aut_nihil | (no subject)

(no subject)

Pope doesn't go on as many missions as he once did. But he sees trouble brewing in the future, in the solo orders Carver was given, and he can't stomach staying behind when Carver might face the worst alone.

So he defies his own orders and he goes with Carver.

And things go sideways. They're outnumbered despite his best efforts and his warnings, and they're gathered up, hoods on their heads, arms tied behind their backs.

Carver's strong though. They're going to make it through this. He's going to get them through this.

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About goddamn time, Pope thinks, but doesn't say.

He points at Carver. "He's sick."

Carver flinches, hiding his face in Riley’s chest again. He’s shaking, his breathing gone ragged, and it worries Riley down in his soul to see Carver showing fear like this, showing fear at all.

The doctor scowls, but moves to the bed. “I can see that. Sick with what?”

Carver won’t look at her. He just clings to Riley and trembles.

“Something’s infected,” Riley murmurs. He has a guess. “Brandon, we need to see.”

"No," Pope snaps. "You can see he's sick, give him antibiotics."

He's not going to let anyone make this worse for Carver. And he's sure as hell not going to strip down either.

"I need them too."

Carver flinches. Actually fucking flinches and shakes his head, holding so tight to Riley. He’s scared, he feels utterly fucking terrified, and Riley doesn’t know why. He can guess, but he doesn’t know.

“It doesn’t work like that,” the doctor snaps. “I need to see what I’m working with.”

“No,” Carver hisses.

"You heard him. He said no," Pope says, speaking for himself and Carver both. They're not going to degrade themselves further. Not after all that. "We were hurt--we're sick. Treat us."

“Tell him to stop being a bitch,” the doctor snaps, looking nothing but annoyed. “Or hold him still.”

Riley tenses. Fuck, no. “You don’t touch him.”

“Jesus Christ. Do I have to fucking sedate him?” the doctor demands.

"Give him the fucking meds!" Pope snaps. "Or examine me; same thing happened to me, you want that? You want to get neck deep in this mess or do you want to help us?"

The doctor exhales sharply. She turns to Pope, scowling. “You show me, then.”

She has no bedside manner.

"No." But he looks at Carver, who is the only other option. And he can't put his boy through this.

"Come with me."

He limps his way to the shitty tiny bathroom. Carver had better damn well appreciate this.

Shaw stands, as if to protest. But she holds, bowing her head.

On the bed, Riley feels Carver tremble and start to cry very quietly.

The doctor follows Pope, crossing her arms. She notes the way he limps, though.

Carver is crying. Yeah. He can't make him go through this.

He shuts them into that small space. "This is off the books. You say a goddamn word to anyone and I will make you wish you were never born," he snaps.

“I didn’t have to come,” she snaps. “Jesus Christ. Show me or don’t.”

He unfastens his belt, for Carver's sake. He strips down, for Carver. He dares her to say a goddamn thing he doesn't like.

The doctor doesn’t say anything. Her expression doesn’t change, more soldier than caretaker. She doesn’t touch Pope but she gives him a long, cool look and then tells him to put his clothes back on. “If either of you have internal damage,” she says finally, “and there’s infection, it can get very bad. I can give you antibiotics but if you’re damaged inside—“

Her jaw works.

“It will be very bad. Do you understand?”

He thinks of the train he pulled, man after man after man. He thinks of the sound Carver made at the end, the one that drove him over the edge and stopped him waiting for their moment and just made him rabid.

"How do you know if there's internal damage?"

“I need to look inside,” she replies flatly. “If there’s damage, you’ll both need a hospital. The infection will fuck you up if it doesn’t kill you.”

She exhales.

“The fever could be stress,” she admits. “In that case it’ll probably pass with antibiotics and rest. I have medicine in my kit that’ll help with…whatever’s going on down there.”

Fuck you, he thinks, but doesn't say because none of this is her fault.

"It's probably stress. Give us the drugs. If it doesn't get better you can look at us."

The doctor just gives Pope a sour look, then exhales and starts pulling bottles out of her bag. “Either of you die, I was never here. Use these.”

She points to two bottles of cream.

“Inside. Then the antibiotics. If the fever doesn’t break, you’re in trouble and that’s not something you shake.”

"If the fever doesn't break we'll bring you right back in," he warns. He takes the items.

One goes inside. It makes his stomach churn to think of.

He pulls his pants back on, goes to the door. "Anders! Bring Carver in here."

Edited 2024-06-20 01:19 (UTC)

Whatever they’re doing in the bathroom doesn’t speak well. It’s the sort of wound neither Pope nor Carver want the others to know about. Riley’s seen gunshots, the aftermath of IEDs, the awful shit that tears kids to pieces.

This is different. Carver’s crying and the others are looking away very deliberately to pretend they don’t see.

“C’mon,” Riley murmurs, getting his arm around Carver. “Just hold onto me, let’s go.”

He wonders if he can just take Carver and drive him to the nearest goddamn hospital. If he can get out the door without the others dragging them both back. Probably not.

But he gets Carver up, shaky and feverish as he is, and he tries not to think about the way Carver limps.

"I've got this," Pope says to the doctor and to Anders both, taking Carver. "Go."

He'll handle this. "I've got you," he tells Carver gently. "We're almost done. It's all right now, son. You trust me? Let me do this last thing for us."

The doctor just leaves. Riley tightens his grip on Carver. “Like hell.”

“It’s okay,” Carver murmurs. “I don’t want to fight.”

Carver presses his forehead to Riley’s, exhausted and hurting, and pushes Riley out the door. Then it’s just him and Pope, both of them so tired.

“One last thing,” he murmurs, resting his head against the wall.

Pope hates this. Hates the men who did this to them. He'd kill them all again if he could.

"This goes inside," he tells Carver softly. "And we need to take pills. Then we'll be fine. Never have to think about this again. You want me to help?"

Oh, Carver thinks. For a moment, he can barely breathe.

“…yeah,” he admits, and he can’t look at Pope. “I don’t, I don’t feel good, sir.”

He doesn’t what to be touched. He thinks he’ll die if he has to ask Riley and ends up crying again.

His breath hitches. He locks that feeling down.

"You hate me now, son?"