aut_nihil | (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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From:

aut_nihil

Don't you make a liar of me, he thinks, but without teeth. With nothing but fear. He has so much faith in Carver.

"Breathe in," he orders. "Nice and slow. Calm down for me. I'm going to get you out of this."

God willing their captors will never see this moment.

From:

fortitudosalutis

It hurts to breathe. Carver shudders hard, clinging to Pope's arms. His hands ache. He wants to die. But he focuses on the commander's voice, the words there.

Moment by moment, beat by beat, his breathing slows down.

From:

aut_nihil

He murmurs to him over and over, keeps his breathing even and calm, and feels Carver relax.

"That's it," he says finally. "You all right?"

From:

fortitudosalutis

Carver shudders hard. He has to be okay. That's the only acceptable answer. But his throat is so tight he can barely breathe. He gives Pope a single, jerky nod.

From:

aut_nihil

"Up. Up, son. Move around. Shake it off. Come on," he urges him up onto his feet.

From:

fortitudosalutis

It hurts to move, to breathe. Carver's breath hitches but he does what he's told, standing up stiffly. It's a kindness, he knows. Pope usually hates it when he paces. And it hurts to move but maybe he needs to, maybe Pope just knew it deep down.

He gets up. And he starts to pace, back and forth, back and forth. Away from his racing thoughts.

From:

aut_nihil

Pope hates this. He hates it when he needs to move so he never does it for more than a few seconds, and he wants to snap at Carver to stop it, to be still and calm the fuck down already.

But he doesn't. Let the kid move. Let him try to shake it all off. It's not like they have anywhere to go to burn off steam. So he sits and he watches.

"Talk it out," he says. "Purge it all out before they come back, you hear me?"

From:

fortitudosalutis

Carver takes a shuddering breath, grasping at his head. He can't stop. Has to move or he's going to bust out of his own skin. It hurts to exist. He paces in tighter and tighter circles, desperate to move. He barely hears Pope except for the order.

Purge it. Get rid of it.

He paces for a long time. And then, finally, he goes still. Exhausted and swaying on his feet.

From:

aut_nihil

Pope is sitting in the chair by the desk at that point, just watching, worrying.

"Come here, son." He motions Carver over. "Come kneel here."

From:

fortitudosalutis

There's no hesitation. Carver just goes to him, dropping to his knees before Pope. Head bowed, exhausted. Hurting.

From:

aut_nihil

He strokes Carver's hair and just holds him that way, Carver's head against his lap. "You back with me, kid?"

From:

fortitudosalutis

He doesn't fight it. Just closes his eyes and sags against Pope, almost absurdly grateful for the way that Pope touches his hair. "Yes, sir," he murmurs.

From:

aut_nihil

"Let it out." They can't afford to break in front of their captors but maybe he can allow Carver this space to fracture. Maybe he can keep him strong, keep him in one piece.

"We're getting out of here."

From:

fortitudosalutis

Carver grinds his forehead against Pope's knee, clinging to him. Not crying, but he shudders. "It hurts, sir," he whispers.

From:

aut_nihil

He failed him. He failed Carver in so many ways.

"I know. I know it does. That's why I'm going to take it from here on out. You just focus on resting and getting strong. Get ready to help me fight our way out."

From:

fortitudosalutis

He hooks an arm around Pope's leg, holding onto him tight. I don't want to see you hurt, sir, he almost says. I just want them to stop. But you can't say that shit. You can't ask a test to be done before it's done.

Carver shudders hard. He doesn't cry, though. He doesn't beg. And in the distance, he thinks he hears footsteps.

From:

aut_nihil

Pope hears them, too. He holds Carver's shoulder tighter. Don't show weakness, he thinks fiercely.

"In bed, son. Now. Pretend you're asleep."

From:

fortitudosalutis

There's no time. Carver swallows, but he doesn't argue. Just gets up and does what he's fucking told. He lies down on the mattress, with all the stains and filth, and curls onto his side. Covers his face with his arm.

From:

aut_nihil

Pope composes himself and just waits. Whatever they're going to do now, they're going to do. He just plans to take the brunt of it. Carver clearly can't handle much more.

From:

fortitudosalutis

Click goes the door. He hears boots on the carpet. The leader humming some song under his breath. And then the thumb of something landing on the floor. A case of some sort.

"Gosh, he's out like a light." The leader snickers. "You keeping watch on your boy, Pope?"

From:

aut_nihil

"We take it in shifts," Pope grunts. "What do you want now? Bored with guard duty already?"

From:

fortitudosalutis

"You don't need to worry your head about that," the leader drawls. "You two have a nice discussion about who's gonna be entertaining my guys?"

Carver twitches. He holds as still as he can.

From:

aut_nihil

"Depends on which guys those would be," Pope says, pushing himself up out of the chair, sizing them all up.

From:

fortitudosalutis

Carver shivers. There's a lot of them. Too many to take at once, not while he's hurt and they're both exhausted, hungry. Unarmed.

"All of 'em, I think," the leader drawls. "Folks get twitchy, need a little...exercise, you know how it is."