like a hammer, making him realize that he is more inebriated than he thought, but he still starts walking in the direction of his apartment, weaving a little from side to side.

It takes him two blocks to notice the footsteps that have been following him from the bar, sobering him up quite a bit. He takes a look behind and sees two figures behind him, walking slowly about a hundred feet back. He turns back and sees three more stepping in his way.

Clay steps into the street, trying to avoid the confrontation, but another three men cut off his path. He scans his surroundings for an exit, but finds none. They have boxed him in and he kicks himself mentally for not noticing earlier.

“Hey, guys.” He holds his hands in front of him, in plain sight, showing them that he doesn’t want to fight. “I don’t want any trouble, just wanna go home.”

“A little late for that, isn’t it, asshole?” One of the men from behind him snarls at him, baseball bat in hand, tapping it menacingly on his hand. “Should have thought of that before you slept with my little sister!”

Clay looks confused, turning to the young man. “What?”

“You fucked my little sister! And she’s been crying her eyes out these last few days, ‘cause you bailed on her when she told you she was pregnant, and tonight…” The voice of the young man cracks, face turning red with rage. “Tonight I found her in her room, unconscious next to two empty pill bottles! All because of you, you little shit!”

“What? No!” Clay scrambles for the right words, the alcohol making his thoughts sluggish while trying to keep all the approaching men in his line of sight. “You have the wrong guy! I didn’t sleep with your sister, whoever she is!”

Something hard connects with his right shoulder and sends him to his knees. Two more guys have joined the party, making the total number now ten. “Watch your mouth, shithead,” one of them growls, still swinging his bat slightly.

Clay gets to his feet slowly and a little unsteadily, rubbing at his hurting shoulder. “I don’t know who your sister is and I’m sorry what happened to her, but I can assure you, that you have the wrong guy. I didn’t sleep with your sister, and sure as hell didn’t get her pregnant and leave her.”

“You’re a liar! I can see it in your eyes! Lylya even showed me a picture of you two. Told me where she met you!” He points back to the Bulkhead and waves a polaroid in front of Clay’s nose. All Clay can discern from the fuzzy photo is a pretty girl with dark long hair, laughing at a young man with dark blond curls, who smiles back at her.

“That’s not me.” Clay tries again to reason with the angry men around him, but he can see that they are not willing to listen to him. They are here to take their revenge. He avoids the next swing of a bat, taking the bat from the unsuspecting attacker with ease and stands back in a defensive posture, bat raised in a protective hold.

“Look, I don’t want to hurt any of you. I just want to go home. I don’t know your sister. I’m sorry some guy left her knocked up. But it wasn’t me.”

The brother steps closer, squinting at Clay, still tapping his bat menacingly in his hand. “Stop lying, pretty boy. You charmed her. I have never seen Lyla so lovesick as she has been in the last four months since she started dating you. All smiles, always happy, always waiting for your call every evening after work, getting excited when you decided to pick her up and go out with her. All I heard from her in these past weeks was “Joey this and Joey that”, never could shut up about you! And two days ago, when she told you she was pregnant, you just leave!”

“You have the wrong guy! My name isn’t Joey and I wasn’t even in country two days ago!” Clay tries again, but the young man ignores him and just goes on.

“I know people like you, Joey boy! You try to get into their panties and soon you get bored and you just drop them and move on to the next silly girl. You make me sick, Joey! Just sick! But this time you picked the wrong girl!”

All ten men slowly advance on Clay who scans his surroundings yet again, not drunk anymore, senses on full alert, but there are just too many of them and no real cover to gain a tactical advantage. He tries to keep them all in his line of sight, but they have surrounded him.

The brother attacks him first and Clay is able to block the hit with the baseball bat. After that they all start attacking. Clay’s body goes into auto-pilot, reacting to the attacks, protecting himself but not attacking them, knowing full well that he might kill them if he lets loose. He hears their grunts and yelps of pain from his blocks, sees them stumble back but there is always one of them continuing the attack.

At last, one of them gets lucky and lands a hard hit to the side of his face, making stars erupt before his eyes and sending him to the ground, fighting unconsciousness. After that there is no holding back. They are all onto him and Clay curls into a tight ball, protecting his head with his arms. He can feel every kick, every hit with the bats, can hear them shouting insults at him, can hear his ribs crack, but he tries to stay balled up, tries to stay conscious because he is sure he won’t wake up again, if he succumbs to the darkness.

Just as his vision is greying, the beating stops suddenly. He can hear one of the men laying into the brother. “Stop, Alvin, you’re gonna kill him!” The man continues talking Alvin down and the beating doesn’t start again. Clay is unable to move, afraid of finding out the damage, breaths coming in short and shallow pants. One of the other men approaches him and starts patting him down, letting the pain explode all over his body with every pat.

He finally stops at Clay’s wallet in his pant pocket and pulls it out, going through his papers. “Shit!”

“What is it?” Alvin’s footsteps come closer and Clay stays still, not moving, pretending to be unconscious.

“Alvin, that’s not this Joey guy. Looks like his name is Clay Spenser. Active military.”

“No, no, absolutely not!” Alvin’s voice sounds frantic now. “This is Lyla’s Joey!”

“No, it’s not. Oh, Shit.”

Clay can hear the footsteps around him retreat slowly, but one pair comes closer slowly, a hand gently touching his face, hovering under his nose. “He’s still breathing. Alvin, we need to call an ambulance!”

“And then what? Tell them we beat him up, but it was the wrong guy? Come on, I don’t want to end up in jail.”

The hovering hand disappears and the footsteps retreat completely.

Clay doesn’t move a while longer. When he is sure they have left, he opens his eyes slowly, only to find that his right eye stays swollen shut. He carefully starts to straighten out, wincing with the pain of everything hurting. His right arm and shoulder throb painfully and are not cooperating with the orders from his brain, so he holds them close to his chest with his left. His ribs hurt with every breath he takes, but at least he is still breathing.

Slowly and carefully he makes it into a standing position. As soon as he has reached full height, he feels a wave of nausea hit him like a freight train and he doubles over and vomits. He can even see a few specks of blood in it. Every step feels like he’s running uphill in full gear, but he keeps shuffling in the direction of St. Michael’s hospital anyway, which is only one block away.

He pulls his phone out and is grateful that it is still functional. Through his fuzzy thoughts he tries to decide who he should call. Jason and Sonny are probably too drunk to even answer their phones. Ray made it pretty clear he wanted to spend the entire weekend with his family alone, catching up for all the missed family time over the last few months with back to back spin ups. And Brock should be half way to his family up north.

Clay looks at his watch, seeing it is 10.30 pm. Trent should still be in the air on his way home. He took a later flight to finish tending to one of the support staff, who had been injured on the spin up.

Clay lets out a deep sigh and dials Trent’s number. He knows it’ll only go to voicemail, but he also knows Trent would be pissed, if he doesn’t call him. Sure enough on the other end a female computer voice tells him to leave a message.

“Hey Trent, it’s Clay. I…uh… I had a little run in with a few guys on my way home… uh…I’m…I’m heading now to St. Michael’s, if you… you know… if you want to meet me there when you’ve landed. I know it’s late and you probably just wanna go home and sleep… That’s fine…just… just thought you might wanna know.”

He ends the call and puts his phone back in his pocket, concentrating again on his slow shuffle to the ER, on breathing, on not puking again and on not passing out here in the dark.

At last he reaches the entrance to the ED of St. Michael’s. It is packed with people, all standing around, all with various cuts and bruises. Clay approaches the nurse’s desk and a tired looking young nurse named ‘Anna’ according to her nametag stares up at him. “Another one, huh?”

Clay looks at her questioningly. She motions around the room and hands him some papers. “I assume you also did not fight, just had some kind of ‘disagreement’? Are you bleeding somewhere significantly?”

Clay shakes his head no.

“Ok. Fill out these papers, bring them back to me and find a seat. It’ll take some time. As you can see, we are a little overcrowded tonight, if you folks can’t watch a football game without hitting each other senseless.” She turns away from him, looking over his shoulder. “Next?”

With his right arm not cooperating at all, he slowly scrawls his way through the form with is left hand. When he is finished, he looks it over and smiles a little. Jameelah could have written this nicer than him.

He gives the clipboard with his papers back to the nurse, who takes it absentmindedly, adding it to a significant pile of other clipboards. Scanning the room for a place to sit down, he spots a lone seat in the far corner, backrest against the wall, overshadowed by a huge potted palm tree. He slowly makes his way over there and eases himself down carefully, cradling his right arm to his chest with his left hand, keeping it from moving too much.

Everything hurts.

His shoulder and arm throb, his ribs protest every breath he takes, his back and abdomen ache, even his legs seem sore. He leans back in the uncomfortable chair, resting his head against the wall, cautiously stretching his legs and closes his eyes. He practices sniper breathing, but the pain from his arm and shoulder only increase, and it feels like every breath he takes is a little harder.

Ever so slowly he feels himself slip into unconsciousness.

Trent steps out of the plane and onto the tarmac at midnight, bone-tired, his only goal to find his car, drive home and just sleep for two days straight. He pulls out his phone as it finds service and vibrates with a received voicemail. He can see Clay’s name on it and shakes his head, smiling, wondering if he left him one of his hilarious drunk voicemails. That just might do the trick of waking him up enough to make the trip home. He presses play and the smile on his face vanishes instantly, feet picking up the pace on his way to his car. He hits the call button and listens to the free sign. “Come on, Spenser, pick up!” When voicemail picks up, he ends the call. “What did you do this time, kid?” Mumbling to himself he throws his duffle in his trunk and slips behind the wheel, starting his car and drives off to St. Michael’s.

Entering the ER waiting area, there are only a few people still waiting to be treated. The room looks like a battle field. Empty cups and bottles everywhere, lonely pieces of clothing left behind on seats, bloody tissues strewn on the floor, someone sleeping in the corner.

Trent steps to the exhausted looking nurse at the desk.

“Hi there...” He squints at her name tag. “… Anna. My name is Trent Sawyer. I…”

She doesn’t even look up, just hands him a clipboard with papers. “Fill them out and return them to me.”

Trent doesn’t take them and tries again. “I’m not a patient. I’m looking for someone.”

The nurse pulls her arm with the clipboard back and looks up. “What?”

“I’m looking for a friend of mine. He said he would be here. Clay Spenser. Is he still here or has he already gone home?”

She blinks at him. “I’m not allowed to give out any information.” An apologetic look crosses her face.

“I know and I’m not asking you to. I just would like you to tell me, if my friend is still here or if he already went home. His name is Clay Spenser. Could you please just check if he is still being treated?”

She scrutinizes him a moment longer and then starts tipping away on her Computer.

“Thank you.” Trent gives her a grateful smile. Looking around the messy room, he adds, “Had a busy night by the look of your waiting room.”

The nurse snorts. “Could say that. There was a mass brawl over at the stadium, football fans. Idiots. Naturally they all came here.” She keeps tapping at the keyboard. “Can’t find your friend. Could you spell his name?”

Too tired to do a spelling bee with this exhausted nurse, Trent takes a paper from the desk and writes it down, adding Clay’s birthday to make the process maybe a little faster.

“Ah, yes. No, he wasn’t treated. He was called a couple of times according to the computer, but didn’t come forward. Guess he already went home. Sorry.”

Trent nods his thanks and turns around, scanning the room again but not finding Clay’s blond mop. He pulls out his phone and tries to call him again. From the corner of the room, he can hear the faint sound of a phone starting to ring. Trent makes his way slowly over, seeing the slumped form of a sleeping man in the last chair, nearly covered by a large palm tree.

The closer he gets, the clearer he can see that it is indeed his brother and that he is not sleeping. Clay hangs limp in the chair, beaten face lolled to one side, lips a tinge of blue.

“Oh, shit!” He rushes the last few steps to his brother’s side. “Hey! Hey, Clay!” He pats his cheeks but doesn’t get any reaction. Clay’s breaths are shallow and his pulse nearly not palpable.

“HEY! ANNA!” Trent hollers in the direction of the tired woman. “I need help over here!!!”

He carefully lowers Clay to the ground, putting his head on one of the pillows from the seats, simultaneously checking his head for injuries. He only finds the gash on his cheek and the swollen right eye.

The nurse arrives, seeing the unconscious man on the floor and his friend hovering over him, she turns around quickly, running to get one of the supply carts and on her way hitting one of the buttons that will summon the emergency response team.

Trent has propped Clay’s feet on the chair and tries to rid him of his jacket and shirt when Anna returns. He reaches for the stethoscope hanging around her neck and listens to Clay’s breathing. “There’s no sound on the left side.” He looks up when a team consisting of one doc and three nurses rushes up to them.

The doctor looks at Trent, taking a knee next to him, searching for Clay’s pulse. “What happened?”

Trent shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. He left me a voicemail that he ran into some trouble on his way home and that he was going to be here. Asked to meet him. When I arrived, he was sitting here in this chair, unconscious. There are no breath sounds on his left side.”

The doc looks at Anna, who shrugs, too. “He came in a few hours ago I think, looked like he was in the same brawl as all the others, filled out his form, told me he didn’t bleed anywhere and I told him to sit and wait. Computer says he was called a few times but didn’t respond. I guess everyone assumed he already went home.”

One of the orderlies brings a gurney and they lift Clay onto it and wheel him through the double doors and the treatment area. Anna tries to hold Trent back, starting to explain to him that he can’t go with them.

“Like hell! I’m not letting him out of my sight! He is in my team and I’m his medic! I won’t be in your way, but I’m not letting him be alone again!”

The young doc just waves at him and lets Trent come into the treatment area. They cut Clay’s clothes off of him and underneath they are greeted by a multitude of bruises. Trent can see Clay’s right arm looking swollen too, broken more than likely. The team starts him on oxygen and gets iv-lines going, but as his breathing gets worse they have to sedate and intubate him to get him enough oxygen. The portable x-ray machine confirms Trent’s diagnosis of a collapsed lung and they put in a chest tube before they wheel him away to do a cat scan.

Trent stays behind and sends a group text to his brothers, letting them know where he is and why. When the med team returns with Clay, the young doctor finds Trent and tells him, that they found some internal bleeding caused by the broken ribs and the blunt force trauma and that they need to get him into surgery. Trent just nods, watching them wheel his little brother off to the OR and he moves out into the waiting room again.

One after the other his brothers find their way to sit with him. Sonny and Jason are drunk like hell but force water and coffee down their throats to try and sober up. Ray and Brock both just sit with him as silent support.

Trent is just so exhausted. He wishes the doctor would come and tell them about their kid brother, so they all can get some rest. Sonny and Jason have started to argue with each other, why they let Clay walk home by himself, both knowing that this is a fruitless discussion.

At last the young doc from before leaves the treatment area and moves to find Trent.

“I’m sorry it took a while, but we stopped the bleeding, repaired the collapsed lung and broken ribs and set the broken shoulder and arm. He is still sedated and on a ventilator, but if he stays as stable as he is now, we’ll be able to wean him off it at the end of today or early tomorrow.”

“Do you know how he got those injuries?” Jason asks curiously.

“I can’t be sure, but it looks like a severe beating, probably kicking too, and most definitely sticks or bats were involved. We have already informed the police. They’ll be here in the next couple of hours to collect evidence.”

The doc looks at the five men. “I’ll take you to him now, but please make your visit a short one. He needs rest. And by the look of it, so do all of you. Only one should stay.”

“I can stay with him.” Brock offers, seeing Trent nearly collapsing with fatigue. Reluctantly the men agree and they follow the doc to the ICU and their brother.

They all check on Clay quickly, making sure he is doing ok, and then all but Brock turn to leave and grab a few hours of shuteye. Brock settles in one of the chairs, stretching his long legs in front of him and just watches over his brother.

A few hours later when the sun has risen, two detectives show up, wanting to talk to Clay. As they can’t do that, they take custody of Clay’s clothes and his phone, take pictures of his injuries and talk to his doc. They promise to return later, but Brock suspects that this will soon be a NCIS investigation.

When Brock returns to the room after grabbing something to eat for lunch, the room is busy with people as they just removed the breathing tube. Clay’s left eye is open, searching the room restlessly until he finds Brock leaning against the doorframe smiling at him.

Finally all the staff leaves the room, satisfied with Clay’s breathing and Brock can get closer to his brother who is still on oxygen and whose breathing to him still looks quite strained.

“Hey, buddy. Welcome back!” Brock smiles at him, stepping closer to Clay’s bed, grabbing the hand Clay is extending to him.

“Thought you were with your family.” Clay rasps, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

Brock grins at him. “I am.”

At first, Clay looks confused, than a happy smile spreads over his face. “Thanks.”

“Trent found you in the waiting room. Everyone was here, but I send them home to sleep.” Brock squeezes his hand, but turns serious. “Clay, what happened? How did you end up here?”

“A misunderstanding.”

“How so?”

“Can it wait?” Clay’s voice sounds a little wheezy and Brock understands that it still takes an enormous effort for Clay to talk. “Only want to tell it once.”

“Sure, buddy. We’ll wait for the rest of the team. They should be here soon.”

Clay nods gratefully and closes his eyes, concentrating on breathing slowly in and out, trying not to move too much because everything still hurts. He slowly drifts back to sleep, only to be awakened by his brothers entering his small room half an hour later, closely followed by an agent of NCIS.

Clay tells them everything he knows, tells them about the ambush, about the brother Alvin and his sister Lyla who tried to kill herself because her boyfriend left her alone, pregnant. He tells them about the other guys as much as he can remember, tells them that he tried to hold back but isn’t sure how well he managed to pull his punches, tells them that they might even have ended up in a different ER. He tells them that they just left him lying there, too afraid to call him an ambulance, too afraid of being caught. Brock tells the agent that the police already took Clay’s phone and his clothes and the agent nods, tells them he is already in contact with the local police.

He asks a few more questions that Clay answers as best he can, but everyone can see that he is feeling drained more and more. At last the agent has all he needs and leaves.

Clay closes his eyes, exhales and with his next intake of air, he opens his eyes again, watching his brothers standing protectively around his bed, discussing how to proceed with this information, how to find those idiots and make them pay. A warm fuzzy feeling spreads through Clay that has nothing to do with the medication that is running through his veins.

“Just leave it with NCIS. I’m sure they’ll find them. Don’t want my family to get arrested.” Clay is exhausted now and he closes his eyes again.

Trent shoos everyone out the door, seeing Clay already halfway back to sleep and settles next to his brother in Brock’s vacated chair.

Clay pries his eyes open again and studies him curiously, but doesn’t say anything.

“You can rest easy, brother. I’m gonna watch over you now. Sleep.” Trent’s voice is quiet and soothing.

Clay knows he can go to sleep now. NCIS will find whoever assaulted him. His team is here to look out for him. He won’t be sidelined for too long and everything will heal up soon enough.

He is safe.

Chapter Text

Day 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”

Day 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”

Awareness returns slowly to him.

Sounds come first, although it is pretty quiet around him. There is a quiet ‘plop’ every now and then, like water dropping to the ground. In the distance there is wood creaking, and there are hollow sounds, like wind howling.

He knows he is sitting in a chair; his bare feet touch the cool surface of the ground and it feels like tile or polished wood.

He tries to move his arms and finds that he can’t. His wrists are bound painfully together behind his back, behind the chair and as far as he can feel, they are bound to the chair as well. He tries to move his legs, but they won’t move either. He can feel them bound to the legs of the chair, restraints painfully cutting into his flesh at the ankles. And that is when he notices, that he is not wearing anything but his boxers.

Next he tries to open his eyes but it seems to be an immense effort and when he thinks they are finally open, he still can’t see anything. There is just darkness. He moves his eyes around, moves his head, and a subtle panic starts to crawl in, because no matter his movements he can’t see anything. No light whatsoever.

He tries to even out his breathing, counts his breaths. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. And slowly the panic recedes.

He has a cottony and disgusting taste in his mouth, making him think that he might have thrown up recently, but he can’t remember any of that.

As he can’t see anything anyway, he closes his eyes again and rests his chin on his chest, trying to think of the last things he remembers.

How did he end up here?

He remembers going for a run in the hills on this cool autumn afternoon, fresh breeze blowing in his face, Cerb running and jumping happily around him.

Cerb?

Why was Cerberus with him? And where is the dog now? If Cerb was with him, why not Pepper, too?

He remembers stopping at the little creek to refill his canteen, remembers Cerb jumping around in it, getting water all over him, making him laugh. He remembers kneeling at the creek, watching a happily bouncing Cerb, suddenly feeling a little prick in his neck, dizziness and nausea washing over him, a yelp from Cerb. He remembers watching Cerb falter and go down at the edge of the creek, remembers rushing to his feet to get to the pup only to faceplant, remembers landing in the mud, unable to move anything.

And he remembers footsteps coming closer, boots entering his rapidly fading line of vision, someone bending over the dog first.

Someone bending over him.

A voice he seems to remember talking to him soothingly. Words floating to him that don’t make any sense until the pieces click into place.

He recognizes the voice at the same time as a well known face materializes right in front of him, one big happy smile. And it is the last thing he sees before the world goes completely dark.

His eyes pop open to complete darkness and his head snaps up. One word, one scream really, rips from his throat.

“BRENDA!”

Suddenly, he is blind. Daggers of light stab at his eyes and he slams them shut, trying to shield them from the brightness that illuminates the room around him all of a sudden. His eyes start to water, tears running down his cheeks and black dots dance behind his closed eyelids.

He can hear the opening of a door and footsteps coming closer. He opens his eyes again to see her, but he can only make out movement, everything is blurred, tears are still streaming down his face. As the light is still too bright he has to close them again.

And then there is this voice, that sugar sweet, artificially high, disgustingly caring sing-song voice.

“Oh, honey, you’re finally awake! I was getting worried!”

The voice comes closer, a hand touching his cheek and he flinches away from it.

“Now, now, sweety. I’m not gonna hurt you. I just found you again!”

A cool and moist cloth rubs gently over his streaming eyes, blocking out the light momentarily, giving him a short reprieve from the stabbing pain in his eyes, and he allows that to linger a moment longer.

“Brenda!” His voice is raspy and not as angry as it should sound. “What are you doing, Brenda? You have to let me go!” He hates that it is more of a plea than an order.

“Oh, honey, don’t be ridiculous!” The hand at his cheek is back, caressing it lightly and he pulls away from it. “I saved you!”

“From what?” His incredulous voice cracks a little.

“From yourself, silly. Can’t you see that you are lost without me? Now that we are back together, everything will be fine. You’ll see!” The hand is now gently caressing his closed eyes and moves up to his hair, weaving through them.

“Brenda! Stop that.” He shakes his head, trying to get away from this annoying hand. “What did you do to my eyes? I can’t see properly!”

“Oh, they are just a little irritated. I gave you some eye drops. They’ll be fine. Don’t you worry.” She pats his cheek lightly. “Now that you’re back, there is so much we can do together!” Her voice moves away and around him and he can do nothing but listen to her, listing all the things she wants to do with him.

“Brenda!” His voice is deep with anger and he can feel her move closer again. “I don’t want to do any of those things with you! You have to let me go!”

“Oh, shush, none of that. It’ll be fun!” Her voice is still chipper, still sweet, but he can hear a little edge in it, too.

“My friends will miss me. They’ll come looking for me!”

Now her voice is right next to his ear, dark and promising. “No one will find you! You are mine now!” She moves away again, but he can hear by her footsteps, that her mood has changed. “No one knows where you are! Not your friends, not the dog, no one!”

“What did you do to Cerberus?” His voice is small, scared, afraid for the sweet pup.

Her voice is close again and he flinches away from the malice. “I shot him! He is in your past. I am your future! Forever and ever!”

He blinks his eyes, hoping to see a little more, but his vision is still blurred and as soon as he opens them wider, the stabbing pain is back and the tears start rushing down again. Blinking one last time he lets his eyes stay closed. “My brothers will find me.”

She cackles loudly at that. “No, they won’t. I broke your phone. They don’t know where you are. No one knows.” She circles him again, letting her fingernails scratch over his bare skin and whispers in his ear. “You are all mine now!”

“I don’t understand why you are doing this! We only went out on two dates. And we agreed that we are not a good match!”

“You said we were not a good match. I think we are prefect for each other!”

He can feel her come closer again, straddling him, taking his head between her arms and weaving his fingers through his hair. “I love you, sweetheart, and I know you do, too!”

He shakes his head firmly, trying to get out of her grip. “NO. I don’t love you. I never will!”

She pulls his hair back forcefully, exposing his neck and gives him a teasing bite.

He bucks wildly now, trying to dislodge her from him, finding that it seems like the chair isn’t fastened to the floor. With all the energy he can muster, he throws himself to his left, tipping the chair with both of them in it, crashing to the floor. Unfortunately the chair doesn’t break as he had hoped, but judging by the exploding pain, his left arm does. As the restraints cut even deeper into his flesh, Brenda starts shrieking in a high-pitched voice, jumps off of him and starts kicking him.

One fierce kick to the head sends him to oblivion.

The next time he wakes up, he can feel himself lying in a soft bed, covered by a thick blanket. Hope rises in him that he has been found, that he is in a hospital, that this nightmare is finally over.

Slowly he opens his eyes only to slam them shut again. The light is still too bright, sending daggers back into his head and his vision is still blurry. For the short time his eyes were open, he could see a distorted picture of the room he is in and his heart drops. Even more so, when he hears the familiar voice.

“There you are again, sweetheart! I’m so glad you woke up from your nap! That was a nasty fall you had there.” The voice comes closer, a soft hand touching his right arm, stroking it.

He flinches away, tries to scoot over, away from that voice and that hand, only to find himself still restrained. There seems to be some kind of belt around his waist that has him pinned to the bed. His legs are stretched, ankles fastened by soft restraints to the bed and so are his wrists. Even his chest is in a kind of harness, strapping him to the bed without much room for movement.

“I’m sorry I had to strap you in. You were beside yourself and I was worried you would hurt yourself. It’s just for your own safety.” She pats his chest lightly, sitting down on the bed next to him. “That only shows, that you need me to look out for you. And I won’t let you out of my sight this time.” She lies down next to him, snuggling under the blanket and trails her finger lightly over his chest and up to his face.

He tries to squirm away, but she holds him tight.

Still trying to get away from her roaming hands, he tries to reason with her again. “Brenda, please, you have to stop. You have to let me go!”

“Why would I do that? You said, you would never leave!” She sounds seriously curious.

“When did I say that? I never said that! Brenda, please, I don’t want to stay here with you.”

“Nonsense! You just say that to tease me.” She swats his chest a little, lying down again, resting her head on his bare chest.

After a few moments she sits up and moves off the bed. “I’m going to make us a nice dinner. I know you like steak, don’t you?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Of course you are.” He hears her walking around, opening doors, rattling with pans and pots, hears her starting to chop things.

He hates just lying here and not be able to do anything. Carefully opening his eyes to slits, he is able to look around the room. Brenda is in one corner where there is a kitchenette, there is a small table with two chairs, a large wardrobe and the bed he is in. There is only one door leading out of the room and it doesn’t seem like it’s the front door. Through the windows he can see a lot of green, gently swaying in the wind. He is probably in a small hut in some woods, maybe even the woods at the foot of the hills where he started his run.

With the fingers of his right hand he tries to open the restraints to his wrist, working the mechanism, trying only by touch to find out how it works. His left hand just feels numb, fingertips sizzling and even the slightest move of the hand sends excruciating waves of pain up and down his arm.

A little pressure on the base joint of the thumb and he is able to slip out of the restraints of his right wrist. Brenda is occupied with the cooking, sending wafts of smoke through the room that smell of something burnt, all the while talking to herself and to him but never expecting an answer.

When his right arm is free, he opens the belt on his waist, fumbles with the harness on his chest, but is able to open it before he works on the strap to free his left wrist, pulling his left arm to his chest the moment it is free. Brenda is still oblivious to his workings, humming happily between her monologues and chopping away at vegetables. He slowly and silently sits up and opens the restraints on his ankles.

Finally he is free.

He calculates the distance to the door, the angle to Brenda and the possibility of her seeing him sneak out. He knows he has to take the chance. There won’t be another one.

What he didn’t add to his calculation were his legs giving out as soon as he gets up, not supporting his weight in the slightest. He crumbles to the floor with a loud crash, a raw scream ripping from his throat when he lands on his already broken arm, the pain sending him to the edge of unconsciousness.

Brenda whips around, eyes going wide as she sees him lying on the floor, free of the restraints. She rushes at him in a furious rage, cutting knife still in her hand and jumps on him, driving the knife into the left side of his chest, sending them both back to the floor. He tries to get up, but she pins him down with her weight, screeching unintelligible and in a volume, he fears will rupture his eardrums.

Pulling the bloody knife out of his chest she holds it over her head. “No! You cannot leave me! You won’t! Your heart is mine!”

Looking up at the screeching hellcat pinning him down to the floor, he knows there is nothing more he can do to avoid being stabbed through the heart. He raises his right arm weakly in an attempt to shield, but she forces it away.

The second she plunges the knife downward in the direction of his chest, the door explodes inward and six men and a dog enter the room. A lot of shouting and screaming starts, but when Brenda continues trying to stab him, the room echoes from six simultaneous gunshots. Brenda grunts and collapses onto him and he shoves at her frantically, trying to get away from this unhinged woman.

As soon as he is rid of her, he scrambles backwards to the door, broken arm clutched to his chest, clutched over the fresh knife wound that has a steady stream of blood running out.

Suddenly there is a lot of fur hopping around him, a wet nose in his face, and he can hear Brock’s quiet voice. “Good boy, Cerberus. You found him!” He holds his hands out and pats the excited dog, gives him a well deserved ear scratch.

Trent’s voice from his left makes him turn his head and let go of the pup. “Hey brother, that looks like it hurts. Let me see.” He can feel the probing fingers of Trent on his arm, gentle and light, a compression bandage already slapped over the knife wound and the prick of a shot of morphine in his thigh. He feels himself swaying a little backwards, but he is greeted by strong arms, holding him upright.

“I got you, buddy. You can relax now. She is dead.” Sonny’s southern drawl calms him like the knowledge that Brenda can no longer harm him.

“Trent, I can’t see. She did something with my eyes. She said she gave me drops!” His voice shakes a little, scared to know if the damage will be permanent.

He can sense Trent coming closer, carefully prying his lids open, not even shining a light in it. “Can’t you see anything at all? Or can you discern between shadows?”

“Everything is blurry, light hurts like hell, can’t focus on anything.”

“Your pupils are dilated to the max. There are atropine-drops on the kitchen table she might have used, so you couldn’t see. If that’s all she did, it’ll pass. Anything else I need to know apart from the eyes, the knife wound and the broken arm?”

“Legs won’t support me. Feel like rubber.” He grumbles. “And I need to take a piss.”

Laughter erupts around him. And he knows all the knuckleheads of Bravo came to find him.

“How did you find me?”

“Cerberus. A jogger found him at the creek unconscious, called Brock from the number on his collar and we all ended up there. As soon as he was awake he started looking for you. We informed the police and helped with the search.” Jason gives Cerberus a proud pat.

“She said, she shot him. I thought…”

“No.” Brocks assures him. “Seems like she just shot him with a dart of sedatives. He’s fine. Don’t worry.” Smiling at the still excited dog, he adds. “Looks like he was pretty worried about you, too.”

“Found some interesting stuff in the other room.” Clay rounds the corner and stops next to Jason. “Your friend Brenda here seems to have a history of delusional behavior. Even has some meds to treat psychosis, but they are still untouched so I’ll go with “she didn’t take them”. I even found three restraining orders hanging on the wall, all with little hearts painted all around them and pictures of the men taped to them. She was a real nut job!”

“Let’s get you up and out of here. I radioed the rangers and they’ll be here in a few minutes.” Ray steps to his side and between Sonny, Trent and Brock they have him up on his feet and walking with their support out of this hellhole of a cabin and into the cool sunshine of another fall day.

They don’t have to wait long before one of the Park Ranger’s cruisers appear, followed by another two. Jason shows them around and the others take him to one of the cars.

Trent opens the door for him.

“Get in before you fall down. Let’s get you home, Scott.”

Chapter Text

Day 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

Day 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

The little brick house is as eerily silent as the rest of the village when they make entry in a single line in the early hours just before dawn. At the rear, Trent and Clay stay to cover their entry point, scanning the back yard and the treeline, while the others clear the rest of the small house. Ray and Brock get to the front entrance to stand guard when they don’t find anyone on the ground floor. Sonny and Jason make their way to the first floor, hoping to find their HVT and his family to bring them back with them, back to safety.

They arrive at the last door and in the dark of the silent house Sonny works his magic to open the door quietly. As it swings open, Jason and Sonny are met with a bloodbath, their HVT and his family already dead. And by the look of it, they didn’t die quickly.

“Shit.” Sonny shines his flashlight over them, looking a little pale at the sight of the tortured family. Jason turns away to contact HAVOC.

“Bravo One to HAVOC, we pass Scorpion. I repeat, pass Scorpion. We are too late.”

“Good copy, One.” Only the small pause tells Jason the emotion Blackburn hides at this mission failure. “Check for intel and then clear out to exfil point. Sunrise is only thirty mikes away.”

“Understood.”

“Contact rear!” Clay’s voice over the radio is closely followed by Ray’s. “Contact front!” All of a sudden, the little house is riddled with bullets from all sides.

“HAVOC, troops in contact! “ Jason yells through the coms, as both he and Sonny race downstairs to back up the others, Jason moving to the front door, Sonny to the back. “We need an exit!”

“ISR shows hostiles appearing on all sides out of nowhere, maybe two dozen, most of them at the back.” Lisa’s voice is tense, but steady. “Best way out is the front entrance, less hostiles and more cover.”

“Roger that.” Jason keys his coms again to order Trent, Sonny and Clay to the front, but Ray’s frantic shout silences him.

“Incoming!”

A second later the upper floor explodes with the impact of an RPG. Jason is thrown down the last steps of the stairs, landing hard on the wooden floor, debris already falling down on him, knocking him unconscious. Ray and Brock are blasted away from the door and into the nearest wall, knocking them out, while in the back, the rest scramble for cover behind and beneath the sparse furniture. The whole building shakes violently, starting to collapse and raining down big blocks of concrete and wood on the six operators, burying them underneath.

As soon as the debris stops falling, there is movement in the back. Sonny and Clay push upturned furniture and debris off of them, getting to their feet with their rifles at the ready. Clay takes up his position at the rear, picking off the surprised hostiles one by one, using his advantage of night vision. Sonny digs Trent out from beneath a half-collapsed wall, brushes him off and they hurry to the front to find their brothers.

Miraculously, the front wall on the ground level is still standing, though cracked in places and a little slanted, but there is a big hole where the ceiling used to be, giving a clear view of the star strewn sky that is already turning a little lighter. The rooms on the upper level seem to have been completely destroyed, and with them any intel there might have been.

They find Jason first, lying unconscious and face down in the rubble at the bottom of the stairs, or what is left of them. While Sonny moves to the window next to the door and starts picking off the hostiles there as well, Trent carefully turns Jason over onto his back, finding a steady pulse and regular breathing, but a deep gash at his temple, slowly oozing blood. All bones seem to be in the right place and there are no other bleeding wounds. Trent quickly moves on to search for his other two missing brothers.

Ray comes next. When Trent kneels at his side, Ray is already stirring, eyes a little unfocused, but moving all his limbs. Trent helps him to get free of the rubble and sit up, at which point he is violently sick. Trent checks him over, finding a probably broken right shoulder in addition to the concussion that is more than likely and the scrapes and bruises they all sustained. He tells Ray to stay and not move and continues on to look for Brock.

Brock was closest to the blast. Trent finds him lying on his back, close to the door and, like Jason, he is unconscious. Trent removes the large chunks of concrete from him without so much as a groan from Brock. Pushing off the last big piece, Trent can see the nastily broken left leg and the rusty rebar that is poking out of Brock’s right thigh.

“Ah, shit.” Trent closes his eyes for a moment, breathing through the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him.

“HAVOC to any Bravo element. Radio check!” Blackburn’s voice sounds a little frantic in his ears, indicating that this is not his first call to them. Seeing that Jason is unconscious, Ray too confused and Sonny busy protecting them, Trent keys his radio.

“HAVOC, this is Bravo Four. All still alive. One and Five are down, the rest ambulatory.”

“Good copy, Four. No daylight exfil possible. Found you a place to hunker down for the day.”

Trent hangs his head, taking another deep breath, not liking it at all. But he knows they can’t stay here, can’t risk a daylight exfil, knows Lisa and Eric will find a way to get to them as fast as possible. Resigned he keys his coms again. “Go ahead. Send the coordinates. Keep trying to find us an earlier exfil!”

“Working on it.”

Clay makes his way over slowly and carefully, stopping next to Trent. “Back door is clear for the moment. If we want to move, we should do it now.”

Trent and Sonny both nod in agreement. “Sonny, take Jason. I’ll carry Brock. Ray can move on his own, but we need to keep an eye on him. Clay, I think it’s best that you take his gun, just in case.” Sonny and Clay exchange a worried look. “He is pretty out of it, doesn’t know where he is and isn’t sure if he knows me or not. He trusts me for the moment, but I don’t want him to shoot us if that changes.”

Clay nods and moves to Ray’s side, taking his rifle and sidearm, knowing it’s the right thing to do, but still feeling a little uneasy to leave his brother unprotected. “I’ll take point first and lead us to the coordinates.”

Trent pricks Brock with a shot of morphine, knowing with his injuries that moving will be brutal, but they can’t afford to stay. Fortunately, Brock stays unconscious as Trent lifts him on his shoulder and they move to the back and out of the destroyed building.

Trent follows Clay through the pale light of dawn, Brock slung over his shoulder. Ray stays between Trent and Sonny, eyes still unfocused, looking confused and clutching his right arm to his chest in an attempt to not jar it with every uneven step. Sonny, with Jason over his shoulders, brings up the rear, scanning their surroundings, hoping to not find any more hostiles, keeping his rifle ready just in case.

They have to trek nearly half an hour through the uneven terrain, stopping regularly to alternate carrying their wounded, moving up the mountain side into the rockier parts until they reach the entrance to what appears to be an old abandoned mine.

“That looks ominous.” Sonny drawls, his intense gaze finding Clay’s, who nods in agreement. “Doesn’t look very inviting now, does it.”

“No, it doesn’t. But we need to get out of the open. Let’s move.” It’s Trent who is in the lead and he pulls down his night vision, entering the mine and its darkness.

They find one of the old supply rooms close to the entrance but far enough in that they cannot be spotted from outside. Sonny and Clay lower their injured teammates carefully onto old and dusty bunks and Trent orders Ray to sit on another one. They raid the room and find old petroleum torches fastened to the walls that still work and bathe the room in a dim orange light.

“HAVOC, this is Bravo Three. How copy?” There is only static from the radio.

“Probably the mine interfering with our radios.” Clay suggests.

Sonny nods and moves to the door, taking his rifle and putting his NODs in place. “I’ll go back to the entrance to contact Blackburn.”

Trent has already put his bag down and is rummaging around in it, giving a curt nod in acknowledgement. “Clay, check on Ray. Try to see if he trusts you enough to drink something. Test the sensibility and blood flow in his arm and fingers and immobilize the shoulder as best you can.” Clay moves to Ray’s side and Trent kneels next to Brock.

Brock is still unconscious and pale, but his breathing is normal and his pulse steady. Trent’s second body check doesn’t reveal any injuries he didn’t find on his first inspection. He puts a tourniquet on the right thigh just above the piece of rebar, thankful that it didn’t go all the way through, and wads gauze around it, trying to stabilize the piece of metal and keep it from moving around. Next, he inspects the fractured left leg, finding the pulse in the foot. He splints it as best he can with pieces of wood he finds lying around the room. Just as he finishes Brock groans and starts to move around, pale blue eyes slowly opening, searching for something familiar. Trent takes Brock’s hand, drawing his gaze to his. “Hey, brother. I’m here. You are safe.”

Brock lets his eyes close again slowly, nodding, sighing in relief. “’kay.”

“Rest, sleep. We got you.” Trent can see that Brock is already out again, but he is grateful for his short moment of awareness.

All of a sudden, there is a pained yell and Jason tries to sit up, slumping back down instantly, panting heavily. Both Trent and Clay rush to his side, putting their hands on Jason’s shoulder to hold him back down. “Hey, Jase, easy, easy, stay down.”

Jason squints through slotted lids up at Trent, brows furrowed in pain, lips pressed tightly together. “Fuck!”

Trent pricks him with a shot of morphine. “What hurts?”

Jason squeezes his eyes shut and tries to take a few deep breaths before answering. “Head is killing me, but the hip is worse. Feels like I’m split open!”

Trent rechecks Jason’s legs and hip, finding his pelvic bone more unstable than on his first check.

“Ah, shit. Looks like there is something broken. I’ll try to stabilize it. You just try to stay still.” Turning to Clay, he motions to Jason’s legs and hip. “We need to turn him to get a strap in place. Jase, this is gonna hurt like hell. Ready?”

Clay nods and Jason shakes his head, nodding at the same time, biting down hard on his bottom lip. They work quickly to put the strap around both hips pulling it tight to stabilize the pelvis, but not fast enough to stop Jason’s roar of agony. As soon as they have him back on his back with the tight strap around his hips, Jason relaxes visibly.

He breathes out slowly, closing his glazed eyes. “Where are we?”

“We’re in an old abandoned mine outside the little town, waiting for sundown to exfil.” Trent repeats his bodycheck on Jason, hoping not to have missed anything else.

Before Jason can ask anything else, Sonny comes back into the room. “HAVOC is up to date. They are working on an earlier exfil, but it’s unlikely. We’ll check in with them every hour. How are things here?”

“Jase woke up, head seems fine, but he might have broken his pelvis. We stabilized it as best we could.” At Trent’s report, Jason opens his eyes to look at Sonny, raising his hand in greeting. “Brock woke, too, but is unconscious again, which is probably for the best. The rebar doesn’t seem to have hit an artery, but could move and start a major bleed. Left leg is broken in multiple places, but there still is good blood flow to the toes.”

“What about Ray? Any improvement?” Sonny looks over to their 2IC, who is currently sitting on his bunk, eyes focused on his fingers, moving them in front of his face in a confusing pattern.

Clay shakes his head. “His right shoulder and arm are broken and I immobilized them. He has a bad concussion, still doesn’t know where he is, but seems to remember me, at least as far as he knows he can trust me. Doesn’t remember my name, but knows his own name. He talks about Naima most of the time, but I’m not sure he knows they are married. He keeps telling me about the first time they went out together like it happened last week. When I asked him about the date, he just looked at me confused and didn’t answer.” Clay gives a one shouldered shrug and chuckles a little.

Trent notices and takes a closer look at Clay. “What about you?”

He gives him a tight smile. “Scrapes and bruises mostly. A few bruised ribs, left wrist hurts, but is still functional. I’m fine, Trent.”

Trent points to one of the chairs. “Sit and let me have a look.”

Clay sighs and sits down, starting to unstrap his gear with his right hand. Trent turns to Sonny, a questioning look on his face.

Sonny returns the look levelly. “I’m good. Nothing broken, a few cuts and bruises.”

Trent nods, turning back to Clay and Sonny moves to the door to stand guard. Pulling up Clay’s shirt, Trent sucks in a quick breath, seeing the colorful bruising along the left side of his chest. “Bruised, huh?” He probes Clay’s chest with his fingertips, eliciting soft groans from him. “At least two are broken and so is your collarbone, by the way.” He shakes his head in disbelief and fishes for an elastic bandage from his bag to wrap them. “Let me see your wrist.” Dutifully Clay extends his left wrist and Trent turns and probes it. Clay lets him move his fingers until he is satisfied. “Don’t think it’s busted, but I’ll wrap it, too and you can put an instant cold compress on it.”

Around mid-morning Ray starts to puke and doesn’t want to take in any more drink. Trent starts an iv-line on him to keep him hydrated as he continues retching. Soon Ray is exhausted, pale and sweaty and settles down on the bunk, fighting to keep his eyes open. Clay sits with him, talks to him soothingly until Ray finally succumbs to the need of his body and falls into a restless sleep.

Clay watches Trent make his rounds, watches him starting iv-lines on both Jason and Brock. Trent checks on Jason who drifts in and out of consciousness, then checks on Brock. From time to time, he loosens the tourniquet to keep the bloodflow in the right leg and doses him with morphine. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of Clay’s stomach as he watches Trent. Something seems amiss. Trent’s movements seem off. He looks pale and flushed at the same time, and although the mine stays cool throughout the whole day, Trent seems to sweat.

Every time Trent catches Clay watching, he brushes him off, tells him he is fine, just tired, exhausted, and Clay knows they all are. He probably doesn’t look much better. But still the uneasy feeling won’t go away. They take turns keeping watch and resting, trying to conserve their strength for the exfil at dusk.

In the late afternoon, it’s Sonny’s turn to lie down to rest and he is out like a light within minutes. Trent moves to do another checkup and Clay makes his way outside for their hourly check-in with Blackburn. On his return he watches Trent rise from Brock’s bedside, wavering on the spot. Clay is at his side in an instant, preventing Trent from faceplanting by snaking his right arm around his hip and guiding him to one of the empty bunks. Lowering him down on the dusty bed, he can feel heat radiating from Trent. Glazed eyes look up at him, pain and worry lines creasing his forehead, face pale and sweaty.

“Trent?”

“I don’t feel so good.”

“I can see that. What is it?”

Trent pulls weakly at his shirt, trying to lift it for Clay to get a better look, but halfway through the motion, he starts shivering, teeth chattering, and he tries to turn on his right side, curling in on himself. Clay keeps him on his back, pushing the shirt all the way up. On Trent’s abdomen he can see an angry bruise that has spread from just beneath his ribcage on his left side over the lower half of his belly. Clay carefully touches the hot skin, pushing lightly and Trent can barely suppress a scream. He scrambles to lean over the side of the bunk and vomits on the floor.

Clay looks down to the ground, his mind slowly registering the red color that paints it now. “Fuck.”

Trent’s glazed eyes find Clay’s, and Clay can see pain in them. And fear. The same fear that grips Clay’s heart with a chilling hand. He knows this is bad, knows there is not much he can do for his brother here but give him painkillers and fluids, hoping he will hang on long enough.

He pats Trent’s arm, pricking him with a morphine shot and tells him to stay on the bunk. Trent just nods and drifts off when the morphine kicks in. Clay starts an iv-line and runs fluids before he wakes Sonny to tell him about the turn of events.

“What’s wrong with Trent?” Sonny lets his worried gaze wander over his injured brothers.

“I’m not sure. He must have been hit by some debris. My guess? Something ruptured inside of him. Maybe he is bleeding, maybe he has an infection from burst intestines. I don’t know. Beats me how he stayed upright this long. We need to get him to a hospital. Fast. Same with the other three.”

Sonny nods slowly, trying to think of a way to make that happen. “About two hours until sundown. I’ll go talk to Blackburn.” He watches Clay take in a shaky breath. “How you holding up?”

“I’m fine, Sonny.” He gives him a warm smile. “The arm throbs, breathing hurts, but I’ll live. You?”

“Could use a fine whiskey now and sleep for a week, but that can wait.” He pats his best friend on his good shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Ok, let’s try and get out of here. Check on them and I’ll be right back.”

Clay watches Sonny leave the room and returns to Trent, giving him antipyretics and painkillers. Trent gives him a weak smile, eyes slowly drooping closed.

“I’m sorry.”

Clay squeezes Trent’s hand gently. “Hey, don’t. Just…” Clay swallows hard. “Just hang on. We got you. Just concentrate on staying here with us, ok?”

Trent nods, squeezing back lightly, but still drifting off.

Clay stays a moment longer, checking Trent’s vitals to make sure he is still there, not liking his fast decline.

He checks on the others, too. Brock and Jason are both semi-conscious, both in a daze of opiates, but stable. Ray tries to wander off again, still wary of his surroundings, still convinced that he needs to call his new girlfriend to ask her out again. Clay talks him down, explaining to him that they will be in cell phone range soon and that he can call Naima then and that calms him enough to sit back down. Clay is grateful that he doesn’t have to tie him to the chair to keep him from wandering off.

The door opens and Sonny comes back in. “Ok, they are readying the chopper now, but it’ll take at least another hour until they can be here. Do we have that long?”

Clay shrugs, unwanted tears springing to his eyes. “I don’t know. Trent is… it’s bad. He is fading fast. And I don’t know what else I can do… I…”

Sonny pulls him into a tight hug, and they stay like that for a while, drawing strength from each other, until Clay pulls slowly away. “Thanks. I needed that.”

Sonny just nods at him. “Let’s get them ready and move them to the mine entrance so we can leave as soon as that chopper lands.”

Together they get to work. Clay shoots Brock and Jason up on morphine, knowing that any movement will be excruciating. Trent doesn’t react to his sternal rub anymore, his pulse barely palpable. Clay finds the two bags of blood in Trent’s bag and gives them to him, buying him a little more time, hoping it will be enough. He changes the empty bag of fluids for the last one in Trent’s bag, turning it to a low rate, knowing that after that, there won’t be anything more he can do for his brother.

Clay moves their gear to the mine entrance, setting everything down just inside the opening where it is still out of sight, while Sonny starts carrying their brothers to the front, starting with Brock, who is already out again. Clay coaxes Ray into walking with him to the mine entrance and Sonny makes his second trip with Jason who is making low pained noises the whole way, passing out just as Sonny lowers him down next to Brock.

They know they can’t sling Trent over Sonny’s shoulder to move him to the entrances. In the end they use the old bedsheet he his lying on to carry/drag him slowly and carefully to the entrance. Trent doesn’t stir once through the whole ordeal.

Outside the darkness slowly descends around them and as soon as the last light has left the horizon, they can make out a faint whump-whump. Sonny contacts the bird, signaling it with his flashlight, and soon after the BlackHawk lands on the rocky ground in front of the mine. Two corpsmen greet them and help get their brothers into the chopper. Clay tries to give them all the information they need, helping them to arrange the injured in the bird. As soon as everyone is on board, the chopper lifts off.

Sonny stays with the less severely wounded, soothing Ray and monitoring Jason and Brock, while Clay helps the corpsmen to work on Trent. They start more lines and hook him up to more blood and fluids and antibiotics.

But despite all their effort, Trent’s heart stops a minute before they touch down at their base. Clay is shouldered aside by one of the corpsmen, starting chest compressions and he just sits there, watching them work on his brother, silent tears running down his face.

The doors open and a team of medicals take over, whisking Trent away, taking Ray, Jason and Brock with them, but Clay is unable to move, feeling a big hole opening up inside him, threatening to swallow him like it nearly did when Brian died.

But this time he is not alone. This time he has a family. This time Sonny is there.

Sonny scoots over to him, pulling him into a fierce hug, holding him as long as Clay allows it and then guides him out of the chopper and into the infirmary. Sonny stays with him through the examination, the x-rays of his chest and arm, not needing him to talk, not talking himself, just giving support and strength through his presence. And Clay is grateful.

They end up in the waiting area joined by Lisa and Eric, drinking bad coffee and hoping to get some news about their brothers soon.

It feels like a millennium has passed but it’s only a few hours when one of the doctors comes out to tell them about their brothers.

They have repaired Ray's broken shoulder and upper arm, but his concussion turned out to be a minor brain bleed that will heal with rest and time. Thankfully, Ray has returned to the present, remembered his team, his wife, his kids.

Brock and Jason are both back from surgery and are getting settled into a room. Jason’s open book fracture has been screwed back together and will heal without loss of function. The rebar in Brock’s right leg didn’t hit anything major, just another scar to show. And his left leg now has more metal in it than the terminator. But eventually they will both make a full recovery.

Trent… is alive.

They got him back and repaired the damage the falling debris caused, relieving him of a small part of his smaller intestines in the process. He is not out of the woods yet, but they are optimistic. He is strong and healthy. He will return to his brothers.

Clay feels sick to his stomach. Sick with relief. Sick with the realization that half an hour longer in that mine and they would have lost Trent. Trent, who always gives them shit for not taking proper care of themselves or for downplaying injuries, who has saved all of them numerous times, who is always there to patch them up.

He bends over in his seat, closing his eyes, breathing through the nausea, fighting the overwhelming urge to vomit.

Sonny’s steadying hand is there again, rubbing soothing circles on his back. “Breathe, BamBam. We’ve done it. We got them out. They’ll be ok.”

Clay looks up into the calm eyes of his best friend, nodding. “Let’s go see them.”

And together they rise.

Chapter Text

Day 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

He opens his eyes and everything is blurry. Shaking his head, he blinks a few times to get everything into focus. Something heavy is pinning him down to the ground and he finds a big chunk of concrete lying on his right side on top of his vest. Pushing himself out from underneath it, he gets to his feet slowly, checking all his limbs for injuries but they work just fine.

He takes a look around, but the air is full of dust, and he can’t see much. Closing his eyes for a second, he takes a deep centering breath. He can hear gunfire in the distance, explosions and shouts, can smell gunpowder and dust and blood.

The smell of blood is what gets him moving. He was tasked to bring up the rear with the boss and the kid, moving into this house to find a woman. The rest of the team had entered from the other side, and he had taken point at the rear entrance. He had found nothing of concern when they entered. No hostiles, no explosives, no woman. But the world exploded around them anyway.

He moves around the destroyed room to try and find the boss. Carefully he moves a few slabs of stone around until he finds a dusty hand sticking out beneath a lot of debris. The hand doesn’t respond to his squeezing but there is a pulse. All the dust makes it hard to identify who is on the other end of that hand, but that someone is still alive. Slowly and carefully, he digs through the rubble to free the owner of the hand and finally he is rewarded with a dust-covered face.

Brushing off the dust a little, he recognizes the boss. He is unconscious and not responding to his efforts to wake him up. He tries to unearth more of the boss, but there is a large slab of stone lying across his middle. The boss is pinned to the ground just as much as he was. He carefully tries to pull him out from under the stone, but he seems to be stuck. Or the stone is too heavy. At least the boss is breathing regularly, and he decides to leave him there for now in favor of finding the kid. Because the boss had told him to look out for the kid, protect him if necessary.

Still hearing gunfire in the distance, he knows the rest of the team will take care of the threat and then they will come and get them out. But he keeps his head on a swivel anyway, scanning for hostiles but for the moment they seem to be alone here.

He continues his search of the room, treading carefully over all the debris, never knowing what he steps on, hoping to find the kid still alive. He looks back over his shoulder to check on the boss from time to time, always finding him still breathing but still unconscious.

At last, he finds the kid in what used to be the doorway to the next room, buried under the wall to the hallway, under piles of wood and plaster.

He slowly works his way through the rubble until he finally reaches the kid. His heartbeat increases when he finally sets eyes on him. Like the boss, the kid is unconscious, covered in dust. He checks him over and it is worse than he thought. The pulse is fast and faint and he can smell the blood that the kid must be losing somewhere. But he can’t see any wounds with all the debris on top of him. Like with the boss, he tries to pull the kid out from under all the debris, but a scream makes him stop.

Clay opens his eyes, biting down on his lips to stop the scream. Pain-filled eyes look directly at him. “Stop, please don’t!” That’s all Clay can manage to get out.

He checks again to find the source of the kid’s agony and finds a large piece of metal rebar stuck in his belly, probably pinning him to the ground.

Well, shit.

He sighs and lets his head hang for a second. He needs help, the boss and the kid need help. More than he can give. Clay seems to have come to the same conclusion. He reaches with his hand to his radio to contact the others, but finds it broken, like all the others.

Checking all the gear available to him, he knows it will have to be one of two ways. He can either try to call out for the others to come and help or he will have to run to get them. He doesn’t want to leave the boss and the kid unprotected here, even though Clay is now awake, so he opts for hollering for help. He knows that might bring unwanted guests as well, but he is confident that he can protect those two until the rest of the team arrives.

He takes a deep breath that hurts like hell and lets loose an earsplitting roar until his lungs burn. Breathing in again, he repeats the call. In the distance, the gunfire has grown sporadic, and he thinks he can make out running footsteps coming closer.

Before any of the team can reach them, there is a sound just beyond where the kid is lying. Clay tries to raise his rifle but can’t get it free. Communicating silently with him, Clay draws his sidearm.

Just in time he spots one of the hostiles entering the destroyed room, but before the hostile can so much as raise the weapon and before Clay can point his gun at the man in the doorway, he has already taken him down. Swift and bloody.

“Wow, that was fast. Didn’t know you could do that!” Clay’s praise is welcome and he grins at Clay toothily. Quickly checking on the boss again and finding no change, he returns to Clay’s side.

“Help me get those pieces of wood off of me.” Clay starts digging himself out of the rubble and he complies, prying pieces of wood off the kid and dragging them away.

As soon as he hears footsteps drawing closer, he takes on his defensive position again, away from Clay, covering both the boss and the kid from whoever comes through the collapsed doorway next.

When he sees who is the first of the team to arrive at this place of destruction, he relaxes and returns to Clay’s side, continuing to drag off pieces of wood.

It’s the one who will be able to help the most.

It’s Trent.

Trent takes one look in the destroyed room and knows instantly what he has to do. Moving to the boss’ side, Trent quickly checks him over, coming to the same conclusion as him. The boss can wait a little.

“Hey, buddy. Need some help?” Trent squats down next to him and between the two of them, they have the kid freed in a few minutes.

Clay’s glazed eyes find Trent’s. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Trent just sits there, unmoving, staring at the extent of the kid’s injuries. “It’s not good, but you had worse, I guess.”

That has Clay laughing a little, wincing at the jarring of the metal bar in his abdomen.

Trent keys his coms to inform Blackburn and the rest of Bravo. “Bravo Four to HAVOC. Do you copy?”

“Loud and clear, Bravo Four. Go ahead.”

“We need a medevac to our position, ASAP. Two injured.”

“Roger that, Four. We’ll get it to you.”

Trent exhales slowly, then throws his bag open and gets to work. Trent seems to have forgotten about him, so he moves to Clay’s side, watching what Trent is doing and Clay instantly puts a hand out for him.

When Trent registers him, he pauses for a moment to look at him, meeting his soulful eyes. “He’ll be ok, Cerb. I promise. You’ve done well. Now, go and try to wake Brock.”

Cerberus gives Trent a grateful lick, getting a quick pat in return and returns to Brock’s side, nudging him and licking his face to finally make him wake up, but Brock stays unconscious.

Sonny barrels around the corner, skidding to a halt at the entrance to the little room, closely followed by Ray and Jason. Sonny instantly moves to Trent’s side, sending a bullet through the head of the hostile with the ripped out throat on his way, just to make sure he stays dead. Seeing Clay awake lets Sonny relax a little, even though they all can see the large metal rod impaling Clay.

Ray and Jason move to Brock and work together to lift the larger pieces of concrete from Brock’s midsection.

With the weight of the concrete gone, Brock starts to stir. His eyes open slowly, a little unfocused at first, roaming around the room, finding Trent and Sonny working on Clay and Jason’s and Ray’s concerned faces leaning over him. At last his gaze finds Cerberus, standing at his head, huffing once as if to tell him he took his time. Brock moves as if to rise, but Jason and Ray keep him down.

“Don’t move, brother. Let us check you out first.” Ray’s soothing voice keeps Brock calm, while Jason checks him over, making him move his limbs, probing his chest, his abdomen, his pelvis.

“What happened, Five?” Jason’s question pulls Brock’s attention to him.

“We, uhm, we made entry, everything was clear. A grenade came bouncing into the room and everything exploded.”

Cerberus gives a soft whine at his recollection and lies down next to Brock, putting his muzzle on his front paws. Brock reaches his hand back behind him and pats his dog, and Cerberus quiets. “I’m ok, buddy.”

Jason apparently has come to the same conclusion. He gets up and moves to Trent’s side, getting all the information for a fast exfil.

“Did we find the woman?”

Ray shakes his head. “No, looks like it was a trap for us. No woman, no intel, just hostiles shooting at us.” Giving Brock a pointed look, he adds, “Blowing us up.”

They can hear the faint sound of the chopper approaching and they start to move to get to their exfil point. Sonny and Jason help Trent to move Clay onto the collapsible stretcher. Clay groans in pain, but stays conscious, rebar shortened by Sonny to make the travel possible. Ray helps Brock to rise, and Cerberus follows his boss closely, keeping a watchful eye on him.

In the chopper, Sonny continues to help Trent work on Clay, who seems stable for the moment, although he has lost a lot of blood. Jason and Ray watch from their seats, sporadically gazing at Brock, making sure he is ok, too.

Cerberus is content to have his Brock back. He cuddles close to him, putting his head down on Brock’s thigh. They can both feel the exhaustion now, can feel the effect of the blast, the hurt where the chunk of concrete pinned them to the floor after the explosion.

They sit there together, both closing their eyes, content in the company of the other, breathing through the aches and pains of this mission.

The chopper lands at the base, its doors open to reveal a medical team waiting for them, waiting to take over Clay, putting him on a gurney and moving him into the infirmary. Sonny, Jason, Ray and Trent disembark the chopper and start to follow.

“Trent?”

At Brock’s pained, pleading tone, Trent stops in his tracks and turns around to look at his best friend, fearing that they missed a severe injury on Brock.

They did.

It’s just not on Brock.

It’s on Cerberus.

Brock holds his limp dog carefully, tears streaming down his face, eyes pleading with Trent. “Please help him!”

Trent rushes back to the chopper, the other three at his heels. Brock lowers the dog slowly to the floor of the chopper, carefully pealing him out of his vest. Now that the noise of the chopper is gone, they can hear wheezing sounds with every quick pant the dog takes. With the vest off, Trent runs his hands lightly over the body of their hair missile, finding broken ribs and a tight belly.

“Sonny, get a gurney! We need to get him inside and to a vet, now!”

Sonny is already halfway to the med center and returns with the gurney half a minute later, while Jason is off to find a vet on the base. They place the limp dog carefully on the gurney and wheel him into the infirmary. No one knows how Jason managed to find someone this quickly, but as soon as they enter the med center, Jason appears with a doctor at his side.

Brock and the doc take Cerberus into a treatment room, where they are joined by more medical personnel. Brock stays out of their way, staying at the head of his dog, scratching his ears, talking to him in a quiet, soothing voice, tuning out the sounds of a franticly beeping heart monitor and the shouting medical team.

The doc gets Brock’s attention over the noise. “He is bleeding severely, and his lungs are damaged. If we want to try to save him, we need to get him to the OR now.”

Brock nods his consent, but the doc hesitates a moment longer. “You should say your goodbye now. I don’t think he will survive this.”

Brock looks down at his faithful dog, massaging his ears between his fingers and brings his mouth close to his head, so no one can hear his words but Cerb. “We have been a good team for so long and I’m proud to be your partner. You have never let me down or led me astray and you have guided me through hell and back. So please, don’t go where I can’t follow! Come back to me.”

He plants a tender kiss on the dog’s head and rises, nodding for the doc to take his dog. “Don’t give up on him, he is a fighter.”

Brock watches them rush through double doors in the direction of the OR. The last thing Brock hears before the doors close on them is the continuous beep of a flatline.

His knees buckle, but before he hits the floor, Trent is there to catch him and guide him to a chair in the nearby waiting room. Brock looks at his best friend, fresh tears moistening his eyes. “Cerberus is in the OR now. The doc said he probably won’t make it. He flatlined on the way.” Brock chokes on the last words and Trent pulls him into a tight hug, holding him and giving silent support.

Trent just sits with him, not able to lie to his friend and tell him everything will be fine. Not wanting to give him platitudes. Brock just needs him to be there with him.

They are soon joined by the rest of the team and Trent brings them up to date on Cerberus but also on Clay, who is currently being operated on just like Cerb. And so they sit together to wait on news of their brothers.

Minutes turn into hours until finally someone finds them to give them an update.

The smell of coffee is what pulls Clay back to consciousness. His eyes feel heavy, but he pries them open anyway.

He looks around the room, expecting Sonny to sit in a chair at his bedside, and is surprised to find Brock. Brock absentmindedly holds a cup of coffee in his hands, turning the cup over and over like he doesn’t know what to do with it, like he doesn’t even know it’s there. And he looks awful with bloodshot eyes and a haunted look on his face, still wearing his dirty fatigues, looking bone tired like he hasn’t rested at all since their operation.

Brock’s gaze is downcast, unreadable, and Clay gets a bad feeling seeing his brother like this. Like someone died.

“Brock?” He croaks out.

Brock’s head snaps up, focusing in on him, a small smile forming on his lips. He gets up, puts the cup on a rolling table and steps closer to Clay’s bed. “Hey buddy, how are you feeling?”

“Drugged. Like I had a metal rod slammed through my middle.” Clay’s expression is wary. “What happened? Who… died?” At the sight of grief flooding Brock’s face, Clay dreads the answer.

“Cerberus.”

“WHAT?” Clay jerks upright, jarring his fresh wound, and he collapses back onto the mattress with a groan.

At his shout and quick movement, there is a startled whoof from his other side. Clay’s head whips around to the other bed in the room he thought was empty. From beneath the blankets, Cerberus pokes his head out, looking over to his humans accusingly.

Brock moves around the bed, patting Cerberus on his head, soothing him and the dog lowers his head again, closing his eyes.

“He died on his way to the OR. They got him back, but it was close.” Brock closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “He was hurt in the blast like you and me, broken ribs punctured his lung and nicked an artery, but he stayed upright a little longer to protect us. Now he has to rest and heal.”

Clay smiles at their brave dog proudly. “He is a real hero. You should have seen him lunge at that hostile. Didn’t stand a chance against our hair missile.”

The door opens and the rest of the team enters.

“Hey there Goldilocks. Awake already? I just knew a tiny piece of metal won’t keep you down for long!” Sonny’s banter lightens the mood instantly and they all sit around the room, enjoying each other’s company.

Brock sits down on Cerb’s bed, who crawls slowly out of his cocoon of blankets and snuggles close to Brock. He starts stroking the dog, careful of the fresh wounds in his right side.

Cerb opens one eye to check on his boss. He looks over to Clay, who is laughing along with Sonny’s jokes, finding him all better now.

Cerberus closes his eyes again, resting in the safety of his pack, knowing he can lie there with them and just forget the world.

Chapter Text

Day 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”

Day 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”

“I think you took a wrong turn somewhere.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Sonny Quinn does not take wrong turns. I always end up exactly where I planned to be!”

“Yeah, right.” Clay scoffs. “You planned on getting lost on our way to Metal’s Halloween party?”

“I’m not lost! I’m following Metal’s instructions to the dot. He said to drive through Haddonfield, turn left after the gas station, drive into the woods and turn into the driveway of his cabin at the wooden sign. That’s what I’m doing. Wooden sign should be coming up any minute now.”

“He said to turn right after the gas station, not left!” Clay groans in exasperation.

“Did not!” Sonny points to an unreadable wooden sign. “See! There’s the sign. We are almost there!”

Clay still looks skeptical. “Looks like there hasn’t been anyone around here in a while. Shouldn’t there at least be some light somewhere?” He scans the dark forest around them and the unpaved road ahead. “Kinda creepy here.”

Sonny chuckles. “That’s the point, isn’t it? Wouldn’t be a Halloween party if it wasn’t a little creepy. You know Metal.”

“True.” Clay smiles at Sonny. “Bet he went over the top with this! I’m curious what he came up with to try and scare us.”

“Ah, that’s a challenge only Metal can master, I guess. Maybe he shows us where he buries all his bodies.” Sonny squints into the darkness. “I think I see light ahead. Looks like we are there.”

Sonny’s truck slowly rolls into a clearing at the end of the road, headlights sweeping over an old wooden cabin with smoke curling out of a chimney. The windows seem dark with only a faint flickering light from the inside and there are no other cars parked anywhere. Sonny pulls his truck to one side of the clearing, leaving the way to the cabin free.

“Either we are the first to arrive or the others parked somewhere else.” Sonny switches off the ignition, pulls out the key and puts it in his jacket pocket. “Let’s go.”

"Looks a little run down.” Clay opens the passenger door, squinting through the darkness to eye the cabin critically, and gets out of the truck. “I know Metal isn’t here that often, but knowing him, I thought it would be in better shape.”

Sonny is already at the back of the truck, opening the tailgate and hands Clay one of the two cases of beer they brought for the party. “Maybe that’s the charm.” He takes the other case and closes the latch. “Come on.”

They move across the clearing that is bathed in moonlight, giving just enough light to make out the shape of the hut and the soft flicker of firelight emanating through the windows from inside. Both of them stumble over the little step on the porch, snickering at their clumsiness in the dark.

“Could use some NODs here with all that junk lying around.” Sonny quips before he knocks on the door. “Hello, anyone in? Metal? We are here!” Sonny opens the door that swings inward with a creak, and they enter the dimly lit cabin.

The inside is a little smaller than their cage room, lit only by the fireplace that also wards off the chill of the October night. There is a large but old wooden bed in one corner, sheets crumpled and untidy. On the other side of the room is a sink, laden with dirty dishes and a stove, loose shelves with grimy and unrecognizable stuff covering the wall above it. In the middle of the room stands a sturdy wooden table, two chairs pulled to its side, on it lie rusty tools, some of them broken, most just old and dirty. On the other side of the room is another door that stands slightly ajar, moonlight shining in.

“Didn’t Metal say he had enough room for all of us to rack out here?”

Sonny nods. “Yeah, maybe he has some place out back that is a bit more spacious.”

“Strange. Doesn’t look like a place Metal would stay.”

“Not clean and tidy enough for Metal?” Sonny looks at Clay, who nods. “Yeah, I noticed that, too.”

“And where is everybody? Where is Metal?”

“They must be out back.” Sonny puts his case of beer on the table, pushing some of the tools aside, and moves to the back door. Clay follows him, putting his case on top of Sonny’s, and takes two beers out of the case. Opening both, he hands one to Sonny and together they step through the back door.

The backyard consists of an even larger clearing than the one out front and it is illuminated only by moonlight. Like the house, it is empty, none of their friends are in sight.

“Wow. These are some creepy vibes Metal created here!” Clay looks impressed. “I’d pull my hat if I was wearing one.”

Sonny nods, looking equally impressed, clinking Clay’s beer in a toast, and they make their way to the only place they haven’t inspected yet. The little shed sits on the edge of the clearing, towered over by two large fir trees. When they reach the door, Sonny pulls it open swiftly only to be greeted by complete darkness and a smell of decay.

“Huh. I didn’t expect that!” Sonny looks back to Clay, only making out his silhouette.

Clay shrugs. “I know we said no cellphones, but a little light would be nice.” Sonny has already pulled out his phone to shine some light into the shed and Clay does the same.

“What the fuck?” Both men take a little step closer into the shed. There are chains with hooks attached to the roof of the shed and on most of these hooks hang large pieces of meat.

“Wow!” Sonny takes a sip of his beer and moves deeper into the shed. “He really did go out of his way to make this beyond creepy.” Stepping around the last hanging piece, he freezes in place. “Clay? This might not be Metal’s cabin after all.”

Clay chuckles at that, still moving slowly around the large pieces of meat. “What makes you say that?” He comes up next to Sonny and looks over his shoulder. “Jesus!”

In the corner of the shed, on the last hook, hangs the corpse of a man, badly mutilated, clearly not long dead with blood dripping down his naked legs, or what is left of them, pooling beneath him.

Sonny turns to Clay, seeing the same shock in his friend’s eyes that he feels himself with the realization what they are seeing here, but also the deadly operator that only comes out on the battlefield. “You call 911, I call Jason.”

Together they move to the door of the shed, both scanning their surroundings with a heightened level of awareness, both squinting into the darkness, moving together as they would in any firefight, watching each other’s backs.

“Couldn’t connect with 911. Signal’s too bad.” Clay pockets his phone again, looking at Sonny and hoping to hear better news from him.

“Only voicemail with Jason. I left a message.” Sonny scans the area. “Let’s get to the truck. I feel a little naked here with only my beer. Some of my gear is in the locked box in the bed of my truck.”

They step out of the shed and Clay feels more than sees the movement to his right, and he moves instinctively out of the way of the large Bowie knife that is heading for his heart, pushing Sonny to the side in the same move. Clay uses the momentum of his attacker, pulling him closer and throws him over his hips to the ground. The attacker gets up quickly, attacking again, knife slashing at Clay who jumps backwards out of its reach. He moves into the next attack, dislodging the knife and breaking his attacker’s wrist in the process, eliciting a furious scream from him. Before Clay can do anything else, Sonny attacks from the side, punching the attacker on his temple and sending him crumbling unconscious to the ground.

Sonny gets his phone out again, shining the light on the attacker, kicking the knife out of reach. He turns the black clad figure onto its back, revealing a pale yellowish face, overgrown with a thick black, unkempt beard and tangled strands of hair and a mouth full of broken teeth. Sonny pats him down and finds two more knives and an old six shooter. “Any idea what we’re gonna do with him? Tie him up and drive him down to the Haddonfield sheriff’s office?” He bends over to pick up the last knife, noticing the red liquid coating the blade. Slowly he turns to his friend, holding out the bloodied knife. “Clay?”

Clay stands a few paces behind him, leaning on one of the larger fir trees, left hand pressed against his right side, blood seeping out between his fingers. “Guess I was a little too slow.”

“Ah, shit.” Sonny moves to Clay’s side, shining his light on him. “Let me have a look.”

Clay takes his hand away from the wound that instantly gushes more blood and pulls his shirt up. In the phone’s light Sonny inspects the two-inch wide stab wound on Clay’s right side for a few moments before he takes off his long-sleeved shirt and presses it firmly to the wound. “Keep pressure on it and I’ll get you to the truck before I take care of this…” He trails off. “Where did he go?”

Clay looks at the place where only seconds before the attacker had been lying unconscious. He is gone now. “Fuck! I don’t know, didn’t notice him getting up or leaving!”

Both of them scan their surroundings, but with the moon as their only source of light they can only make out shadows. And there is movement all around them. The soft evening breeze moves the trees lightly, dry leaves brush over the forest floor and there are sounds of animals in the woods all around them and thunder rolling in the distance. All of this makes it hard for them to discern where the real threat is.

“Doesn’t matter where he went. We need to get you out of here and we can deal with that creep later.” Sonny snakes his arm around Clay’s waist and pulls him upright, handing him one of the large knives, while he keeps the old six shooter in his left. “Let’s move.”

They make their way back to the cabin, both constantly checking their surroundings, both reluctant to enter the cabin again, not knowing if the attacker is lurking in there. But with no other way back to their truck, Sonny leans Clay against the wall next to the door on the porch and prepares to enter the cabin. “Wait here, I’ll check it out.”

He moves silently to the still open door and peers inside. As far as he can see, there still is no one in the small cabin, but he makes entry anyway and clears the room. Clay has kept watch over the backyard, unsettled that he still can’t make out anyone among the constantly moving trees and he edges closer along the wall to the door and Sonny.

The room is still void of anything living and Sonny steps out onto the porch to get Clay. As soon as he steps through the door, two shots ring out and Sonny falls backwards to the floor into the room. Clay moves quickly to Sonny’s side, pulling him all the way into the room while more shots ring out and ping off the wood around them. As soon as Sonny is all the way inside the room, Clay slams the door shut.

“Sonny, talk to me! Where are you hit?” Clay scrambles to Sonny’s side, starting to look his brother over in the dim light of the fireplace.

“Left thigh and shoulder!” Sonny grounds out.

Clay finds the wounds quickly, both of them through and through, both of them bleeding copiously. He pulls off his belt and ties it around Sonny’s thigh as a tourniquet, pulling it tight and fastening it with a tight knot. Next, he puts his own long-sleeved shirt on Sonny’s shoulder wound and tries to apply as much pressure as he is able, slowing the bleeding significantly.

“We need to move!” Sonny pants out, eyes already checking the doors for movement. “The muzzle fire came from the treeline. He’ll be here any minute.”

Clay ties the last knot tight and helps Sonny to his feet. As soon as both are upright, Clay feels a wave of dizziness crashing over him, and he has to close his eyes and lean on Sonny. He takes a few deep, burning breaths and opens his eyes again, meeting Sonny’s concerned ones. Giving Sonny a curt nod, they move together to the front door, open it carefully and take a look around the outside of the front clearing.

Sonny’s truck sits innocently at the side and apart from the movements of the trees along the clearing’s edge, they can’t find anything moving. They look at each other, knowing there is only one way to go, and they move quickly to the truck.

Clay helps Sonny into the passenger seat and moves quickly around to slip behind the wheel, Sonny is already pulling out his first aid kit from beneath his seat and starting to find some more pressure bandages for his shoulder and Clay’s side.

Wheezing slightly from the exertion, Clay holds out his hand to Sonny, who puts his key in them. He pushes the key into the ignition with a little more force than necessary and turns it.

Nothing happens.

Clay looks at Sonny and tries again.

Still nothing happens.

Suddenly the black clothed figure pops up in front of the truck, holding up some shredded piece of metal with wires sticking out of it.

“Is that…?”

Clay nods. “Looks like it. How did he come over here that fast?”

The figure points a shotgun at them and motions for them to get out of the truck. Clay can hear the thunder from before closer now, the moon more and more obscured by dark clouds. He raises his hands, showing the man that he isn’t holding any weapons and slowly opens his door.

“Hey, don’t shoot, ok? I’m coming out but my friend needs help. You got him in the leg. Okay?” Clay cautiously steps out of the car, wincing slightly at the jarring of his wound, when he drops the few inches from the elevated car seat.

The black figure motions impatiently at him to get out and move, pointing the gun alternately at him and Sonny.

When Sonny opens the door of the truck and scoots to the edge of his seat as if to get out, the man turns his attention to Sonny and Clay makes his move, rushing over and relieving him of the shotgun. With a feral scream, the figure lunges at Clay and they topple to the ground together, shotgun skidding away, black figure sitting on top of Clay’s chest, punching and scratching him relentlessly.

Clay struggles for air and tries to dislodge the figure from his chest at the same time. At last, he manages to throw the attacker off, and get him into a chokehold. The figure claws at his arms and face with both hands, long fingernails slashing deep marks into his skin. Finally, the movements slow and the figure stops moving. Clay lies there for a minute, trying to get his breathing under control before he pushes the man off of him.

Sonny has made his way slowly out of the truck again, hopping in Clay’s direction, supported by his truck. “Bam-Bam, still with me?”

“Yeah.” The wheezing from Clay is now more pronounced. “Get me… some rope… to tie him up.” He makes his way slowly on all fours and finally sits back on his haunches, breathing raggedly.

Sonny throws him some rope from the truck’s bed and Clay starts tying the attacker’s hands and feet. Pulling down the black hood, Clay doubles over backwards. “Holy crap!”

Sonny looks at him to find Clay staring at the figure on the ground. Long blond curls frame a young female face. “Woah! That’s not the dude from before!”

Clay shakes his head no, still staring at the woman lying trussed up in front of him. A deep snarl and Sonny’s shout don’t give him enough warning before someone slams into him, taking him back down to the ground, fists starting to pummel him, and he has no strength or air left to fight.

A shot rings out and the heavy body buries him underneath it. Clay can’t move, still struggling to get enough air to not black out and a slight panic sets in. Suddenly the heavy mass on top of him gets pushed aside and Sonny pulls him away from the corpse.

As soon as Clay is free of the body and starts breathing a little more normally, Sonny turns back to the second figure that now lies dead on the ground. He turns him over, removing the black hood and in the light of his phone Sonny recognizes the first attacker.

“Shit, there was a pair of these creeps!” The large double bed in the cabin comes to his mind, the two chairs, the multiple dishes in the sink.

Clay just nods, still struggling to breathe properly, pointing to the woman. “Check…her…ties.”

Sonny does and finds them tight. A sudden loud grumble of thunder signals the start of heavy rain. Clay stumbles to his feet, grabbing the discarded shotgun as he moves, and pulls Sonny up with him. They shuffle to the porch, leaning on each other, getting soaked to the bones on their short trip. Arriving at the porch, they stumble over the small step again and catch themselves at the wall, sliding it down slowly into a sitting position. They position themselves to have everything in sight in case there are more than these two lunatics, Sonny with his back to the wall and Clay leaning on his side.

“What are we doing now?” Sonny squints at Clay, seeing that his friend still has trouble breathing. “My phone as no reception.”

“Wait…for help… Jason’ll…come…as soon…as he hears…your message.” Clay’s eyes lock on Sonny’s. “They…all…will.”

“Yeah, probably.” Sonny’s eyes roam through the darkness, over the two prone figures lying in the middle of the clearing, getting drenched. “I could use one of the beers we brought now.” Clay chuckles at that, but nods in agreement. “Maybe if I…”

Clay holds him back, shaking his head. “Don’t… stay.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Stupid idea.” He slumps back down. “You know… I think I should tell you something…” He trails off, leaving the sentence hanging there.

Clay waits patiently, but when nothing else comes from the Texan, he prompts him. “We might not… make it… to the… morning… so… tell me… now.”

“Don’t say that.” Sonny’s voice sounds a little alarmed, and he squeezes Clay’s shoulder encouragingly. “Don’t give up now. I’m sure the guys are already on their way!”

“Sonny…tell me.”

“Okay, okay… um… it’s a little hard for me to tell you, but… you might have been right.”

“What?”

“Well, you might have been right that I took a wrong turn in Haddonfield. Maybe Metal did say to turn right not left after the gas station.”

At first there is only silence, but then Sonny can feel his brother shaking and he hears a wheezing noise. “Hey Clay, you ok, buddy?”

He can feel Clay nod, but he doesn’t stop shaking and the wheezing doesn’t stop either.

“What is it?”

Finally, Clay finds his voice. “We might both… bleed out here…before help… comes… and you… tell me… you took a … wrong turn?” Clay’s laughter turns into a nasty cough, and he can taste the coppery liquid in his mouth when he is done.

Sonny pulls him closer to his side. “They’ll be here in time. I promise. Now stop laughing ‘cause that’s the only time you’ll ever hear me tell you that I was wrong and you were right.”

Clay nods his head slightly. “’kay…I’ll mark…the day then.”

They sit in silence in the dark, rain drumming on the porch roof, both of them starting to shiver slightly in the cool night.

When headlights slice through the darkness, both of them are close to unconsciousness and both have stopped shivering a while ago. The sound of engines pull Clay back to awareness and he tries to sit up straighter, shotgun at the ready. He tries to raise Sonny, but the Texan doesn’t respond, face pale, breathing soft, lips a tinge of blue.

Two trucks pull into the driveway, one stopping behind Sonny’s truck, the other in the middle of the clearing, illuminating the two soaking wet black figures, one of them squirming in the sudden brightness.

Car doors open and large figures emerge from the trucks. Clay can’t make out faces, and he trains the gun onto the approaching figures. “Who’s… there?”

The figure in front raises his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s Jason and Ray here. Metal, Trent and Brock are over there. We got Sonny’s message.”

Clay lowers the gun, a wave of relief washes over him and he closes his eyes briefly.

When he opens them again, there is much more light around him, Trent is helping two paramedics load a still unconscious Sonny into an ambulance, another ambulance waits in the distance. He can see the woman being led away to a patrol car and a tarp over the body of the unknown attacker. A thick blanket is draped over his shoulders and warmth has slowly returned to his limbs. An oxygen mask is fastened to his face, and he finds breathing a little easier.

He can see Trent closing the doors of the ambulance and turning to make his way back over to him.

A large shadow moves on Clay’s right and he flinches away a little. Hearing a soft, familiar chuckle, he raises his head and looks directly into Full Metal’s grey eyes.

“Might be a little offended that you skipped my party and had all the fun without me.”

“Sonny took… a wrong turn.”

“One hell of a Halloween party you two had here.”

Clay just smiles and nods.

Metal leans a little closer. “Next year, you drive!”

Chapter Text

Day 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”

Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

“Ray, we need to go now. RJ just doesn’t stop crying. I think he might be teething.” Naima puts the crying baby in Ray’s arms. “Please try to comfort him while I gather up everything to go.”

Ray holds his eight month old son, rocking him in an attempt to get him to stop crying. Jason, Trent and Brock stand together with him, all of them doing goofy stuff to get the little one’s attention, but nothing works.

They are having an Alpha and Bravo picnic BBQ at a beautiful picnic place at the edge of a forest, where there is lots of shade from the hot summer heat and along a little stream, where the kids can play in the shallow water. All day has been filled with laughter and games and now, nearing sunset, Sonny is rekindling the fire for dinner and their rookies, Clay and Max, are getting the cooled down beer out of the stream and into the coolers, replacing them with new ones to cool.

Naima returns to Ray’s side, taking over the crying toddler. “I’m ready. Could you get Jameelah? I’ll go put RJ in the car.”

Ray looks around, scanning the place for his daughter. “Where is Jameelah?”

“I thought she was with you! I was a little occupied with RJ.” She gives him a pointed look, like he should have known that. “Go look for her. She has to be here somewhere.” Naima turns and walks away, cradling RJ in her arms, rocking him, talking soothingly into his ears.

Ray lets his eyes roam around the picnic area again, not seeing the pink shirt of his little girl anywhere. An uneasy feeling creeps into the pit of his stomach and he starts to move away from his brothers.

“Ray?” Jason’s voice is a little concerned. “Want us to help looking for her?”

Ray just nods, and starts to move to the tables and benches, Jason at his side. Trent and Brock move in the opposite direction, all of them scanning the area for the little girl.

As Ray approaches the bank of the stream, Clay comes up from the waterline, case of cold beer in his hand. “Hey, Clay, have you seen Jameelah?”

“Yeah, sure. After our badminton match, she was playing tag with that blond girl, Susan, I think? Franklin’s girl.”

“Brother, Susan left two hours ago for her violin concert.”

Clay looks up at Ray. “Huh, ok. Then no, I don’t think I have seen her after that. Why?”

“We need to go. RJ is sick, and I don’t know where she is.” Ray looks around the stream bank. “You didn’t see her around here, near the stream?”

Clay shakes his head. “No, I would have noticed her. But maybe Max has.” He turns to Alpha’s rookie, who is still in the water, changing out warm beers for cold ones. “Hey, Max. Did you see Jameelah around here?”

Max looks up at them, shaking his head no.

“Keep a look out and tell us if you see her.” Ray turns back to Jason. “Let’s go over to the jungle gym and the slide. Maybe she is playing over there.”

But they all come up empty. Jameelah is nowhere in sight and all of Bravo has started to comb every inch of the picnic area for the little girl, calling her name but getting no response.

Naima comes back from the car, looking annoyed. “Ray, come on, we really need to leave. I think RJ is spiking a fever. He fell into a light sleep, but that won’t hold long. What’s the hold up?”

“We can’t find Jameelah!”

“What do you mean, you can’t find Jameelah?”

“We are looking for her, but we can’t find her.”

“That’s ridiculous. She must be here somewhere. It’s not such a big place!”

Ray shrugs. “I know. We are looking everywhere.” He gestures around the area. “Clay saw her playing tag with Susan, Brock said she was playing ball with Cerb at some point, Mikey had been playing with her at the jungle gym, but no one knows where she is now.” He starts to move in Jason’s direction again. “We are still looking for her.”

A sick feeling grabs Naima’s heart. Now that she thinks back, she hasn’t noticed much of Jameelah today. She had been so occupied with a grumpy RJ, who had not been sleeping well in the last days, and consequently she hasn’t either. Where could her baby girl be?

Dark thoughts start to slowly creep into her mind. Did she play by herself near the stream? Did she maybe fall in and got carried away by the current? She knows that Jameelah knows how to swim, but she still looks over at the stream, seeing Clay and Max already making their way in opposite directions along the bank, calling for her girl.

Her gaze wanders over to the parking lot. She has been there to put RJ in the car, but maybe Jameelah crept by? Maybe she is hiding now between the cars or even in one? But she can see Trent and Brock moving between the vehicles, dropping to their knees from time to time to look beneath the cars, checking inside of them, too, and calling for her.

Did she make her way to the entrance of the parking lot? To the street that leads to the remote picnic area they are using today? Jason and Ray are walking in that direction, all of the team seemingly having the same thoughts she has. Jameelah knows that she should never get into a car with someone she doesn’t know. But what if she did it anyway? What if someone took her? They wouldn’t find anything, if that is the case.

At the thought of someone taking her girl, Naima’s knees buckle and she nearly drops to the ground, but strong arms hold her up and guide her to the nearest chair. She looks up to see one of Alpha team, a quiet young man, whose name she thinks is Colin.

“We’ll find her.” He squats before her, his hand holding onto hers and his dark brown eyes fix hers. His voice is strong and confident, but gentle and reassuring at the same time.

She tries to smile, but all the fear of losing her little girl won’t stop creeping in, the fear of never seeing her again, of never knowing where she went, what happened to her. The tears start streaming down her face and she hides her face in her hands, embarrassed that she is losing her composure in front of someone she doesn’t really know that well.

But Colin just pulls her into his arms and holds her, letting her hide her tears from everyone else, rocking her a little like she had been rocking RJ not so long ago.

“RJ!” Her head snaps up at the thought of her sick toddler in the car. She needs to go check on him.

Colin lets her pull out of the steadying embrace. “Trish got him. She is with him in the car. Don’t worry about him, ok?” He tries to soothe her, but he can still see the anxiety written on her face.

Naima looks around. Both teams are strewn around the picnic area, looking for her little girl and she is grateful to have such a large, caring family to help her through the worst nightmare of any parent.

From the corner of her eyes, she can suddenly see Full Metal emerge from behind a tree at the edge of the little forest, making his way to one of the picnic tables to put down his bottle of beer, then turning around and heading into the trees again. “Where is Scott going?”

Colin looks around for his team leader, seeing him entering the woods. Shrugging, he turns back to Naima. “Maybe checking if she went into the forest?”

Naima shakes her head. “No. She wouldn’t go into the forest. Not alone. She is afraid of the forest and the dark. Thinks there are fairies and trolls that would take her away.”

Colin gives another shrug. “Probably just making sure we don’t miss anything. Let’s go check on RJ, ok? Maybe Trish can take him home to bed, so you can stay here and wait for your girl. The others will keep looking, and they will find her.”

When she nods, he helps her up and takes her by the shoulder, leading her away in the direction of the parking lot.

Metal enters the dim light of the forest, welcoming the cooler air after the hot summer afternoon. He makes his way slowly and carefully through the trees, leaving the trodden path behind. His eyes are fixed on the splash of pink among all that green, sitting on top of a large boulder that is lying at the edge of a small forest lake, nearly completely overhung by the surrounding trees. His keen eyes can barely make out the little figure that is hunched on top of the huge stone, rocking a little, hands pressed over the ears.

Reaching the base of the rock, he quietly calls out to her. “Hello, little monkey. Do you mind, if I come up to sit with you for a while?”

Jameelah’s head jerks up, and she looks down at him with scared, red rimmed eyes, her hands dropping from her ears. “Uncle Scott?” Her voice breaks when she whispers his name, but she nods her permission.

He slowly and carefully climbs the large boulder and sits down in front of her. “Need a hug?”

Her eyes fill with tears and she nods vigorously. As he opens his arms, she crawls onto his lap and lets herself be enveloped in his huge arms, pressing her face into his chest and letting the tears fall. Scott just sits there with the little girl, rubbing soothing circles on her back with one hand and shooting Ray a quick text with the other, telling him that his girl is safe.

After a while, the tears stop and the sobbing lets up, but Jameelah stays with her face pressed against Metal’s chest, eyes closed, breathing slowly evening out.

“You wanna tell me why you hide in here, when you normally don’t even go near a group of trees without one of your uncles or your dad?”

Jameelah shrugs but stays in place for a while longer, and Scott nearly misses her whispered words. “I was hoping that the Fairies of the Wood would take me to their realm.”

“Hmm… ok. Guess that didn’t work so far.” He can feel her head shaking against his chest. “Don’t you think your mom and dad would miss you, if you just went with the fairies?” Another headshake. “No?”

“They don’t need me anymore. They got RJ now.” The little whispered voice sounds defeated and it tugs at Scott’s heart.

“Just because RJ is there now, too, doesn’t mean your parents don’t need you anymore! Everyone has been looking for you.”

Jameelah just shakes her head again, not believing him.

“The others don’t need me anymore, too. Sometimes I feel like I’m invisible. All everyone ever sees is RJ.”

“Hmm… I haven’t noticed that. Why do you think that?”

Jameelah stays silent. After a few minutes, she pulls her head back from Scott’s chest and looks him in the eyes. “Mommy promised me she would teach me to play badminton today. I even remembered to pack the racquets and everything, ‘cause Mommy forgot. But all day, Mom only looked after RJ because he is ill. Again. And I understand that, but she promised. And Dad didn’t want to teach me either. When I asked, he said he would do it later, that he wanted to talk to you guys first. And all he talks about is RJ. How cute he is, and how tall, and what he can already do. And all of my uncles are only interested in him. Even Uncle Sonny. The only one who was willing to teach me to play badminton was my newest uncle, Clay. But just when I got it right, he was sent to get beer.” She hangs her head and a single tear rolls down her cheek, which she brushes away absentmindedly. “Not even Cerberus likes me anymore. When Uncle Brock arrived with him, they greeted RJ first and Cerbi didn’t want to leave him. He only played ball with me, when Uncle Brock pulled him away from RJ and ordered him to play with me.” Fresh tears well up in her eyes and she buries her head against Scott’s shirt again. “Dad always wanted to be at my gymnastic rehearsals and competitions when he was not working, and afterward he would tell everyone about it. Now he didn’t tell anyone that I won my gymnastics competition last week. Maybe he didn’t even know, I’m not sure. He had to work and mom had to stay home with RJ. My friend Jenny’s parents took her and me. When I came home, mom was sleeping on the couch and I woke her up to tell her, but RJ started crying and then she didn’t have time to listen.” Jameelah falls silent.

“Hmmm… I see.” Jameelah can hear Scott’s deep rumble through his chest.

“My best friend, Gemma, moved away last week. And I couldn’t even go to see her off, because Mom had to stay late at work and grandma had to look after RJ and me longer. And now Gemma is gone to Texas and I probably won’t see her again. Ever.” She takes a shuddering breath before she continues. “And at school, there are these three girls I really wanted to be friends with and Gemma and I were going to be invited to their birthday party next week. But now that Gemma is gone, they haven’t invited me. They just ignore me now, like I’m not even there. It’s just like at home.” Jameelah falls silent and tugs herself closer to Scott.

“How are you ignored at home?”

“Mom has so much to do. She works a few days a week, and when she doesn’t she has to look after RJ. I try to help her with the chores, prepare dinner, clean up and all that, so she maybe has time to play or read with me. But she never does. There is always something else to do that is more important.” Jameelah heaves a heavy sigh. “And when Dad is home, he is often very tired and needs to rest. Or he plays with RJ, lets him fly around the rooms, helps him to stand and walk. Dad used to build castles out of the couch and blankets with me or he would teach me to climb the tree in our backyard. He even played tea party with me sometimes. But not anymore. Now he has RJ to do all that with.” She pauses, closing her eyes a little, voice going even quieter. “And sometimes, like today, I feel like they wouldn’t even notice when I’m gone.”

“But they did notice, and they are worried.”

Jameelah gives a little scoff. “No one noticed me leave. No one knows how long I have been in here.”

Metal nods his head. “Yeah, maybe they didn’t see you enter the woods over two hours ago, but it was a shock to not find you now nonetheless.”

She looks up at him, surprised. “You saw me going in?”

“Of course, little monkey. You were never out of my sight. And if any of those fairies would have tried to take you to her realm, I would have snatched you right out of her fangs!”

Jameelah giggles a little. “Fairies don’t have fangs, Uncle Scott!”

He only shrugs. “The head-fairy does. Didn’t you know?”

She smiles at him and then turns serious. “Thanks for noticing me.”

“Always.” He looks at her with a gentle smile before his face gets serious again. “You know, we all love you with all our heart. Cerberus does, too. He was just worried about RJ today because he had a fever. And Brock didn’t order him to play with you, he ordered him away from RJ. And I think you two had fun playing, didn’t you?”

Jameelah considers this, then nods.

“And I saw Mikey and Susan play with you, too. They also looked as if they had fun with you.”

“We did have fun. But Susan had to leave for a violin thing and Mikey had hockey practice.”

“But they loved playing with you, not RJ.” He waits for Jameelah to acknowledge that before he continues. “You need to tell your parents what you told me. I think they really don’t know that you feel neglected.”

“But I don’t know how. I don’t know what to say. I wanted to tell them so many times, but every time I tried, the words didn’t come out or it was not the right time or something came up…”

“Just tell them exactly what you told me. Tell them how you feel. Tell them, like you told me, that you try to help, but that you miss them. Just because you are so much older than RJ, doesn’t mean you don’t need your parents anymore. You need them as much as they need you.”

“You really think that?”

Scott nods solemnly.

“Would you stay with me, when I tell my parents?”

“If you want me to stay, I will.”

“Thank you.” She snuggles back into his chest and stays silent for a while. “We need to go back now, don’t we?”

“Not yet, but it’s getting darker, so it will have to be soon.”

Jameelah chews on her bottom lip. “Mom will be really angry with me now, because everyone had to look for me and they couldn’t get RJ to bed at his normal time.”

“I don’t think that’s the reason she is upset. She is upset because she couldn’t find you. She will be upset, when she finds out that you thought she didn’t want you anymore, because that is so far from the truth. She will be upset about you thinking she wouldn’t notice when you were gone. And she will be really upset with herself, that she and your dad have made you feel all this, have you thinking that they don’t love you anymore.”

“That’s what you think? Really?” Jameelah’s hopeful tone tugs at Scott’s heart.

“Of course, little monkey! I don’t think they will let you ever doubt their love for you again.” He pats her head comfortingly. “And next time you think you need to get away from your parents, come to me directly. You can always talk to me. Or not talk, just cry into my shirt. I’ll be happy with either. Ok?”

She looks at him, searching his face for any sign of ridicule but finding none. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise!” Jameelah quirks a smile and holds out her right pinky finger for Scott to seal the deal.

Scott hooks his pinky around Jameelah’s and shakes her hand. “Pinky promise! And now, let’s go back to everyone.”

Together they scale down the large boulder and make their way slowly out of the dense wood. Reaching the edge of the trees, Jameelah stops and squints through the last trees into the fading sunlight at her parents standing there huddled together, searching the tree line for her.

“Ready?”

Jameelah grabs Scott’s hand. “Now I am.”

And together they walk out of the forest to meet Ray and Naima, both enveloping their little girl into a fierce hug.

Scott stays back a little, watching the loving welcome with folded arms, giving silent back up, like he promised.

All will work out just fine.

Chapter Text

Day 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”

Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

“Bravo One for Bravo Three. Packages delivered.”

“Copy that, Bravo Three. Move to overwatch position.”

“Moving to overwatch.” Sonny nods to Clay and together they move silently in the dark to the stern of the yacht and their waiting Zodiac, NODs in place and rifles at the ready. They reach the railing, Sonny fastens the rope to it and starts climbing down, Clay covering his descent until he can feel the soft tug on the rope that lets him know it’s his turn. One last sweep of his surroundings that comes up empty, and Clay swiftly follows Sonny down to their waiting boat.

As soon as he is on board, the two crew members steer the boat quietly away from the huge yacht and around the side, where they have a good view of the second Zodiac, waiting for the rest of Bravo and the hostages.

Sonny scans the vessel through the night vision binoculars, searching for movement of the hostiles and their brothers. Clay switches his assault rifle for the sniper rifle and gets in position, finding Bravo’s entry point in his scope and signaling Sonny that he is ready.

“Bravo One, Bravo Three and Six in Overwatch. Six in position and ready on your mark. First targets right above entry point.”

“Copy that, Three.” In the tense silence, the sound of the water slapping against the hull of their small boat seems loud, even though the sea is calm tonight. Finally Jason’s voice gives the signal over the radio. “Execute, execute.”

Two shots in quick succession ring out through the night and the two guards drop dead to the ground. Both Clay and Sonny can see through their scopes that the rest of Bravo make entry after Clay’s shots and they follow their progress through the ship by the sound of the gunfight and the lights from the muzzle flashes. Clay continues to pick off the guards on the outside that are careless enough to move in the vicinity of Bravo’s exfil path.

It only takes a couple of minutes before Jason’s voice comes back over the radio. “Jackpot. I repeat jackpot. Passing honeymoon.”

Sonny and Clay know they found the couple alive and only have to wait a few more minutes to see their brothers safely in the second boat.

Clay can see Ray exit the cabin, clearing their way to the side and the waiting Zodiac. Trent and Brock come next, both of them carrying a motionless form, both moving swiftly behind Ray. Jason brings up the rear, shooting at hostiles just out of sight for Clay’s rifle.

While Ray and Jason take up defensive positions and, aided by Clay, shoot at the hostiles that suddenly swarm the whole yacht, Brock and Trent start to lower the two hostages slowly down to the boat. As soon as the hostages touch the Zodiac, Jason’s voice comes over the coms.

“Bravo Three, light them up.”

Sonny pushes the button on his remote control, and the stern of the vessel is bathed in light from a series of explosions, that seem to continue into the depth of the large boat. That gives Bravo the advantage they need to make a quick exit. Brock and Trent fast-rope down to the boat, closely followed by Ray and Jason.

Clay keeps shooting at the hostiles that try to close in on the exit point. As soon as Ray and Jason land on solid ground, the Zodiac turns to make a fast exit.

When they are on level with Clay and Sonny, bullets start to fly from the direction of the yacht’s rear. Three rubber boats come shooting around the hull of the burning yacht, most likely from the pirate ship that sits on the other side. Every boat is manned with four to six hostiles, all of which are shooting at them.

“Get the hostages to exfil. We’ll take care of them and then follow you.” Sonny shouts over the coms, waving Jason on.

“Meet you at exfil. Don’t overstay your welcome!” With that their Zodiac zooms past them on their way to international waters.

Clay switches back to his assault rifle, not being able to use the advantages of his sniper rifle on a fast moving boat. They intercept the boats, cutting off their way to the hostages effectively. Their two coxswains guide their boat skillfully between the enemy vessels, avoiding contact, giving the two operators the opportunities to eliminate the hostiles.

In the light of the exploding yacht, that slowly tilts to its side, threatening to capsize, they make quick work of the pirates. When the last man falls, they turn to follow Jason to their exfil point, but just as they make their turn, another boat appears, and the shooting resumes.

The hostiles on this new boat come prepared with a mounted heavy machine gun that peppers their Zodiac with large bullets. Sonny and Clay return fire, but have no real cover to shoot from. The next sweep of the machine gun kills both crewmembers and their boat loses speed fast. Clay and Sonny both can hear hissing noises, and they realize that their vessel has been riddled with bullets from the heavy machine gun and has most likely already started to sink.

Both men keep shooting at the oncoming boat, decimating the hostiles until only the one at the machine gun is standing. Clay takes careful aim and shoots, turning the last hostile into pink mist. At the same time, Sonny gives a shout of surprise and pain and drops backwards into the water.

Clay doesn’t lose any time to jump after his brother to bring him back to their boat. If Sonny is unconscious, he might try to keep breathing underwater, inhaling water in the process and die of asphyxiation. The cool water soaks through his clothes, dragging him down. Against the firelight of the yacht, Sonny’s outline is clearly visible, and Clay dives for his brother, dragging him to the surface. As he had suspected, Sonny is unconscious, and Clay swims him back to their boat.

Or what is left of it.

The Zodiac has been shot to pieces and is mostly just floating rubber. The dead crewmen are nowhere to be seen, swallowed by the sea. Clay grabs one of the cords and pulls Sonny onto the floating bottom, but as soon as he tries to get onto it as well, it starts to sink. He lets himself glide back in the water, securing Sonny above water level. Although he is still unconscious, Clay can see his chest rise and fall, so he is at least breathing. Pulling Sonny closer to the side and propping his chest a little up to help him breathe, he tries to check him over, finding no gunshot wound. The large dent in his chest plate from the big caliber machine gun didn’t penetrate, but surely broke a few ribs.

With a coughing fit, Sonny wakes up to Clay’s unrelenting sternal rub. He jerks upright, coughing and gagging, expelling a lot of sea water. When it lets up at last, Sonny lets himself fall back, closing his eyes again.

“Hey, Son, you with me?” Clay taps his cheek to get his attention.

Sonny’s eyes open sluggishly and he tries to focus on him. “Where are we?”

“In dangerous waters. Still too close to the pirate vessel and too far away from our exfil point. Our boat has been riddled with bullets and is probably slowly sinking, and the crew and the engines are gone, so we have to move under our own strength.”

Sonny lifts his head and tries to confirm Clay’s sitrep, ending his sweep at Clay, who is still in the water. “You okay?”

Clay nods in the dim light and starts to pull the wreck slowly but steadily away from the still burning yacht.

“What you… doin’,… poster boy?” Clay can hear Sonny’s exhaustion and the strain of every breath he takes.

“Moving away from the sinking yacht and the light of its fire. I don’t know if there are pirates left on the ship. Better to get as far away as possible, while it’s still dark. We need to move to international waters and our exfil point. I’m sure the others won’t be allowed to return for us.”

Sonny nods, closing his eyes again, his breathing still strained and shallow.

“Try your coms. See if we can make contact.”

Sonny keys his coms. “Bravo Three for… for Bravo One… Do you… copy?”

They can only hear crackling. Sonny tries again, first Jason than HAVOC, but the result is the same. No answer.

“How far… to the exfil… point?” Sonny wheezes, eyes still closed.

Clay checks the GPS monitor on his wrist. “Two miles, maybe a little less.”

They fall silent for a while. Sonny tries to stay as quiet as he can, but the wheezing of every breath he takes only gets worse. Clay keeps their sinking rubber raft moving, while he keeps an eye on Sonny. Clay can see that Sonny is getting more exhausted only by taking slow breaths, his skin is pale and his fingers have started trembling lightly. He can’t decide if the shivering is a result of Sonny’s injuries or from the cool night air and the fact that Sonny is soaked. Either way, all Clay can do is continue moving what is left of their raft with Sonny on it to the point where they can be picked up, but soon enough it is clear, that they have to abandon the wreck of their Zodiac.

“Son, you awake?”

“Mmmh…”

“You need to get into the water with me, Son.”

“Can’t. Too…tired.”

“I know. I got you. You don’t have to do anything, just float with me.”

Sonny opens his eyes and it seems like he just realizes that there is not much of their boat left and he is already floating between the debris of the wreck. “’kay.” He looks around, not sure what to do or where to go. Clay guides him to the edge and eases him into the water, pulling him close in a rescue grip and starts swimming again.

Sonny’s body tenses suddenly. “Wha’ ‘bout… the sharks?”

Clay chuckles a little. “You wearing your wristband?”

“’Course.”

“Then we don’t need to worry about the sharks, do we?”

“I guess.”

“You just hold on to me and let me do all the swimming.”

“’kay.” Sonny’s body relaxes again, making it easier for Clay to pull him along.

Despite his joking tone to soothe Sonny, Clay scans the surface around them worriedly. With all these dead bodies in the water near the yacht and all of the blood, he is sure that beneath him are swarms of unseen sharks, zeroing in on exactly where the alluring scent of food is coming from, if they haven’t already started the feeding frenzy. He can only hope that they feast on these bodies rather than on him and Sonny. And he is grateful, that none of them are bleeding from any cuts or wounds, which would have attracted the sharks right to their position.

He gets into a good rhythm, checking the GPS-monitor regularly to stay on course, making good time and moving closer to international waters and help. But the closer he gets to safety, the more the night wind picks up and heavy rain starts pouring down on them, bringing along bigger and rougher waves, making their swim more strenuous. Clay can feel his strength draining from him rapidly, but he digs into his reserves and keeps swimming.

Sonny soon slips into unconsciousness, but Clay can still feel him taking labored breaths and he can’t do anything for his brother anyway but get them to exfil. And that’s what he does.

At last the GPS monitor tells him that they have reached international waters. Clay still keeps going for a few minutes, just to be sure. He treads water with Sonny in his arms, keeping both of them afloat in the large waves that roll around them, reaching for his coms.

“Bravo One, this is Six. Do you copy?”

He is greeted with only static and his heart drops. If he can’t reach Jason or HAVOC they won’t know where to look for them, where to go to pick them up. If he can’t reach them, he and Sonny are dead, because he knows he can’t keep them afloat forever. He can already feel the exhaustion and the cold deep in his bones. But he won’t give up on Sonny. Sonny wouldn’t either.

He taps his coms again. “HAVOC, this is Bravo Six. Do you copy?”

There is only quiet crackling.

Clay adjusts his grip on Sonny, tries again. “Bravo Six to any Bravo element. Do you copy?” The quietly added “please” slips out after he releases the coms, heard only by the roaring sea.

“Bravo Six, we read you loud and clear. Relay your position.” Eric’s voice comes clearly through and Clay thinks he can hear a small tremble of relief.

Clay closes his eyes briefly, a little sob escaping is lips, before he releases his breath forcefully, and reads them his position. “Pickup for two. We are in the water.” He adds around a lump in his throat. “Bravo Three needs immediate medical attention.”

“Copy that. Medical will stand by. Helo is inbound, make yourselves visible.”

Clay can barely hear the whump-whump of the arriving chopper over the sound of the stormy sea. He only sees the searchlight in the distance when the waves take them up and down. Reaching for the flare he grabbed from the sinking boat, he lights it. The eerie red light illuminates his position instantly and the helo turns in his direction. It hovers over them, spraying the water even more around them, and a rope is lowered.

It takes Clay a few tries to catch the rope without losing his grip on Sonny, but at last he manages and hooks Sonny in, giving the crew the signal to pull him up. In the light of the flare he watches Sonny’s slow ascent to the helo, his motionless body swaying in the wind. As soon as Sonny’s body disappears in the helo the rope comes back down to him and with cold and numb fingers he fumbles the hook onto his vest to be finally pulled up and to safety.

When he reaches the entrance of the helo, he is not surprised to find Jason and Ray pulling him in, Trent and Brock already working on Sonny. Ray and Jason immediately wrap him into a warm blanket after ridding him of his tactical vest. Clay hasn’t noticed how badly his body has started to shake with the cold, his fingers already numb.

“Clay! Hey!” Trent snaps his fingers in front of Clay’s eyes to get him to focus on him. When Clay looks at him questioningly, Trent continues. “What happened to Sonny?”

Clay’s eyes wander to Sonny. “H-h-he t-t-took a round t-t-to his ch-ch-chest plate.” Clay’s teeth are chattering so badly, he can’t even speak properly. “F-f-f-fell into th-the water. I-i-i g-g-got him ou-out. He wasn’t u-u-under long, a-a-a m-m-minute or t-t-two, was b-b-breathing on h-h-his own when I-i-i got h-h-him out.” Clay takes a deep breath, trying to stop the chattering to tell Trent more details.

“Was he conscious?”

Clay nods. “N-n-not l-l-long, ex-exhausted, wh-wh-wheezing b-b-badly but b-b-breathing a-a-all the-the time, n-n-never st-st-stopped…” He closes his eyes, tries to get the shivering under control but is unsuccessful. He wraps the blanket closer and his arms around him for warmth. Ray rubs his arms and back to get them warm and Jason takes Clay’s hands in his, rubbing them softly and infusing him with his warmth.

It’s only a very short flight to their makeshift TOC in the C17. On arrival, Trent disappears with another medical team and Sonny in the hull of the plane. Jason and Ray help Clay out of the bird and lead him to their designated area of the plane. As soon as all are on board, the ramp closes and the C17 makes its slow way to the runway, accelerating and lifting off to get them on their way to proper medical facilities.

Ray and Jason make Clay get rid of his cold wet clothes and wrap him back into warm blankets, shoving a cup of hot tea with a shot of brandy into his frozen hands. Jason brings dry and warm clothes for him, and very slowly the shivering lets up and finally disappears completely.

He sits with Ray and Jason, sipping his second cup of steaming tea, when Trent appears next to him, piercing him with a penetrating glare. “How are you?”

Clay shrugs his shoulders, sitting up straighter, pulling the warm blanket around him a little closer. “Cold, but not freezing anymore. Exhausted. Could sleep for a week.” He ends with a little cough. “How is Sonny doing?”

Now it’s Trent’s turn to shrug. “Water inhalation and the beginning of a pulmonary edema, hypothermic like you, a few broken ribs from the bullet which doesn’t help with the pulmonary problem. He woke up, exhausted but not disorientated, which is a good sign. He is on oxygen now. I gave him a few meds to ease the breathing, but he needs a hospital.” Seeing Clay’s worried frown, Trent adds. “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry about him, he is too stubborn to die from a few broken ribs and a little water inhalation. A shark bite on the other hand, now that would be something to worry about. If only for Sonny to say ‘I told you so’!”

A small smile appears on Clay’s exhausted face and he coughs again.

Trent raises his eyebrows. “Did you inhale water, too?”

Clay shrugs again. “Yeah, probably. Waves got pretty high at the end. Why?”

Trent checks his vitals, but seems to be satisfied. “It’s probably nothing. We just have to remember that you could develop something called secondary drowning. It’s just like with Sonny, water in the lungs.”

Clay looks at him a little alarmed. “I feel fine. Breathing is ok, easy. Throat is just a little irritated.”

Trent nods. “Yeah, it’s probably just that. Now, go lie down in your hammock. Take that bag of oxygen with you, just as a precaution. Rest. Sleep. Sonny will be out for the flight to the hospital. I’ll check on you regularly and will wake you if anything changes with Sonny.”

Clay gives a grateful nod and takes the small bag with the attached nasal cannula. “Just a precaution?”

“Yeah, better safe than sorry.”

“Okay.” Clay slowly gets up, taking the blanket with him and heads toward his hammock, detouring for a quick stop at Sonny’s side.

Trent watches as he makes his way to his hammock, lowering himself carefully into it, pulling the blanket around him and snuggling into it. After he attaches the oxygen and adjusts his position, he closes his eyes and is out like a light only seconds later.

Jason taps Trent on the shoulder, jerking his thump in Clay’s direction. “The kid okay?”

Trent runs his hand over his scrubby face. “Yeah, I guess. Exhausted and a little hypothermic but getting better. The oxygen is just a precaution.”

Jason lets his gaze linger on the still form of Clay, blanket pulled around him and up right under his nose. “I can’t believe he made it with Sonny in tow all the way to international waters.”

“I can. That’s just what he does. Pushing through his exhaustion to get them to safety, saving them both. Never giving up, whatever it takes.”

Jason huffs a laugh. “I would call it stubbornness.”

Ray and Brock join them, hearing Jason’s last comment. Handing Trent and Jason a bottle of beer, Brock holds out his own. “To Spenser’s stubbornness. Without which we would have lost two more brothers tonight.”

They all clink their beers with Brock’s. “To stubbornness!”

Chapter Text

Day 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”

Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”

Day 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

“Jackpot! I repeat: Jackpot!”

“Good copy, Bravo One. Move to exfil.” Eric scans the screens for any sign of hostile activity in the area around the target house, but for now everything looks quiet. “ISR shows no hostile movement at the moment.”

“Copy that. Moving to exfil. ETA ten mikes.”

Eric rubs at his tired eyes and reaches for his coffee cup, only to find it empty. Slowly he makes his way over to the coffeemaker to refill it. It has been a long two days, not only for Bravo.

Nothing on this op went the way they planned it. Mandy made it look like an easy in and out mission to grab a laptop with sensitive information some CIA operative left behind when he had to leave this godforsaken place. But trouble popped up around every corner, leaving everyone in TOC to quickly adapt to the evolving situation to provide information as fast as possible for the six operators in the field, who had to change locations regularly to avoid detection.

Eric has been in the center of all the chaos the whole time, allotting tasks, collecting information from everyone and relaying it to Bravo. Usually this workload is shared between him and Lisa, but Davis is back home, recovering from a bad case of influenza.

In the end, they did find the laptop without anyone noticing they had been there.

A full mission success.

Now Bravo only has to make it back to the chopper and then Eric will be able to relax a little, maybe even sleep.

As the end of the operation is within reach, Eric decides to just put his cup down next to the coffeemaker without a refill. He returns to the screen just in time to watch Bravo enter the exfil helo, which lifts off immediately and makes its way back to this small airfield, where their C17 is parked.

He will have his operators safely back here in about half an hour. Looking around TOC here on the plane, he can see wary faces all around. The support staff has been working in shifts non stop for the last 48 hours, and he is glad that they will be heading home soon. He calls one of the petty officers to his side. “Petty Officer Johnson!”

The young woman comes over, giving him a tired smile. “Sir?”

“Keep an eye on the chopper on ISR. I don’t trust these militia guys around here. Call me if anything comes up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eric shuffles away from TOC and in the direction of the open ramp, where he can see the first light of morning, and to the hammocks his boys just left hanging. He briefly considers lying down in one, but knows if he gets too comfortable no one will be able to wake him up, if necessary. He just needs to rest for a few minutes to not feel so exhausted and finish this op. So he sits down in one of the netting seats near the hammocks, leans his head back against the cool surface of the fuselage and props his feet up on a crate. He turns his face toward the first rays of morning, relaxing in the cool breeze that brushes over his face.

His tired eyes slip closed not even a minute later.

After only five minutes, he is roughly awoken by Petty Officer Johnson shaking his shoulder. “Sir! Sir! You need to wake up!”

Eric opens his eyes, vision blurry and heart racing. “I’m up, I’m up!” Seeing the panicked expression on the petty officer’s face, he scrambles to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

“The chopper… I mean the exfil helo… well…”

“Spit it out, Johnson! What about the helo?”

“Apparently the hostiles in this area have access to RPGs, and well… they shot down the chopper.”

Eric instantly starts to move back to TOC. “Do we know if anyone survived the crash?”

Johnson moves along, nodding. “Yes, sir. They all did. All of them are ambulatory.”

“Good. Go and tell May and Mack they need to prepare some medical facilities. I’m pretty sure most of Bravo will be banged up in some way. Simmons needs to find a safe way for them to return to us. With these RPGs in play we can’t risk sending another helo. Get Davis here. She needs to work her magic in locating where this RPG was coming from. Maybe we can work around them.”

“Sir? You want me to get Ensign Davis?”

“That’s what I said.” Eric snaps at the woman at his side. “Now do what I told you! We don’t have time for you to question my orders!”

“But sir! Ensign Davis is on sick leave, back home.”

Eric stops in his tracks, looking a little confused at the young petty officer. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Of course she is.” Opening his eyes, he shakes his head a little. “I’m sorry, Johnson. Get Fitz on the task. He can work with Simmons, and maybe together they can find the RPGs.” She nods, looking a little relieved, moving away to get the people assigned to their tasks. Eric sighs and starts moving again, making a stop at his old friend, the coffeemaker, filling his cup back up before returning to the screens.

On the screen he can see the wreck of the helo burning brightly and the images of eight men, his operators and the two pilots. They are not moving, five of them standing guard in a loose circle around the other three in the middle. Eric reaches for the coms. “HAVOC for Bravo One, sitrep!”

For a moment, there is only crackling, then a voice comes through. But it’s not Jason’s.

“HAVOC, this is Bravo Three. One is down, but alive, Two is badly concussed. The rest of us are mostly just bruised and ambulatory. Four is checking on One and Two. Will resume our trek as soon as Four gives the word. Advised route to TOC?”

“Working on it. Move south first. I’ll update you as soon as possible.”

“Copy that.”

Eric puts the receiver down and turns to the people of his TOC, scanning for Simmons. He has to blink a few times to clear his blurry vision, rubbing his tired eyes to get them working properly again. Finding the young woman sitting in front of two screens, checking and rechecking everything, Eric is briefly reminded of the time Lisa started out. Smiling, he steps next to the screen. “Simmons, did you find a safe route for Bravo?”

The young petty officer looks up at him, smiling shyly. “I found three, sir. I was about to update you, but just wanted to check everything to make sure.” She points to one of the screens where a map of the terrain is visible. “If they keep along that ridgeline, they are invisible from above but have enough visual cover from these bushes. A bit of a climb at the beginning, though. The second route would take them down to the river. Easier to navigate if they have wounded to carry, but they would not have as much cover and could be spotted easily. The last option is through the woods, better cover all around, but we would not have ISR on them to warn them of any hostiles.”

Eric smiles at the eager young face. “Well done, Petty Officer. Which route would you recommend?”

“The first one, sir. But it’s the most physically demanding route.”

“I’ll tell Bravo and let them make the decision.” He looks up as one of the men starts cursing. “Go, help Fitz before he loses it completely.”

Simmons rushes off and is soon engaged in a discussion on finding the RPGs.

Eric relays the information to Bravo Three, and after some consideration they decide on the first route. “What’s the status of Bravo One?”

“Broken femur most likely, a few broken ribs. Had to dose him good, and he is stable now, but we need to carry him.” Trent’s voice comes clearly over the radio, and Eric can see on the monitors that they seem to be ready to move out.

Bravo starts moving along the advised route and Eric guides his team on their way back to the airfield. But like everything on this operation, the way does not stay as clear as they hoped. More hostiles swarm the area than anticipated and Eric has to send the team on detours to avoid contact. The day wears on and in addition to all the detouring, Ray is taking a turn for the worse. He collapses around noon and is not able to move on his own again. As the team has now two of their own to carry, they need to stop more regularly.

Eric refills his cup of coffee constantly, his eyes glued to the screen, processing new information as he navigates his team through the hostile area, trying to keep them safe. He doesn’t even notice when his TOC team changes, part of the staff getting some rest to be replaced by fresh staff members. At some point someone shoves a sandwich in his hand, but he can’t remember who did it or what he is supposed to do with it. It ends up next to his empty coffee cup, untouched.

As the light of the day is fading, they have finally completed their task of guiding the team back. Eric turns to the open ramp, where he can just make out the six men in the distance, making their way towards the plane, carrying two between them. He moves down the ramp with the medical team to greet his operators. Ray and Jason are quickly whisked away by the med team, Trent following closely to give them all the information they need.

“Here ya go.” Sonny shoves a bag into Eric’s chest. “That’s the missing laptop and a few other gadgets we found along the way. Hope they are worth this clusterfuck.”

Eric nods and grabs the bag tightly to hide his slightly trembling fingers. Looking at Sonny, Brock and Clay, he can see their exhaustion and the hints of minor injuries on all of them. “Go to medical. You all need to get checked out. While you do that, we’ll pack up so we can return home.”

They all nod slowly and turn to follow the two pilots to the front of the plane, where there seems to be an improvised med bay.

Eric returns to his TOC, giving orders to pack up and secure everything for the flight. At his desk he slowly pulls the laptop out of the bag, before upending the bag to sift through the bounty the team brought back. He has to rub his eyes again, to clear the double vision away, but a sudden wave of dizziness has him holding tight to the tabletop to not collapse. Swaying slightly, he leans against the table and closes his eyes for a moment, trying to will away the light-headedness and faintness.

A heavy hand landing on his shoulder, jerks him awake again. His eyes pop open to find Trent at his side.

“You look awful, Eric. Worse than we do.”

Eric lifts a shaky hand to his face to rub his tired and bloodshot eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you haven’t slept in days, probably not since we left and only had coffee to keep you going?”

Eric eyes Trent warily. “Maybe.”

“Drink this.” Trent produces a bottle of cold water from nowhere and hands it to Eric, who opens it slowly and starts to take careful sips. “All of it, Eric. And then you go and lie down.”

Eric gestures to his table and all the electronics strewn about it. “I need to sort through this first and then I will.”

“No.” Trent shakes his head. “All of this can wait. You are exhausted. Your body is ready to shut down on you. Hell, you fell asleep standing up just now!”

“But…”

“You can use Jason’s hammock. He’ll stay in the medbay anyway, so he doesn’t need it for this flight. Come on.” Trent takes Eric’s arm and guides him back to the hammocks.

Now that Eric knows his men are all back safely, he can feel the adrenaline that has pumped through his system constantly those past days, slowly wearing off and the exhaustion taking over. With every blink of his eyes, it gets harder to open them again. As he tries to move along with Trent, his feet seem not to cooperate anymore and his knees give out. Before he hits the floor, two sets of strong hands grab and support him. Not remembering closing his eyes, he pries them open to see Brock and Trent guiding him the rest of the way and help him lie down.

They get him settled in Jason’s hammock and Trent starts an iv-line to rehydrate him. Without his consent, his eyes start closing again, but he can just make out the ramp of the C17 slowly closing. The deep rumble of the plane as it slowly makes its way to the runway tells him that they are finally on their way home.

“We are all here, Eric. You can rest now.” Trent’s voice is soft and soothing.

Eric can feel the acceleration of the plane and the change in altitude as it lifts off. The soft rustling around him lets him know that the rest of the team is setting up their hammocks around him to get some rest as well.

He steals one last glance at the team to make sure they are really all safe, before allowing himself to relax.

Within seconds he has drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

Chapter Text

Alternative Prompt: Aftermath of Failure

“Hey, honey, Sonny says the fire’s almost ready and he wants to put the potatoes in.” Ray comes into his kitchen, bottle of beer in his hand.

Naima looks up from the salad she is preparing and smiles at her husband. “The bowl is right in front of you. And you can take the meat from the fridge in the pantry, too.”

Ray walks into the pantry and starts rummaging around the fridge to find all the meat Sonny brought and stuffed in there.

“Ray?”

“Hmmm?”

“Is everything ok with Trent?”

“Sure. Why do you ask?”

“He seems off.”

Ray pulls his head out of the fridge and looks at his wife. “What do you mean, ‘off’?”

Naima shrugs and continues to prep the salad. “He is been acting weird today.”

“Weird how?”

Naima stops cutting the tomatoes and looks at Ray. “I don’t know exactly. It just seems like he is not himself.”

“Huh.” Ray rolls his eyes a little at that cryptic description. “Maybe his shoulder hurts. I think he had a PT session earlier. But I haven’t noticed anything. I’ll keep an eye on him, ok?”

Naima nods and Ray starts piling all of Sonny’s meat on a big plate. When he is done, he picks the plate up and makes his way back to the door to the backyard. Naima watches him go and turns to go back to the salad, when her gaze falls on the bowl of wrapped potatoes. “Ray! The potatoes?”

But it’s too late, he’s already back outside. She grabs the bowl and follows him into their garden, where the team BBQ is in full swing. The kids with Clay and Brock are racing around the yard playing tag with Cerberus, with a lot of laughter and squealing. Jason keeps Sonny company at the grill, and by the look of it they are already arguing again about the right way to smoke the meat. Ray is just arriving with the meat, which breaks up the argument momentarily. Making her way towards Sonny, her gaze sweeps the yard until she finds Trent, meeting him on his way back from the cooler, soda in his good hand. She gives him a warm smile that he returns, but that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You need anything for the pain?”

Trent shakes his head. “Not at the moment. Shoulder’s just a little sore from PT today, that’s all. I’ll let you know, if I need anything. Thanks, though.”

She nods and lets him be for now, but keeps a close eye on him.

Throughout the afternoon she watches Trent trying to act normal. He plays with the kids as usual, he laughs at their jokes and antics, and he banters with his brothers. But he is quieter than usual, his smiles don’t reach his eyes and his gaze wanders off from time to time, leaving him staring into nothingness for a few seconds before he pulls himself back to the here and now. She can see him struggling more and more to keep this mask of “being fine” in place. At dinner he pushes his food around to make it look like he ate most of it, but Naima knows he only had a few bites.

After the meal that lasted into the evening, she herds her kids into the house and takes them to bed. When she comes back out, she finds Brock standing on the porch, beer in hand, watching the yard, gaze fixed on Trent, who is sitting a little to the side, away from his brothers, staring into the fire pit, playing with his soda.

“You noticed, too, didn’t you?”

Brock looks at her with his clear blue eyes and nods.

She steps next to him, her gaze resting on Trent. “You are worried.”

It’s not a question, but Brock nods anyway.

“Do you know what’s up with him?”

Brock shakes his head and sighs. “I tried to talk to him. He said he’s fine. But he’s not.”

“Did something happen on that last spin-up?”

“Nothing I’m aware of. He was the only one injured, dislocating his shoulder on our way to exfil.” Brock shrugs. “As far as missions go, this one went smoothly.”

“Hmmm… what about the rest? Is he seeing someone at the moment?”

Brock shakes his head. “No. At least nothing serious. And he said there is nothing going on with his family either.” When Naima gives him a doubtful look, he grins and admits quietly, “I called his mom earlier to make sure.”

Naima chuckles a little at that, but turns serious again. “Could it be an anniversary of some kind? A bad memory of someone he lost?”

Brock shakes his head. “I can’t think of anything, no.”

“When did you notice him being off?”

“The last couple of days.” Brock stays quiet for a while. “At first I didn’t notice much. He seemed tired, but we all were with all the spin-ups in the last few weeks and him being injured. But he turned a little moody and quiet. Not much noticeable, but enough for me to worry. But every time I asked him about it, he said he was ok.” Brock shrugs. “He seemed to look forward to this BBQ though.”

“What did he do in the last few days? Do you know?”

“He had PT sessions for his shoulder, but it’s mostly healed now. And I think he wanted to visit Felix.”

“The medic from Foxtrot who’s been in a coma for the last few months?”

“Yeah.” Brock nods, face turning somber at the memories of that hellish mission they did with Foxtrot, where none of them came back unscathed. “Trent saved his life on that mission, but it was a really close call. I still don’t know how he did it. All of us were injured in some way, Trent included, but he still managed to keep us all alive.” Brock gives a sad chuckle. “Trent nearly bled out from a shrapnel wound he didn’t even notice. And still he pulled Felix back from Death’s doorstep. But he has been in a coma ever since. Trent has been visiting him and his wife as often as he can.”

“Do you think…” Naima hesitates for a second. “You think Felix died?”

Brock shakes his head. “No. We would know. You know how fast scuttlebutt travels.”

Naima nods and they both stay quiet.

“He might just have a bad day.” Brock suggests in a fake lighter tone. “We all have them.”

Naima looks at Brock. She can see in his eyes that he doesn’t believe it himself, but she doesn’t have a better explanation. “Maybe.”

At that moment, Jason calls Brock over to help him settle a discussion that has turned into a heated argument between Sonny and Ray. Brock gives Naima an apologetic look and jogs over to help. Naima watches the men that are grouped around the firepit in her yard, illuminated by the flickering fire and the few torches that are positioned around the garden. Trent still sits alone, staring into the flames, absently picking on the label of his soda.

She turns back into her kitchen and digs through her medicine cabinet. Finding the stronger pain killers she was looking for, she takes the pill bottle and makes her way outside, sitting down next to Trent and placing the little bottle in his hand. “I brought you something for the pain. Your shoulder must be killing you.”

Trent flinches a little, not having noticed Naima sitting down next to him. “Thanks.” He gives her a grateful smile, swallowing two of the offered pills and turning his gaze back to the flames.

“How is your friend Felix?”

Trent’s head snaps up and he looks at her in surprise. “How do you know about Felix?”

Naima smiles at him. “Brock told me you were visiting him the other day.”

Trent nods, turns his eyes back towards the fire and gives a little shrug. “He woke up.”

“From his coma?” Now Naima turns fully towards him, but Trent keeps staring into the flames.

“Yep.”

“But Trent… that’s huge!” When Trent only gives another shrug, she continues. “That’s a good thing, Trent, that he woke up, isn’t it?”

“That’s what I thought, too, but apparently, it’s not.” Trent’s voice is barely above a whisper now.

“What do you mean, it’s not?” When Trent doesn’t answer, she moves closer to him, putting her hand on his arm for comfort and lowering her voice. “Trent, talk to me. What happened?”

He raises his head slightly, eyes wandering over his brothers that are standing all around them, talking animatedly among themselves. When his gaze finally meets Naima’s, she can see unshed tears in his eyes, but before she can say anything, he turns his head back to the flames and in a low voice he starts to talk.

“I’m sure you remember when we returned from that mission. All of us ended up in the hospital at least for a few days.” Naima nods and Trent continues. “We were already on our way to exfil, when one of the tangos hit our position with a lucky shot from his RPG. It caught us all by surprise and all of us sustained injuries from the blast. Felix was closest to the explosion and it threw him down an embankment, ripping his helmet off and he cracked his head on a massive boulder that stopped his descent. At first he seemed mostly ok, wasn’t even bleeding much and was awake and talking, so we continued our way to exfil. Sonny was carrying him, alternating with Frankie from Foxtrot. But Felix started to show signs of increased intracranial pressure.” His eyes flicker to Naima’s. “You know, slow to answer questions, vomiting, unequal pupils.” She nods in understanding and Trent returns to staring into the flames. “We were maybe three clicks from the exfil point when he had a seizure. I couldn’t break through it with benzos. His heartrate started to become bradycardic, his blood pressure was through the roof and his breathing was strained. I knew he wouldn’t make it to the chopper if we just kept going. So, I decided …” Trent takes a slow breath, reluctant to continue.

“You opened his skull and relieved the pressure.”

“I did.” Trent nods. “The seizure stopped and his vitals returned to more or less normal.”

“You saved his life.”

“He still ended up in a coma.”

Naima squeezes his arm gently. “But he woke up.”

Trent nods but stays silent. When he finally looks at her, he looks lost. “I’m thinking about leaving Bravo.”

Naima looks at him in total confusion. She shakes her head as if to get rid of that ridiculous thought. “What?”

“I… I’m not sure I can be a medic anymore.”

“Because you saved Felix?”

“Yes.”

Naima’s brows furrow in confusion. “Trent, I don’t understand.”

Trent lets his head hang down again, shoulders slumped forward, looking defeated. Cerberus pads over and leans on Trent’s thigh, putting his head down on his lap. Trent takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, while starting to scratch Cerberus behind his ear. “I failed Felix. I failed as a medic and as a brother.”

“Why do you say that? What happened with Felix?”

“A medevac picked us up from our exfil and brought us to the nearest medical facilities. At first it didn’t seem like Felix would make it. The head injury was not his only injury from the blast and he developed a septic shock. For three days he was closer to death than to life, all of his organs were slowly shutting down. But in the end he pulled through. Against all odds. After three weeks they were able to wean him off the ventilator, his kidneys started working again and his circulation was back to normal. But he didn’t wake up even though the initial swelling of his brain had receded and all the scans showed no sign of lasting brain damage. They kept him in the hospital for a few more weeks before they sent him to a nursing home specialized in cases like him. As soon as I was able I visited as often as I could. To support him and his wife, Felicia.” Trent looks at Naima, taking a shaky breath. “She is now seven months pregnant with their first baby.”

“Oh, Trent.” Naima puts her hand on his arm and squeezes lightly.

He gives her a grim smile. “I went to visit again a few days ago. When I arrived, the nurse told me that he woke up. I was surprised and excited and… happy. Eager to see him, I went into his room. They had mobilized him into one of those nursing chairs, looking out of the window into the garden. As I came closer, I notice that he was held up by a belt, arms and legs limp, his head slumped to his shoulder, drool running down his chin and his eyes staring into nothingness.”

“Trent, he was in a coma for five months. His muscles have not been used for a while and it will take some time for him to get his strength back.” Naima interrupts and Trent nods in agreement. “And if he only woke up that day or even the day before, it’s way too early to say anything about his cognitive abilities. I’ve seen patients recover nearly completely with worse injuries. I’ve had this one patient who was in a bad biking accident, with an open skull fracture and when they brought him in, none of us thought he would survive. He visited us nearly a year later, walking and talking. You could still see that he was not back to where he was before the accident, but he was alive and happy.”

“My head knows that it’s too early to make any kind of prognosis. While I sat there, taking his hand, talking to him like I’ve been doing for the last months, he didn’t seem to register that I was there. But as I was saying my goodbye, I thought his eyes fixed on me and he seemed to recognize me. It gave me the tiniest bit of hope. Then Felicia came in.” Trent takes a deep breath, shaking a little on the exhale, his fingers curling tightly into Cerberus’ fur. “When she saw me, she started screaming at me. She asked me if I knew what I had done. That this was the worst outcome possible. That this was not what Felix would have ever wanted. To just exist without being able to communicate with the world or to actively partake in his life.” Trent lowers his head again, voice getting quieter as well. “She said, she doesn’t want me near Felix or her ever again, because this is all my fault. That I should have known what such an injury would mean for him. That I should have let him die.” He takes another deep breath and slowly exhales. “That I not only failed Felix, but also my brothers who trust me to save all of them, not only their bodies.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” Trent lets out a sad chuckle. “I’ve been thinking about that since I left her at Felix’s side. It shook me to the core. I’ve been asking myself, how I can make this decision for my brothers that I will keep their bodies alive no matter the consequences. And I realized, that I’ve always just trusted in my training and my gut feeling, never stopped to think about the after. What my brothers have to go through after they leave the hospital. If they can return to operate or not. If they can walk or talk or…not. If they stay bedridden or dependent on a wheelchair or a ventilator, dependent on others for the rest of their lives. I never stopped to think if it was the right thing to do. And that realization led to the fact, that I can’t keep doing this. I can’t be a medic if I don’t trust myself to do the right thing. If I start questioning my every move and medical decision in the field, I might lose a brother to my hesitation and I can’t live with that. Like she said, my brothers trust me to save all of them, not just their bodies. And she is right. I failed Felix and my brothers.”

“She is wrong, Trent.”

“What?” Trent’s head snaps up at Clay’s quiet voice. Only now Trent notices that it has gone quiet around the campfire, him being the only one talking. All of his brothers have moved closer to him and Naima without him realizing.

“She is wrong.” Clay repeats. “When I was lying in that street in Manila, I felt safe because I knew you would do everything humanly possible to save my life. And I didn’t care what that life looked like. I only cared about living and I knew you wouldn’t give up on me, you would fight for me till the end. Sure, it would have sucked big time if I had never been able to operate again. Even more so if I had never been able to walk. I would have found a way to live that life and make the most of it, and I’m not saying it would have been all sunshine and happiness. But all of you would have been by my side to help me adjust and bring me through the dark times. And it would never have been your fault! I never would have wanted you to question if it was worth saving me! Saving us is always worth it!” Trent sees everyone around the campfire nod in agreement. “And Felix thinks so, too!”

Trent scoffs at that last remark. “I highly doubt that.”

“I don’t, ‘cause I know for a fact that Clay’s right.” Sonny puts his beer down and steps closer to Trent. “I’ve known Felix for a long time, even before he met Felicia. We went through Green Team together, drank through some legendary nights and had a few close calls on missions. You can believe me that he’s always known the risks of our job and has accepted them. We all are aware of the dangers of our job, that dying is a possibility and that coming back damaged is even more probable. But that is never on you. You give us the chance to survive. Without you none of us would be here today. I for one would have died in the jungle of Venezuela.”

Trent remembers vividly how close Sonny came to bleeding out on that mission.

“Angola.” Trent turns a little surprised to his left to look at Brock.

“Manila.”

“Yemen.” At Ray’s quiet voice, Naima flinches visibly.

“Pakistan.” Jason shrugs his shoulders. “Among others. There were quite a few. For all of us. We are all still here because you gave us your all, without hesitation. You are the best damn medic our Navy has.” Jason’s usually commanding tone is surprisingly soft. “Because you trust your training and your gut and you don’t give up on us. And we trust you. To keep us alive, to do whatever you have to do to get us to a hospital with a still beating heart. There is no time to ponder the pros and cons of saving a life under fire, you just do it! It’s difficult enough! And you’re doing an extraordinary job!”

Trent is lost for words, but all his brothers and Naima seem to agree with Jason.

“I know Felicia, too.” Sonny continues. “She is a good woman. She is good for Felix. But her life has turned upside down in the last months several times, and I don’t think she really meant what she said to you. And if you give her a little time, I’m sure she’ll realize how wrong she was and she’ll apologize.”

“I don’t need her to apologize.” Trent shakes his head. “I can understand where she’s coming from with the pregnancy and the unknown future for her and her husband.”

“That still doesn’t giver her the right to blame you and make you question all of your beliefs.” Brock sits down on Trent’s other side, patting his dog.

“Felix might never recover enough to operate again, but he is young and has something to fight for. He will get better and make the best of his life with his wife and unborn child. And I can tell you something else from the perspective of someone who has to stay behind and who is constantly worrying about her husband.” Naima takes Trent’s hand and waits until he really looks at her. “I sleep better at night knowing that you are with Ray and the others. I know they are as safe with you as they can be in this job. I know that you will do everything humanly possible to bring them back home, to bring Ray home to me. And I’m more than grateful for that.”

Trent squeezes her hand, eyes glistening a little. He looks around at his brothers, their words starting to sink in, and slowly he nods. “Thanks, guys. I guess I just got a little lost in my head.” The first genuine smile of the day makes an appearance on his face.

Ray pats him on his good shoulder. “We all need to hear sometimes that our work is appreciated. And with you we don’t say it enough.”

“Alright, boys and girl. That’s enough of the touchy-feely stuff. My throat is parched, we really need another round of beer here.” Sonny’s drawl has the desired effect and the mood lightens visibly. He pulls Clay with him to the house to get more drinks, squeezing Trent’s arm in passing. Jason and Ray follow them, already in a discussion if there are marshmallows left in Ray’s kitchen.

Naima gets up, too, to return to the house and check on her kids, but Trent holds her back, pulling her into a tight hug. “Thank you. For making me talk. For listening. And for letting my brothers catch me.”

She hugs him back tightly. “Anytime, Trent, anytime.” She gives him a warm smile and makes her way back to the house.

Trent follows her with his gaze, but remains standing at the nearly burnt down campfire. “Thank you, too, Brock.”

“For what?” Brock’s voice is just a little too innocent.

Trent turns to his best friend. “For seeing that I was not ok. For being the friend I needed. For getting me the help I needed but didn’t know how to ask for.” He gestures all around them. “For orchestrating all of this.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

They start walking toward the house, Cerberus shuffling between them, and Trent looks at his friend questioningly. “How did you do it?”

“Ah, that wasn’t so hard.” Brock grins and shrugs. “When I realized that you wouldn’t just tell me what was wrong, I asked Sonny about his latest recipes for meat sauces. Naturally that discussion led to Sonny getting overexcited and claiming that it had been too long since our last get together. And as I started that discussion right under Ray’s nose, Sonny started pestering Ray to host this BBQ. The rest just came naturally.”

“You knew Naima would catch on to my mood.”

“Of course. And I knew she wouldn’t let it go and that you would talk to her, if you struggled with any kind of medical stuff. Because she understands.”

Trent nods. “She does.”

“Did it help?”

Trent stops and turns to his friend, pulling him into a hug. “It did. Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Anytime. I’m just returning the favor.”

Trent pulls back and laughs a little. “Let’s find the others and enjoy the rest of the evening. Who knows when we’ll be spun up again.”

They enter the house and Trent decides, that for tonight, he will just enjoy the jokes and the laughs and the marshmallow food fight that he is sure will break out in less than ten minutes.

Trent isn’t ok yet, but he knows he’ll get there.

And he knows his brothers will be there if he needs them.

Chapter Text

Day 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”

Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”

Day 21: “See the chains around my feet.”

Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”

At the sound of the doorbell, Naima brushes her floury hands clean on her apron and makes her way to the door. Just before she reaches the hallway, Jameelah zooms past her and all she can hear is a high pitched “I’ll get it, I’ll get it, I’ll get it!”. RJ comes stumbling around the corner, crying after his sister. “Meelah, wait for me!”

She follows the kids to the door and arrives just in time to see Jameelah fling open the door and launching herself into the arms of the young man standing at their door, nearly tackling him to the ground. RJ is right behind her, hands reaching out and jumping up and down in front of the two. “Uncle Clay! Me too! Me too!”

Clay bends down and scoops RJ up in his free arm, swaying a little when he straightens up, but laughing at the kids’ excitement.

“Jameelah! RJ!” Naima scolds her kids mildly. “What did I tell you?”

Both kids suddenly look contrite. “Sorry, Uncle Clay,” they chorus. And Jameelah adds in a small voice, “Did we hurt you?”

Clay shakes his head, chuckling. “No, Meelah, all’s good. I’m just not very steady on my feet at the moment.” He points to his cane. “But I’m really happy to see you, too. It’s been way too long!”

“That’s true! I really missed you! Mom said you were hurt and that I couldn’t visit you at the hospital. But I really wanted to! I wanted to make you all better, because I’m going to be a nurse like Mom when I’m older!”

“Jameelah.” Naima’s voice sounds stern now. “Let Clay come in first. And maybe you can help him with his bag. You could take it to the guest room.”

“Okay, Mom. Sorry.” Jameelah hops down from Clay’s arm and RJ struggles to be let down, too. They take Clay’s bag, which has fallen to the porch, between them and with hanging heads they march past their mother back into the house.

“Come in, Clay.” Naima hugs the younger man and guides him into the house. “Thank you so much for helping me out on such short notice. My mother called me two hours ago that she’s down with some bug and can’t get out of bed because of a raging fever. All our sitters weren’t free tonight and I didn’t know who else I could call. We are heavily understaffed at the hospital at the moment and they wouldn’t have been able to find someone to cover my nightshift.”

Clay follows Naima into the living room. “That’s ok. I really needed to get out of my apartment anyway. It got a little too quiet, now that Swanny…” He shrugs a little uncomfortably. “Well… you know.”

Naima turns to him, face falling a little, taking his hand, squeezing it lightly. “I’m sorry, Clay. I didn’t think about that. This must be really hard for you. Especially since the guys haven’t returned yet. How are you doing with all that?”

Clay gives her a small tight smile. “There are good days and bad ones. Today was… not so good. Your call actually gave me a reason to pull myself out of the dark thoughts.”

“That’s good. You sure this is ok?”

“Yes, I am. The kids will be good for me. Don’t worry about it. I’m all yours now. What do you need me to do?”

Naima explains to him their evening routine, what to do in the night if the kids wake up and when the kids need to be ready for school and daycare in the morning. “I’ll be home around 7 to take them to school and daycare. It would be great if they were ready to go.”

“Sure, I’ll have them ready. Do you need to sleep tomorrow or can you rest at work?”

“I’ll sleep after I’ve dropped them off and then I’ll be able to pick them up in the afternoon.”

“I can pick them up and maybe take them to the park, so you can sleep in and rest a little more.”

“No, Clay, you don’t have to do that.”

“Naima, please. Let me help. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t like a nice quiet afternoon to yourself.”

“Well…”

“I’d love to do that and I’m sure I can persuade the kids to go to the park after school.”

“Really? You will take us to the park tomorrow? Can we stop at the petting zoo, too? And can we get ice cream? I want vanilla and cookie dough and RJ wants marshmallow and strawberry.” Jameelah and RJ have come back after finishing their assignment, both of them glowing in anticipation of a day at the park with Clay. Both kids look at their mom, eyes begging for her to allow it. “Please, Mom?”

“All right.” Naima gives in with a little smile, kids squealing in delight.

“Ok then, let’s get eating so you can be on time for your shift.” Clay makes his way after the kids to the dining room, leaning on his cane only a little.

They settle around the table and enjoy their meal, Jameelah her bubbly happy self, talking a mile a minute and RJ trying to keep up with his big sister. Clay listens intently to all of the important stories the kids have to tell him, all the news of their friends in school and daycare that he apparently shouldn’t live without. Naima can’t help but suppress a laugh at his earnest face as he tells RJ that no, he didn’t know that RJ’s friend Donny could push six peas up his nose and that he had to go to the hospital to get them removed, but that he is pretty sure that Donny regrets trying that as he knows from personal experience that getting something removed from one’s nostril is pretty painful and RJ dissolves into giggles, imagining Clay with peas up his nose.

After dinner Naima gets up and starts to gather the plates, but Clay shoos her away. “Go, get ready, we’ll clean this up together.” Jameelah rolls her eyes, already on her way to her room, but Clay waves her back. “Come here Meelah. Your mom needs to work all night, and she already made a delicious dinner for us, so the least we can do is clean up afterwards.”

“Urgh… do we have to?” Jameelah whines and tries her puppy eyes on Clay, though inexplicably he seems immune.

“Come on, we’ll be done in no time. And if we clean this up real fast, we might even have time to play something together before we need to get ready for bed, and maybe…I can read an additional chapter for you before bedtime. What do you say?” That has Jameelah at his side in a flash.

Naima chuckles at how easily Clay can make her daughter do chores, but turns back to Clay. “You don’t have to do that. I still have a little time.”

“Then go and relax a little. You have to stay up all night and we don’t. We got this, right kids?”

Jameelah and RJ nod enthusiastically and Naima retreats to her bedroom to get ready for her shift. She can hear Clay and the kids rummaging around the kitchen, accompanied by a lot of squealing and laughter and her heart warms for the young man, who so easily agreed to spent the night at her house to watch the kids and who is willing to relinquish his day tomorrow so she can get enough sleep and a much needed break for herself. She knows how much he has been struggling with his injury and the uncertainty of being able to operate again, and even more with the recent suicide of his friend. To see him here, laughing with the kids, giving her a moment of quiet and rest, shows her again, how resilient Clay really is and she is forever grateful, that he has come into their lives, growing into an important part of their Bravo family.

When the kitchen and the dining room are spotless, Clay lets the kids decide, what they want to play. Both Jameelah and RJ vote for an epic stuffed animal fight, which consists basically of throwing all of the kids’ stuffed animals at each other, ending in all of them rolling on the floor in laughter. At 7.30 pm he herds the kids into the bathroom to get ready for bed. Jameelah keeps talking nonstop, even while brushing her teeth, but RJ nearly falls asleep with his toothbrush in his mouth. Clay picks him up, finishes cleaning the teeth while RJ’s eyes droop closed several times.

When Naima looks in on them to say goodbye, RJ is already fast asleep on Clay’s arm, head nuzzled in the crook of Clay’s neck. She gives her kids a kiss and hugs Clay one last time. “If you need anything, just call me.”

Clay smiles at her. “We’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

With a last smile she leaves for her shift and Clay carries RJ into his room, glad that they put his favorite Paw-Patrol-PJs on before heading into the bathroom. He tucks him in and switches off the overhead light, only leaving the dim yellow glow of Rubble’s bulldozer nightlight. He leaves RJ’s door a crack open and meets Jameelah in her room.

The little girl already sits in her bed, books piled around her, ready for her nighttime story. Clay manages to negotiate her down to three chapters and they settle in to read, Jameelah snuggling into Clay’s side for comfort. Midway through the second chapter, Jameelah’s eyes droop more and more until they stay closed, her breaths evening out and he gently eases her back onto her pillow, pulling her comforter closer around her. He puts the book away and makes his way quietly out of the room, turning off the light on his way out. As with RJ’s room, he leaves the door open for him to hear the kids in the night.

He takes a quick sweep around the house, making sure that all the windows and doors are locked, and then sets the plates for breakfast in the morning. As he has never gotten those two ready for school before, he knows he has to plan for enough time for meltdowns and crying fits if he wants them to be ready for Naima. When he is satisfied with his preparations, he retires into the guest bedroom.

There is a large bed pushed against one of the walls with fresh sheets, a fresh towel and his bag sitting on the comforter. A few baskets with freshly laundered kid’s clothes scattered around the room indicate, that Naima uses it for her laundry. Remembering how exhausted Naima looked, big bags under her eyes telling the story of short nights and too little sleep, he starts folding the clothes and putting them in neat piles for each kid, planning on putting them away in the morning with the help of the kids. When he is done, he changes into some comfortable sweatpants and gets ready for bed. His leg feels sore after the long day and the unplanned animal fight with the kids.

As he lies on the bed, book in hand, trying to concentrate on the story, his thoughts keep wandering to his brothers. He chuckles a little at what Sonny would think of him lying in bed at 9.30 pm with a book, content to turn in soon. The Texan would read him the riot act and demand that he’d accompany him to various strip joints over the next few weeks to compensate for this. From there his thoughts wander to all of his brothers, who are half way around the globe on mission after mission, not even allowed to come back here and see him. He isn’t even sure if they will make it back in time for Swanny’s funeral and he shudders at the thought that he might have to go through that service alone.

Before his thoughts can dive back down into the rabbit hole of Swanny’s suicide and his failure to help his brother and friend, there is loud and frantic knocking on the front door. Clay jumps out of the bed, right leg nearly crumpling under the unexpected weight. He catches himself, grabs his cane and limps to the front door as fast as he can, hoping that the kids won’t wake up.

“Please, Naima, open up, please!” A female voice is heard over the desperate knocking. “Please help us! I think he might kill us!”

Clay reaches for the door, unlocks it and opens it carefully. There is a young woman standing in front of the door, pale face covered in bruises, blood from a laceration on her hairline running freely down her face. In her arms she is holding a crying baby, barely covered in a thin blanket and next to her a young girl with tears streaking down her face, trying to crawl into her side. When the woman sees Clay, she stumbles a few steps back, looking even more scared and turns around to see if she knocked on the wrong door.

“I’m…I’m sorry, I… I thought this was the Perry house.” She retreats even further, too scared to trust this stranger, but even more to leave, throwing glances over her shoulder the whole time.

“It is.” Clay steps back a little, trying to sound calm and reassuring. “Naima and Ray are out, I’m looking after the kids. My name is Clay. I work with Ray.” He holds the door open for her invitingly. “If you need help, you can come in.”

“I… I… I don’t know…” She looks over her shoulder again, but decides that it is safer for her to be off the streets. “Okay, maybe… maybe you can help. Thank you.” And with that she steps into the house, pulling the little girl with her.

Clay shows her into the living room, guiding her carefully to the large sofa. The baby still cries and the mother tries to soothe it, but is shaking herself so badly, that she’s not very successful.

“Sit down, I’ll get you something to drink. And then you can tell me what happened and if we need to call 911.” Clay makes his way to the kitchen to pour some water into a glass and to get some ice and a towel for the gash on the woman’s head. Just as he makes his limping way back to the living room, Jameelah sticks her head out of her room.

“Uncle Clay?”

He turns to the little girl. “Everything’s ok, sweetheart. Go back to sleep. There is just someone here who needs a little help, okay?”

“That’s my friend Evie.” Jameelah steps out of her room and past Clay into the living room. “Evie, are you alright?”

The little girl looks up and when she recognizes Jameelah, she bursts into fresh tears and shakes her head. Jameelah hurries over to her friend and envelopes her into a tight hug. Looking up at Clay, she asks “Is it ok if I take Evie to my room? I can look after her there and you can help her mom.”

Clay looks at Evie’s mother, who is sitting on the couch, still shivering with the baby crying in her arms, not taking in anything around her but the baby she is trying to soothe. “Yeah, that would be great. Thank you Jameelah.”

She gives him a big smile and pulls her friend to her feet, guiding her along the corridor and into her room, closing the door behind them.

Clay turns back to the young woman sitting on the couch. She has managed to quiet the baby down, feeding it on her breasts, and looking embarrassed.

Clay sits down on one of the chairs, putting down the glass of water and handing her the ice for her face, resting his hands on his knees for her to see them, to assure her that he is no threat.

“Can you tell me who you are and why you came here?”

“I’m Erin.” Her voice is quiet and still shaky. Clay stays silent, not wanting to push her. And after a few minutes she continues. “I hoped Ray or Naima were home and could help me, us. Protect us from…from Hank.”

“Hank is your husband?”

She nods, still not looking at Clay. “He… he gets mean when he is drunk. And he has been drinking a lot lately. Naima noticed. She said…” She sniffs and wipes her nose with her free hand. “She said if I ever needed help, I could come here.”

“Does he know that you came here?”

Erin shakes her head. “No. I took off… I just had to get away. He… he tried to go after Evie and Sammy and… and I couldn’t let him do that. I… I hit him… with the frying pan… and then I took the kids and… and just came here.” She starts sobbing uncontrollably now, hugging herself and the baby boy on her chest, rocking in her seat. “If he finds us, he will kill us for sure!”

Clay steps closer carefully and sits down next to her, putting a steadying hand on her back. “Erin, was he alive when you left?”

He can make out a shaky nod between the rocking. “He… he crumpled to the ground… and… and I took the kids… but he was stirring when I looked back at him…”

“Okay.” He keeps rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Erin, I’m going to call 911 now, ok?”

Her head snaps up. “No, please, don’t do that!”

“Why not?” Clay is clearly confused.

“Because I can’t leave my kids. I can’t go to jail and leave them with him! Please!”

“Why would you go to jail?” Slowly it dawns on him, that she is afraid about her hitting him with the pan. “Erin, I’m going to call the police on him, not on you. To protect you. To keep you and your kids safe!”

She looks up at him now, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes. “Really?”

Before Clay can assure her, there is a loud bang from the front door, accompanied by an angry voice. Erin shrinks back into herself, panicked tears starting to flow down her cheek again. Clay rises to move to the front door, but before he can reach it, the door explodes inwards and a giant of a man waltzes through it, swinging a baseball bat. It connects with Clay’s right forearm that he raised just in time to prevent the bat smashing his head in. The clear snap of the breaking bone is only just audible above Erin’s panicked scream. Clay stumbles a few steps back and Hank takes his head and smashes it into the door. Not letting Clay crumble to the ground, Hank drags him with him into the living room, rolling the barely conscious Clay onto his stomach and zip-tying his arms behind his back before he advances on his wife.

“Did you think you could run from me? Did you think I didn’t know where you would go? Did you think your friends here could hide you from me?” With every question he swings the bat, smashing the plates on the table, sending a vase of flowers flying and crashing on the floor and landing a vicious hit to the wooden coffee table, sending the water glass crashing to the floor.

Clay lies on the cool tiles, struggling to stay conscious. His head feels like it might explode any second now and he feels the blood running down his face where his head connected with the door. The bones in his right arm feel like they move in ways they shouldn’t and the whole forearm seems to be on fire. He closes his eyes for a second, trying to breathe through the pain, willing away the dizziness.

When he opens his eyes again, he can see Erin moving back from her husband, the little baby boy still clutched in her arms. Hank screams at his wife, threatening her with the baseball bat, matching every step Erin takes away from him. She succeeds in always keeping something between them, keeping far enough away that the bat won’t hit her. Hank keeps up his verbal assault, always trying to find a way to get to his wife.

Clay tries to wiggle out of his restraints, but Hank has pulled them as tight as they would go and the pain of the break makes his arm and fingers not cooperate. He looks around for something to cut them and sees a pair of scissors lying on the small kiddie table, next to the coloring book RJ had been working on when he came over earlier that afternoon. He tries to move in that direction, but as soon as he starts to inch his way closer, the pain in his arm explodes, leaving him panting.

Hank and Erin are still engaged in their little dance, Hank shouting threats about killing every single living thing in this house and Erin, pale as a sheet, trembling and clutching the baby to her chest, too scared to do much.

“Uncle Clay?” RJ’s timid voice behind him makes Clay’s gut clench in fear.

He turns his head to see the boy standing directly behind him in the shadows, his stuffed dog Rubble clutched tightly in his left arm, eyes wide with fear.

“Shhh, RJ, we need to be really quiet. Can you do that?” RJ nods and Clay turns his gaze quickly back to Hank, whose vision still seemed tunneled on his wife.

“RJ, I need your help.” Clay whispers to RJ, who is still staring at the large unknown man in their living room. When he doesn’t respond, Clay tries again. “Little Ryder, I need you and the Paw Patrol. No job too big, no pup too small. Are you ready for some very quiet action?”

RJ’s eyes light up at the familiar phrases of his favorite show and he nods vigorously.

“I need you to crawl to your drawing table and get me those scissors. Can you do that without making a sound?” Clay whispers his instructions and RJ whispers back just as quietly.

“Rubble’s on the double.” With that he gets down on his belly and crawls to his table, taking the scissors in his tiny hand and crawls back to Clay.

“Well done, RJ. Put them in my hand.” When the boy complies, he instantly starts sawing at his restraints. When RJ still stands next to him, staring again at the screaming man, Clay stops sawing and nudges RJ, who looks down at him again.

“RJ, I need you to go into the guestroom, take my phone from the nightstand and got to Jameelah. Give her the phone and let her call 911.”

At that moment, he can hear a roar of anger. He doubles his efforts to saw through the ziptie and calls to RJ. “Go, RJ, move!”

He can see Hank taking a leap over an armchair, swinging the bat at Erin, who is not quick enough to move out of the way, sending her flying through the air, little Sammy leaving her arms, landing on the couch, while Erin crashes down on the coffee table, smashing it to pieces.

RJ starts to run along the corridor and Clay has finally cut the restraints, clumsily coming to his feet, just as Hank is taking another swing at Erin that connects with her hip, emitting a sickening crunching sound and a pained scream from Erin.

Before Hank can hurt Erin more, Clay engages. With Hank’s next swing of the bat, he moves in, blocking Hank’s arm and twists it, sending the bat flying through the air, and with the same move kneeing him in the gut. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Erin on her stomach, trying to crawl away and to the sofa, blood running down her face, covered by pieces of wood from the coffee table and the left leg standing at an odd angle.

But he has no time to help her. Even though his kick should have had Hank whimpering on the ground, he is already up again and has turned his whole attention to Clay. Like a raging bull, Hank charges at Clay. Clay steps aside at the last second and trips him, using Hank’s momentum to send him crashing onto the kitchen island. Hank recovers quicker than Clay would have estimated and grabs one of the barstools, throwing it with enough force at Clay, who ducks just in time, that it shatters into splinters on impact near the fireplace. Clay aims another kick to Hank’s gut and knees, making him double over and dropping to the ground. Determined to take Hank down permanently and secure him until the police arrive to keep Erin and the kids save from this lunatic, Clay advances cautiously. Hank still kneels on the kitchen floor, panting heavily, blood dripping from his broken nose.

“Stay down, Hank, and don’t move. The police will be here soon. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

In the blink of an eye, Hank is up again, suddenly kitchen knife in hand, lunging at Clay. Both of them topple to the floor, the large man on top of Clay, knocking the air right out of his lungs. Clay manages to twist the knife-wielding hand to the point where it snaps, and the knife skids away, vanishing under one of the cupboards. Hank lets out a roar that sounds more angry than pained and throws himself on Clay again, who barely has enough time to move away. Clay manages to grab Hank, twisting him around and getting him in a chokehold. Hank desperately tries to dislodge Clay’s arms from around his neck to get more air, throwing his elbow back into Clay’s ribs with such force, that all air is pushed out of Clay’s lungs, but he holds on. Even the punches to Clay’s broken arm don’t make Clay loosen the chokehold and in a matter of seconds, Hank’s attempts get weaker and weaker until he loses consciousness.

Clay stays in position a moment longer to make sure Hank is really out, then moves the larger man off of him and pats him down for the zipties, finding them in his pockets. After securing the man’s hands and ankles tightly, he gets up and a wave of dizziness hits him, making him double over and nearly vomit on the kitchen floor. He manages to grab the counter for stability and breathes through the pain and nausea.

When he feels stable enough, he moves to the now unconscious Erin, sprawled out next to the couch. Crouching down next to her, he feels her steady pulse and her regular breathing. She has a few scrapes from the splintered coffee table, but no bleeding wounds. As he can’t do much for her injuries at the moment and she is already lying on her stomach, he only inclines her head a little, leaving her airway free.

After that he scans the room for the little baby boy, finding him lying face down between two sofa cushions. In a rush he moves to the baby, turning him around carefully. Two big green eyes blink up at him before they scrunch together and Sammy lets out a pained wail. Clay picks him up carefully with his left arm, cradling the boy to his chest, rocking him a little to soothe him.

He makes his way to Jameelah’s door, finding it locked from the inside. Knocking lightly on the door, he calls out to the kids.

“Meelah? RJ? It’s Uncle Clay. It’s over. Evie’s dad can’t hurt her anymore.”

He can hear shuffling behind the door, quiet whimpering and a hushed discussion.

“Did you call the police?” He can feel the adrenaline leaving his body, and all the aches and pains making themselves known.

Jameelah’s muffled voice comes through the door, and Clay can hear that she is crying. “Yes, they are coming. But the lady on the phone says, I shouldn’t open the door.”

He blinks heavily and leans against the wall next to Jameelah’s door, grabbing his aching ribs with his broken arm. “That’s ok, Meelah. You stay hidden in there with Evie and RJ, and I stay out here and keep watch until the police get here, ok?” His knees buckle and he lets himself slide down the wall, holding tight to the baby that’s still cradled in his arm. The little boy has quieted down, soothed by the rocking and Clay’s voice.

He feels tired all of a sudden, his eyelids keep trying to close without his consent and it seems harder to breathe. Just as he thinks that he can’t keep his eyes open any longer, he makes out movement at the corner of his eyes. His head jerks up, eyes wide, trying to find the threat. He can’t hear any sirens yet, so it can’t be the police.

“Uncle Clay? Are you ok?” He can make out Jameelah slowly inching closer to him, looking scared but at the same time concerned.

“Go back into the room until the police gets here. It’s safer in there.” His voice sounds a little wheezy. Maybe Hank succeeded in breaking a few of his ribs with his vicious punch.

Another shadow materializes next to him and he recognizes the little girl Evie.

“Where’s my mommy?” Tears roll down her cheek, but she wipes them away.

“She will be okay, but she got hurt a little.” He looks at them pleadingly. “Please. You need to go back to the room and lock the door.” Holding up the little boy, he puts the baby in Evie’s arm. “Take your brother with you. It’s safer for all of you. Go. Please!”

Evie takes her brother, expertly cradling him in her arms and makes her way back into Jameelah’s room, where he can hear her talk to both boys soothingly.

But Jameelah stays where she is. “You are hurt, Uncle Clay. I can’t leave you alone out here.”

Clay closes his eyes and fights the darkness, that tries to overwhelm him. A smile tugs at his lips, and a warmth spreads through him at the concern and protectiveness of that little girl in front of him.

“It’s just a busted arm, Meelah. It’ll heal.”

“But the blood is coming from the other side.”

Clay’s eyes snap open. “What blood?”

Jameelah points to the left side of his chest and Clay looks down.

His shirt, his sweatpants, even the floor he is sitting on is soaked with blood. He pushes his soggy shirt up and can see a one inch wide stab wound on his left side, blood still seeping out freely down his stomach. Now the wheezing and labored breathing makes sense at last. And why he felt so tired all of a sudden. The only sound he can make, is a surprised “Oh.”

Jameelah turns around and vanishes in the bathroom, emerging only seconds later with a large bag with a red cross printed on the side and a few towels. She dumps everything next to him and gets to work. Pulling Clay’s shirt up again, she pushes down on the wound with all of her strength with one of the towels, eliciting a surprised groan from Clay.

She takes Clay left hand and puts it on the towel. “Press down here.”

Clay smiles at her commanding tone that sounds so much like Naima’s and obliges.

She opens the bag and rummages around it, until she finds the pack of quick-clot-compresses. Tearing them open, she switches them with the already soaked through towel and presses down again.

“How do you know all that?” Clay can hear his voice getting slower and a little slurred and it costs him all his strength to keep his eyes open.

“Mom took me to a first aid class and after that she told me all about this bag, in case something happens to Dad or RJ while she’s at work.” Jameelah shrugs lightly, but Clay can see how proud she is, that her mother trusts her with something as important as this.

In the distance he can at last hear sirens coming closer. At the same time, they can make out sounds from the kitchen. Hank seems to have come to his senses and tries to get out of his restraints, grunting and kicking. Jameelah startles a little at the noises, eyes widening in fear, but she keeps pressure on the wound.

“He can’t hurt you, us. I tied him up tightly, don’t worry.” Clay reassures Jameelah and gets a week smile in return.

Within minutes they can hear someone calling from the door. “Police! Put your weapons down, we are coming in!”

“Over here!” Clay’s voice is hoarse and strained, barely audible over the ruckus Hank is making in the kitchen.

“We need help here!” Jameelah shouts, waving to the officers that are swarming the place now.

They are quickly surrounded by armed officers, securing the place and Clay knows that they are safe now, that he doesn’t need to stay alert anymore. His heavy eyelids slip closed and he lets himself be pulled into oblivion.

The sound of his vibrating phone pulls him back to consciousness. Instinctively he gropes at his phone on the nightstand to his left, pushing the ‘Accept’ button without opening his eyes and holds the phone to his ear.

“ ‘lo?” He is surprised at his hoarse voice, the tugging of something on his hand and opens his eyes, astonished to see that he is in a hospital room and the tugging on his hand stems from an iv-line on his left hand.

“Hey there, Goldilocks, did I wake you?” Sonny’s chipper drawl wakes him up even more. “What you doing in bed at this time of day? Long night?”

Clay groans at the pain when he tries to sit up, registering the cast on his right arm, the nasal canular blowing air in his nose, the tightness around his left eye that screams black eye and the twinge in his side at every breath.

“Why can’t I see anything? This is a video call! Hold the phone so I can look at your ugly mug, when I tell you the happy news, that we are coming home in a few days.”

Clay looks around his empty hospital room, seeing some toys that look like they could belong to RJ or Jameelah, a coat that he might have seen on Naima and suddenly a few things click into place. When Clay doesn’t react to Sonny’s request, Sonny gets impatient.

“Come on, BamBam, talk to me. Did you fall asleep again?”

Clay clears his throat, pulls his phone from his ear and holds it in front of his face. “No, I’m still here.”

“Holy fuck, Clay, what happened?” Sonny’s bearded face looks alarmed on the small screen of his phone. “Are you… in the hospital?”

At the word ‘hospital’, Clay can hear exclamations of “what the fuck” from the background and Trent’s and Brock’s faces appear behind Sonny.

Clay can’t help but smile at his brothers, happy to see them safe and healthy. “Hey, guys.” He wants to wave at them, but his casted arm won’t cooperate. “How are you doing?”

“Seriously? How are we doing?” Sonny looks incredulous, gearing up for a rant, but Trent snatches the phone from him.

“Hey, buddy. What happened? Did your leg give out and you fell?”

“Leg is fine, Trent.” He can hear Sonny grumble in the background. “I…”

“Is this Spenser you’re talking to?”

All his brother’s heads snap to Ray’s off-screen voice, nodding.

“I just finished talking to Naima, and you won’t believe what she just told me.”

Once again, Clay can see the phone changing hands, being lifted through the air and Clay lets his own phone slip from his hand, letting it tilt over onto his blanket. Guilt creeps in at the memory of how he failed to protect RJ and Jameelah from the trauma of last night. His head has started pounding a little, bringing with it a tinge of nausea, and he is not sure he is up to a lecture from Ray at the moment.

“Spenser? You still there?”

Ray’s voice sounds pissed, and Clay is tempted to just end the call and pretend he lost reception here in the hospital. He closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath, that hurts more than he likes, deciding that he has to face Ray sooner or later and that he just has to get it over with.

He picks the phone back up, staring at Ray’s concerned face. “I’m here.”

“Hey, Clay.”

“Ray, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it would turn this bad this fast and I didn’t realize I was that much out of shape to not be able to keep that drunken lunatic from coming into your home. I’m really sorry.”

“Clay, stop! You protected my kids. You saved Erin and her kids. What are you even apologizing for?”

“I should have been able to stop him sooner, before he got the chance to beat the living shit out of Erin. I should have been able to fend him off.”

“Naima said the guy was not only drunk but drugged to his gills with amphetamine. The police are at a loss, how you were even able to restrain him by yourself, and doing that while you are still recovering from a major injury! I don’t even want to think about what would have happened, if Naima or her mother had been home alone with the kids! They would all be dead now. Including all the kids. And I don’t know how I can ever repay you for keeping my family, our family safe!”

Clay lowers his head to hide his embarrassment.

“What’s the damage?” That’s Trent’s voice.

Clay shrugs. “Don’t know. Haven’t talked to anyone since Sonny woke me so rudely.” He holds up his casted right arm. “Broken arm, I guess, …”

He looks up, when he hears his door open and a smile spreads on his face. He lowers his phone to greet his guests. “My two heroes!”

RJ and Jameelah rush to his bed, both stopping short of crashing into him. He holds out his arms and both climb up to him to give him a careful hug. Naima follows her two kids, helping them down without hurting Clay.

“How rude!” comes Sonny’s muffled voice from beneath Jameelah’s right thigh. “Let us say hi, too!”

Clay laughs a little and pulls his phone out from under Jameelah, holding it up for his brothers to see the new arrivals, before handing it off to the kids to say a proper hello.

“It’s good to see you awake, Clay. I was really worried about you.” Naima steps up and gives Clay a careful hug, that is just on the right side of too tight. “Thank you for saving them! For protecting my babies! Thank you!” A single tear leaks from her eyes and trails down her cheek.

“Anytime, Naima. They are my family now, too!” Clay whispers to Naima, not trusting his voice and wishing only her to know, how truly grateful he is that he has found a family with them.

“Oi, BamBam! Stop hugging Ray’s wife. It’s making him nervous. And tell us about the damage.”

Clay chuckles at Sonny’s shout and the giggles from Jameelah and RJ and releases Naima from their hug. She steps away, sniffling a little, but smiles at the phone Jameelah is holding up. Clay holds his good hand out for his phone and a second later he stares back at his brothers. “I’m good. A busted arm, a few bruised ribs, …” He shrugs.

“A concussion with a broken eye socket on his left side, a stab wound with a collapsed lung also on his left, same side as the broken ribs.” Naima continues the list, putting extra stress on the word ‘broken’. “But all will heal soon. And I’ll keep an eye on him until you return.”

Sonny gears up to say something, but Ray shakes his head. “We need to go, guys. Mandy and Jason are waiting for us.” They all grumble, but get up and start saying their goodbyes.

Clay waves at the screen. “See you in a couple of days. Stay safe.” He switches his phone off and puts it on the sidetable. “How are Erin and her kids?”

“Physically Erin will be okay. She has a few broken bones like you, her femur and her shoulder, a bad concussion, nothing that won’t heal with time. The emotional part will heal much slower, if it ever does. Sammy didn’t sustain any injuries, he’s fine. But Evie is traumatized. They have a real good child psychiatrist here, who hopefully will be able to help her.”

Clay nods and looks at Jameelah and RJ. “How are you two doing?”

Jameelah shrugs and RJ tries to imitate her in his adorable way. “It was really scary when Evie’s dad came into the house, shouting and smashing things. Evie wouldn’t stop crying. But I knew you wouldn’t let him get to us. And I was really angry at him for hurting you!”

“But you made it all better. Like you said you would. I’m really proud of you, Meelah.” Looking at RJ, he adds. “And I’m really proud of you, too! I wouldn’t have been able to free myself without you and Rubble!”

RJ’s smile spreads over his whole face. “RJ to the rescue!”

Naima hugs her two kids, and Clay smiles at them, feeling happy but tired. His eyelids start to droop and he struggles to keep them open. Naima shoos her kids to the door and steps back to his bedside, carding her fingers through his curls and giving his forehead a kiss.

“Get some rest, Clay. The police, maybe even the NCIS will be here later. You need your strength for that, so just sleep, ok?”

Clay closes his eyes and hums his acknowledgement. “I’m sorry you didn’t get your free afternoon. I’ll make it up to you, when I’m out of here. Maybe make it a whole weekend.”

“The kids would love that. We’ll figure it out. Sleep now.”

“ ‘kay.” Naima can barely hear his mumbled response before she leaves the room with her kids.

The feeling of warmth Clay had felt earlier, when Naima hugged him, still burns inside of him while he drifts off to a peaceful sleep.

He knows, that with this family, he has finally found his home.

Chapter Text

Day 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”

“HAVOC, this is Bravo One. Target eliminated. Full mission success. En route to exfil . ETA 60 mikes.”

“Good copy, Bravo One.”

“Let’s move out. The sooner we can get out of this rain, the better.”

On Jason’s order, they make their way through the rain, away from the gravesite that used to be the compound of the latest aspiring terrorist cell only hours ago, and back through the mangrove forest to where they left their zodiacs.

“Thank god we can leave now. Swear to god, there is not one inch on my body that’s not drenched! Bet this country hasn’t seen that much rain in over a decade!”

“You’d lose that bet, Son. May is only the first month of monsoon season. There’ll be a lot more rain in the coming months around here. In this country, this here only classifies as light drizzle.”

“Of course, you would know that, Goldilocks,” huffs Sonny. “Just saying, I didn’t know it could get so wet around here.”

They keep trudging through the rain only partially covered by the foliage of the trees, Sonny’s constant muttering barely audible over the rain and the increasing wind.

After half an hour, Jason’s radio comes back to life. “HAVOC for Bravo 1. How copy?”

Jason signals the others to halt, and they stop, forming a protective circle around him. “Good copy, HAVOC.”

“New mission objective.”

Sonny’s groan makes them all chuckle.

“You need to pick up a package in a small town north of you. Sending you the coordinates and details now. Be advised that exfil via zodiac won’t be possible. There is a storm on its way. New exfil point on your GPS, chopper will be on standby. You should have enough time to acquire the package and move to the exfil point before the storm makes landfall. It will hit southeast of your position, but even the storm tail will ground all air traffic in the area.”

“Good copy.”

Jason scans through the sent information and turns to his team. “Alright. You heard HAVOC. The package we have to pick up is one Cooper Barton.”

“Who is he? Some CIA informant or a target?” Sonny asks.

“Seriously, Sonny? You’ve never heard of Cooper Barton?” Clay shakes his head. “He’s the son of Senator Barton, calls himself a ‘war correspondent’, but his articles never portray the whole picture. He is very anti-military, says we’re all warmongers and should keep out of other countries affairs.”

“So, in short, he is an asshole.”

The others laugh at that.

“Yes, Sonny, an asshole,” confirms Jason. “But an asshole with a powerful daddy, who we need to get out of here. Alive. Apparently, he made himself a target to the local rebels somehow. In addition to that, there is a bad storm coming and we really don’t want to be here when it hits. So, let’s move out.”

“You mean, on top of us being drenched and having to pick up an asshole all of the rebels around here want to kill, there is a hurricane coming our way?”

“Cyclone, Sonny, not hurricane,” Clay interjects with one of his shit-eating grins.

“What?”

“They are called cyclones around here.”

“Seriously?”

“Clay is right, Sonny, and so are you. There is a cyclone coming our way, so move your ass.” Jason pats him on the shoulder with a smirk and leads his team towards their new target.

Sonny follows Jason, giving Clay a punch to the shoulder when he passes him. “Thank you very much for this absolute useless information, EncyClaypedia. Wouldn’t know how to keep on living without it.”

Clay rubs his shoulder in mock hurt, and chuckles along with Trent and Brock as they follow the others to their new destination.

They make good time on their way to the target location, not meeting many people on the way. It seems that either the government had warned the people of the oncoming storm or they left on their own. The few people they meet are all in a rush to leave with as much of their possessions as they can carry, making their way inland.

Reaching the outskirts of the small town, where their target is hiding, they stop for a last check-in with HAVOC before they make contact.

“HAVOC, this is Bravo One. How copy?”

“Good copy, Bravo One.”

“On location now. How’s the ETA on the storm’s landfall? It’s getting a little windy around here.”

“ETA 60 mikes. Should be enough time for you to get to the exfil zone with the package.”

“Roger that. Any rebel movement in the area?”

“Negative, Bravo One. All’s quiet for now.”

“Copy that, HAVOC. Moving on to acquire package now.”

“Copy, Bravo One.”

Moving in a single file, they make their way through the little town, past wooden hovels and brick buildings, passing the town square with a beautiful little mosque centered at the south end of it. At last they arrive at the right house in a narrow side alley.

Making sure there is no back entrance, Jason sends Ray up on overwatch, before the rest enter the house silently, clearing the rooms one after the other. When they open the last door, they find the young man they are looking for sitting at a desk, tapping away at his laptop. He topples to the floor when they burst into the room, backing away from them as far as he can.

“Please, I didn’t do anything… don’t hurt me! Please!”

“Cooper Barton, we are with the American Military and were sent to take you back home,” Jason informs him, lowering his weapon, while the others secure the room and stand guard.

“What?”

“Sir, we were sent to get you and make sure you make it out of this country in one piece.”

Barton glares at them, one after the other, taking in their wet and dirty appearances, his gaze stopping at the American flag on their uniforms. Instantly his pose relaxes and he gets to his feet, face morphing from scared to annoyed.

“About time you got here! I expected you hours ago! I could be dead right now, if the rebels had found me!” He starts moving around the room, putting things into three heavy bags that sit on the coffee table.

Sonny shakes his head at the sudden change of demeanor and tone, but keeps silent.

“Sir, we need to move now. I suggest, you put on some heavy boots and a raincoat, so we can leave.”

Barton doesn’t seem to have heard Jason. He finishes throwing his possessions into the bags, zips them shut and moves to a bright orange backpack. Looking over his shoulder while he is powering down his laptop, he waves dismissively to the three large bags.

“You can already take them to the car. I’m almost done with this and then we can leave.”

“Sir, you really should put on some heavy boots and a raincoat,” Jason repeats, tone a little sharper.

“What?” Barton turns around, realizing that his bags still sit on the bed and no one is moving to take them. “Why are you not taking these bags out to the car already? We could be gone in a minute, if you would just hurry up!”

Jason taps his foot impatiently and stares at Barton with one of his looks, while the other four exchange amused glances, waiting for Jason’s patience to run out. They really should have sent Clay on overwatch to have Ray here with them. Without him, this could escalate pretty quickly.

“Sir.” They can hear the strain in Jason’s voice, trying to stay calm. “There is no car outside. We have to walk to the exfil point.”

Barton looks at Jason unbelieving. “Excuse me?”

“There is no car. We have to leave on foot. That’s why I asked you to please put on these heavy boots and your coat. You can’t go outside in these sneakers. With the boots you will get wet, too, but it’ll keep the worst off of you.”

“But…” Barton starts to shake his head, moving a step back from them.

“Now, Mr. Barton. We have to move now.”

“No.”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to shake his head in disbelief. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I’m not walking anywhere in this weather. Haven’t you noticed that it’s pouring outside?” He points to one of the windows to make his point and in the short silence, everyone can hear Sonny’s muttered “no shit, Sherlock”. “And there is a storm coming! It’ll just blow us away! We won’t make it anywhere! And that’s not counting in the rebels, who want to kidnap me. Or shoot me. Or both!” His voice has slowly risen in volume and pitch, finally reaching screeching levels. “And what about all my stuff? Do you want to carry all that through the rain? It’ll get wet, possibly irreparably damaged!”

Jason takes a deep breath, massaging the bridge of his nose in hope to find some more patience. “Mr. Barton. There is no vehicle here and none will be coming. If we leave now, we can still make it to the exfil point before the storm hits land. But for us to make it to the exfil point on time, we really need to hurry. And we won’t be taking your bags with us.” Barton gasps at that, and tries to argue, but Jason just goes on. “Put all of your essentials into a backpack to take with you. Don’t make it too heavy or you won’t be able to carry it all the way to the chopper.”

“But…” Barton looks around at the men surrounding him. “I need all of my things. I can’t leave anything behind!”

But Jason has enough. “To speed things up, one of my men will help you.” Jason looks at Trent and points around the room. “Four, essentials only. Passport, wallet, phone, some water, set of clothes.”

Trent nods, instantly moves from his position and starts rummaging around Barton’s bags, looking for a more inconspicuous backpack than the bright orange one. Finding none, he upends it and starts packing things into it.

Barton looks shocked and confused, watching Trent going through his belongings, but quickly steps to his side to point the things out he thinks he really needs. Trent takes some of these items, asks for others, and ignores Barton when he tries to pack non-essentials.

“Done.” Trent holds the backpack out to Barton after only a few minutes, and the reporter takes it automatically.

“I really need my laptop. All my stuff is on there. My work.”

Trent looks at Jason who just nods.

“Now that we have everything we need, would you please put those damn boots and the jacket on?” Jason’s voice finally starts to lose its patient tone.

When Barton still doesn’t move to comply immediately, Jason throws the coat and the boots at the reporter. “MOVE IT! NOW!”

Barton flinches visibly at Jason’s outburst, nearly losing his hold on the boots and scrambles to obey.

“Bravo One, this is Bravo Two,” Ray’s voice crackles through their comms.

“Read you loud and clear, Bravo Two.”

“We need to get out of here. There is movement coming our way. Two trucks, loaded with at least a dozen rebels.”

“Copy that, Two.” Jason looks at his men. “Let’s go.”

“No. Nonononono. I’m not going out there where the rebels are. They’ll shoot me!”

“We are here to protect you. You’ll be as safe with us as you can be. If you stay here, they’ll find you for sure and probably torture you before they kill you. And broadcast it to the world. Now move!” Jason pushes Barton in front of him and in the direction of the door, orange backpack like a beacon on his back.

Clay and Sonny leave the house first, securing the alleyway for the others to exit. They make their way to the backside of the house, meeting up with Ray, who is sliding down from the roof, and move away from the oncoming trucks in the direction of their exfil.

Ray takes point, followed by Jason. Trent and Brock keep Barton between them, while Sonny and Clay bring up the rear. After only two blocks, Barton suddenly stops moving, looking around suspiciously.

“Sir, you need to move,” Brock urges him on.

“But that’s the wrong direction.” Barton squints through the rain and starts to walk to the left, towards a narrow side street.

Trent holds him back. “Where are you going? We need to keep moving north to make our rendezvous with the chopper.”

Barton points down the alleyway. “But Sadhana is that way.”

Jason appears at their side. “What is Sadhana?”

“Sadhana Bakhash. She is my girl. She lives down that street in the yellow house next to the mosque. We need to get her, too.”

Jason sighs audibly, trying to stay civil. “Mr. Barton, our orders were to get you. We can’t just take a local girl with us.”

“But she is the love of my life! I can’t leave without her!” Barton stares stubbornly at Jason, crossing his arms before his chest.

“There are still a dozen rebels looking for you, and in this weather conditions we don’t want to risk a firefight. It’s just too dangerous to go back there. And we don’t have time to deviate from our route, or we won’t make it out of here before the storm hits. I’m sure she will be fine until you can return.”

“No. I’m not leaving without her.”

“Listen here, loverboy!” Sonny steps closer to the reporter, glaring threateningly at him. “Either you move now on your own or I will make you move!”

Barton shrinks back a little, but doesn’t back down.

Clay steps in between Sonny and the reporter, putting his hand on Sonny’s chest. “I might have an idea.” Jason looks questioningly at Clay. “I will circle back and get the girl. Alone, I can get to her undetected. You keep moving to the exfil, and we’ll meet at the north end of the square.”

Before Jason can say anything, Barton interrupts. “But I need to come with you to convince her to come with us. I mean,… you know… tell her that it’s… safer if she comes with me! To keep her safe from the storm and the rebels. And she only speaks Urdu, so you can’t talk with her and tell her that.”

Jason ignores Barton and nods at Clay. “Good idea, Six. Take Three with you. And be careful.”

Clay instantly turns around, taking Sonny by his arm and leading him away from the others. They start jogging down the narrow side street towards the market square, where they had seen the little mosque on their way in, and soon they are only moving shadows in the downpouring rain.

Jason gives the others the signal to move out, but Barton turns to Jason with a furious glare. “What are you doing? Now they won’t be able to bring Sadhana! She will not go with them, if she doesn’t know who they are and who sent them!”

“Don’t worry about it, those two have great communication skills. Now move.” Jason turns around and follows Ray.

Barton throws his arms in the air, letting out a frustrated growl, but doesn’t start moving. From behind him, he gets a little push. When he turns around, he is eye to eye with Trent.

“Six is pretty fluent in the local dialects. He’ll be able to talk to your girl, so don’t worry about it. The only thing you need to worry about if you don’t start moving, are the dozen men looking for you.”

Barton doesn’t look convinced, but nods at last and follows the others, Trent and Brock bringing up the rear.

They move between the houses, while the wind whips around them, and they have to sidestep multiple pieces of debris, some coming down from the roofs, some being ripped off from houses. Slowly they make their way through the little town, cautiously approaching the northern edge of the market square, when Jason’s radio crackles.

“Bravo One, this is Six.”

“Good copy Six. Did you acquire the missing part?”

“Negative, One. Turns out the part wasn’t missing from our package at all, and is still not mature enough to travel on its own. Leaving town now with the family for a safer place up north.”

Jason frowns when he understands Clay’s meaning. “Roger that, Six. Make sure they leave safely, then meet us at the northern edge of the market. We’ll cover you from here.”

Barton looks confused. “What happened? Are they bringing Sadhana, or what?”

All of Bravo glares at him, only Ray takes pity on Barton. “No, they are not bringing her. It seems Sadhana is still underage. She is leaving town with her family now.”

Barton looks away, swearing and mumbling under his breath. “Only a few months until she turns 18, don’t know why they are making such a big deal about it!”

Ray’s eyebrows furrow, empathy turning into anger, realizing that this man knew the girl was underage and still insisted on taking her with him, making them accomplices to his illegal doings. But before he can ream the man, Brock shouts out a warning and they turn to the market square.

At the south end the soldiers from the trucks have appeared, moving from house to house in search of the reporter they hadn’t found at his hideout.

“Bravo Three, Bravo Six. You have company. They’ll be at your position in two mikes. We’ll give you cover from the north.”

“Copy.” Clay’s voice is clipped, but focused and they all know that both Sonny and Clay will give the newcomers one hell of a welcome.

From afar they watch as two men enter the little yellow house, but don’t come back out. There is no sound of gunfire, no muzzle flashes, no indication that something is wrong. After a few minutes, another pair approaches the house, a little more careful than the one before them. They, too, don’t come back out.

Suddenly, all hell breaks lose. Gunfire erupts, rounds peppering the yellow brick house, and the windows shatter along the way. The remaining eight rebels have positioned themselves along the little mosque, finding cover and shooting at the little house. But Clay and Sonny have started to return fire, too, and even before Jason can move the rest of the team in position to help, the rebels start to fall, one after the other.

“What the fuck?” Trent’s yell is accompanied by a loud groaning noise and they watch in horror, as the towns large water reservoir, that was towering on the other side of the little mosque, slowly starts to lean toward the mosque, finally giving in to the force of the storm and toppling onto the small place of worship, sending it crashing sideways on top of the remaining rebels. The mass of water pushes the minaret, which stands on the other side of the mosque and which had already started to wobble in the strong winds, finally over the turning point, sending it crashing down on top of the little yellow house, flattening it completely.

All four operators just stand there for a second, shocked by the events that unfolded right in front of their eyes, none of them able to move.

“Bravo One, this is HAVOC! Do you copy?”

At the sound of Blackburn’s voice, the spell is broken and they all start moving quickly in the direction of the destroyed house. Even Barton doesn’t resist, when Ray pulls him along. Jason keys his radio while moving. “This is One.”

“What’s your ETA to the LZ? The window for the chopper is closing. You only have 15 mikes to make it, or it’ll have to leave! The storm will make landfall in about 25 mikes. And there seem to be more rebels in the woods up north, moving slowly towards your extraction point.”

Jason sighs heavily, still moving with the others. “HAVOC, we have a situation here. Three and Six are buried in a collapsed house, status unknown.”

There is a short silence on the other end, before Blackburn is back. “Understood, Bravo One. The package?”

“Secured.”

“We’ll look for alternative exfil strategies. Standby.”

“Copy that. We’re standing by.”

They reach the yellow house, or what is left of it. Jason knows, Ray has tried to contact their missing brothers since they started running towards them, but hasn’t gotten any response.

Trent and Brock already start to move to the rubble, but Jason holds them back, relaying his contact with HAVOC.

“Are you saying, that in 15 minutes the helicopter will leave and we will be stuck here in a hurricane with the rebels?”

Jason nods at Barton’s question, seeing both Trent and Brock mumble “Cyclone” under their breaths, before they turn around to start looking for Clay and Sonny.

“What are we waiting for? I don’t know how far we have to walk, but we should be running to get there!” Barton’s voice cracks at his eagerness to leave.

Jason turns away from Barton to not just hit him in the face. They wouldn’t even be in this situation if not for his insistence that they bring an underage girl with them.

Again, Ray is the one answering. “We are looking for our brothers to get them out of this rubble. As soon as we find them, we’ll get out of here.”

“But that’s a waste of time! Look at this!” He points to the ruins through the heavy rain. “There is no way they survived this. You are looking for bodies!”

“We never leave anyone behind.” Ray tells the reporter calmly, but even he has to take a deep centering breath not to just deck him.

“I’m not waiting around for you to dig through all of this for your dead friends!” And with that he starts to move away from the destroyed building in the direction of where they came from.

Suddenly Brock is right in front of him, eyes dark with fury, voice deep with barely controlled rage, finger stabbing Barton’s chest. “You are the reason our brothers are buried here! So if you want to survive this, stay where you are until we tell you to move. Keep your mouth shut, be grateful you’re still breathing and pray we find them alive or you won’t be much longer.”

Barton’s eyes stare in fear at the dark-haired operator, his mouth gaping with no sounds coming out. Brock turns back to the house and continues searching.

“Bravo One, this is HAVOC. Do you copy?”

Jason halts in his search to key his radio. “Good copy, HAVOC. Haven’t found them yet. No contact so far.”

“Understood.” There is a small pause, and Jason knows whatever comes next, he’s not going to like it. “Bravo One, you are ordered to make your way to the LZ as fast as possible. The storm has been upgraded to a level 4 cyclone and you and the package need to vacate the area immediately.”

Jason closes his eyes, because he knows the answer to his next question before the words leave his mouth. “What about Three and Six?”

“As soon as this cyclone has moved on, we’ll send a team to get them. But you need to leave now, it’s too dangerous to stay without a sign of life.”

“Copy that, HAVOC.” Jason swallows the bile that tries to rise, hoping it won’t be too late. Hoping they will do a rescue and not a recovery. “How long until the chopper needs to leave?”

“Your window is closing fast. The cyclone is about to hit land. The Chopper is instructed to wait for you at the designated LZ. But you need to move fast!”

“Copy, HAVOC. We are on the move.” Jason turns to his brothers, who have stopped working to stare at him. “You heard HAVOC. We need to move.”

“You can’t be serious.” Trent wipes the rain from his face and looks around the destroyed house. “They might be alive under all this and in desperate need of help!”

“I know, Trent. But we haven’t heard anything from them. Chances are, they are already dead. And without a sign of life we are ordered to evacuate the area. We’ll come back for them either way.” Jason looks at his medic and they both know that it might be too late then. “If we knew they were alive, I would find a way to stay behind, but we don’t so we have to leave to complete the mission.” Trent knows Jason is right, even though he hates it. Slowly he nods.

Reluctantly, all four operators leave the site of the building, taking Barton in their midst and start moving to the LZ at a jog, trying constantly to reach their missing brothers over the radio, but with no success.

The closer they get to the LZ, the slower they move, conscious of Blackburn’s warning about the roaming rebels in the woods. They can already hear the chopper in the clearing over the raging wind, when they spot the first rebels. A fierce but short-lived firefight ensues, at which end the remaining rebels lie dead on the forest floor.

They run to the waiting BlackHawk, urged on by the pilot, and jump in. As soon as all of them are safely on board and strapped in, the chopper lifts off, swaying dangerously in the strong wind, moving close to the whipping trees all around them.

All four remaining members of Bravo stare glumly out of the open doors, hating to leave their brothers behind, not knowing if they are dead or alive.

“Bravo Six to any Bravo element! Can anyone read me?”

Inside the little yellow house, Clay just closes the back door behind Sadhana and her family. Sonny shakes his head at Clay, still unable to believe in what a bad situation the stupid reporter sent them.

“I know. This could have been a disaster!”

“Let’s just move out. I really need to have a word with that idiot.” Sonny moves to the door, but before he can reach for the handle, their radios crackle to life.

“Bravo Three, Bravo Six. You have company. They’ll be at your position in two mikes. We’ll give you cover from the north.”

They look at each other and rush to the windows, while Clay answers Jason that they have received him. Communicating only through hand signals, they position themselves in the room for the first pair of rebels that comes in to check the small house.

Two minutes later the door opens and two armed men enter the room. As soon as the door closes behind them, Sonny and Clay jump into action, overpowering both men soundlessly and dragging them to the back of the room, out of sight of the front door. They both know there will be more men coming, before the rebels realize what is happening and the shooting will start.

Sure enough, only a few minutes later another pair of armed men enter the house. Even though they are more carful than the first two, they suffer the same fate. But this time, as soon as they have dragged the bodies out of sight, the small house is riddled with bullets. Both Clay and Sonny move closer to the windows to get an angle on the shooting rebels. Through the broken windows they start returning fire, dropping one rebel after the other.

The loud groaning sound makes both stop, looking around for the source of the noise, that can even be heard over the raging wind. Clay’s eyes grow huge as he realizes that the enormous water tank is about to fall onto the little mosque and he moves away from the window, calling for Sonny to do the same.

Sonny has already figured out, where the reservoir will land and is moving back, but in the same instant he is thrown back by the impact of a bullet. Clay instantly moves over to the unconscious Sonny, pulling him up over his shoulders. Through the windows he can see the water hitting the ground, sweeping away the soldiers that were not buried by the collapse of the mosque.

He watches as the minaret wobbles and realizes that it’s going to hit their hiding place just a second too late. Clay moves with Sonny to the back door, which is only one more step away when the minaret tower lands on the roof of the house, crumbling the walls like plaster. But instead of being crushed instantly by the crumbling wall and roof, the floor beneath Clay’s feet disappears and they fall about 10 feet, landing hard on a dirt floor.

Clay tries to absorb the shock of the impact by rolling them away but the falling debris knocks him aside. He loses his grip on Sonny but still tries to cover him with his own body. A large brick landing on his helmet and shoulder knocks him unconscious to the ground.

Clay slowly comes back to consciousness, blinking sluggishly. At first, he doesn’t know where he is, but the smell of wet earth and dust and plaster mixed with the sounds of pouring rain and howling wind, lets him remember the storm and the rebels.

He lies face down on a hard, cold and muddy floor and tries not to move too much, while checking for injuries. His right arm is trapped under his body, fingers wiggling at his command. He is not sure he can feel the left one, though. There is just a numb feeling where his arm should be, which is a little disconcerting. Both legs respond instantly, although there is lots of pain accompanying the movement. Breathing is a little hard, but he attributes that to the fact that there is something heavy pinning him down. And lying here on this damp ground, soaked through by the heavy rain from before, he can already feel the cold creeping into his bones.

Slowly, he opens his eyes and lifts his head, squinting into the semi-darkness around him, making out only bricks and debris, finding himself trapped between blocks of stone and rebar. Not far from him he can make out a pair of boots and more memories slam into him, of Sonny getting shot, of the minaret tower falling onto Sadhana’s house, of them falling through a trapdoor that wasn’t there before, landing in a small root cellar that probably saved their lives.

“Sonny?” he croaks out and tries to clear his dry throat. “Sonny?”

There is no sound from his brother. He can only hear the rain still falling overhead, can hear water cascading down the stones and the wind howling. To his right he can see a hole of broken wooden planks in the ceiling where the trapdoor used to be. A little light is shining through the debris and water is running down in little rivulets.

He scans the piles around him and when his gaze turns to his left side, he can make out the reason for the numbness in his left arm. A large chunk of concrete is pinning it to the ground. Clay wiggles a little, trying to dislodge whatever is pinning him down and to maybe be able to get his right arm out from under him. The weight on his back slides away to his right side, landing with a thud next to his shoulder and he is able to turn a little to his side. He uses his right hand to lift the concrete a little, and suddenly the numbness in his left arm disappears, shoulder and arm exploding in pain, which leaves him panting for breath and struggling to keep the concrete elevated. With a last tuck and a pained yelp, he finally gets the arm free, concrete block thudding on the floor, the momentum sending him all the way on his back. His legs protest the hasty movement with a stabbing pain, but he ignores it for the moment, trying to find his breath again.

For the next few minutes he just lies there on his back, trying to breathe through the pain, the dizziness and the nausea. When he starts to shiver from the cold, he at last finds the strength to sit up a little and look at the arm, but instantly regrets it. The gruesome sight of shattered bone, muscle and blood, sends his stomach flipping over and he turns just in time to not puke on himself. As soon as the heaving subsides, he sits back up and carefully takes another glance. Although it still looks bad, he can detect that he is not missing any parts of his arm, which at least is a good thing. He pulls the morphine out of his first aid kit and injects himself, knowing that bandaging his arm and moving to Sonny’s side will hurt like hell.

As soon as the morphine kicks in, he pulls out a piece of cloth from the first aid kit and wraps it around his arm, securing it against his chest. His gaze wanders down his body to his legs and the reason for the stabbing pain becomes clear. There is some kind of metal rod embedded in his lower left leg, apparently nailing it to the ground. Clay takes his tourniquet and pulls it tight just above the wound, before he grabs the metal. Surprisingly, he can pull it up and out of his leg easily. At last he is free and after wrapping the wound in some bandages, he starts to slowly crawl in Sonny’s direction.

There is a groan from the place where Sonny’s boots look out of the rubble, and he can see them move, sending the debris cascading off of him.

“Sonny? You with me?” His voice is hoarse and he starts coughing, which ramps up the pain in his chest and shoulder.

From under the bricks, Sonny’s voice drifts up. “BamBam? Where are you?”

“Coming to you. Gimme a second.” Clay keeps dragging himself to the place where he suspects Sonny’s head to be and starts uncovering his brother. Finally, he is able to shift the last piece away from Sonny’s torso and face. There still lies a large piece of rubble over Sonny’s hip and thighs, but Clay can’t move it alone in this narrow space with only one arm.

Looking at Sonny, he can see his brother took a bad hit to the head. There is blood running down his face, blood coming out of his nose and mouth. His eyes are circled by angry bruises, making him look like a racoon, nose and cheeks already a little swollen.

“Got hit in the head?”

“Yeah. In the face. Lost my helmet somewhere when the bullet hit my vest. Arm is busted, too.” His right arm is pressed to his chest, but Clay can clearly see the deformity. “Legs hurt, too, but they are mostly just numb.”

“They are still moving, if you were wondering.”

Sonny nods solemnly. “That’s good to know, thanks. Where’s the rest?”

Clay shrugs with one shoulder. “Don’t know. We should try and contact them.”

Sonny points at Clay’s radio. “You try. Mine is broken beyond recognition.”

Clay keys his radio, opening all their channels. “Bravo Six to any Bravo element! Can anyone read me?”

They wait and listen to the static noise intently, fear growing as the seconds tick away without any answer.

“Bravo Six, this is HAVOC. Read you loud and clear. What’s your status?”

Both Sonny and Clay release breaths they both didn’t know they were holding.

“We are buried in some kind of root cellar. Three is trapped under heavy concrete that I can’t lift. A few broken bones between the two of us. And it’s getting pretty cold down here. Can’t get out on our own.”

“Copy that, Six. Team had to evacuate the area. Will be back with heavy gear and backup as fast as possible."

“ETA?”

“Unsure. Storm has changed direction, moving away from your position, so they will probably be able to get right back to you.” There is a small pause, before Blackburn continues. “At least an hour.”

“Copy.” Clay ends the transmission and looks at Sonny, who has still blood running out of his nose and as far as Clay can see in the dim light, Sonny’s right pupil is much larger than his left.

“Fuck,” Sonny comments. “They left us here!”

“Mission comes first, Sonny, you know that. They had to get the HVT out.”

“That asshole! We wouldn’t be in this shitpile if not for him.”

Clay just hums and closes his eyes for a second. “Let’s just work the problem here, okay? We need to splint your arm, maybe get you a little more comfortable.”

“Good idea. I’m fucking freezing, aren’t you?”

Clay chuckles a little, but stops as the movement makes everything in his body hurt. “Yeah, me too.” He opens his eyes and starts rummaging at his side for his med kit, pulling out a splint for Sonny’s arm and gets to work. When he’s done, he scoots a little closer to Sonny. “I’ll try and scoot behind you, get you on my lap so we can share a little body heat. What do you say?”

“Hmmm… ’m tir’d now.”

“I know. But we need to stay warm.”

“It’ll hurt.”

“Yeah, probably. I already gave you a shot of morphine. That’ll help. And it’ll be better after.”

“Okay. Do it.”

Carefully Clay moves behind Sonny, lifts his torso a little to position himself so Sonny’s head rests on his chest. “Better now?” Clay moves a little closer to Sonny, even though it sends the pain in his left arm through the roof, and leans back against the debris.

Sonny nods and closes his eyes. “Yeah, thanks.”

“It’ll take a while until the rest of the team finds us. Rest now.”

Clay looks at the tight space around them. There is barely enough room to move for one person. He himself had to crawl to get to Sonny. When the team arrives, it won’t be easy for them to reach them.

Without his consent, Clay’s eyes slowly droop shut.

He wakes with a little start, when he hears his name shouted from above. He tries to shout back, but he only manages a croak, not nearly loud enough for the others to hear him.

Keying his radio, he tries to reach his team. “Bravo One, this is Six, can you read me?” He listens intently, and after a short pause, Jason comes over the radio.

“This is One. We’re up top and looking for you. Can you make yourselves visible?”

“Negative, One. Not ambulatory.”

“Copy that. Stand by.”

Clay shakes his head at that. What else is there for them to do but wait? His movements rouse Sonny, who looks around a little confused.

“Where are we?”

“In the basement. Under Sadhana’s house. Remember?”

Sonny shakes his head slowly. “Who is Sadhana?”

“Never mind. The team is here.”

“Are we buried alive?”

Clay chuckles a little unhappily. “Yeah, you could say that. But the team is here now, to dig us out. But it’ll take a while.”

At the opening in the ceiling, one of the concrete slaps is moved, but as soon as it shifts, the whole pile of debris starts to move, sending brocks of brick down. One of them cascades to the bottom, skidding over the piece on Sonny, heading for his head. At the last second, Clay moves them a little to the right, and the rock lands with a thud and a crunch on Clay’s left thigh.

While Clay pants through the pain, fighting to stay conscious, Sonny shouts up at the team. “Oi! Stop that! All of it will come down on us!”

They can see them halting their movements. The hole in the ceiling is a little bigger now and suddenly Brock’s face appears. “There you are! How are you doing?”

“Would love to get out.” Clay croaks back, finally able to talk again, pain subsiding a little. As soon as Sonny hears Clay’s voice again, he relaxes into him, closing his eyes.

“Working on it, but this is trickier than we thought. The storm is still moving away from us. Weather is getting better, so we should be able to move things up here fast. And we’ll try to keep everything from falling down on you.”

Clay nods at that and Brock’s face disappears, only to be replaced by Trent’s.

“Give me an injury report.”

Clay smiles weakly up at Trent. “Sonny lost his helmet when we fell, hit his head, nose is bleeding, right pupil is blown wide. He could move all extremities, right arm is busted, but I’m pretty sure there is something broken underneath that slap of stone.”

Trent nods at that, noticing Sonny’s black eyes. “Does he bleed from his ears, too?”

Clay shakes his head. “No. But the nose doesn’t stop. It’s not much, sometimes it’s not even blood, just clear liquid.” Seeing Trent’s face fall, Clay asks, “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

Trent nods. “Yeah. Means he probably has a skull fracture, leaking cerebrospinal fluid. Is he coherent?”

“Mostly. A little disoriented. Thought he had a concussion.”

“He probably has, too. Wake him regularly to check for changes. What about you?”

Clay shrugs with his good shoulder. “Left arm and shoulder are busted. Had something sticking out of my left calf. And now that brick landed on my thigh. Pretty sure it’s broken. Everything else hurts, too.”

“Pain level?”

“Had my morphine, could use some more, but I’ll last a little longer without.”

“Alright. Try to give Sonny his antibiotic. And while you’re at it, take yours, too. We’ll keep working up here. Holler, if something changes.”

“Will do.”

With that, Trent disappears from the opening and Clay can here them moving around above, moving rubble.

Clay tries to wake Sonny again. “Hey, Son. Open your eyes.”

Sonny’s eyes blink open slowly, and Clay can see instantly that the pupils are no longer different sizes, both blown wide now. “Hey.” Sonny smiles at him, but Clay can see that he can’t focus on him.

“I need you to take your antibiotic. Okay?”

Sonny nods, but doesn’t move his hands to get it from his med pack.

Clay opens both med kits, finding only one dose of cefuroxime. He hands the pill to Sonny, who dry-swallows it obediently.

“How are you doing, Son?”

“Head hurts…”

“Are you still cold?”

“No…” Sonny shakes his head a little. “You… you… you…” He lets out a frustrated growl. “You… hot… like furnace…”

“What?” Clay’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

Sonny’s unfocused eyes find his, his finger pointing up at him. “You…hot… fever…burn….”

“You think I have a fever?”

Sonny nods vigorously. “Yes… yes.”

Clay shakes his head, but now that Sonny has mentioned it, he really feels rather warm, sweaty, and at the same time there is a bone deep cold.

“What’s with your speech?”

“Can’t… can’t…words…” Sonny growls again, closes his eyes briefly to take a deep breath. “Words… gone… words…” He shakes his head, giving up.

“You can’t find the right words to talk?”

“Yes… yes.” A relieved smile lingers on Sonny’s lips, glad that Clay has figured it out.

“I’m calling for Trent, ok?”

Sonny nods and closes his eyes again, relaxing against Clay, drifting into unconsciousness.

“Bravo Four, this is Six. Do you copy?”

Trent’s head appears instantly at the opening. “What’s up?”

“Sonny’s getting worse. He developed some kind of aphasia.”

“What do you mean?”

“He seems not to be able to find the words to speak. No sentences, single words only that don’t really fit together.”

“But he’s able to understand you?”

“Yeah. And simple answers like yes and no are no problem.”

Trent nods, worry-lines creasing his face. “He is bleeding into his brain. Call me instantly if you can’t wake him anymore or his breathing gets erratic. Anything else?”

“I think I’m spiking a fever.”

“Not surprising in these conditions, but a little early. Did you take your antibiotic?”

Clay shakes his head. “No. Only found one pill in both kits. Gave it to Sonny.”

“Okay…okay…” Trent’s brows furrow even more in concentration. “There’s nothing I can do at the moment. We work as fast as we can. Just… just hold on a little longer.”

Clay nods and tries to relax with Sonny in his arms. He fights hard not to give in to the exhaustion, but his eyes droop shut, again.

He jolts awake, when Trent calls his name. “Clay, answer me, come on!”

Clay opens his eyes, but it’s hard work. His skin burns, his arm and shoulder throb and so does his left leg. There is pressure on his chest, constricting it, making it harder to breathe. At first, he thinks it’s Sonny, but he can feel the head of his brother pressing down on his stomach. Little shivers run through him, when he’s finally able to open his eyes. He can make out Trent at the opening, that has grown considerably. “Hey…Trent.” His voice is raspy, dry, a little slurred and there is a faint wheezing at the end.

Trent smiles down at him, concern edged on his face. “Hi yourself. How’s Sonny?”

Clay tries to coordinate his tired body, pats Sonny’s cheek with his good hand to try and get him to wake up again, but no matter what he tries, Sonny doesn’t stir. He opens Sonny’s eyes and sees both pupils blown wide, without any reaction to the light. Looking back up at Trent, he can barely contain his panic, breaths coming in short pants. “I can’t… get him… to wake up… And he’s… breathing funny... Trent…he… needs… you!”

Trent turns away from the opening, talking to someone, probably Jason. But he is back within a minute. He sees fear in the kid’s eyes, but there is something else. Clay seems to be a lot paler than when he first set eyes on him, even though Trent can see him burn with fever, even from this distance. And there is a wheezing sound with every breath Clay takes, that wasn’t there before. “Clay? Buddy? What’s wrong?”

Clay tries to sit up a little more, wincing with every movement, straining to suck in enough air. “Don’t know… breathing gets …harder… ev’rythin’ hurts… ‘m cold, tired.”

“Ah, shit.” Trent turns away from the opening again, arguing, probably again with Jason. But like before, he is back only a minute later. “Clay, I’m coming down to you.”

Clay’s last view before he loses his battle with consciousness is of Trent, carefully rappelling down to them.

Trent makes his way down to his brothers very slowly, Brock securing him up top, but he still sends pieces of brick down onto his brothers. When he arrives at the bottom, he has to hunch over to fit between the rubble and the ceiling. At last he reaches his brothers’ side and, putting down his med bag, he starts taking their vitals.

Sonny’s bp is on the lower side of normal, but his pulse is a little slow. Like Clay told him, Sonny’s breathing is off, deep and slow, with some worringly long pauses in between. Trent shines a light in Sonny’s eyes and sees both pupils blown wide, not reacting much to the bright light. And no matter how much he tries, Sonny doesn’t even stir a little. His legs seem both fine, but the large boulder has clearly crushed his hip and both femurs. Trent starts an iv- line to run fluids and antibiotics. He knows he doesn’t have much time, has to intubate him soon before he stops breathing altogether, has to help get the blood pressure up. But ultimately, Sonny really needs a hospital fast, because Trent really doesn’t want to open Sonny’s skull here in all this dirt. And he’s already showing the first signs of brain herniation.

Turning to Clay, he can feel him burning. Even before he touches him, Trent can feel the heat radiating from his younger brother. His skin is hot and dry and Clay’s breaths come in short, wheezing puffs. Trent takes his bp and is not surprised to find it low, pulse racing. He is quick to start an iv-line and run fluids, adding an antibiotic to the mix. Carefully he inspects the wounds he can see. He lifts the stone from Clay’s thigh, uncovering no open wound but a clearly broken femur. Clay’s lower left leg is swollen and hot, the bandage over the penetrating wound is soaked through with blood and pus. He cleans it as best he can and rewraps it, not being able to do much for this. Lastly, he opens the cloth that holds Clay’s left arm to his chest.

The mess he finds underneath has him pausing for a moment, taking a deep breath. The whole arm is crushed. Bones, muscle, tendons are all a mash of flesh. He wraps it in clean bandages and carefully frees the torso underneath, first cutting away the protective vest and then peeling away the damp clothes. Here he finally finds the reason for Clay’s breathing problems. The left side of his chest has been… pushed in, multiple ribs clearly broken, chest rising contrary to the other side.

Clay choses this moment to wake up again. Opening his glazed eyes, he looks at Trent and sees the horror on his medic’s face. “That bad, huh?”

“I…I…” Trent doesn’t know what to tell Clay, doesn’t want to lie to him, to tell him that everything will be fine, because seeing all this damage, he isn’t sure it will be. He thinks, it will be a miracle if Clay makes it to a hospital alive and he decides to be honest. “Yeah, looks real bad. There is so much broken. Getting you out of here will be… a challenge with bad odds.”

“I’m good…at impossible…challenges.”

Trent smiles a little, squeezing Clay’s good hand. “Yes, that you are.”

Clay closes his eyes again, concentrating on breathing. “Sonny?”

“Really bad, too. He’s bleeding into his skull and there is too much pressure on the brain. We might get him out of here alive, but…” He trails off, not wanting to verbalize the worst.

“But there might be…brain damage,” Clay whispers, sounding defeated.

“Yeah.” Trent swallows hard, trying to keep his focus. “I’ll do what I can and we hope for the best. For both of you.”

“I’m sorry,” Clay wheezes out.

“Not your fault, buddy.”

“I know... I’m sorry… you have to do this.” Clay’s eyes seem a little clearer now. “Thanks… for being here… for trying… either way…” His voice trails off into a whisper. “Thank you…for making me…part of your family… being my… brother.”

“I’m proud to be your brother, Clay.” Trent squeezes Clay’s hand again. “Don’t give up now. You are not done yet. Use your stubbornness and hang on. We need you with us.”

Clay blinks sluggishly, but nods. “’kay.”

Trent keys his radio. “Bravo Four for One. Time’s up. We need to get them out now. Send Five down with the equipment and get us immediate evacuation!”

“On it. Sending Five now.”

Trent turns back to Sonny and Clay. Clay still looks at him, eyes glazed over and a little unfocused, but still awake and breathing. “Brock is coming to help me get you out, ok? You need something for the pain?”

Clay nods slowly. “Yes, please.”

Trent injects the painkiller just as Brock arrives at his side, and Clay closes his eyes. Trent explains, what they need to do and they set to work. Together they can at last lift the concrete slap from Sonny’s hip and, as Trent had predicted, there are a lot of broken bones underneath. They wrap Sonny tight to not leave much room for internal bleeding, but the vanishing pressure on the hip sends Sonny’s bp crashing down and he stops breathing, too. They pull him from Clay’s lap onto one of the spine boards, immobilizing him to the board. While Brock pushes blood and fluids along with epinephrine into Sonny’s iv to get the blood pressure back up, Trent secures his airway with an endotracheal tube, breathing for him. They get him stable enough to send him up to the others, where Trent can already hear the whoop-whoop of an oncoming chopper.

Turning back to Clay, Trent registers the greyish skin tone, and the lack of movement.

Brock realizes it in the same moment. “Trent, he’s not breathing!”

They rush to Clay’s side, Trent handing Brock the ambu bag to breathe for Clay, while Trent searches for a pulse, finding it racing and nearly not palpable. He pulls out a chest tube and gets to work inserting it. As soon as the tube is pushed in, there is a hiss of air and a stream of blood gushes out. Trent clamps it shut again and tapes it to the chest.

“Let’s switch. You push fluids, blood, epinephrine. I’ll secure the airway.”

They change positions and work quietly side by side. When Jason calls them for a sitrep, they just finished strapping him to a spine board, too.

“Okay, Jason, get him up and out of here!”

They pull the board with Clay up through the hole in the ceiling and move him into the waiting Seahawk, next to Sonny, who is already worked on by two corpsmen.

Brock sends Trent up the rope first. “You go, I’ll get your stuff and be right behind you.”

Trent just nods gratefully and makes his way up the rope as fast as he can, hopping in with the others and starts giving the corpsmen all the details about his brothers.

As soon as Brock is on board, the Seahawk lifts off and they race for the hospital ship from where they started their mission, before everything went to hell.

When the door to his room opens and Trent enters, Sonny sits up a little straighter, stopping to eat, eager to hear news of his little brother.

“Hey Sonny, how are you today?”

“Good. Trent. Gold. Trent. Awake. Good.” He stops, letting out a frustrated growl.

Lisa, who sits at his side, pats his hand, trying to soothe him. “Sonny, take it easy. Slow down. Remember what the therapist said. Talk slowly, word for word. Now, try again.”

Sonny takes a deep breath and starts over, more slowly and pronouncing every word carefully. “How… is… Goldilocks?...Did… he… wake… up?”

Trent smiles at him. “Wow, Sonny, well done! Two full sentences. You’re really making progress!”

Sonny hangs his head. “Too… slow.”

“Oh, come on, Sonny, you are doing great. Give yourself some credit!” A mischievous grin spreads over Trent’s face. “And I’m pretty sure, as soon as you are able to run hills gain, you’ll also be able to bitch about it.”

Sonny glares at him. “Funny!…Goldilocks?”

“Sorry. Not awake yet, but the doctor said everything else looks good. His kidneys started working again and they hope to get him off the dialysis soon. They already took him off the artificial lung yesterday. He is still on a ventilator, but officially breathing with his own lungs now.”

Sonny looks at him skeptically.

“That’s a good thing. Trust me.”

Sonny breathes in again, getting ready for another question. “What… about… his… leg… and… arm?”

“The leg is going to be fine. The infection is under control at last and the wound heals nicely, as is his femur.” Trent sighs. “The arm will be set permanently in a few days. It’ll be a long and tricky surgery, probably not the last one. And another hurdle to overcome for full recovery.”

“When… can… I… see… him?”

“If your kidneys keep up their good work, you can visit him as soon as your PT guy sends you walking around the floor. ICU is only a few doors down from here.”

“That… will… take… forever!”

“It’ll be sooner than you think. And you don’t want Clay to wake up to your freshly sewed face. He’ll be scared to death!” Trent looks at Sonny’s face, where the wounds from his surgery to screw his skull back together, heal nicely.

Sonny grumbles, but doesn’t say anything, returning to his meal.

Trent takes a seat, and watches his brother eat, savoring every bite. It’s a new thing for Sonny, eating things that are not mushed. Only a few days ago, his jaw was released from the metal contraption that helped it heal.

Trent thinks back to the last weeks and the horror of nearly losing two brothers. It had been a close call for both of them. They had both been whisked away as soon as they arrived at the hospital ship, leaving their brothers waiting anxiously for any news. After the first quick treatment, both had been stabilized enough to be sent home and the rest of Bravo followed a day later.

Sonny’s head had to be opened to release the pressure, and he had been placed in a medically induced coma for a few days until the swelling of his brain reduced enough to close the skull again. The wait for Sonny to wake up, to see if he would wake up at all, and if he would be coherent, were the longest days of Trent’s life. The anterior skull base fracture had not been Sonny’s only fracture, but the most severe one. Like the skull, his pelvis and femurs were screwed back together, and his kidneys needed help due to the crush syndrome he had developed. But Sonny breezed through it all, like it was nothing, his body healing faster than anyone could have predicted.

Now all Sonny needs is patience to learn to speak again. Whenever he wants to give up, Brock is there to graciously offer, to let him be the quietest man of Bravo. That always helps to motivate him, as is Lisa for she can always make Sonny compliant.

A week later, Sonny collapses into a nursing chair in Clay’s ICU room, feeling exhausted. It’s only the second time he made the trip and his PT-Instructor promised to pick him up later, giving him some time with his brother.

Sonny’s heart constricts when he looks at Clay, lying in the hospital bed, wires attached to him everywhere. The left arm is heavily bandaged, as is the left leg. At least the metal pins are gone, that were protruding from his arm and leg at the beginning, stabilizing the crushed bones. Now all Clay has to do is wake up. His lungs have recovered enough to wean him off the ventilator and now Sonny sits and waits. He takes the abandoned newspaper from the sidetable, which he is sure was left behind by Jason or Ray, the headline capturing his curiosity.

Apparently, Cooper Barton had been arrested for sleeping with an underage prostitute, and this time his father’s effort to sweep it all under the rug had been discovered by the press, bringing up a shitload of other questionable life choices of the younger Barton, that his father had made disappear. The Senator and his son had to endure a shitstorm that piqued in the demands for Senator Barton’s resignation.

Sonny chuckles in satisfaction. They couldn’t do anything about the shitty behavior of their HVT, but he is glad someone else did.

“What’s so funny?” Clay’s voice is quiet, raspy, but still the best thing Sonny has ever heard.

He looks up at his best friend, who smiles at him tiredly, returning the smile wholeheartedly. “Just…karma.”

“It’s good to see you up and talking! Was worried about you the last time I saw you.”

Sonny huffs. “Look who’s…talking!”

“What happened to your face?”

Sonny touches the scars with the tips of his fingers. “There are… metal plates… underneath. I’m just… like Frankenstein.”

Now it’s Clay who chuckles a little. “Frankenstein’s monster.”

“What?”

“Frankenstein’s monster is the one built out of parts. Frankenstein is the scientist building it. You look like the monster.”

“Seriously, EncyClaypedia?”

Both of them grin at each other, both lost for words, both feeling so much lighter knowing the other is still alive. But Sonny can see, that Clay is already exhausted.

“Look… you need rest… sleep… I’ll be…here. Have… to wait for… the PT-guy anyway.”

Clay closes his eyes, sleep beckoning to him. “Bet you 50 bucks, I’ll be running hills before you do.”

That’s exactly what Sonny needs at the moment. A reason to keep trying, a goal to achieve, a challenge and someone to master it with. And he knows it’ll be a very long and hard way for both of them, but together they will fight to get back to their brothers, to their team, to Bravo.

“Challenge accepted!”

Chapter Text

Day 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

“Well, that was entertaining.” Clay hops down the last few steps, onto the sidewalk and the freezing cold, leaving the office of one of the doctors in their ski resort.

“Oh, just shut up.” Smacking the sign that says ‘M. Stultus, M.D.’, Trent growls at Clay’s smirk. “That’s two hours of our life we won’t get back.”

“I told you, we could have just gone home and let the base doc check it out.” Clay hobbles through the frosty snow behind Trent, who is storming through the cold wind to the parking lot, seething with anger.

“Well, if I had known what a quack this doc would be, we certainly would have done that!” Trent grumbles. “But you had a pretty nasty fall when you grabbed that kid before he could tumble off that cliff. I just wanted to make sure nothing is broken.”

“I know, Trent, and I’m grateful.” Clay tries to placate their fuming medic. “He was just the wrong person to ask for that kind of assurance.” He can’t quite keep the grin out of his voice as he pulls his warm jacket closer around him.

“Clay is right, T. You should have seen your face, when the doc just ‘knew’ from inspecting the aura around Clay’s ankle, that nothing was broken because the aura was still intact.” Brock chuckles from Clay’s side, assisting him to make it back safely to Trent’s truck without slipping on the icy pavement.

“Or when he sounded his gong to activate my chakras, so they could send healing energy to my ankle.” Clay starts laughing now. “And then, when I refused the offered capsules instead of pain medication and he was all offended and tried to explain to me how to meditate through the pain? I thought you might pop a vein!”

“I nearly lost it, when he told you he didn’t believe in x-rays, because they were just a way for the government to scan our bones and implant miniscule tracking devices.” Brock joins Clay in laughter, both of them barely able to walk now. “I can’t fathom how you kept a straight face, Trent!”

At last Trent stops and turns around to his two friends, giving Brock an exasperated glare. “This man is outright dangerous with his hocus pocus! I was so close to decking him with his own gong! I’m surprised no one from this snobbish ski resort ever pressed charges. I’ll definitely call the medical board on him!” His gaze falls on Clay, noticing the pain lines on his brother‘s face and he lets go of his anger. “Come on, let’s get you into the truck and drive home. It’s Sunday evening and almost 10 pm. There should be no traffic now and we’ll have you home and on the couch in no time. I’m sure you hurt all over, and I have some OTC pain killers in my bag.”

They make the last few yards to Trent’s truck. Brock helps Clay into the backseat, while Trent makes sure Clay’s snowboard and Trent’s and Brock’s skis are stored securely in the truck bed along with their duffel bags, grabbing some painkillers from his bag for Clay before he climbs behind the steering wheel. He tosses the pill box to Clay on the back seat, who takes two and swallows them dry.

As Trent pulls onto the road, it starts snowing again, thick white flakes that are blown around by the howling wind. Just like Trent predicted, the narrow road down the mountain is deserted now, all other weekend skiing tourists long gone.

Clay’s phone chimes and he pulls it out, laughing as he reads the text. “Sonny seems to be a bit angsty because we’re not back yet. Wants to know if we were buried by an avalanche or kidnapped by a yeti. He also demands we come over to his place for beer, no matter how late we arrive, ‘cause he hasn’t seen us in ages.”

Trent and Brock both shake their heads, smiling. “We’ve only been gone for two days. And we offered to take him with us.”

“You know, as much as I love Sonny and think he really would have profited from a weekend not spent at the Champagne Room, I just know he would have had so many things to bitch about.”

Brock turns his head to Clay, grinning even wider than before. “Hell yeah! I could literally hear him complaining about”, he starts ticking the list off his finger, “too many people, too much snow, the cold, the price of beer, the food in general, but especially the mini-helpings, the prices, the lack of meat selections but especially the large variety of vegan food!”

They all laugh at that, because all of them can imagine vividly, how Sonny would have been ranting every time they stopped at their favorite cabin for food or drinks.

But Brock’s not done. “And that annoying woman that would rather sip her cocktail with her girlfriends instead of making sure her kid stayed on the safe and marked tracks! She would have gotten an ear full of Texan rage for the fact that you had to race after her kid and nearly died trying to save the little punk.”

“Now you sound just like Sonny. I didn’t ‘nearly die’! I sprained my ankle.”

“No, Clay,” Trent shakes his head. “Brock is right. That could have gone a lot worse and only didn’t because of your skill and quick reflexes. She should have at least thanked you for saving her little boy, not yell at you.”

“Ah, you know.” Clay waves his hand nonchalantly. “People are ungrateful. And no good deed goes unpunished.”

They all chuckle at that.

“Still, it was a fun weekend.” Clay leans back in the seat, sending Sonny one of the selfies they took at the top of the mountain, snow white peaks and trails in the background, bathed in beautiful sunshine, reassuring him that they were on their way back and would stop by. “We should do that again!”

“Count me in!” Trent squints into the darkness, their speed already reduced to a near crawl. “I just hope we get down this mountain before the snowfall gets so heavy I don’t see the road anymore. Maybe we should have stayed at the lodge for another night.”

Brock studies their GPS. “We’re almost done with this narrow winding part of the road. There are only a few more turns before the steep switchback part, and at the bottom of that is the next village. After that it should be much easier going.” He looks up and out of the window, a slight frown on his face. “What’s that sound? Do you hear that?” Brock looks first at Trent, who slowly nods, then back at Clay, who clicks his phone shut before shoving it into his pants pocket, nodding, too.

There is a deep and low rumble outside, that all of them can feel deep in their guts, getting louder every second.

“Where’s that sound coming from?” Clay squints into the darkness outside, trying to find anything unusual in the white when they turn another rocky corner, advancing on a longer less winding stretch of the road. “I think I heard something like it before… It sounds just like… Trent, watch out!”

But even though Trent has the car crawling along the narrow road hugging the mountain, it’s too late for him to react in any way.

A massive rockslide tumbles down the mountain and rains down on them. The large pieces of rock cascade down first in front of them, then also behind them, taking the road down the deep slope. They all look around frantically, searching for a way out of this death trap, but the rocks rain down on them from all sides. Trent and Brock throw their arms up protectively when a big rock hits the windscreen, leaving a big dent and spiderwebbed glass behind. More rocks hit the roof of the truck with loud thuds, one even hard enough to bend the metal inwards, making all three duck down.

Seconds later, their truck is hit by a massive chunk of mountain on the driver’s side with enough force to deform both doors beyond recognition, deploying all airbags simultaneously, and hitting Clay and Trent like a sledgehammer. All windows on the driver’s side explode in millions of shards of all sizes, showering all of them when the truck is sent rolling over the edge of the road, down the steep slope.

The truck crashes down the mountain, getting hit by more falling rock along the way, sending it spinning and turning over and over. The three passengers are pinned by their seatbelts and the airbags in their seats, all of them trying to hold onto something. On their next turn one of the rocks finally breaks through the windshield, connecting with the side of Trent’s head and sending him into oblivion instantly. More rocks make it into the truck through the broken windshield, bouncing around in the cabin of the truck, bruising and breaking bones where they connect with the occupants.

“Oh, shit!” Clay’s scream turns into one of pain, as a rock crushes his left arm into the mangled door and is cut off abruptly when his head is smashed face first into Trent’s headrest, starting a gush of blood from his nose.

Brock is mostly able to protect his head with his arms, leaving his chest and abdomen free to be targeted by the rocks. But when the truck finally comes to an abrupt stop on all four wheels at the bottom of the escarpment, he hangs limply in his seatbelt, dazed and barely hanging on to consciousness.

A few more large blocks of rock tumble down the mountain, and then a very loud silence settles over the ravine, snow continuing to fall and covering the destroyed car in a fine layer of white.

“Clay, hey, buddy, can you hear me?”

The insistent voice penetrates the darkness and pulls Clay back to consciousness. With a groan, he opens his eyes, slowly blinking away something wet and sticky that’s dripping in his left eye. He lifts his arm to swipe it away, but pain explodes as soon as he tries to move his hand. A wave of nausea hits him with the pain, and he crunches his eyes shut again, leaning forward slightly, while pulling his hurt left arm protectively against his chest with his right hand. He concentrates on slow and deep breaths, every which one is accompanied by a sharp stabbing pain to his side, while he hopes to fight off the nausea and the imminent threat of losing his last meal. He tries to lean forward a little, but something holds him in place, and his head feels like it will explode from only the little movement.

“Clay?”

His head pounds wildly, his mind all mushy, and he can’t really remember where he is or what happened, but he knows Brock’s voice, can hear the worry in his question, so he takes another deep, painful breath and slowly opens his eyes again.

They need a moment to adjust to the near darkness, but as soon as he can make out more than just different shades of grey and black, Brock’s face swims into focus, pale with streaks of blood.

“Hey, Brock.” His voice slurs more than he had thought it would, making Brock’s face wrinkle with worry-lines. “Wha’ happnd an’ where are we?”

“There was a rockslide. Swept us off the road and down a mountain. Remember?”

“No.” Clay slowly shakes his head but regrets the motion instantly.

He looks around and recognizes that he is inside a badly deformed truck, and behind Brock he can just make out a broken windshield. One of the headlights is still working, shining its harsh beam through the darkness, illuminating heavy snowfall, and sending a little light back to them. The air around them is cold and he can see his breath with every exhale. Next to Brock, in the seat in front of him, he can make out a limp form. “Who else is here with us?”

Brock looks at the prone form. “Trent. He’s alive but unconscious. Couldn’t wake him up.”

Clay nods carefully, palpating his face with his right hand, touching his swollen nose and the dried blood underneath, trying to find the source of the still flowing blood. And even though his mind is slow to catch up with the situation, his body slowly shifts into high alert. “Have you reached the rest? Are they coming for us?” Still not entirely sure where they are or what happened, he starts to grope around with his right hand, abandoning his effort to find the bleeding. Not finding what he is looking for, a slow panic rises within him. “Brock! My rifle! It’s gone!”

Brock reaches back with his arm and captures his aimlessly moving right hand in his own. “Calm down, Clay. We didn’t bring any weapons. We were on a skiing trip. And the rest of the team is at home. Okay?”

“What?”

“We are stateside. There is no threat here.”

Clay’s eyes dart from Brock to Trent to the white world outside and back to Brock. Finding truth in Brock’s words, he tries to calm down his breathing, painful as it is. “Okay.” He takes another deep breath. “Okay, sorry.”

Now that he looks closer, he can see signs of pain on Brock’s face. It’s dark and they are subtle, but Clay has known his brother long enough to notice them anyway. “What hurts, Brock?”

Brock shrugs slightly. “Head hurts a little, probably from whiplash. My right-side aches from shoulder to ankle, but nothing is broken I think, maybe a few bruised ribs. Chest and stomach hurt where the seatbelt held me, and probably a few of these nasty rocks, too. Nothing major, as far as I can see. What about you?”

“Hit my head pretty hard, feels like it might explode, pretty sure my left arm or shoulder is broken, breathing hurts bad, mostly on the left side… Can’t feel anything else wrong. What about Trent?”

Brock leans over to the driver’s side and touches Trent’s neck, checking his pulse.

“Pulse is still steady, a little fast, looks like he has a head injury, and I can’t wake him up. Don’t know about the rest.”

“Okay.”

“There is no cell phone reception here. And as far as I can see, we’re not visible from the road up there. Don’t think anyone will find us here soon, and with that heavy snow, the cold and the wind, we won’t make it till morning.”

Clay’s thoughts feel sluggish, and he struggles to keep up with Brock’s assessment of the situation, but slowly the realization dawns on him. “We need to get ourselves out.”

Brock nods at him. “Yeah. We won’t make it up to the road. Don’t even know if there still is a road. But if we keep moving down and to the west, we should get to the village at the bottom of the serpentine road. That’s our best bet.” He hands Clay a pocketknife. “Try and get yourself free, check yourself for injuries, and then we’ll work together to get Trent out. I’ll have a look outside in the truck bed. Hopefully there is still some of our gear left.”

Clay takes the knife and watches Brock struggle out of the car and disappear into the darkness and the silence of the snow. Slowly, he starts to move, keeping his left arm close to his chest, groping with his right hand for the release of his seatbelt, only to find it jammed. Using Brock’s knife, he cuts the seatbelt and moves away from the crushed door, folding Brock’s knife and putting it into his pocket. Glancing around, he takes in the destroyed truck. The left side of it has clearly taken the most damage, the metal of the entire side deformed and pressing into the cab, all the windows blown out, letting cold wind and thick flakes of snow inside.

Seeing all the white around him, Clay wonders why he doesn’t feel colder, but when he looks down on his arms and legs, he realizes that he is wearing thermal clothes and his snowboard gear, pants, shoes and jacket, even his warm beanie. The cold air creeps into his open jacket and numbs his burning face and exposed fingers. He carefully pulls out of his jacket, first with his good arm, then with the injured one. With his scarf he secures his useless limb to his aching chest before he puts his jacket back on. It takes him a few tries to zip up his jacket one-handed, but at last he manages it. Panting hard, he takes stock of every other ache and pain. Everything seems sore. His chest and head hurt the most, but his abdomen and legs also let him know that they are not happy.

He ignores the pain for now and slowly crawls to the front, seeing Trent slumped in the driver’s seat, pinned by the steering wheel and held in place by his seat belt. Even in the dim light, Clay can see that Trent is pale, his skin cold to the touch, but his heartbeat is steady.

He gives Trent’s sternum a sharp knuckle rub, eliciting first a low groan out of his friend and then Trent’s eyes flutter open.

“Hey, brother, you with me?”

Trent looks at Clay, eyes not really focused, pain evident on his face. “Clay? What happened?”

“Not sure… looks like you crashed our truck.” Clay quips, getting a small smile out of Trent, before he closes his eyes again.

“Can you tell me where you hurt?”

Trent takes a deep breath. “Everywhere.”

Clay chuckles. “You always tell us that’s not an adequate answer.”

“But it’s true.” Trent opens his eyes again, eyes still unfocused, roaming around. “Head, left side and arm and everything from my hips downward feels on fire. Truck’s not burning, is it?”

Clay shakes his head carefully. “No.”

“Good.” His eyes slip close again.

“Can you move your feet?” Clay tries to look beyond the steering wheel, but it’s too dark and there really isn’t room for much maneuvering. When Trent doesn’t answer, he looks back, seeing the pain-lines gone from his friend’s face again, breaths slow but even. He tries to wake him again, but this time, Trent stays unconscious.

He lets out a pained sigh, unsure how he will get Trent out of here, injured as they both are, and where the rest of his team is. How did they end up here?

Suddenly, he can hear the snow outside crunching, heavy footsteps coming closer. Frantically, he looks around for any weapon, not seeing his or Trent’s guns anywhere. Even though it hurts like hell, he positions himself between Trent and the partially open door, kneeling with his back to his unconscious brother. His hand finds one of the larger rocks that litter the floor and he grabs and lifts it to smash into the face of the first hostile who tries to attack them.

Someone yanks on the half-open broken-down passenger door, pulling it open a little more, and Clay gets ready.

“Hey, did I hear…”

Clay can just stop his hand from releasing the rock, when he recognizes Brock’s face in the open door, who shines a flashlight into the car, stopping mid-sentence and immediately lifts his hands to show Clay, that he doesn’t hold any weapons.

“Woah, buddy, careful. It’s just me.” Brock’s voice is slow and calming. To Clay it sounds placating, like Brock is trying to talk a nervous and unpredictable dog down.

Clay squints against the light of the torch, the bright beam amplifying the pain in his head, and this time the wave of nausea crashes over him so suddenly, that he only has time to turn to his side before he is violently sick.

In the background he can hear Brock apologizing, turning the beam of the flashlight away from him, but his ears are ringing with the throbbing pain in his head. His ribs and arm scream in pain from his bent posture, his vision full of black dots dancing in front of him, and he squeezes his eyes shut. When the heaving subsides, he slowly sits back on his heels, eyes still closed, breathing heavily, the heavy rock discarded next to him.

“I’m sorry.” Brock tries again quietly.

Clay nods carefully, slowly opening his eyes again, seeing his friend sitting in front of him, worried frown on his face. “Not your fault. Thought you were one of the hostiles. Couldn’t find our guns.” He lets out a forced breath, wincing slightly at the stabbing pain in his side, his eyes again searching their surroundings for their weapons, checking if Brock brought any spare ones.

Brock slowly puts his hand on Clay’s right shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Clay? There are no hostiles here.”

“What?” Clay’s eyes snap to Brock’s.

Brock speaks very slowly, deliberately, his tone soothing, calming. “There are no hostiles. We were on a ski trip. You, Trent and me. There was a rockslide that pushed us off the road and down the mountain. You and I will get Trent out of the car, and get him down to the village for help. Okay?”

Clay squints at Brock, looks back at Trent’s unmoving form and back to Brock. On Brock’s face he can see concern and worry, but also patience, his voice as soothing as before and Clay’s sluggish mind finally fits the pieces together. “You told me this before.”

Brock nods slowly. “You hit your head pretty hard and have a concussion.”

“Sorry.” The pain in Clay’s head makes it hard to hold onto his thoughts, and his arm and side throb in sync with his heartbeat. He looks back at his brother who just smiles at him.

“Let’s just get Trent out of here. I found…”

“I think he woke up.”

“What?”

“Before you came into the truck, I think Trent was awake.”

“You sure?”

Clay shakes his head. “No… Yes… I think so.” He chuckles a little. “He said everything hurt, and I told him that’s not an adequate answer.”

Brock smiles at that. “Can you remember what else he said?”

Clay closes his eyes, trying hard to remember. “Something about a fire? I’m not sure… sorry… everything’s just scrambled up here.” He points to his head.

“Okay. Right. Let’s just focus on getting out. I found a few useful things in the back. We can put Trent on this tarp, improvise a sort of sled to pull him over the snow. Easier than carrying him, especially with our injuries. Found Trent’s med bag, too, so we can at least take care of the worst wounds.” Brock puts his findings inside the wreck to not get them snowed on and works his way towards Trent. “And there was this crowbar. We can hopefully use that to lever him out from behind the steering wheel.”

Clay’s mind is slow to follow Brock’s words. “Um, okay?”

Brock turns back to him, quizzical look on his face. “Got another idea?”

“Um, no, that’s not … I’m just… um…” Clay looks a little embarrassed. “Not sure I got all of that…could you … less words?”

Brock smiles at him sympathetically. “Sure, buddy. I’ll just tell you when I need your help, okay?”

Clay nods and sits back, holding his head in his hand and closing his eyes, breathing through the pain.

“Here, try and clean yourself up a bit, maybe put some snow on your face to keep the swelling down.”

He opens his eyes to see Brock handing him some gauze. Flinching slightly when he finds the sensitive spot on his left temple, he presses down hard with the gauze while watching Brock working on freeing Trent. Every now and then, he can see Brock wince slightly. “You okay?” he questions his brother.

“Yeah, it’s just like Trent said. Everything hurts.” Brock’s voice comes strained as he tries to get the steering wheel far enough away from Trent to pull him out. “Shit. That’s not gonna work like this.” Brock halts for a few minutes, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in concentration before he turns back to Clay. “Okay, new plan. Can you hold him in position, while I try and get the backrest away?”

Clay nods slowly and scoots closer.

“Just hold him like that, okay?”

Clay sits next to Trent on his heels, facing him, snaking his good arm around Trent’s neck and leaning him a little forward against the steering wheel, Trent’s head resting against Clay’s shoulder. Clay rests his aching head on Trent’s shoulder in return, closing his eyes again, trying to calm his racing heart by taking slow breaths. He just feels so tired and exhausted. Everything hurts, every little movement sends spikes of pain through his entire body. His left arm tingles, even feels numb and he feels nauseous. He has a sour taste in his mouth as if he had thrown up but isn’t sure if he really did or not. There is a dull ache behind his eyes, a pressure in his skull and his nose throbs. He knows there is something he needs to do but can’t remember it and it leaves him uneasy. But when he tries to focus on where he is or what he needs to do, his mind just goes blank.

A loud creak and thud, accompanied by a few selected swear words, startle him out of his head and he opens his eyes, surprised to see Brock sprawled in front of him, crowbar in one hand, part of a seat in the other, face crunched up in pain. “What the…?”

“Got it!” Brock pants, discarding the seat and struggling to his knees again. “Now, lower him back to me carefully.”

“Who?” When Brock gestures at his chest with a sigh, Clay looks down and finds Trent’s head resting on his shoulder. “Oh, okay.” He carefully guides him back towards Brock, who receives him, holding Trent’s head carefully until he rests on his chest. Gently Brock puts Trent into a rescue grip and pulls him slowly back.

Clay watches Trent’s lower half being moved out from beneath the dashboard. There is no blood, but it is evident that both legs are crushed, broken in multiple places, as they both bend at odd angles.

“Holy fuck.” Clay scoots closer instantly, pulling Trent’s med bag with him.

Brock is quick to move and assess Trent. “Still breathing fine, blood pressure has dropped a little. Head wound has stopped bleeding, pupils are equal and respond to light. Chest is stable, abdomen soft but his pelvis seems unstable. And obviously everything below his hips seems broken.” Clay looks at Brock, when he stops speaking and can see the fear for their brother clear on his face. “He needs a hospital fast.”

Clay nods and pulls the med bag closer. Opening it with only one hand is difficult, but he manages it, rummaging around until he finds the pelvic sling, handing it to Brock. “We should put that on to stabilize his pelvis and tie the legs together to minimalize movement.”

Brock takes the sling and starts to work, Clay helping as good as he is able. When they pull the sling tight and bind the legs, Trent lets out faint groans, but doesn’t wake up.

When everything is in place, Clay looks up at Brock. “Do you know, when the others will be here?” His voice is hopeful. Their team has never let them down. Especially when they are in dire need of help like they are now. But he sees Brock’s face fall a little before he turns to him again.

“No, Clay. They are not coming. You and me, we need to help Trent.”

Dread washes over Clay. Their team would never leave them behind willingly. What happened to them? There are only very few reasons why their team wouldn’t come for them. Only if they were seriously injured themselves or… But he doesn’t allow himself to think of the worst. Maybe command just wouldn’t let them come back. He pushes the feeling of abandonment, that makes his way into his heart, forcefully away. There are other things he needs to do now. He needs to help Brock, gather their gear, weapons and ammo, so they can move out, to get help themselves.

Looking around, he can’t find their weapons. Maybe Brock already put them outside to have more room to maneuver Trent, so he looks outside but only finds snow. “Brock, where did you put our rifles?”

When he looks back at Brock, he can see sadness and despair in his brother’s face. “Clay, we don’t have any weapons. We are home. We went skiing…”

Clay nods, when a quick memory of falling rocks, of getting jostled through a rolling car, flashes through his mind. “And there was a rockslide, right?”

Brock nods, smiling in relief. “Exactly.”

The feeling of abandonment evaporates, as he realizes that the rest of their team don’t even know they need help. He pulls his phone out of his pants pocket but is not surprised to see that there is no reception. “No cell phone reception.”

Brock shakes his head. “No. That’s why we need to move. Okay? Get the tarp ready, and we can put Trent on it.”

They work together and get Trent on the tarp, pulling everything out of their duffles to keep Trent as warm as possible, cushioning him against the cold ground at the same time, before wrapping the tarp together to form a sort of sled.

When they are finally ready to move out, Trent secured tightly between them, both Clay and Brock are breathing hard, sweat rolling down their faces. Brock checks Trent’s vitals for the last time, jutting them down on the sleeve of Trent’s jacket for later comparison with a marker they found in the med kit. At last, they start their trek down the slope through the heavy snow.

Brock leads the way, his flashlight cutting through the darkness, while Clay stays behind, Trent strapped between them, sledding over the fresh snow. The wind still howls around them, whipping frozen snowflakes in their faces. Even though they work hard to keep moving, both feel the cold sneaking beneath their warm thermal clothes, and the longer they walk, the more exhausted they get, and they start shivering from the cold.

As they make their way further down the slope, Clay can see that Brock’s movements are getting more and more uncoordinated. His own movements hurt like hell. There is still this stabbing pain with every deep breath he takes, and every time he stumbles over an uneven patch of snow, his shoulder and arm get jostled, sending pain waves through his entire body. The pain in his head is bearable compared to the rest of his body, but the shivers and chattering teeth aggravate his throbbing head. His nose has stopped hurting, going numb from the cold instead, and he is not sure if he should be grateful for that. Nevertheless, he keeps moving, because he knows, if they stop here, in the middle of nowhere, in the icy cold wind, they will freeze to death very quickly.

When they start moving through patches of trees, a little more protected from the icy wind, and Brock starts to stumble, Clay calls out to him, but Brock doesn’t seem to hear him. Brock staggers and stumbles more and more, and Clay wonders not for the first time, where they are going and where the rest of their team is, but Brock seems to know where they need to be, and he trusts his brother to get them to safety.

The next time Brock nearly hits the ground, Clay again calls for a stop, and this time Brock hears him. Clay limps carefully to Trent’s side and kneels down. Somewhere along the way, he must have sprained his ankle, but he can’t remember when or where, only knows it’s an additional source of hurt while walking.

Clay peels Trent out of his many layers with cold and numb fingers, checking on his pulse and respiration, finding them a little worse than before, at least according to the vitals someone wrote on Trent’s sleeve. He adds the newest set of vitals, checking for any blood they might have missed before, but finds nothing. He turns to Brock to tell him about Trent’s declining vitals, only to find that Brock hasn’t moved in next to him, but is still at Trent’s feet, kneeling in the snow, bent over, vomiting violently. Clay wraps Trent back up in the many layers and gets up carefully, making his way unsteadily to Brock.

“Brock?” There is a cold fear creeping up his spine, seeing his brother kneeling here retching, gasping for breath.

At his voice, Brock raises his head and looks at Clay. Even with the minimal light from the flashlight, Clay can see that Brock is as ghostly white as the fresh snow around them, only that the patch right in front of Brock is no longer white, but bright red.

Well, shit.

“Brock?” Clay feels like the icy cold hand of fear just gripped his insides and squeezed hard.

Brock sinks back, first on his ass, then, apparently not able to keep himself upright, all the way on his back. “I’m sorry.”

“Where do you hurt?”

Brock pulls his legs up, turning on his side in a fetal position. “Stomach hurts, feels like it’s ripping me apart." His eyes are squeezed shut, breaths coming in short pants.

Clay looks around, not recognizing at all where they are, not seeing any light in any direction and despair settles over him. His head throbs constantly, making it impossible for him to hang on to any thought for long. He knows they need help, knows that Trent needs a hospital fast, knows that Brock can’t go on like that and needs a hospital too. Hell, he himself needs medical attention. He knows that if they stay here, they will freeze to death probably before the blood loss can kill either Trent or Brock.

He taps Brock’s face lightly, trying to get him to concentrate on him for a moment. “Brock? Where is the rest of the team? Where is the exfil point?”

Brock opens his eyes, a single tear running down his face when he looks at Clay, the same despair in his eyes that has settled inside Clay. “Clay… there is no…” He turns away, dry heaving.

Clay looks around again, really looks at his clothes, at Brock, at their improvised sled, realizing that they are not wearing their usual combat gear. His pants and jacket look like his snowboard outfit, and Brock is wearing his bright orange snow suit. A feeling of recognition settles inside him. “We were on a skiing trip. Rockslide. Truck pushed off the road.”

Brock nods, relieved. He opens his mouth to say something, but in the last second he turns to his side and vomits again. This time Clay can clearly see the gush of red splattering the white snow. When Brock stops hurling, Clay helps him to sit up a little and lean against a tree trunk.

“Brock, you need to tell me where I need to go! To get help!”

Brock takes a few deep breaths to make sure he’s not hurling again, but before he can say anything, his eyes roll into the back of his head and his body goes limp.

“No, no, no! Brock! Please! I… I don’t know, where I need to go!” Clay pats Brock’s cheek frantically but gets no response.

Clay kneels in front of the prone form of his brother, hugging his aching chest and arm, squeezing his eyes shut and rocks himself, trying to think through the panic and dizziness, through the fog that is his brain, through the pain and the shivering cold. But there is just no thought that he can hold onto long enough.

Unwanted tears fill his eyes. He’s not ready to give up. Not like this. But what else can he do?

His eyes gaze around following the beam of the flashlight. At least there is only occasional snowfall and not the heavy snowfall he thinks he remembers. That thought and seeing their footprints fading not 30 feet away under the thick layer of freshly fallen snow, he suddenly realizes that even if someone found their truck, the fresh snow would have covered their tracks, making it impossible to be found.

He knows he has to get help, even though he has no clue where he needs to go. Maybe if he follows the direction in which they were going, he might find help. But he can’t leave his brothers like that. Brock will have frozen to death before Clay will be able to find help if he leaves him sitting here like this unprotected in the freezing cold wind.

Clay looks around the clearing, where they have stopped. There seems to be an elevation between two of the larger trees. He moves closer to inspect it, digging away the fine layers of snow. Shoving the powdered snow to the sides, he uncovers a rocky overhang buried beneath it. He digs deeper, making more room to get his friends under the shelter, out of the wind. At last, he thinks it should be big enough and he turns to Trent to pull him in.

Thanks to the improvised sled, he gets him under the overhang fairly easily, but Clay is breathing hard, sweating again, exhausted beyond belief. Still, he moves to get Brock there, too. As he reaches his unconscious brother, he realizes that with only one functioning arm, pulling Brock over to Trent is nearly impossible. Sinking on his knees, he can’t hold back the desperate sobs that escape him. He can see the puddle of blood that has formed beneath Brock’s head, sees the trickle that still runs out of his mouth, sees the small puffs of air with every shallow breath Brock takes. And he knows he can’t give up on his brothers now.

He won’t.

Swaying slightly, he gets back to his feet, gripping the neck of Brock’s jacket and starts to pull with all the strength he has left, hoping like hell that the fabric won’t rip. Swearing and apologizing, he pulls Brock all the way to the overhang and next to Trent. He puts him into the tarp wrapping with their medic, laying him on his side so he won’t choke on the blood, that just won’t stop leaking out of his mouth.

Shivering from exhaustion, pain and cold, he sits back on his haunches, trying to catch his breath. Looking around, he doesn’t recognize where he is, only knows that he has built a shelter for his brothers and himself. There is this nagging feeling that he needs to do something important, but he can’t remember what it is. He can’t remember where the rest of the team is, if they are coming or if he is supposed to get to them. He can’t remember where they lost their guns, can’t remember where the hostiles are, can’t remember the plan for exfil, can’t remember where all went wrong. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, hoping to clear his thrumming head.

Suddenly a loud ping startles him out of his head. It is followed by a series of similar pings and Clay realizes that it’s his phone, chiming with incoming texts. Why does he have his phone with him? They never have their phones on them on any mission, but he pulls it out of his pocket with a shaking, nearly frozen hand and stares at the screen.

There are 21 new messages and 7 missed calls. All from Sonny.

Clay hits the call button, afraid of losing reception again, and lets his chin sink onto his chest, trying to take deep breaths. Adrenaline rushes through his system as soon as he hears the line ringing, and he starts talking the second it connects.

“Please tell me you found a way to get us out! Brock is down now, too, and… I can’t keep us all moving… I… I don’t know which way to go! We… most of our gear is gone… and… and I have no weapons left to defend us!”

There is silence on the other end. Clay looks at the phone to make sure he hasn’t lost reception, but the line is still open.

“Three? Where’s the fucking medevac?”

“Clay?” Sonny’s voice sounds unsure, scared even. “Is that you?”

“Look, we don’t have time… I don’t think they have much time left… the cold isn’t helping… Just tell me you’re only a few minutes out!”

“Medevac? What are you talking about?” Sonny’s voice sounds alarmed. “What happened, Clay? What… why do you need weapons?”

“Why do we need weapons? Seriously? I mean…” Clay trails off, looking around their clearing, stopping at Brock’s bright orange snow suit, their obvious civilian attire. He shakes his head a little, feeling suddenly confused again. “Sonny…I don’t…”

“What, Clay, what’s going on?”

Clay can’t answer as tears start running down his icy cold face, freezing midway to his stubbly chin, as he realizes that even though he seems to be on home soil, he has no clue where he is. He can see that he is alone with two unconscious brothers, he himself feels like he doesn’t have much energy left to keep going, and he has no idea how he will get them out of this. He folds in on himself until his forehead touches the snowy ground.

“Hey, Clay? You still there? Talk to me!” Sonny’s voice is full of concern.

“Sonny, we need help,” is all Clay can choke out between sobs.

“What happened?”

“I…I’m not sure…. I think… I think maybe there were rocks?… I remember rolling and falling… and Brock and Trent… they are hurt… bad… and…”

“Okay, okay. Stay calm. Tell me where you are!”

“I don’t… I don’t know. Sonny, I don’t… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, little brother. I’ll find you.” Sonny’s voice is calm and soothing and Clay relaxes, knowing that his brother will move heaven and earth to get to him.

Clay takes a deep breath, hearing Sonny talking in the background. “Sonny? I’m… I’m scared… I can’t remember… everything is so confusing…”

Sonny is back on the line. “Yeah, I can imagine, but you don’t have to worry anymore. The team is here with me. We’ll ping your phone and get help to you. You just concentrate on me until help arrives, okay?”

Clay nods, not realizing that Sonny can’t see that.

“Bam Bam? Still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, good. We have your location now and Jase is already on the phone to get help to your position. But that’ll take a little while. How are you doing?”

“I’m cold, Sonny.” Clay’s eyes start to droop closed. “And tired.”

“Hey, hey. No sleeping now, okay?... Clay!”

“Still here.”

“Get your lazy ass up and tell me about Brock and Trent.”

Clay struggles to his feet, swaying slightly, groaning as a new wave of pain shoots through his chest, shoulder and head. He moves to Trent, falling to his knees next to him, yelping a little at the stab of pain the movement brings on. “Trent is… unconscious… his legs look broken… but they are immobilized… his vitals suck, heartbeat is slow, long pauses between breaths…and he looks pale and… frozen…”

“Has he been awake at all?”

Clay scrunches his face in concentration, trying to get his sluggish brain to tell him the answer. “I… I’m not sure… I think he was… I don’t know… I…”

“Hey, don’t worry. It’s okay. What about Brock?”

Clay turns to Brock. “Brock’s unconscious, too… but he was fine at first… I think… There is blood leaking out of his mouth… he puked blood, a lot of it, and he collapsed… and…”

“Is he still breathing?”

“Yeah, but I can hardly find his pulse, and it’s pretty fast… he stopped shivering just now… that’s not good, is it?”

Clay looks around the clearing in front of him, not even registering the long silence on the other end. There are a lot of dark patches around the clearing, some trampled into the snow, others like droplets in the fresh powder. He wonders where all this blood is coming from. Maybe Brock spit out some of the blood before he started puking. But there seem to be droplets all around the clearing, like someone moved around bleeding all over the place. He scans through the darkness, but they are alone.

“What about you? You sound like you’re hurt, too!” Sonny’s question shakes him out of his musings.

“I… My head hurts… like hell… can’t really think straight and I… I keep forgetting things… chest hurts, too, probably a few broken ribs… my left arm hurts a little but is mostly numb, feels strapped to my chest, maybe Brock immobilized it… but I don’t… don’t really remember… And it’s cold, I’m… freezing.”

“Okay. Can’t do much at the moment, but you need to find some shelter.”

“Already did.” Clay informs him, somewhat proud. “Found an overhang, with a hole dug into the snow.” Clay lets himself sit down next to Brock, leaning against the cold snowy rock. Sitting still only aggravates the stabbing in his side to a constant piercing pain, but at least he is out of the freezing wind.

“Help’s on the way. They are driving up to you now!”

“Brock’s bad, Sonny…” Clay’s breath hitches on a sob, sending another agonizing stab through his chest. “And Trent… Trent’s dying, Sonny… I… can’t do anything…to help…”

He carefully zips open his jacket, feeling around inside with his cold right hand, wincing when his fingers find something smooth and sharp stuck in his side. With a quick and painful tug, he pulls it out, feeling warm liquid running over his frozen fingers before he pulls his hand out of his jacket. There is a six-inch-long shard of glass in his hand, covered in blood. “Oh.”

“Talk to me! Clay! What’s going on?” Sonny’s voice seems urgent, like he has called his name a few times without getting an answer.

“Huh… I…uh… I’m… bleeding.” He rubs his thumb over the shard as if it would tell him where it came from. As he feels the sticky wetness, he finally understands whose blood turned this pristine snow-white clearing into a Jackson Pollock painting. At least the stabbing pain in his side is gone now.

“Clay! Where are you bleeding?”

“I… uhm… my side… there was a shard of glass… I pulled it out…huh… maybe no’agoodi’ea…” In his confusion the last words slur into one, his next breath sounding rather bubbly. He is out of the harsh wind now, leaning against the wall of snow and ice, his brothers at his side, he can’t keep his eyes open any longer. The darkness calls to him, the last reserves of his energy waning rapidly, and the desire to let himself drift off is overwhelming.

“Bam Bam! Hey! Please, stay with me! Help is on the way! They are nearly with you! Come on, Clay! Talk to me! Just hang on a little longer.”

Hearing Sonny’s voice makes him feel safe, and it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. He knows Sonny wants him to stay awake, wants him to fight, to hold on. So, he does. He thinks he can hear sounds of engines roaring in the distance, coming closer.

“I can… hea’ ‘em…Sonny…” His voice is a wet wheezing whisper now, which he’s not sure Sonny can even hear. He can taste copper on his tongue, tries to cough it away, but that only produces more coppery liquid in his mouth. Spitting it out, he calls for his friend. “Sonny…“

He’s not even sure what he wants to say, his brain even more sluggish than before, but there is something important he needs to tell him. He pries his eyes open, not even sure when he closed them, and looks at his two brothers next to him, both ghostly pale, still and unmoving. Another sob escapes him.

“It’s too…late, Sonny,… they… are… gone.” More tears leak down his face, grief and fear gripping his heart, and he draws on his last energy, his words barely above a whisper, only a faint gurgling. “Son… I don’t… wanna die… ‘lone…”

“I’m here, Clay, I’m here. You are not alone!”

Sonny’s voice is a dull drone now, a soothing sound filling him with a sense of safety and warmth. He’s not shivering anymore, the cold is gone, and so is most of the pain. Only breathing is a little hard, but the air feels not so cold anymore, too, rather filled with warm liquid. A deep sense of peace fills him.

He blinks once, and Sonny’s soothing voice is replaced by an annoying purring. Instantly his peaceful bubble bursts and anxiety creeps back in. He tilts his head a little, squinting around to figure out where the sound is coming from. “Son…?” The word tumbles bubbling out of his mouth and he is not sure if it even made a sound. Sonny doesn’t answer, and he can’t see his phone anymore anyway. What he can see, is a snowmobile standing in the middle of the clearing and someone in a snowsuit just getting off.

“Shit, they found us…!” Coughing and spitting, he tries to scramble to his feet, to defend his brothers from the approaching hostile, but he only makes it to his knees, before his head explodes with fresh pain from the lights and the movement, and he bends over heaving, which turns into a coughing fit, spraying his vicinity with blood. All of his energy spent, he collapses to the ground face first, yelping breathlessly from the explosion of pain in his arm, sending him to the brink of unconsciousness.

Through half open lids, Clay can see the newcomer rushing to his side, but also more people disembarking from snowmobiles, making their way over to his fallen brothers. “Noo… pl’se… don’t h’rt ‘em…” Looking over to his brothers next to him, seeing them lying there pale and unmoving, he realizes that those hostiles won’t be able to hurt them anymore. That won’t stop him from trying to keep them away from his brothers though, his body just doesn’t comply.

When a hand lands on his good shoulder to turn him carefully on his back, his hand gropes at his pocket where he can feel something solid, a weapon maybe, something he can use to defend himself and his brothers. Pain explodes all over his body when he is turned on his back, and he closes his eyes to fend off the encroaching darkness, the exhaustion and fear, and the overwhelming feeling of grief and failure.

“Sir, we are with the park service. We are here to help you!” The deep and caring voice pulls him back enough, to give his sluggish mind the time to fully comprehend the words.

Park rangers?

Clay pries his eyes open and squints at the man in front of him, but can only make out his outline against the harsh brightness of the headlights.

“Let us take you all out of here. Your friends are in bad shape, but they are still alive.”

Clay wants to feel relieved, wants to believe this unknown man with the deep and reassuring voice, but years of training leave him uneasy and in doubt. He tries to move backwards, away from this man, not trusting his own judgment, even though deep down he knows he won’t stand a chance to escape. Not with his injuries. Another man appears behind him, his gloved hand reaching for him, preventing him from moving away. With his good hand he tries to slap the hand away, but his arm loses momentum halfway and falls uselessly to the ground.

“Don’ t’ch m’.” The words are barely recognizable through the blood that just keeps bubbling up in his mouth, no matter how often he tries to swallow it, but the two men back away a little.

“Sir, we just want to help!” The second man tries again, hands held up in a placating gesture. “You are losing blood at an alarming rate. Please, let us help before it’s too late!”

Clay eyes the first man suspiciously, watching him talking into a headset, too quiet for him to understand. The man picks something up off the ground and moves closer again.

Suddenly, Sonny’s voice is back. “Clay? Can you hear me?”

Clay stills and nods, his eyes roaming around to find his friend, but he just can’t.

“He is nodding, so I think he hears you. Keep talking,” the man in front of him says, the words making no sense at all to Clay.

“Hey, Goldilocks.” Sonny again, but he still can’t see his best friend. “This is Ranger Invenire. He and his colleagues are here to get you out. Like a medevac team, okay? They’ll take care of Brock and Trent, too. Just… let them help you, and I’ll wait for you at the hospital.”

“’kay.” Trusting his friend completely, Clay slumps down into the cold snow and closes his eyes, at last letting relief flood him. With the knowledge of his brothers being taken care of, he finally gives in to the darkness.

Clay is floating. He’s been floating for a while now, and he feels comfortable here. Everything around him is warm and cozy. There is no pain, no worry and fear, just peace.

He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but he knows he is in a hospital, knows that there are machines around him, that help his body with everything it can’t do at the moment, like breathe on its own. But he is strangely okay with that. Because he knows they are there to help his body heal.

Most of the time, it is quiet around him, but sometimes he can hear familiar voices. Sometimes they just stand around him talking, sometimes they talk to him. Sometimes he understands some of the words they say, sometimes it’s just a nice sound of familiarity for him.

There has been quite the commotion around him earlier, people coming and going, loud noises he couldn’t identify, and it scared him, making him retreat a little deeper into the safety of his happy place, but it’s quiet now and his mind deems it safe to surface a little more. He listens for familiar sounds or voices, but there are only the sounds of the machines around him and the unfamiliar voices in the background.

At last he hears well-known footsteps in the hall. They always stop outside his room, just out of his range of understanding before they enter. He realizes that he has been tense for a while, waiting for this one voice that comes here regularly, the one that always makes him feel safe.

The footsteps come closer but don’t stop close to him as they usually do, but move on past him. That’s new, that has never happened before. A slight panic starts to rise, fear of losing his anchor to reality, his anxiety rising with the growing tension and his mind starts to retreat.

“Hey there, Trent, how ya doin’ today?” The voice drawls and Clay is surprised by the words, strains to hear more. The answer is too faint to understand, but Clay knows this voice, too. One that also lives close to his heart. A voice he was sure he would never hear again. A wave of gratitude washes over him, knowing this is just one less thing he needs to worry about, and his body relaxes slightly.

In the quiet hours of his being, his mind has wandered around a lot, has visited lots of places, some of them comforting, nudging him more and more away from the darkness, some of them scary, frightening, making him retreat back to his happy place again. The thought of never hearing this voice again was one of the scariest he has had in a long time, and the fact that he can still hear it so close to him now, heals a piece of his broken soul.

At last, the conversation halts and the footsteps come closer to him again. Clay is humming with trepidation, surprised that no one around him notices anything.

There is the scraping of a chair being pulled closer, and then the familiar feeling of two warm hands enclosing his, squeezing slightly, and the anxiety that kept him so tense, washes away instantly, leaving only the feeling of home and peace behind.

“Hey, buddy. It’s me.” As usual the voice is soft and low, not as boisterous and loud as he knows it can be. “They asked me to come in a little later than usual today, ‘cause, you know… They moved Trent into your room, to keep you company. They think his presence might help you find your way back to us. Bit of a risk they are taking there, if you ask me. They really think his ugly mug is the first thing you wanna see?”

“Hey!” Trent’s cry of indignation makes the voice at his side chuckle.

“True, though.” Clay can hear the smile in the voice. “Anyways. He had his last surgery today, at least for now. You could say, they have finished construction on him. Removed the last of the scaffolding, so to speak.” There is another chuckle. “Just picture it in your mind. Ev’ry last inch of him below his bellybutton was spiked with pins, held together with crossbars. He looked like a freakin’ overlarge pincushion. He doesn’t need ‘em anymore, ‘cause they screwed him back together from the inside, and now, there is a bag on his bedside table with more than twenty pins in it. Crazy, huh?”

Clay loves the way the voice tells him about these things. As if they were sitting in the Bulkhead or at home on his couch, just talking shit. A sense of normalcy. Today is the first time he can really follow what the voice is telling him, though. Longer than a few sentences. Maybe it is time to leave the protected place of his mind. But there are still things keeping him there, protecting him from the hurt he knows will come.

The voice has continued talking while he had been drifting in his head again. „… really sad, she’s not allowed to come, so is RJ. But Ray and Naima still think it would be too traumatizing for the kids to see you like this… with all the… ya know…” The voice falters, and he can hear the dry swallow. One of the warm hands leave his arm, and Clay can hear a soft sniffling. “… all the tubes and machines…” The voice breaks a little and then stops. To hear the strong voice of his best friend, his safe haven, this distraught, tugs at Clay’s heart and he wants to tell him that all will be good soon.

“Sonny?” Trent’s voice from the other side of the room is soft, concerned.

“I’m a’right, T.” Sonny’s voice sniffs. “Just a little emotional.” The hand is back on his arm, running slow, soothing circles on it. “Right, where was I?... ah, yes. I’m sure Ray or Naima will be over later to tell you all about them, bring their newest work of art. Hmmm, what else?”

“Tell him what the doc said before you came in.” Trent suggests and Clay agrees that this would be something he’s really interested in. And with Sonny telling him, he might even understand it, if he doesn’t drift off again.

“Yeah, okay. He said that things really look up. They want to try to take you off this kidney-replacement-thingy, ‘cause your kidneys started working again, and they hope you don’t need it anymore. He had the results of the CAT scan from yesterday and they look good, too. Your lungs are healin’ nice, and apparently you can’t even see the tear from the glass shard anymore. And all the other damage from the cold and the blood loss and from you… actually… dying…” The voice stutters again, and he can hear Sonny clear his throat forcefully, before he continues in an even quieter voice. “It’s all healing, too. All you need to do now, is wake up.”

Clay can feel the hands on his arm and hand trembling slightly, and he understands that Sonny is crying. For him. Because he died, apparently. At least for a while. He doesn’t feel dead at the moment. He feels confused. And a little scared. Because he was confused that night, too. And because he was confused, he couldn’t protect his brothers. Because he was confused, he didn’t realize how badly hurt Brock had been, and now Brock is gone. And as the wave of guilt and grief washes over him, his mind starts to drift again, pulled to his happy place where there is no confusion, no pain or grief or loss.

But the name of his favorite canine friend keeps him from going under all the way.

“… and you know that dog can be a handful. One of the nurses actually suggested that we bring Cerberus here. Has experience with dogs helping with therapy. Said he might be able to help you, too. The doc wouldn’t have it, o’ course. ‘I won’t have a filthy dog in my ICU!’” Sonny imitates the scandalized voice of the doc, chuckling a little. “I’m sure Brock would’ve blown a gasket, if he’d been there.”

Trent joins the chuckling. “Hell yeah, that doc would have needed a bed in his own ICU, if Brock had heard that!”

“If I had heard what?”

Clay’s mind freezes. He doesn’t hear Trent’s happy welcome, doesn’t feel the warm hands leaving him, doesn’t understand the good-natured ribbing of his brothers about their quiet dog handler being told to use less words.

He just waits to hear that voice again. Not just in his head, in a memory. But for real. Like Trent’s.

“Oh, come on. Give it a rest.” There it is again. “I could see he was in so much pain and he was so confused. It would have been too much if I had used one-word sentences.”

They continue bantering, and the warm and familiar hands return to his arm, but something is happening inside Clay’s mind. A barricade is broken open. All the grief and guilt and pain is washed away, the strings that have pulled him back into his safe and happy place, have been severed. Hearing Brock’s voice fits the last piece of his broken self together again, making him complete.

“Look who is finally here to visit.” Sonny’s soothing voice is back again. “Brock’s allowed to leave his room at last! And he came here to see you! He’s doing good, ya know. Got an ugly scar from where they had to cut him open to sow his torn stomach back together, but he’ll be fine.”

There is a lightness inside of him, hearing that his brothers are alive, knowing that they will be okay again. It feels like his mind lets go of a protective wall it had erected around him, shielding him from all the pain, while his body has been healing, leading him here at the right moment to finally come back to his family.

A single tear rolls down his cheek from behind his still closed eyes, unseen.

Sonny squeezes his hand again, softly, like he’s done a dozen times before, but this time Clay puts all his energy into squeezing back, into showing Sonny that he is really here, that he is back. Clay can feel the exact moment Sonny registers the pressure on his hand, because Sonny freezes completely, stops all movements, even stops breathing. Clay tries to squeeze again, but isn’t sure if he is able to put enough pressure in his fingers to move again. But Sonny leaps to his feet, letting go of his hand, chair scraping back and falling over by the sound of it.

“Sonny, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Brock’s voice sounds alarmed.

“He… he squeezed my hand! Twice!”

“What?”

“Are you serious?”

The warm hands are back, squeezing his hand a little tighter than before, but Sonny’s voice, though quavering a little, is as soothing as before. “Can you hear me? Clay? Can you do it again?”

Hearing the happy and excited voices of his brothers in the background and the hopeful tone of Sonny, he gives it his all and is rewarded with a big whoop from Sonny. Another tear escapes beneath his lashes, as all hell breaks loose around him. They all talk at the same time, exciting babble all around him. With all the happiness around him, he really needs to see his brothers, too, and with a last mighty effort, he blinks his eyes open.

Sonny and Brock stand at the foot of his bed, Sonny enveloped in one of Brock’s rib-crushing bear-hugs, wiping at his eyes and cheeks that are suspiciously wet. Not being able to turn his head, he can only see a vague outline of Trent in his bed and Brock is standing with his back to Clay, but as soon as Sonny finishes wiping at his face, his eyes focus on him, seeing his open eyes.

Sonny fights out of Brock’s embrace and rushes to his side. He grabs his hand again, his gaze roaming over Clay’s face like he’s afraid this is all a dream and if he blinks, Clay is back to being unconscious again. “You really awake?”

Clay is only able to move his head a tiny bit, only the hint of a nod, but Sonny’s eyes overflow with tears of joy again.

All of a sudden, a lot of people flood into the room, nurses and doctors, checking the machines and his vitals, wanting him to answer questions, pushing Sonny away from him. He can feel the panic rise inside him again, feels the pull of his mind to shut down, to protect him. He can hear alarms going off all around him and the bustle turning into chaos.

Suddenly, Sonny is back, grabbing his hand firmly, standing his ground against someone trying to push him out of the way. Leaning closer to him, voice stern but reassuring, he whispers. “Don’t worry, little brother. I ain’t going nowhere.”

And it’s enough. His brother is here to protect him, to get him through this.

All will be well.