Summary: Doc Carrington gets a visit from a certain sunglasses wearing Railroad agent in dire needs of his medical expertise after getting injured in the field. Deacon&Carrington, no slash. Minor whump/hurt. Fallout 4 (No Spoilers)
Note: One-shot, Snippet into what I'd think an interaction between Deacon and Carrington may go like. May be slightly off character. Forgive me for hurting our beloved Deacon...
Carrington was just about to turn in for the night. He had found himself in his research on Gen-3 synths well into the night. He had taken the opportunity once he saw most of the Railroad agents were out of HQ on mission. In fact, he was sure only Desdemona was here however she was in a cot in the back getting some much needed rest.
Sighing he poured himself another glass of whiskey. Usually, he wouldn't partake in spirits but after losing Switchboard he found he needed something, and Calmex wasn't the answer. He bet any other agent would be restless under the dead silence, but he found solace in it.
Carrington found he remembered the days where he had privacy and peace of mind. But he would trade that in a heartbeat for protection. He knew he was safe in the catacombs, at least for the moment.
Finishing his routine inventory he noted he was low on supplies. It hasn't always been this bad, but free agents were sparse and medical supplies ran out quicker than they were filled. He would have to ask Glory to make a run at the local abandoned hospital once she returned.
Checking his watch he noted the time, 3 o'clock in the morning. Finally logging out of his terminal he began to put away his notes. That's when he heard footsteps.
Carrington stiffened, going close to the wall so he had cover and a good view of the side entrance. He hadn't survived as long as he had without a healthy paranoia.
Finally, he saw a familiar set of sunglasses and let his guard down. He was about to go back to his notes when he noticed Deacon's shirt, it was awfully red.
"Doc", he sputtered holding an anguished grin, "A little help here?"
Carrington rushed forward as Deacon fell to his knees clutching his side. Any other circumstance he would be rolling his eyes and shoving a Stimpak his way but his usually annoying friend was paler than a whithered feral. Enough to make Carrington nervous.
Threading his arm around his back he heaved Deacon up ignoring the strangled cry the movement caused.
"You'll be fine", he said more to himself than Deacon, ushering the man forward, "Get on the cot."
Deacon didn't say anything, just leaned heavily on the doctor, his head lolling on his chest. That's when Carrington noticed his ripped jeans, at the knee. There was no wonder he couldn't walk, his left knee was a mess of torn skin and muscle. Cursing he wondered how that could have happened.
Although he tried to be gentle he ended up dropping Deacon onto the cot, to which he just about passed out. Carrington was bloody tired after all and carrying a fully grown man really wasn't on his agenda for that night.
Looking at the agent he was surprised his sunglasses had survived thus far.
"Stay awake", he said firmly lightly slapping the agents face.
Deacon smirked, "Kinky Doc, if I'd known you-
"Shut it", he warned Deacon cutting him off. Although he was surprised he could be joking in a time like this.
"Tell me what happened", Carrington said while he began to throw his sparse supplies onto a medical tray.
He watched as Deacon fought to form words, swallowing deeply. The agent then spoke quietly, "Had a standard mission, follow-up on a lead on some runaway synths."
Carrington nodded allowing him to continue while he pressed a cloth onto the side wound hard trying to staunch the bleeding. Deacon cursed, his hands gripping the sides of the cot.
"That wasn't nice", he remarked.
"I'm not nice, continue please", he said frankly beginning to cut down Deacon's white shirt.
"We had bad info, got into the building. Noticed it was too quiet. But it was too late, got cornered by some Coursers", he said bitterly.
Carrington couldn't hide his surprise, "Coursers? More than one?"
"Two. Tried to fight my way out", he sighed, "You see what happened."
Carrington scoffed, "Lucky you're alive."
"I'm a lucky guy", he smirked, "I got one but ran out of ammo, ended up jumping from the second story window to the street. That's when I busted my knee."
Carrington almost rolled his eyes, why was he even surprised Deacon pulled off a stunt like that. With no Stimpaks for that matter.
He had removed the shirt and had set up an IV station to perform a blood transfusion. But that wouldn't help until the wound was sealed.
"So that's how you lost the Courser. You didn't lead him back here?", he said quickly.
Deacon shook his head, "Hid in a dumpster for like three hours, that did the trick."
Carrington couldn't help but throw down the Stimpak he was about to administer onto the tray, "You hid in a dumpster? Knowing very well you were injured?"
He ignored Deacons reasoning. Instead, he rifled through his supplies. This was worse than he thought, they had run out of antiseptic and if he used a Stimpak now he was sure infection would be imminent. Even if he did flush the wound.
"This is going to hurt", he said tiredly reaching down to his trusty bottle of whiskey, "I'm going to have to clean out the wound, this should cover it."
Deacon tried to move off the cot but was too weak, "I'm good Doc."
Carrington ignored him pressing his spare hand on the agent's shoulder to hold him down while he tipped the bottle over his side, "Focus on breathing."
He poured quickly flinching as Deacon thrashed, his teeth sinking into his lower lip in a desperate cry. It honestly pained Carrington to see him this way but knew the pain now would be better than illness later.
With expertise, he placed the bottle down splashing the wound with purified water before stabbing the two Stimpaks he had prepared into his side.
He placed a gentle hand on Deacon's shoulder, watching as the tension left his body and shakes dispersed. It was amazing to Carrington, every time he saw skin and sinew knit itself together.
Where the wound was, was now smooth skin, flushed red. Satisfied he reached to Deacon's wrist feeling his pulse, surprisingly steady.
"I'm still here Doc", he murmured.
Carrington sighed, how was he still conscious? But he wasn't too concerned at his point, he was out of the woods.
Settling up the transfusion he pressed the needle into the smooth skin of Deacon's arm and began to move to his knee. Taking a medical scissor he cut down the jeans revealing the extent of the wound. It had healed slightly from the administered Stimpaks but that wasn't what concerned him.
Pouring some purified water over his leg he saw the protruding bone of his kneecap. Shattered.
Carrington felt exhaustion hit him as he wondered over to Tinker Toms station grabbing some spare wood and a roll of duct tape. Coming back he positioned the planks parallel Deacon's leg before tightly wrapping the duct tape around his lower and upper leg.
It was the best he could do for a brace at the moment. Grabbing a Stimpak he pressed it into the muscle above the knee watching the skin and muscle come together.
But the bone would take slightly longer to recover. He knew Deacon would not sit still that long.
Finally finished he checked his watch noting it was close to 5 o'clock. He moved to Deacon whose breath had finally settled to a steady rhythm. Carrington was satisfied with his work.
"Deacon", he said quietly, "Would you want some water?"
Deacon nodded, "Have anything stronger? Maybe a smoke?"
Carrington ignored him, instead he pressing the purified water into his outstretched hand.
Deacon took his first sip and started coughing, Carrington was quick to help
him sit up. He took a few more sips before handing it back, "Thanks Doc."
"Now try to get some rest, we really can't afford to lose another agent", he remarked pressing his shoulder so he laid down.
Deacon scoffed, "Almost sounded like you care, Carrington. Get it, caring Carrington?"
Carrington almost chuckled at the remark, either he was more inebriated than he thought or fatigue was fighting its way in. He saw Deacon's smile waver, a yawn fighting through.
"You're on bed rest for the next 24 hours, I expect a full report for Desdemona in the morning", he said clearing his throat.
"Your wish", he yawned, "Is my strong recommendation."
Carrington knew it was a 50/50 shot if Deacon was still going to be in the cot when he woke up. Turning off the monitor of the terminal and surrounding lights he watched as Deacon finally let sleep take over.
Thanking whatever God was still out there in this wretched wasteland he cleaned off his bloodstained hands and fell onto the nearest mattress.
Just as he drifted off to sleep he tried to block out the reality that he'd have to be awake in the next 2 hours. And then he chuckled to himself realizing although Deacon's injuries were indeed real, their resident fantasist probably fabricated how he received such injuries.
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