He doesn't allow the relief to show. Just nods, watching Pope carefully, and lies himself back down. It hurts to move. He doesn't really know how bad he's fucked up or what he's supposed to do about that except lie still and not think about it. He wonders if Pope knows.

He's quiet for a long time. Trying just to breathe. Maybe go back to sleep. It doesn't help.

"I think I'm hurt bad, sir," Carver says final, as neutrally as he can. "I can stand, but."

He'll make himself stand. He'll make himself run if he has to. But Pope's probably counting on him in hand to hand and Carver already knows he won't be able to. He can feel the truth of it in his bones.