#vcmpdctor

continued from here {x}

Jack’s eyes are wide but unseeing, fixed somewhere far beyond the walls of the supply closet as the flashback swallows him whole. His breathing comes in ragged, panicked bursts, one shaking hand clamped hard over the end of his leg while the other scrabbles uselessly against the floor beside him like he’s trying to drag himself forward.

“No, no… move,” he gasps at someone who isn’t there anymore, voice rough and frantic. “Get the tourniquet higher. Higher, goddammit.”

His whole body jerks as another wave of pain tears through him, the memory so real his nervous system can’t separate it from the present. Dirt. Smoke. Blood in his mouth. The sharp metallic ringing still screaming through his skull while he keeps trying to crawl toward the corporal lying motionless in the dust.

“Evans!” The name breaks out of him violently this time. Jack tries to push himself upright again and fails hard enough that his shoulder slams back into the wall. He barely reacts to it. “Somebody check on Evans!”

Then his eyes lock onto Salvatore suddenly, not recognizing him, just seeing another soldier through the haze.

“You have to help him,” Jack begs, voice cracking apart completely now. “Please, he’s still alive, he was talking. He was right behind me.” His grip twists hard into the front of Salvatore’s coat with desperate strength. “I can get to him, just… just help me up.”

Another breath shatters out of him as his hand presses harder against his stump, convinced he’s bleeding out into the dirt beneath him.

“I can still work,” he chokes out frantically. “I’m fine. I’m fine, just go help him.”

And then something breaks. Jack’s gaze flicks downward like he’s seeing it all over again for the first time, the missing foot, the ruined leg, the blood, and the horror that tears across his face is immediate and devastating.

“…no.” The word leaves him small. Disbelieving.

“No, no, no…” His breathing completely collapses after that, panic overtaking every attempt to ground himself as he curls tighter around the injury that isn’t happening anymore.

I know he's still talking. Talking to me. I can tell by the way his mouth moves, the cadence rising and falling, but the words seem out of reach, like trying to grab something floating past in moving water. I get 'stress' and I get 'Oliver,' but by the time I've assembled them into something that means anything, he's already three sentences ahead of me.

I should answer. I know I should. Instead, I'm looking past him.

"I'm sorry."

I say as the question lands complete, my gaze back on the man who reminds me of someone, but I can't quite pinpoint who.

he'd gotten to their home first, another shift down of course. at least this time he knew there was time to relax between now and his next shift. being alone, for now, left him to ponder his thoughts to himself. he didn't want to leave and go out on his own. however, once he caught sight of the slightly ajar drawer by his desk he's hit with a sudden idea. he slowly pulled it open and glanced down at the journal inside. he gently nudged it to front edge of the drawer. his eyes then locked onto the little box he'd hidden there a couple weeks earlier. this had been something he'd been planning for some time, but in truth he hadn't been able to decide on an actual time.

his other hand grabbed the box and gently pulled it out of the drawer. he quickly slid it into his back pocket. now, just do it now. it's the right time, he glanced over at the front door hearing the locks began to move. benedict quickly shut the door and quickly stepped out into their open living room area. he made sure to face the door as he got down on on one knee. his expression turned neutral as he took a few deep breaths to try and quickly calm down.

"Just making sure you are okay, you seem a little... wired today, like you want to crawl out of your skin."

"Wouldn't exactly be doing my job as chief attending if I didn't keep an eye on all my worker bees." He hummed, dropping his inquisitive gaze away from the other.

"I..." She sighed, "That's not helpful." She rubbed the back of her neck, as if that would somehow make it better. It did not.

How was she supposed to approach this with maybe the truthful information? "Okay so let me get this straight... Vampires are real? Like actually a thing... so is garlic actually a nono?"

It felt like a dumb fucking question but she also kinda loved garlic so she didn't want to think about what life with out that particular additive would be like. Why couldn't it be like paprika or something. Chic peas maybe?