Summary: An anthology of whump, hurt / comfort stories featuring the Starsky and Hutch bromance. Alternate ending to "Snowstorm," season 1. Stryker captures Starsky and intends to hang him from a meat hook, just like he did with Dobey's partner. Will Hutch find him in time? Friendship, drama, suspense.
Hurt and Comfort in Bay City
PenPatronus
Story #1
You Don't Mess With a Man's Partner
Hutch and Dobey sat in the captain's office with the lights out. Only a narrow, lonely ray of sunlight peeked through the window shades. Both men had their elbows braced against their knees and Hutch had his face in his hands. "Somebody will call," Dobey said for the fifth time in five minutes. He loosened his tie, hesitated, then ripped the whole thing off. "Someone will find Starsky, Hutch. Someone will."
Hutch steepled his fingers and pressed his lips against them. "I was driving in the Torino today… Alone in the Torino, and I got to thinking about what you said about… About your partner. About how they found him…" Hutch couldn't finish the sentence.
"How them found him hanging from a…" Dobey couldn't finish his, either. "I lost my partner, Hutch, but you won't lose yours. Not today." Dobey blinked and said, without making eye contact, "I survived the worst day of my life and you would, too."
Hutch shook his head slowly, like he was stretching his neck. The pale detective took a deep breath and whispered with shallow tears in his blue eyes, "I can't find my partner hanging from a meat hook. I can't. If I lose him, I'm done. I'm done in every way."
"You don't mean that."
"I do. I really do. My badge will be on your desk before his b-body's c-cold." Hutch's breath hitched and he coughed against his fist to hide a sob.
When the phone rang, they both dove and grabbed it at the same time. Dobey surrendered, and Hutch took the call. The police officer on the other end had the sense to say nothing more than an address.
Hutch waded between the meats on hooks like a fish through branches of seaweed. He used his gun to part the way when the corpses hung too close together. A whole squad of police followed behind him on tiptoe. The stink of the meat plant made Hutch's eyes water: blood, sweat, bleach, chemicals, and a hint of fear. Stray body parts of cows and pigs squished beneath his boots.
Voices ahead. Hutch knelt in a pool of muddy blood and peeked. He counted four pairs of shoes, one the familiar blue and white. Those shoes hung from twisted ankles, and those ankles hung from limp legs. A rough voice shouted. One of the other shoes kicked, and the limp legs twitched slightly. Voice number two shouted louder, and Hutch nearly lost his lunch when he saw a trail of blood slide down familiar blue jeans to join the puddles on the floor.
Hutch stood. Wide-eyed men and women in uniform watched him for the signal. With two mute gestures he communicated that they should spread out and follow him, quietly. Two minutes later, when only three cow corpses stood between him and the blue shoes, Hutch shouted "Police! Freeze!" and bolted forward.
Dave Starsky's wrists and hands were tied together with twine. He hung by them from an iron meat hook slathered in blood so thick it dripped down into his curly hair. Above Starsky's left shoulder stood a man holding another hook in the air, intending to swing it down like a machete right into Starsky's neck. The man took a bullet not in the leg, not in the shoulder, but right between the eyes, and the hook scuttled across the floor, harmless. A second man fired his gun at Hutch but hit a cow. A bullet nailed his shoulder and he went down, hard.
The click-crunch of a cocked third weapon. Hutch aimed at the sound, then froze. Stryker himself stood behind Starsky, his terrified, beady eyes peeking out from behind the detective's neck, his own gun against his victim's temple. "Drop it, Hutchinson!" Stryker bellowed. "Drop it and let me go—let me walk out of here a free man and, I swear, I'll leave town and never come back again." When Hutch didn't blink, let alone obey, Stryker pushed the gun harder. "I'll kill him!" Starsky groaned. Hutch's entire chest ached at the sound.
Hutch sensed the slow movement behind Stryker but knew better than to actually look at it. "You listen to me," he said, voice low and dangerous and desperate. "Step away from him now—right now, Stryker—and you can take me." Hutch gradually lowered his gun to the floor. He left it there. "Take me hostage. I'll be your human shield. With me you can walk all the way home—"
It was Dobey. Dobey who succeeded in sneaking up on Stryker and putting a gun to his head the same way his pointed at Starsky. "One and only warning," he growled. "Just flinch. Dare you. I won't let you kill another friend of mine. You don't mess with a man's partner!"
Shaking, Stryker passed his weapon over to Dobey, then put his arms behind his back and allowed the captain to cuff him. Hutch darted forward to his partner as Dobey recited the Miranda Rights.
"Starsk," Hutch hiccupped. "Starsky?" Hutch approached, ignoring the blood and mud splattered across his partner's jeans, the rips in his jacket and navy shirt, and the sliced up swaths of skin. He summoned all of his upper body strength and lifted Starsky's wrists up and over the hook, then over and around his own neck. Taking on all of the weight, Hutch softly lowered Starsky to the floor and slid his right thigh beneath his head as a pillow. Gently, he raised and then lowered his partner's arms onto his stomach. The binds were tight and any visible skin beneath them was so bruised it looked black. Trembling fingers felt for and found the pulse in Starsky's neck. The body twitched at the touch and both eyes rolled behind white eyelids. Hutch cupped his partner's cheeks between both of his long, calloused hands. "Hey, partner," he whispered. "Found you. Got you. I'm here."
Starsky didn't say his partner's name so much as exhale it. "Hu…" he breathed. He frowned. He swallowed. Blood dribbled from a cut across his pale cheek. "Hutch, hurts…"
Hutch looked away—looked at everything but the cringe across his partner's face. He took out his pocketknife to cut the binds but decided not to rely on his shaking hands. A faceless officer took the knife and freed Starsky's wrists. Hutch braided his partner's fingers together, wrapped his hands around them, and held them against his racing heart. "You're safe now," he whispered. "I'm here, Starsk. I'm here."
Brilliant blue eyes blinked. Hutch felt Starsky's entire body relax, then seize up again. "They were going to… Do you know what they were going to do to me?" Starsky whispered. "Oh, Hutch…"
"Come here." Hutch lifted his partner up off the floor and into a tight bear hug. "I was so scared, Starsk. So scared." Starsky trembled in his arms for a minute, then two more after. Five minutes passed before the pair released each other, and Starsky settled back down into Hutch's lap, now curled up into a fetal position and clutching his best friend's shirt as if for dear life. Hutch clasped the back of Starsky's neck and massaged it, soothing, reminding him that he was there. Starsky dug his nose into the space above Hutch's bellybutton and nested there.
Hutch had almost forgotten there was anybody else in the room. Dobey touched his shoulder and said that an ambulance was on its way. Hutch just nodded. Starsky, without opening his eyes, gave the captain a weak thumb's up. Hutch touched his unruly hair, and then ran his fingers through it.
Before the paramedics separated them, Starsky—eyes all water—clasped Hutch's arm and begged, "I want to go home."
Hutch grasped his shoulders. "You will. After you get bandaged up I'll drive you there myself."
"No… I mean, I want to go to your home. Stay there for a little. Stay with you."
"Sure, Starsk, whatever you want. I'd come stay with you at your place, if that'd be more comfortable."
"No." Starsky managed a tiny smile. "In my fridge there's too much… Meat. Going to be a while before I can look at a cow again, Hutch."
It was that hint of humor that told Hutch everything was going to be ok.
The End