Summary: The fight is only just beginning, but only one of them is making the journey.
Notes: I've been browsing through the few fics on here and thought I might give a shot a writing one. Based off the ending of 'Welcome Home.'
It's your fault. It's your fault he's like this. No..no, it's Joe's! Stop fooling yourself Hardy, you're the one to blame here...
He was almost dozing in the rather uncomfortable hospital chair, when the sound of a low moan entered his eardrums. Turning his head to the side, he watched the slow rise and fall of Weston's chest, all while trying the ignore the sight of the bloody and battered agent.
Hand disappearing into his hair, he heaved a large sigh as the guilt began to build in his system. But a croak of, "Why does it feel like I got hit by a double-decker bus?" distracted him.
Ryan was on his feet in seconds, reflex's sharp, and stood next to the bedside. The younger man did look like he was thrown under a bus and it was hard not to wince at the injuries.
"Hardy? Where am I?" He asks, while glancing at the older man. His voice rough, as if he had swallowed sandpaper.
"Whoa there, don't try moving. It'll only rip the stitches."
"Stitches? What the hell happened to me?"
Ryan stood and started pacing the room, a grim look plastered on his face. The sight of Weston and the atmosphere of the hospital were beginning to wear him down. After getting stabbed by Carroll and having to spend weeks on end in a pristine white room that smelled of bleach, it was hard to spend more than a few minutes inside a hospital. The constant beeping of a heart monitor, the same doctors, the sight of blood.
But instead of him, this time the injuries were mirrored on Weston. His shame had grown by a tenfold and he felt responsible for what had happened to the agent. Ryan felt responsible to be there, with him.
He closed his eyes while slowing down his pacing and asked, "Do you remember what happened, anything?"
Weston's voice was soft, amongst the sounds coming from the hospital equipment.
"I was...I was attacked. All I remember is that they were trying to get me to tell them where Claire was being held. But I didn't, I didn't tell them a single thing. I couldn't."
If I would have been sent home instead, none of this would have happened. Weston wouldn't be currently laying in a hospital bed with a gash in his side, almost beaten within an inch of his life.
He winced, and wiped a hand over his face in agitation. The thoughts wouldn't stop replaying in his mind, the guilt still wrapped tight around his bones. Sighing, Ryan turned around and faced the younger agent.
"I know. But I can't thank you enough for what you did, keeping Claire's location private. What you sacrificed to keep her safe. Weston-
-It's alright Hardy. It's going to take more than that to take me out. I know the stakes of Carroll's game and this is only just the beginning."
Ryan tried to smile at the younger man's optimism, but the lingering thoughts that he could have died, wouldn't shake from his system. With a heavy conscience, he answered Weston.
"But it's the end for you."
"What? Hardy-
-I'm sorry." He barked out,"I'm sorry, but you've been ordered off the case until further notice. Until you're fully healed."
"I can help."
"We can't risk you adding any other injuries, or tearing the stitches. A sketch artist will be in to meet with you in the next few days. That is how you can help at this moment. Other than that Weston, your only other priority is to get healed up."
"I don't like this." Weston muttered as his eyes slowly closed.
Ryan took a deep breath. "Neither do I, but there's nothing we can do about it. Now get some sleep buddy."
He patted the end of the younger man's bed and took one more glance at him before exiting the room. From now on out, it was his turn to be a pawn in Joe's sadistic games. For him, it truly was just the beginning.