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topguncortez · 2 years

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Day 4: Dead on your feet ➢prompts: can't pass out ➢character: Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell ➢warnings: MISCARRIAGE, bleeding, angst, hospitals ➢word count: 1.5k

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The morning started the same way that every morning started. Maverick’s alarm blaring through the quiet room, and Y/N’s loud groan in annoyance. Maverick chuckled as she tried her best to roll over, but couldn’t because of the protruding bump from her abdomen. Maverick blindly reached for the clock radio on his bedside table to stop the annoying ringing. He rubbed his eyes, squinting at the bit of sunlight that shone through the blinds. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and stretched feeling his muscles and joints pop.

“Morning mama,” Maverick said, leaning over to kiss her forehead, “And morning baby,” He smiled as he kissed her bump. It was the same thing every morning. Pete shower, shaved, and got dressed in the bathroom so Y/N could still sleep. She wasn’t a morning person, and had let Pete know that a couple times.

“Do you have to go to work?” Y/N mumbled, as Maverick sat on the side of her bed and tied his brown dress shoes, “I want cuddles.”

“I know you do,” Pete smiled, and kissed her lips, “But I have to. Just think, we have six weeks left until we have a little one keeping us up at night.”

“Yay,” Y/N groaned, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Maverick said, and got up from the bed, “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

Y/N slept for about another hour after Maverick left, then got out of bed due to the pressure in her bladder. Y/N made herself breakfast, and got dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. She hummed to herself as she walked down to the half put together nursery. She smiled at the large rainbow she had started to paint. Grabbing the ladder, she moved it over towards the wall, getting the paint ready to hopefully finish the mural.

“Oh,” She groaned, feeling a slight contraction, “Active today, aren’t you.” She said, and went back to painting. She tried to breathe through the pain as it came and went, thinking it was just normal braxton hicks that she had been feeling. It was only when she spotted the blood droplets in between her feet,

“Oh, okay,” She said in shock. She carefully got off the ladder, and looked at the stain in her shorts, “Fuck.” Y/N’s mind was blank, but her body was moving on auto pilot as she went towards the bathroom to clean herself up. She didn’t want to believe that she was bleeding, she just wanted to clean herself up, and then go to the hospital.

“Stop, please,” Y/N cried as she felt cramping in her belly again. She turned on the shower, letting the water get warm, before stepping in, “Please, please.” The water around her feet was slowly turning red from the blood between her legs.

Maverick whistled to himself as he ran up the steps of the house. He had gotten a half day, and planned on surprising Y/N with her favorite lunch. He had stopped and got her flowers, knowing that they made her happy. He had opened his mouth to call out for her, when he found her sitting on the couch, her hair still soaking wet, tears streaming down her face, and trying to get her shoes on.

“Y/N?” Maverick said, dropping the flowers and food by the front door. She was pale, except for the red tears strains on her face, “What is going on?”

“It hurts, really bad,” She mumbled, her head lulling to the side. Maverick looked her over, and that’s when he noticed the blood on her pants.

“Oh my god,” Maverick choked out, “Okay, we need to go.”

“I can’t,” Y/N sighed, “I’m too tired.”

“We need to,” Maverick helped her up from the couch, and wrapped his arm around her waist. He had to take most of her weight, worried that she was going to go crashing down at any second. The coppery scene of blond made him feel nauseous as he helped her get into the car. He buckled her in and then ran to the otherside of the car, “Hey, hey, don’t fall asleep. Keep your eyes open.”

“Okay,” Y/N whispered out.

“Y/N,” Maverick snapped, and nudged her thigh, “Keep your eyes open. You need to stay awake.”

“It hurts so much,” She sobbed out, and Maverick had to bite back his own tears. He could only imagine the pain she was going through right now.

Maverick probably violated every traffic law that there was in the city of San Diego, to get to the hospital. He switched from between keeping his eyes on the road, to shaking Y/N awake, and keeping her talking. The coppery scent was one that was always going to haunt Maverick, as he walked towards the hospital with his barely conscious girlfriend in his arms.

“Stay with me, baby, stay with me,” Maverick pleaded with her.

“Mav. . .” She whined, her head lulling to rest on his shoulder.

“You can do it. You can’t pass out now. We’re almost there. . . .” Maverick pushed through the door of the emergency room, and looked around, “Help! Please! She’s pregnant!” Maverick called out, and noticed the frantic looks on the nurses faces as they realized what was going on in front of them. They moved quickly, calling for a doctor as Y/N’s knees buckled and her body went crashing to the ground, “Y/N! Stay with me! Please, stay with me!”

A nurse ran over, and kneeled down next to them, putting her fingers on Y/N’s neck, “Pulse is there but weak, we need to get her into the OR, ASAP.”

“Sir, we need you to move,” Another nurse said, and gently grabbed Maverick’s body and moved him from Y/N. The last glimpse he saw of her, was her pale face and weak body being moved down the hallway. Maverick stood there with tears in his eyes as he prayed to anyone listening that everything was going to be okay.

Four hours later Maverick was sitting by her beside, holding a fist to his mouth, trying to stop himself from crying. It was useless trying to hold back tears as he watched her sleeping frame. The doctor had told him the worst news of his life. He didn’t think his heart could hurt anymore after losing Goose, but he was wrong. This hurt just as much if not more. He sat up a bit straighter in his chair as he watched her start to stir. Maverick stood up, and grabbed Y/N’s hand, and brushed her hair back with his other. He smiled down at her as her eyes fluttered open.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Maverick whispered.

“Mav-”

“Shh, it’s okay. What do you need?”

“Water.”

Maverick nodded, and grabbed the cup of water that was sitting by her bed. He helped her sit up a bit, and held the cup for her to drink from. When she was done, he set the cup back down, and then sat back in his chair. He held her hand for a while, sitting in silence until she spoke up.

“What happened?”

“You uh. . .” Maverick cleared his throat and rested his elbows on his knees, “You had what they called placental abruption. The placenta detached from the wall of your uterus,” Maverick looked up at her, and saw the tears running down her face, “There was nothing they could do.”

“I lost the baby?” She sobbed out.

Maverick didn’t even hesitate as he moved and pulled her in for a tight hug as she let out a loud sob. The two of them stayed like that for probably twenty minutes, letting Y/N cry. Maverick cried too, finally letting the emotion out he had been bottling up. He moved her gently, careful of the staples in her lower abdomen, and let her rest against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N mumbled.

Maverick shook his head, and gently lifted her chin to look at him, “Don’t you dare apologize. You did nothing wrong. You hear me?” Y/N nodded as her chin quivered, “Nothing, honey, you didn’t do anything. It just. . . wasn’t our time.”

“Why are things so unfair?” She sobbed and Maverick shook his head and shrugged, pulling her back into his chest. He held her while she cried herself to sleep, whispering sweet things into her ear.

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missathlete31 · 7 months

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Dead on Your Feet Chapter 12

As the winner of my WIP poll, Dead on Your Feet gets a full chapter. I don't think I can ever apologize enough for the delay in getting this written. I know that nothing I write can ever be worth that long of waiting BUT i do hope you all like this next chapter.

Chapter Summary: Maverick gets into the helicopter and finds chaos. They may have been rescued from the water but the boys aren’t safe yet

Link for my masterlist for the other parts: Here

Also warnings: MEDICAL SCENES, BLOOD, SURGERY, AND LOTS OF ANGST so be warned

The ascent towards the helicopter is meant to be the end of this whole nightmare for Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell. His missing pilots have been found; have already risen to the sanctity of the bird hovering in the night sky. Now it is only left to him to be pulled to safety before they can all head home: Maverick yanked from the darkest depths behind a Bradshaw in an eerily familiar fashion. This time however, Pete leaves the cold ocean waves ready to feel victorious, to feel as though he finally has succeeded and achieved the ultimate miracle of the day, getting everyone home alive.

But once more he is struck down.

The second Maverick hauls himself into the rescue helicopter, he knows something is wrong. First and foremost, he is in charge of getting himself inside the aircraft. It's been a few decades since he was last fished from water but even Pete knows that someone is meant to be manning the rope's ascension, a beacon of hope with a strong and steady hand to pull the water logged victims into this airborne shelter. The Captain is on his own here though, no one else stands at the door of the bird, so the older than regulation pilot is forced to stumble on his hands and knees until he is safely inside. A temper burns within him, the need to understand why something else on this day of days is not going as planned. When Maverick looks up at the other occupants of this helicopter to state his indignation though, all he recognizes when his eyes finally focus is chaos.

Gone is the hushed silence from outside, the singular focus on being found and staying alive. It is replaced with a roar of pained sounds and the panic-stricken energy of multiple bodies crammed into a tight space fighting for purchase. Pete’s eyes naturally train on Rooster first, his gaze widening as he sees a young man pulling his Lieutenant back with a harsh grip. Mav moves to intervene, to scream over the hysterical bellowing issuing from Bradshaw’s mouth, and ask what the hell is going on, but before he can even take a step forward, Pete gets a clear view of Jake Seresin on the floor of the aircraft, spread eagle and unmoving, as a middle aged Hispanic man pounds heavily on the blonde’s sternum.

Maverick knows logically that the man above Seresin is some sort of doctor, he can tell just from the uniform alone. However doctor or not, the sight of this man pumping harshly on Jake’s chest makes the older pilot need to look away in fear he might intercede. A protectiveness rises within Pete, unwavering in its ferocity at the unnatural sight before him; a bruised and bloody Hangman being pounded into the floor as a means of saving his life.

Because Seresin isn't breathing.

The grimace from the rescue diver makes a lot more sense now.

Bradley's screams still ring out in the air around them, each one more and more blood curdling. He is being restrained by someone similar in size to the 6 foot Bradshaw and yet Rooster continues to hurl his exhausted and drenched body towards his wingman relentlessly. He roars over all the other noise around them, his temper on full display. It's been over a decade since Maverick has seen it in all its fury but he remembers how the younger Bradshaw could wield his anger like the deadliest sword. His visceral emotions striking like perfect daggers each and every time. Pete knows he needs to control it, to distract Rooster so that the man holding him back can get the rescue swimmer back up and they can make their way back to the ship, but the older pilot is shocked still; his senses all but burnt out at the overwhelming assault of the environment around him.

"Captain" a voice snaps, and Pete turns to see the doctor, the name Sosa stitched onto his chest, still pumping furiously. Maverick can make out the beginnings of a bruise reddening the other man's cheek, the sickening thought that the blow to the face was most likely caused by Bradley's fist before the aviator was properly subdued. "Captain" the man speaks up again, "I need you to control your pilot."

"I-" Maverick gapes helplessly, as though he is being asked to do the impossible; and maybe he is. There might have been a time when he could calm Bradley Bradshaw down with a quick word or a tight hug, when he would snuggle with the little boy who was scared of thunder, or lecture the kid who rode his bike too far down the street. That kid doesn't exist anymore, or perhaps the Maverick that could do all those things is really the one who's gone; either way Pete Mitchell is as helpless to the lashes of Bradley Bradshaw's ire as anyone else.

Pete is not allowed to stay stationary for long though, as once more the voice calls for him to focus. "Captain" the tone is desperate, exhausted, as still Doctor Sosa thrusts his hands powerfully down on Hangman's chest cavity in an effort to bring life back into the kid's heart. "Your Lieutenant's heart is not beating," Sosa explains with a tinge of aggression, "and he's getting no oxygen. Do you understand what that means?" The man spares a quick second to make eye contact with Maverick, his pupils blown in his exertion, "that means if I stop compressions, if I tire, or if we don't get back to the ship soon, he's dead, alright?" The doctor looks back down at the body in hands, the life he is trying to hold onto in his grasp, "he'd have been dead already if he wasn't hypothermic from the temperature of the water" he shares, hushed but still forceful, while a shiver rocks the Hispanic man's frame; as though the core temperature of Lieutenant Seresin has seeped into the doctor’s own bones. "So now please," a firmness laces his words, a command coming from a man who knows how this story is going to end unless something changes soon, "control your pilot or else there was no point in fishing this man out of the sea."

If Pete thinks the water outside was cold, it's nothing compared to the chill that freezes Maverick's blood as he takes in the medical professional's words. He knows CPR is being performed, he knows what that means but to have the terms of Jake's condition spelled out so blatantly, so transparent, it catches Pete off guard. He snaps his eyes over to his godson and shuffles towards him, his body feeling leaden, but determined.

"B-Bradley” Pete raises his hands in a nonthreatening matter but the minute he is close enough, the younger man is launching towards his captain, no doubt looking for an ally in his struggle. With a tight grip, Rooster yanks at the sodden straps of Mav’s flight suit, holding them with the same desperation that oozes from his tenor, “Mav-" he begs, the sound startling in its agony, "you have to- you have to stop him, he’s killing him!”

"Brad-"

"Please" Rooster's pupils are blown dark, scared in a way Maverick hasn't seen since the night Carole Bradshaw had passed and Bradley had clung to his godfather as he cried at the thought that the only parent he had left would leave him too. Pete had felt like someone punched him in the gut that night 18 years ago and he fares no better here. "Bradley it's okay" the older man swallows back the acidic taste of his uncertainty, for all he knows these precious seconds have already expired Seresin's chance of survival. "The doctor- he-he's helping okay?"

"NO!" the moment Rooster realizes his CO isn’t on his side, he starts to fight Mav’s hold as well. He pushes forward, furious in his attempt to get to the doctor still working on his wingman, injured leg be damned, fatigue forgotten. He fights with the frantic and uncoordinated moves of someone under the influence of drugs and Maverick can only assume that a head injury is the culprit of this level of confusion and rage. He can recognize enough of a bump on Bradshaw's head; a dazed cloudiness of mental incognizance meaning the pilot isn't all there right now. It makes Pete try to hold on tighter, willing the man in his grasp, who still feels like a young boy in his memories, to calm down and see that the fight with a tangible enemy is over now. The only battle left is for the man currently on the floor, his chest being pumped in a rhythm that's meant to scare death itself away.

The other man in the helicopter, Jones, his uniform declares, moves back into Maverick's field of vision, a syringe in his hand of an unknown concoction. Somewhere in the rational part of his mind Pete knows that this must be some kind of a sedative, that a subdued Bradley is ultimately the goal here, but the Captain can't even fathom allowing anything to stick Rooster's skin.

He only just got the kid back into his life, he'd be damned if anyone causes him anymore pain.

Jones still strides forward though, and before he can even raise the shot higher, Maverick is moving in, sliding between the two men and taking his godson's arms and vehemently trying to keep them pinned to the side. "I got him" he informs the rescue operative, repeating the phrase when the man looks unconvinced about stepping back. "I got him, now go do your job."

Pete pushes Rooster back towards the rear of the bird while Jones gives one last unsure look before he shuffles back over to the harness at the door instead. Within seconds the rope is being lowered once more, the last edict to be started before they can leave this hellish nightmare.

"Mav" Bradley's voice grating breathlessly snaps the older man's attention back to his charge, watching in baffled awe as despite all his pain and exhaustion, the kid still fights to get out of his Captain's grip with all the energy he can muster. "You don't- you don't get it-" Rooster's eyes widen almost impossibly large, imploring his Captain to understand, "his ribs- he can't- Jake's going to die!"

"Bradley-"

"His ribs were fractured!" the younger man explains wildly, the wet curls on his head bouncing with his emotions as still he fights to surge forward, "He told me, he was coughing blood! If he keeps pounding on them, he's going to kill him!"

"I'm not the one killing him here, you are!" the Hispanic doctor looks at the edge of his patience, barely taking his eyes off Seresin's chest as he continues his motions. In Maverick's arms, he can feel Bradley deflate, the constant push against his hold finally lessening. "W-What?" the kid blubbers stumbling backwards as though the other man's accusation hit him like physical blows.

Doctor Sosa's expression softens though his intensity in his CPR stays strong, "he needs more help than I can give him in this bird, you need to let us work." On the side of the helicopter Jones starts to lean over, no doubt helping the rescue swimmer up the last few feet. Sosa motions their way, "he could use a hand pulling him up. We get him in; we go back to the boat. That is what will help your wingman here okay? That’s his best shot at actually getting home alive at this point.”

Pete spares a glance at Rooster but the man is like a marionette with its strings cut as he leans against the back wall of the aircraft. Taking a risk, Maverick releases the hold on his Lieutenant, pleased when Bradley doesn't make a beeline for the Doctor and Seresin, but instead lowers down to the floor in an almost fetal position. Now free, Captain Mitchell hurries over to the edge of the door and offers his own hand to pull the last man up. Between him and Jones, the motion is fluid and quick, the swimmer inside and unstrapped within seconds.

For a moment Maverick stands suspended, in the center of complete and utter turmoil but without a sense of where to go or what to do. His entire life Pete had prided himself on his ingenuity and ability to think on his feet, to walk (or fly) into a situation and read it and act accordingly, but right here, right now, he feels a sense of helplessness that burns like fire. He stutters steps towards Hangman, drawn to the severity of the kid's predicament, but his movements are aborted from the sickening snap of what must be a rib bone and an exhausted huff from the Doctor.

"Wilkes!" the Hispanic man calls and suddenly the rescue swimmer is pushing past Pete to kneel on the other side of Seresin's prone form, the ocean water still dripping from his youthful face. "I'm here-" the man announces, discarding his helmet and life vest to give himself more room. “He was bradycardic in the water-“

“And his heart stopped completely once he got up here and I tried to take a look at his chest.” Sosa lays himself almost completely on top of Hangman’s body, his ear pressed against the prone man’s right pec, “Get the paddles.”

“I’m still wet-“ Wilkes argues halfheartedly, though still reaching for the equipment.

The Doctor sits up with a nod, “I know, just help me get them on him, I’ll pulse it.”

As the two work seamlessly, Pete can’t help but watch in a sort of mesmerized fog. The commanding officer in him wants to take charge, to demand answers on his pilot’s condition, to inquire on the success rates on these two men’s endeavors but the fearfulness of the harsh truths of this situation leaves him frozen and still. Behind Maverick, he can hear Jones approaching Bradley once more, and that finally snaps Pete out of it, spinning himself on his heels in a panic that Rooster might be in danger of sedation again. Instead, Jones is walking forward with a blanket and trying to cautiously wrap it around the drenched pilot. It is then that Pete notices how bad Bradley is shaking; no doubt the shivers being disguised by his angry tirade from before.

Maverick can’t help Hangman, if anything he will probably only get in the way, but he can help Bradley. The older man moves that way, helping guide the blanket the rest of the way over the sitting pilot, and throwing his arm around the man for good measure. “Bradley?” he questions, hoping to get some sort of reaction from the kid beside him.

Rooster’s eyes are forward, watching and trembling as Doctor Sosa announces the charging of the paddles and brings them down to Hangman’s chest. As Seresin’s body jumps, so does Bradshaw, the two men connected so completely after their harrowing experience. Despite the shock to his heart there is no change to Jake’s position and Pete feels a weight on his own chest at the implications. He suddenly wonders if Bradley is about to watch his wingman die, like he did with Goose 30 years ago.

“Charging 200,” Sosa lowers the paddles again, Rooster shaking in time with the impact on Jake. This time there is a beeping noise on the monitor before the doctor all but throws the medical devices away. “I got him back!” the man hollers, the relief evident in not only his tone but his posture. The reprieve is short lived though as a horrible retching sound fumbles from Jake’s slackened mouth and a torrent of red tinged liquid bubbles for his lips. “Shit!” the doctor curses, reaching over to flip Seresin onto his side. “Help me turn him, he's going to choke otherwise."

Wilkes assists immediately, the two men able to shift the injured pilot so the water flows down the side of Hangman’s right cheek and into a the puddle of ocean water laying stagnant on the aircraft’s flooring. The image of the blood looks something from a horror movie, Seresin’s movie star good looks tarnished by this stain of the precious liquid. When it finally stops pouring, the blonde is shifted back down again, Doctor Sosa’s stethoscope pressing along key points on his body. “Respirations are weak and breathy, he’s not getting enough oxygen” the medical jargon continues, though Sosa seems to be speaking mainly to himself rather than the audience. “He’s got a traumatic pneumothroax in the left ventricle, collapsed lung, I’m going to need to re-inflate.” Finally he looks over to his partner, “Chest tube and bag, now.”

“Sir” Wilkes acknowledges yanking for the medical bag and riffling through quickly. As he prepares that Sosa looks over to the other three occupants in the back of the helicopter, “His lung’s punctured” the doctor shares, moving to Hangman’s side and ripping the tattered remains of his flight suit away easily. Seresin’s normally tanned skin looks anything but, the flesh stretched taunt over his muscles with various shades of purple and blue bruising, scrapes and lacerations rippled down the exposed skin. A prickle itches at Pete’s eyes, the creation of watery tears beginning at the sight of abuse his pilot sustained. He chose Jake for this mission all those hours ago, put him in the position to sustain these injuries, put him at risk to succumb to them. Guilt churns in Maverick’s stomach and nausea threatens. The older man closes his eyes but still he sees that bruised torso haunting him.

Someone clears their throat and Pete looks up to see the Doctor trying to catch his eye. “You might-“ he hesitates, the first sign of uncertainty this qualified man has shown yet, “you shouldn’t watch this part” he finally warns before he turns back to his patient and reaches for his scalpel.

It’s sound advice but Pete is already sure he is going to ignore it. He owes it to Hangman, to Jake, to watch his back all the way through. It is Maverick’s penance for his actions on this mission, for not convincing Cyclone to send him instead, for sending these kids on a suicide mission and then leaving two of them behind.

But Mav’s penance isn’t Bradley’s and god knows the shaking and unfocused staring coming from the last living Bradshaw is freaking the Captain out enough. He shifts Rooster to turn away, jarring the Lieutenant’s injured leg enough that the kid manages to snap out of his daze and wince. “Hey Rooster” Pete speaks softly when the brunette’s eyes roam his surroundings. “Come on kid, let’s get you comfortable.”

“Jake-“ the pilot whispers, his fight gone as he allows Maverick and Jones too, to shuffle him in a half circle so his back is to the make-shift operating room occurring in the middle of their helicopter. Pete takes a gentle hand and swipes some of Bradley’s curls from his face, frowning at the few second hesitation it takes Rooster’s eyes to follow the movement. The younger pilot says nothing more, just stays huddle in the blanket facing the black paneling of metal and machinery. Pete keeps one hand on Rooster’s wrist, feeling the kid’s pulse as he turns back in time to see the scalpel in Doctor Sosa’s hand shine against the artificial light in the helicopter’s middle chamber. The Hispanic man takes one steadying breath before he leans down towards Jake’s left side and slices horizontally across the side of his chest. The incision isn’t exactly big but the minute the skin is cut, blood pours. It seems like an extraordinary amount but both Sosa and Wilkes seem composed, more composed than Maverick himself is feeling, so the older pilot resolves to stay quiet and stay watching. As the puddle under Hangman continues to grow, Pete feels lightheaded, convinced that the man is losing too much of the life saving liquid.

Doctor Sosa’s gloved hand reaches inside the slit and he looks to rummage around, causing more blood to squelch out. When he removes his hand, they are covered but despite the slick he is able to grasp the tube handed to him cleanly and throw his hand back inside with the equipment. Pete knows he is about a second from tossing his stomach contents yet again today but he manages to hold on, watching with as little senses as possible as the tube is fed out from the wound on Jake’s side and connected to a bag. Immediately the clear plastic starts to fill, a bubbling of more blood filling the contents rapidly. The medical staff exchanges looks and Maverick knows this isn’t good.

“Call the ship” Sosa orders loudly and it takes Pete a ridiculous amount of time to realize that the Doctor is calling out to the pilots of the helicopter. If Mav is honest with himself the adrenaline and drama of the past few minutes has made him forget that there were people on this bird besides the six men currently in various conditions of disarray in the middle of this aircraft. He forgot that there were people flying them home but now he sees as a man with a radio mic running from his ear to his mouth turns and sticks his head through the narrow console between the front and back of the bird. “Got command on the line” he informs them.

“Tell medical to stock up on blood. He’s going to need a transfusion immediately.”

“Copy” the co pilot turns, no doubt to relay the message, before he snaps back in their direction, “what type?” he questions.

Sosa reaches for the dog tags hanging limp around Seresin’s neck. His blood soaked hands make his grip challenging, leading a spattering of red to grace the indentation of Jake’s adam’s apple and the metal tags themselves. Once the Doctor gets a quick read he lets the necklace fall back down, “O positive” he informs, before moving to his next task.

Beside him, Pete can still feel Bradley shaking and he subconsciously shivers himself. Maverick knows his chill isn’t just from the water, but from what he has just witnessed and he knows that is true for Bradley too. He releases the kid’s arm, moving to bring him closer to the side when a voice stops him. “I got blue lips over here Doc” Jones is announcing, looking at Bradley as though he was a caged animal but still with care and concern. “He’s not warming fast enough.”

“Saline” the doctor announces suddenly, holding a hand out to the two forward pilots expectantly. Maverick’s not sure what he expects the two helicopter operators to do before they each seem to reach into their flight suits, producing the bags of clear liquid from inside. It’s certainly not a funny situation but the medical professional manages to scoff amusedly at the look of incredulousness on Pete’s face. “I made them stuff themselves before we left Captain” he explains as he hands a bag over to Jones before taking the other and leaning back over Seresin. He connects a line to the pack before attaching the other end to the IV he inserted in Hangman’s arm, “this water is freezing and you’re all borderline hypothermic. Warm saline solution is the safest way to slowly and safely get your temperatures ticking back up while we wait to get back to the carrier. And body heat” he pulls another bag from inside his own arm pit, “is a quick way to keep these bags toasty.”

Pete nods like he understands but really he is so far out of his element all he can do is watch. Turning back to Jones he sees the man reach for Bradley’s free arm, no sedation syringe anymore but instead an IV of Rooster’s own to help bring his body temperature up. The motions spur the younger man into a lazy reaction, shock and exhaustion finally having won out and preventing the injured pilot from offering any resistance. Once the saline bag is connected, Pete watches as both Sosa and Jones apply pressure to the top, squeezing the solution down to get it into the bloodstream of the downed wingmen faster. When Wilkes approaches Pete to begin the process with him, he has half a mind to refuse it, the saline is more precious for the boys than him, but a sharp glance from Doctor Sosa prevents Maverick from arguing.

“Sir” the co pilot turns around again, headset still on, “command wants to know if they should prep another bird for a medical evac to Lemoore-“

“Negative. He’s not making it to Lemoore” the Hispanic man answers back immediately. As though realizing his words he takes a second to look up at his other patients. “I’m sorry” he manages, and he does look it. “But the Lieutenant isn’t stable enough for that length of travel.”

“Is he-“ Pete swallows, but his mind is so numb he almost seems to forget how and starts to choke on his own tongue. Wilkes gives a few habitual pats to his back before Maverick is able to compose himself enough to try to speak again, “Is Seresin- is he going to make it?” the older man finally grits out.

The whole helicopter seems to go silent as they wait for Sosa’s answer, Pete feels like he doesn’t even hear the blades whirling anymore. Finally the Doctor sighs, looking down at his patient with a frown, “we did everything we could” he finally offers, nowhere near good enough to give Pete the peace of mind he craves so desperately. “Let’s just hope the Lieutenant keeps fighting” he shares, face grim and saying more than his words ever could.

There’s a hesitance when they land on deck. A crowd has formed, all the crew watching with baited breath to see if a celebration can finally occur. After they touch down and the engines of the helicopter are turned off and the blades begin to slow, the group comes closer, the anticipation of the final result of this suicide mission on the precipice. The door to the middle of the aircraft is open and every breath is held. One call from Doctor Sosa for more medical support and the plans for cheering are all scrapped. Instead a hushed silence befalls the carrier, the Daggers in the center of it all, waiting for their teammates with clingy tears and chanted prayers. Phoenix and Coyote are front and center, Machado still wearing his gear, no doubt having landed minutes before the helicopter. They each hold the other tightly like they were on the deck of the ship before Maverick took off, though both look more battle worn from the roller-coaster of emotions they been through in the last hour.

Javy’s eyes roam the length of the aircraft, frantic for anything he can see to give him the answers he so desperately need. Phoenix stands on her tippy-toes looking for a familiar mop of brown hair, the smallest of the group but tenacious, physically willing herself taller to get that first glance of her best friend.

A staff of doctors rush forward, bringing a stretcher and laying it on the floor of the helicopter. Wilkes and Sosa transport Hangman onto it immediately before snapping at the two men to get the injured man down to medical asap. They both follow behind the stretcher, sprouting off information and vitals at a rapid pace.

The second he catches a glimpse of his best friend, Javy moves to step forward but he is pushed aside as they take Seresin’s prone body into the bowels of the ship for surgery. Coyote scrunches into himself, sobs shaking his form as he lets out a guttural cry. Payback wraps a hand around the distraught man but even he seems shaken.

Rooster is helped out next, his leg preventing him from walking off himself and another doctor is called. Phoenix’s face turns green at first but the second she sees Bradley awake and mostly aware, she is crying too. Just as Maverick is assisted out of the helicopter he witnesses the woman stepping closer, Bob as dutifully as ever following on her heels. Natasha reaches out a hand for Rooster to grab and gives a watery smile as he finally manages to squeeze the digits back. The two share another look before Natasha is launching herself into Bradley’s arms, squeezing tightly. Despite the height difference Rooster manages to get his head to rest in the crook of the young woman’s neck, sniffling back his own sob as they hold each other for a instant.

Their moment is interrupted by the newest medical personal in their vicinity as they push for Rooster to get a wheelchair and proceed to medical. Nat nods in agreement, as do some of the other daggers who have closed ranks and surrounded their returned teammate but Bradley says nothing, instead just turning around looking for something. As Maverick comes closer, Rooster finally locks eyes on his godfather before looking away just as quick.

The Maverick of a week ago would have stepped away; afraid to overstep, to enrage Bradley or push him further away, but Pete is a changed man. He has lost too much, been hit with the threat of losing everything and he is tired of treading cautiously. He’s tired of being passive and apologetic in every interaction. Instead Maverick embraces his own feelings and wants and tugs impatiently at Bradley’s sodden flight suit until the younger man faces him. There is confusion on Bradshaw’s face but also that same look of fear from the helicopter. Pete makes sure the glassy brown eyes are on him before he speaks. “I’m taking you to medical” he tells the concussed and injured man in front of him, leaving absolutely no room for argument, “let’s go.”

“Mav-“ Bradley mumbles, and Pete prepares for the rejection, the anger, the pushback that has been his life for the past decade and a half when it’s come to Bradley Bradshaw. Miraculously though, in a day of incredibly feats, he gets one more. The curly haired brunette doesn’t push Mav away, instead he reaches for him. “I don’t-“ Rooster pauses, looks down at his leg dejectedly, “I don’t think I can walk” he admits turning back to Mav a little sheepishly.

Pete just shakes his head, feeling the rush of love he has held for this kid, his kid, bubble back to the surface. “That’s alright,” he soothes, shouldering the taller man’s weight despite the height difference. He slowly moves them towards the carrier’s med bay, his arms sturdy when Bradley almost trips and falls. “I got you Bradley" he speaks up, his breath almost hitching with how much those words are now going to be a promise for the rest of his life, "I got ya kid.”

#top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun: maverick #bradley bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #maverick mitchell #dead on your feet #angst #lots of angst #top gun fanfiction #poor hangman #hangman angst

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random-fandom-whump · 2 years

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Whumptober Day 4: Dead On Your Feet ↳ Romeo + Juliet (1996)

#whumptober2022 #no.4 #dead on your feet #romeo + juliet #gifs #he eventually dies #stabbed #cut #gore #blood #fight #slashed #mercutio #harold perrineau #romeo #leonardo decaprio #beaten up #movies #1990s

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geminihurt · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 | Day 04

Dead on your feet | Waking up disoriented

"If we're painting the whole picture, you look like shit"

The Defenders 07 | Matt Murdock - Charlie Cox

#whumptober2022 #no.04 #waking up disoriented #the defenders #gifs #1x07 #matt murdock #charlie cox #waking up #angst #grief #whump #whumpedit #dead on your feet

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of-wounds-and-woes · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 | no. 4: Dead on Your Feet

Hidden Injury | Waking up Disoriented | Can’t Pass Out

From the Turkish series Kırgın Çiçekler episode 29

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

#whumptober #whumptober2022 #no.4 #dead on your feet #Kırgın Çiçekler #episode 29 #gifs

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blaiddraws · 2 years

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Whumptober day 4: Dead on your feet

heh. heheh. literally. she is literally dead on her feet she is Dead but she is refusing to let her body fall apart. but not determined Enough. so she's just. slowly falling apart. more and more. until her inevitable demise. she's a dead woman standing. dead on her feet. etc etc etc undyne neutral death hurts me so so bad

lineart by itself under the readmore

#whumptober2022 #no.4 #dead on your feet #undertale #undyne #undertale neutral route

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luna-jaden-shadow · 2 years

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Dead On Your Feet

Prompts - Hidden Injury | Waking Up Disoriented | Can’t Pass Out

Summary - Something that Ranboo wasn't counting on when he went on a walk was finding someone bleeding out, much less someone that was so similar to him Or In which Ranboo finds a dragon hybrid after they crashed in the snow and takes them home to heal them

Angst / Fluff

Warning - Blood/Gore, Injury,

Pairing - C!Ranboo X Enderdragon!Reader

A/n - Did I write out a whole one-shot and then write a new one for this prompt? Yes. Yes, I did.

-><-

“Stay awake.”

You mumble it to yourself like a prayer, eyes getting harder and harder to stay open in the cold. Your movements are slow, limbs feeling a thousand times heavier in the harsh cold of the tundra you're passing through. Every now and then, your wings give out, dropping you a bit before you catch the wind again. You're deathly pale from the cold, and a large cut rests on your back along your spine, still bleeding as you fly. Your head pounds from the injury on your head, blood covering the side of your face, staining half of your vision in a layer of red.

“Just a little further.” You promise yourself though you're still unsure of where you're going. The terrain you're flying over is unfamiliar to you; all you know is that you're going west, following where the sun is slowly beginning to fall towards the horizon line. “Just a little-” Your voice fails with your wings as you plummet from the sky, unable to catch the wind like before. Seeing that you weren’t going to be able to catch the wind or flap enough to fly, you wrap your wings around yourself and tuck your head down. A yelp leaves you as you crash into a forest area in the tundra, snow-covered branches only slowing your crash landing. You land in the snow with a groan, sliding a bit from where you hit before you came to a full stop.

You uncurl your wings from around yourself; you lay in the snow and let out short huffs of air. A long moment passes before you try to at least sit up, your muscles ache for you to stop, and your body craves sleep. You're only able to push yourself up only an arm's length from the ground. Panting, you wince at the pain in your back as you move.

Somewhere in the snowy forest, there’s a crunch in the snow, footsteps drawing closer to you as you shiver and bleed out in the cold. A figure appears, moving behind the trees as your arms give out, making you lay on the snowy ground once more, the side of your face against the snow. The figure slowly approaches you, breaking the small tree line till they’re just a few feet away from you. Tired eyes look up at them, catching the vibrant eyes that stare down at you in curiosity.

With very little energy, you try to shift back in the snow, only to groan in pain and give up on what you believe would be your second death. As your vision blurs, the figure walks closer and kneels down, unclasping the cloak from their shoulders and wrapping it around you, gently pulling your wings to your body to move them under the cloak. “I got you.” His voice is calming, almost soothing to you, as he moves you to be able to be picked up. “This is gonna hurt.” He picks you up, holding you close to his chest in an attempt to keep you warm.

You groan at the movement, your head against his shoulder. He starts walking instantly off in some direction. At some point during the walk, you finally pass out from exhaustion, becoming limp in the stranger’s arms.

. . .

The bright light of day burns through the window, laying a strip of light across your eyes. Your eyes screw tighter as you stir from your sleep, groaning as you turn your head to try and hide from the daylight. Slowly, you open your eyes and are met with an unfamiliar room and bandages all over your body. Purple eyes move around the room and find no one other than you in the room. Shifting, you slowly push yourself up on the bed, groaning at the pain in your back. you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. Reaching your hand to your head, you feel the bandages wrapped around your head and groan at the pulsing that hits you at the acknowledgment of the wound.

Relieved, you drop your hand before slowly pushing yourself off of the bed, and the second you are up straight, you stumble forward, and your knees give out. You hit the wooden floor with a soft thud, your wings shuddering in pain behind you. Somewhere in the house, there’s a different thud and then movement, making you panic as you scoot back on the floor till your back presses against the bed, making you hiss.

The footsteps approach the room, and the door opens to show the person from before she had blacked out, only now she can see them clearly. They stand tall, with black and white hair that matches their skin and barely reaches their jawline. It was clear that they were a hybrid by just about everything about them. There's a certain pull about them that reminds you of home. You two are in a stand-off for a long moment, neither trying to move in any way. Both hybrids are unsure of where to go from here, both very unsure of what the other is capable of.

“You should be in bed.” He voices, watching you shift uncomfortably. You don't say anything, trying to figure out if you should trust him or not. “You were on your last legs when I found you; if I was gonna-ya know-I would have out there.” He insists, hoping that would aid in your internal dilemma. He steps forward cautiously, holding his hand out to you; there’s a gold band on his pinky finger as well as one with some kind of green gem in it on his middle finger. You stare at his hand for a moment before taking it and letting him help you stand up and then sit on the bed. “Is it okay if I change your bandages?”

You hesitate before nodding, watching him with cautious eyes as he moves around the room before he pulls up a chair beside the bed. Gently, he takes your right arm and undoes the bandages to show off all the little cuts that have since healed and no longer need to be dressed before doing the same to the other.

“Can I ask what your name is?” His voice is soft as he gently cleans a large cut on the back of your hand. The washcloth he uses is dipped into a healing brew before being applied, aiding in the healing process of your wounds.

You let out a hiss as he cleans and dresses the cut. “Y/n.” Your voice is quiet and cracks a bit, leading him to offer you the glass of water from the bedside table, you down half of it before setting it aside again.

The man hums, suddenly standing up from the chair. You flinch at his movement, backing up on the bed as though he is going to do something to you. Your wings flare up despite the pain it causes you; you can't help it it's your body’s attempt at making yourself look bigger in the face of danger. He pauses all movements, staring at you and your barely stretched-out wings. “It’s alright.” He promises his hands up with his palms facing you.

“Sorry.” You mumble, fiddling with your hands as he unwraps the bandage from around your head.

“It’s alright.” He insists, looking at the cut on your head. “Do you remember what happened?” One hand pushes back your hair while the other cleans the cut that follows along your hairline. He’s cautious of accidentally bumping the dark horns on your head, the right one of which is broken, the faint cracks that travel down to the base faintly puls a purple color that matches your eyes. “You have quite the cut here, so I wanna make sure you don’t have brain damage.”

What happened to you comes to you in flashes, moments of chains, and pillager laughter. A ripping pain from your head and the burning cut down your back makes you shiver. You get lost in the broken memories of your time wherever you were, zoned out as the man wraps your head. As soon as his touch leaves you, you focus back on him and give him a small nod.

“That’s good.” He notes. “I’m gonna change the one on your back, okay?” You look at him for a moment before nodding. “Just turn a bit for me?” You shift on the bed, turning your back to him. He cuts the bandages away, and you wrap your arms around her chest. “Sorry about the whole missing shirt thing; I had to remove it to get to the cut.”

“It’s okay…”

Mismatch eyes glance at you, “Ranboo.”

You hum, flinching from his touch when he probes the cut along your spine. He mumbles out another apology as his touch changes to be gentle after that, cleaning the wound carefully to not hurt you too much. “Thank you.”

He covers the healing wound, and with your help, he wraps your back and chest, maneuvering around the bases of your wings. “Don’t mention it, couldn’t just leave you to freeze in the snow.” He replies, starting to put away the healing supplies as you turn in the bed. “Are you hungry?” You look up as he turns fully to look at you.

You give a small nod, your attention now drawn to the window. Outside of the building, it snows, a drastic change from when you had woken up. Ranboo takes a moment, observing you and the faraway look in your eyes as you stare at the snowfall. For the moment, you're a person of few words he’s concluded, of course, that could be due to shock or whatever trauma you've gone through before he’d found you. Regardless of what happened, he was prepared to help you through it.

#dsmp #dsmp ranboo #c!ranboo #ranboo #enderman hybrid #reader insert #x reader #playtonic #hurt comfort #injury #mention of death #mention of freezing #ender dragon #hybrid!reader #whumptober2022 #no.4 #dead on your feet #can't pass out #waking up dissoriented

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 2 years

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Whumptober #4: Dead On Your Feet

Option: Waking Up Disorientated

Your character awakes, delusional and fever-ridden. They’re trying to escape from the bed: unaware of the people behind the hands that keep them down.

“Please.” They beg, “No more, no more - please!”

Bonus points if this comes from a stoic character.

#whump #delusional #disorientated #fear #angst #whumptober2022 #whumptober #dead on your feet #waking up disorientated #trying to escape #fevers #no.4

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bumblingdragon · 2 years

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Whumptober - day 4 - Dead on Your Feet

Terin didn't tell anyone when the phantom limb pain started happening, he wasn't sure how to explain it and it was always in the middle of the night when the rest of the guild was asleep. So he ignored it... hoping it would go away.

but after four sleepless, pain-filled nights, his body finally gave out on him, passing out in the guild kitchen.

Shea gave him a stern "I am your doctor! you have to tell me when things feel wrong!" talking to.

#whumptober2022 #no.4 #dead on your feet #OC #art #fainting #digital art #my ocs #Terin #comic #my art

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lbibliophile-sw · 2 years

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31 Days of Jedi Lies

... No, you are NOT 'fine'

For Whumptober 2022 Inspired by Memo: Jedi Maintenance (The Care and Feeding of Your Jetii)

Day 1: Adverse effects

My Jedi said “I am fine” While picking at their plate And I know stress ruins their appetite But it’s been too long since they last ate

Day 2: Cornered

My Jedi said “I am fine” With a reassuring smile But I saw how their body refused to relax Eyes tracking exits all the while

Day 3 (alt 11): Impaled/Stabbed

My Jedi said “I am fine” That they were “only lightly stabbed” I didn’t even try to ask Just shoved at them the medic I’d grabbed

Day 4: Dead on your feet

My Jedi said “I am fine” Though we could plainly see They hadn’t eaten in at least a day Or slept in the last three

to be continuted...

#whumptober2022 #no.1 #no.2 #no.3 #altprompt #no.4 #adverse effects #cornered #impaled #stabbed #dead on your feet #star wars #clone wars #poem #jedi #bingo fill

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whump-collector · 2 years

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Joe Gilgun as Proinsias Cassidy in Preacher 2x07

For whumptober2022 No. 4 Dead on Your Feet

He was dead now he's on his feet again. Also he's a vampire so technically, he's always dead on his feet.

#whumptober2022 #no.4 #dead on your feet #preacher #gif #unconscious #proinsias cassidy #joe gilgun #whumpedit #mine #preacher 2x07

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missathlete31 · 9 months

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Dead on Your Feet Chapter 12- Sneak Peak

It's no secret that I haven't been able to write anything new in months. My mind keeps coming up with ideas but then I try to execute them and it's just painful to reread. I've gotten more inspired lately, especially thanks to some of the amazing people on here who have been so encouraging (looking at you @seresimp!!!!) and I broke through some mental barriers to produce this first part of Chapter 12. Hoping for some feedback to fuel me through!! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story for your patience! I hope this sounds a little like the writer I used to be.

Masterlist for anyone that needs to refresh their memories because it's been like six months since I last posted

The ascent towards the helicopter is meant to be the end of this whole nightmare for Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell. His pilots have been found, have already risen to the sanctity of the bird hovering in the sky and now it is only left to him to be pulled to safety before they can all head home. Pete leaves the cold ocean waves ready to feel victorious, to feel as though he finally has succeeded and achieved the final miracle of the day, getting everyone home alive.

But once more he is struck down.

The second Maverick hauls himself into the rescue helicopter, all he recognizes is chaos. Gone is the hushed silence from outside, replaced with the panic-stricken energy of multiple bodies crammed into a tight space and fighting for purchase. Pete’s eyes naturally train on Rooster first, his gaze widening as he sees a young man pulling his Lieutenant back with a harsh grip. Mav moves to intervene, to scream over the hysterical bellowing issuing from Bradshaw’s mouth, and ask what the hell is going on, but before he can Pete gets a clear view of Jake Seresin on the floor of the aircraft, spread eagle and unmoving, as a middle aged Hispanic man pounds heavily on the blonde’s sternum.

Because Seresin isn’t breathing.

The grimace from the rescue diver makes a lot more sense now.

Bradley's screams still ring out in the air around them, each one more and more blood curdling. He is being restrained by someone similar in size to the 6 foot Bradshaw and yet Rooster continues to hurl his exhausted and water logged body towards his wingman relentlessly. He roars over all the other noise around them, his temper on full display. It's been over a decade since Maverick has seen it in all its fury but he remembers how the younger Bradshaw can wield his anger like the deadliest sword. His visceral emotions striking like perfect daggers each and every time. Pete knows he needs to control it, to distract Rooster so that the man holding him back can get the rescue swimmer back up and they can make their way back to the ship, but the older pilot is shocked still; his senses all but burnt out at the overwhelming assault of the environment around him.

"Captain" a voice snaps, and Pete turns to see the doctor, the name Sosa stitched onto his chest, still pumping furiously. Maverick can make out the beginnings of a bruise reddening the other man's cheek, no doubt caused from a blow to the face by Bradley's fist before the aviator was properly subdued. "Captain" the man speaks up again, "I need you to control your pilot."

"Captain" the tone is desperate, exhausted, as still Doctor Sosa thrusts his hands powerfully down on Hangman's chest cavity in an effort to bring life back into the kid's heart. "We need to get that diver up now” he explains, “this Lieutenant needs more help than I can give in this bird, we have to get back to the ship. Now please-" a firmness laces his words, a command coming from a man who knows how this story is going to end unless something changes soon, "control your man."

#top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #top gun #top gun hangman #bradley rooster bradshaw #top gun: maverick #dagger squad #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #dead on your feet #trying to write again #its hard #and scary #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin whump #thank you all

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painful-pooch · 2 years

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Silent Pain - An Oscar Tale

Whumptober 2022 (@whumptober)

NO. 4 - DEAD ON YOUR FEET

Hidden Injury | Waking Up Disoriented | Can't Pass Out

NEXT: A BISHOP'S AGONY

Taglist: @straight-to-the-pain, @whumper-in-training, @ocean-blue-whump, @for-the-love-of-angst, @thethistlegirl, @whumperofworlds, @poc-whump, and @hopepetal

CW: military whump, hidden injury, stab wound, blood, can't pass out, insomnia, autistic whumpee, slight ableism, panic attack, and death (not major character)

To all the haters that have pestered me before about Oscar: fuck you and enjoy reading me whumping him

PRE-MISSION BRIEFING DATE - 17MAR20XX TIME - 1057

Oscar is sitting at the conference table in an undisclosed location, watching the pre-mission briefing General Alfonso Kane, who is standing in front of the projector board and pointing out the mission objectives, has set up. He doesn't like him much, but Kane is technically his boss' boss, so he can't do anything about it, though something is rubbing him in the wrong way. It probably stems from how upset General Kane always looks. The second Kane makes eye contact with him, Oscar breaks it and stares down at his notes, trying to scrawl in what is needed while also doodling a 3D chessboard with the pieces on them.

"Mr. Cortez? Is there something you would like to add or give your insight on?" Kane's voice echoes in the room, and Oscar feels sick to his stomach.

Why me? I don't want to talk to you, but I have to anyways. Right… words. I can do this. Do I have to stand up?

Oscar clears his throat and sets down his pencil, his eyes rising slowly, ignoring the gazes of the others at the table and focusing on the screen. There is a map and it shows the route that needs to be taken in order to retrieve the intel, but he can also see where all the reinforcements could be deployed and he purses his lips. "W-Well, from what I can-"

"Speak louder, Mr. Cortez. You are mumbling again, and you know that's annoying in a brief. Also, stand up," Kane commands with a beckoning of his hand.

I was speaking fine… I don't want to stand up. I am fine in my chair. Okay, Oscar… you are a Bishop, and Kane is a… really sucky Rook. Take over the chess board. Simple. Yep. Maybe? Oh no, why do I want to cry? Wait, it's because I am here, standing in front of so many people.

Placing his hands on the table, Oscar pushes himself back a tad and stands up straight, not knowing what to do with his hands, so he keeps them at his sides. "Sorry, Sir. We are dealing with a heavily-coded and important piece of technology that's connected to a server room unlike what we have seen with unorganized insurgents." He looks down at his notes and shyly points at the screen. "You can see from where the tech room is, it's heavily guarded and there are points all over the building where insurgents can storm it and sanitize, or otherwise destroy, crucial intel." He licks his lips and swallows, catching the sight of Bruno and Valdemar putting their thumbs up and Khrystyna making a small little heart with her hands. It makes him smile and rub the back of his neck.

I kind of like it when they see me as a good member of the team. I can be good. I'm useful and stuff. They always get to do the cool stuff, but I like my office. I get to do work and get to play a new game of Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones. I still think the 3DS download for it was super cool.

Oscar snaps out of it when Kane is humming and staring at the map. "Well, you are right, Mr. Cortez. That settles it: you are getting geared up too. You will enter the facility along with the task force, listen to Captain Stenberg's commands, and make sure you get all the intel you can for us. I need someone I trust to collect as much as they can safely, and you are the most qualified man for this. Son, don't look surprised about this. Can you do this or do we need to find someone new?"

I'm… going to be a field operative?

Oscar has never thought that he would one day be recommended to be on a field team, an operative that is in the center of all the action. But that is exactly what is happening and he glances over at Bruno with wide eyes, watching as the large officer stands up.

"Sir, with all due respect, Mr. Cortez here hasn't been rated in marksmanship since his days in the service."

"Captain Stenberg, are you suggesting that a viable member of this task force sit out on a mission that requires his exact skillset?"

"I am suggesting that this mission would be dangerous to his-"

Kane slams his fist down on the table, snarling at Bruno, "Don't you dare say this mission is dangerous for him! You pitched this team to me and to General Scholtz. You said this is the best of the best. Are you saying you lied to me, Stenberg? Well, answer me!"

Oscar is filled with terror, sitting down in his chair, wincing from how loud Kane is being but keeping his hands from covering his ears. He doesn't want to be the reason they are fighting and arguing. He isn't even listening to the argument anymore, stimming with his pencil in hand. He wants to feel useful so he breaks his own silence.

"I'll do it… I'll uhm… go into the room and do the mission."

Bruno's head snaps over to stare at Oscar, but he won't look back at him. All while Kane claps his hands in mock pride. "Atta there, son. See, Captain Stenberg? Stop holding back your team and let them flourish in their own careers. He won't even be in danger as long as you do your jobs. I would still take him shooting and get him ready for the mission. You all know what to do. Meeting dismissed."

ONE WEEK LATER. DATE: 24MAR20XX LOCATION: CLASSIFIED

The sound of a gunfight echoes through the halls of the facility, the shouting of people reloading, the sound of screams as the bullets find their bodies. It was all making Oscar uncomfortable as he runs around the server room, trying his best to collect all the data he needed for the mission.

Thoughts of what he's going to do when he gets home, from playing chess to playing the new Fire Emblem game on an emulator, is keeping him grounded while typing furiously into the laptop he has connected to one of the towers. "Just keep typing, just keep typing, ignore the crazy stuff outside, just keep typing."

He has the radio that is sitting on the desk, hearing the communications between Bruno and the others, using them as a way to gauge how safe he is. They aren't in the room with him because there have been waves upon waves of attackers, swarming from all sides of the building. They have to keep Oscar as safe as possible, so they all scramble to their own points, taking out as many threats as they can.

Oscar can feel the sweat pouring down the back of his neck, the stress of the situation slowly getting to him and making him want to cry it out. Instead, he pulls out his pen from his arm pocket, clicking it again and again in a vain attempt to regain some control. He continues this broken record of siphoning all that he can from the servers and computers in the room when he hears on the door open behind him. "Whoever it is, I am almost done here, I swear. I only need ten more minutes, okay?"

"Yeah, you are almost done, alright."

Petrification takes over, Oscar staring at the loading screen for one of the hard drives and how long it would take for the transfer of data to be complete. He doesn't recognize the voice, which only means one thing: someone has managed to slip through the numerous defenses set in place. He turns his head slowly, seeing a bloody man, their arm dripping crimson red from what Oscar can only conclude is a gunshot wound from Kieran's sniper rifle or Bruno's assault rifle. His eyes lock on the knife that is gripped tightly in their hand, which makes Oscar turn fully around, seeing there is about five feet between him and the assailant. "D-don't come any closer," he warns with a shaking voice.

"Or what? You gonna kill me? You're shaking like a scared little bitch. And you are going to die like one!" The man lunges at Oscar, slamming into him and pinning him to a wall.

Oscar feels a punch right to the side, but it takes him a few moments to realize the gravity of the situation when he sees the red blade in the man's hand. His mind goes blank and he doesn't know what happened, but he has a gun in his hand and fires it as much as he can, right in the direction of the man that just stabbed him. Each bang hurts his ears and every second that passes by is more time for the ringing and the crashing waves to grow louder.

He sees the man on the floor and he doesn't notice that he still keeps pulling the trigger until an audible click click click is caught. He slides down the wall, staring at the unmoving man, the growing puddle of blood underneath him making him tremble and cover his ears after dropping the gun. He's rocking back and forth while sobbing loudly, unable to breathe and only able to focus on the smoking gun and the man. He's never killed someone before in person, and he hears the computer ping after a few minutes, signifying his completed task.

He doesn't want to move though, the throbbing pain in his side getting worse and glancing over to see a red splotch soaking his shirt. He can't let the others see that he got hurt or they would get rid of him. He leans his head back, breathing deeply and mumbling a few chess terms and strategies to get him back to square one.

He pushes himself off the wall, gasping and crying out when the radio has a voice come through. "Trigger to Bishop. Hey, Bishop, you good in there? What's your status? Over."

Oscar grabs the radio and tries to ignore the wet slaps of his boots stepping into the spilt blood puddle beside him. "B-bishop to Trigger… J-just a few minutes. Someone came in, but the th-threat was…" He trails off to stare at the man. "Neutralized."

"Copy, Bishop. We need to get to the evac point in five mikes (minutes). Understood?"

"R-roger. I'll be there, Trigger," Oscar murmurs, working on grabbing all of his equipment and putting them in a duffle bag. He turns off the radio and he makes sure he's not crying anymore. He can't let them see him like this. He can be like them too. The throbbing pain grows sharp when he takes his bandana from inside of his bag to place it over his wound, not bothering to look at it either. He then walks over to pick up the dropped gun, holstering it and making his way out of the room that he never wants to be in for the rest of his life.

When he reaches the helicopter and sees the group, he smiles and holds up the duffle bag with pride, loving the praise coming from them. It makes him feel like he's a part of the team for once and he bites the inside of his cheeks to hide the immeasurable amount of pain that is rocking through him.

A short while in the helicopter, Oscar can see that everyone minus the chopper pilot, Sebastian, is asleep. He is thankful none of them pushed to see the soaking blood in his side, his bandana probably heavy with his spilling life.

You can hide it. You can do it. They don't have to know a thing. Yeah… Think about the nice shower back home. Get clean and play fire emblem. Go to the after mission briefing… try and sleep… I can't sleep. I won't be able to.

He stands up and holds his silence, limping to the back of the chopper and pulling out the emergency first aid kit on the wall quietly, taking a peek behind him to see if anyone noticed.

But no one is awake.

He's so happy about that and he goes to take out the bandana that as offered him some reprieve, gritting his teeth and feeling tears fall down his face. He places it to the side for now, planning on discarding it once they have landed. He carefully bandages his wound all on his own, biting his lip so hard that he can taste iron.

Don't let them find out. Come on, you can do it.

When the gruesome task is over, he falls back in his seat with a pained groan, staring out at the beautiful sunset of the jungle before bursting in silent tears. He's thankful he's all the way in the back.

No one can know.

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