Man Down
Notes: Request for these two going to group therapy for PTSD and Alistair grows fond of the new guy super quickly as they just click.
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Despite being nearly half an hour early Cullen's not the first one in the room and he falters when the single man there turns to look at him. He's wearing jeans with holes and boots scuffed from constant use. Not a therapist of any kind. He's got the muscular build of a grunt, hair that rules him out of the Marines, and shadows under the eyes that look like they could rival the ones Cullen sees in the mirror.
"New guy, huh?" The other man offers him a grin that looks easy even as he does his own examination. Cullen wonders what he sees. "I'd make a joke about this being a new level of hell, but it's the VA and you already know that. It's really not that bad anyway. Hell, you don't even need to talk if you don't want to."
"That doesn't seem like it'd work," Cullen eases into the room a bit more cautiously. He takes in the loose grouping of chairs and couches. None of them are separated enough from the obvious focal point for his comfort, and there's no room to create his own space.
"We bitch," the man kicks at the chair closest to him in invitation. "About everything and anything. That's all therapy is supposed to be isn't it?"
"No idea," Cullen takes the seat and turns it so his back is to the wall instead of the door. It's not as good as a spot in the corner but it won't make his shoulders itch at being exposed. "Never been to one of these things before."
"It's not bad, just think of it as a less structured AAR," the man repeats with a lazy shrug and Cullen relaxes a little because this is familiar enough for him. Even if the civvies they're both wearing makes the talks a little more shocking than it should be. There's an ease in talking to a fellow soldier that Cullen's missed. "The hardest part is just walking through the door. Well, no I guess that's not true. Parking is the true nightmare really!"
Cullen barks out a laugh because that's true. For the size of the hospital there's shockingly little parking for it and he'd almost crashed trying to get the spot he did eventually get.
"Rutherford," Cullen offers and then grimaces as he corrects himself. "Cullen Rutherford, I mean."
It's simple in the military. Last names unless you're really close buddies, and only when off duty. Cullen always trips over which name he should give. Neither of them is currently in so there's no protocol to follow on this.
"Alistair Theirin," the man shoots off a cocky two finger salute and doesn't say anything about his fumbling. Probably used to it himself. "So, if it's not terribly pushy, why'd you decide to come anyway?"
And just like that, all the ease is gone. It's like magic, really, how fast Cullen's whole mood plummets. He picks at a scab on his hand that's been there for months and bites the tip of his tongue on the reflexive urge to tell the man to fuck right the hell off. It's a normal question. He should be suspicious if it isn't asked. This is why he's here after all. To talk.
"I wrapped my truck around a tree," Alistair says into the silence as it stretches out into discomfort. He shatters the rising tension with a grin. Wry and entirely self-mocking. "Had a nice cocktail of meds and tequila that made it seem like such a great idea at the time."
"Driving?" Cullen asks with a smile that feels like a grimace at the mention of meds. Painkillers most likely and Cullen's all too aware of how that slippery slide goes.
"Killing myself," Alistair denies with an ease that's shockingly candid. He looks Cullen in the eyes as he says it. Neither ashamed nor embarrassed by it, and Cullen swallows as he looks away. Back to his hand because that level of raw honesty is impressive and shaming.
"I-" Impressive, brave and Cullen feels small next to it. He doesn't need to be here. This is for people who really need the help and all he's going to do is take that resource away from them when they need it most. "My sister," Cullen explains and shrugs. Not quite looking up at Alistair. "She signed me up for this. Somehow. And..."
Cullen trails off and stares at the wall just over the other man's headas he winces under the roiling ball of shame and guilt that hadn't let him ignore his alarm this morning.
She'd cried. Fat tears that rolled down her cheeks as she confessed that he scared her sometimes, but it was the sight of the bruise around her wrist -"It doesn't really hurt," she'd lied- that had nearly destroyed him. He blows out a breath and rubs the back of his neck hard. He does need to be here. For no other reason than that.
"I get angry," and paranoid and high when he can't deal with the strength of them both at the same time. Extremely so, and there's days Cullen can't remember as anything but blurs of emotion wringing him dry along with the absolute and almost hysterical certainty that someone was hunting him in his own home.
It's not a complete answer but Alistair nods. Reading in-between the lines and not pushing. Cullen's grateful for it even as a couple of guys wander in with steaming cups of coffee. He can see three more out in the hallway and it's almost time to start. Cullen's disappointed. Surprisingly so and not just for the fact he's going to have to try to open up to more people.
"Hey," Alistair reaches out slowly, the motion drawing Cullen's eyes back in time so that he can see it before the man touches his arm. A small courtesy that Cullen appreciates. "Say as little or as much as you want," Alistair grins, lopsided and full of humor. A joke he wants to share with Cullen that relaxes him some. "Really, don't worry about it. I can talk enough for five men if needed. Just flail or something in my general direction when you need me to have your back and I got it for you."
Cullen smiles and leans back in his chair as a man dressed a little too professionally stops outside the door to talk to the people lingering out there. He has a single folder and lanyard with IDs around his neck. It doesn't take a lot to figure out who he is. The man's older and has the kind of soft face that makes him think he's automatically nice. A dumb assumption but Cullen will take what comfort he can.
Like Alistair's hand still lingering on his arm. Warm and far too comforting. Familiar too and that makes Cullen pause. His mind stalling a bit as another tension rises -slow, almost reluctantly- as he turns his head to look at Alistair again.
The man is facing the door but he's watching Cullen carefully, and that solidifies that thought. Cullen licks the backs of his teeth and thinks about pulling away for half a second.
The weight of Alistair's hand is comforting though, and he rather likes the way the man's lips curve up when he leans towards him and doesn't pull away. The change in tension is welcome too. Edgy enough to push out the suffocating dread he's been dealing with all morning. Not completely, but enough that Cullen thinks he can get through this group meeting without losing his temper by concentrating on it.
"There's a coffee shop a block away," Alistair leans in close just before the therapist comes in. Voice low enough not to carry. "If you want to have some caffeine and not talk for a while after this."
The therapist introduces himself shortly after that with a smile that's not as warm or inviting of secrets as Alistair's, but Cullen thinks he can wait to reserve judgement for the moment. At least he has coffee to look forward to afterwards to hold him over.
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