Title: Lights Out
Author: Yuma
Pairing: non, gen, friendship fic
Rating: PG
Author's Note: Four days of blackout, no computer, just a notebook and pen so of course, now, my muse wanted to write! (groan)
"...ounty. May have possible location to...Request permi...to...51..."
"Engine...1..."
"...51 calling Squad..."
"Slow breaths, Johnny. That's it..."
Beneath Roy's voice rolling over him, familiar and as reassuring as a lifebelt strapped around him, John thought he could sense something else. He didn't know what. But there was something.
"Try to relax. Breathe through the mouth. Lean back if you can..."
"...51...Engine...1—oceeding...Willow Lane..."
John blinked. His eyes felt like they had been glued shut. Roy kept one hand splayed on his chest, his voice low and coaxing. It felt natural to follow his order to breathe.
But there was still something...
"Eng—51...Patrol reported no...Squad..."
"Johnny?" Roy's hand flexed when John shifted.
"Engine 51."
"Sh," John groaned.
"What?" Roy leaned closer, brow knitted. "What's wrong?"
"Roy," John pleaded weakly. "Stop talking, will ya?" He batted Roy back but his partner only huffed.
"Are you still mad? Look—"
"I'm not mad. Not any more," John wheezed. He strained to listen. Maybe he was imagin—No, there!
"LA, Truck 10. Be advised Key Road has been blocked due to..."
"Can't you hear that?" John narrowed his eyes on Roy. This time, the blank look in his eyes wasn't because of the concussion. His jaw tensed. "You can't, can you?"
Roy had the nerve to shrug casually and cup his right ear. "There's still some residual tinnitus."
Residual? "I changed my mind." John wished his glower wasn't wasted in the dark. "I'm mad again. Roy, for crying out loud! Of all—" He hissed. His chest pulled when his voice rose.
A hand clasped his shoulder, weighing him down before pain brought him surging back up again.
"All right. You're mad. It's minor ringing, probably secondary from the concussion. Johnny, you need to stay calm." Roy held up a hand even though there was no way he could see John opening his mouth to argue. "Now what's got you all excited? Hear what?"
"Listen." John kept his breathing slow, low and quiet. Roy followed. He tilted his head to the side; it kinda reminded John of Boot when than darn mutt would come whenever anyone called. Anyone but him, that is.
"LA, Engine...request refill at...Road..."
"Engine 23 repeat..."
John could tell when Roy got it. His eyes widened which was a bit weird since Roy couldn't see right now.
"Hear it now?"
Roy nodded, smiling. He clasped John on his good shoulder. "The handie talkies. Sounds pretty close, in fact. If we could—where do you think you're going?" Now Roy pressed both hands on John's shoulders when John leaned as far to the left as he could bear, which wasn't much.
John slumped back. "Nowhere, I guess," John groaned. "I'm pretty much stuck here. Door's got a grip on my right thigh." His head tapped the back window lightly. "Thought maybe I could get loose now. You know, once the swelling subsides if there was any."
A deft hand slipped under the two turnout coats and traced the door John was entangled with. He followed its surface to the fold of metal wrapped nearly halfway around his leg.
"That running board rammed up the bottom of the door." John went on as he tried not to wince at the sight of Roy's unfocused gaze, turned inward as Roy dug fingers into quadriceps and massaged down to his knee, skilled fingers probing the swollen area around his patella.
"Roy." The sharp bite surprised John and he jerked and he shouldn't have done that either. Lightheaded, John laid there, gasping as Roy checked his trapped leg.
"I don't feel any bleeding," Roy announced. "And before, it didn't feel like any breaks. But it doesn't look like you can get out of here without the K-12 either, partner." He dropped his hands on John's shoulders again.
"And with those ribs, you're not up to anything more strenuous than breathing anyway. So don't move, okay?"
John looked at his leg. "But the handie talkies."
Roy pursed his lips, his head canted as if he was still listening for it. He nodded, more to himself.
"What?" It looked like Roy came to some sort of decision.
"I'll get them."
Johnny goggled at him long enough, Roy's eyebrows arched.
"You heard what I said?"
"I heard it," John managed, "But I don't think I'm really hearing it." He tried to move only his left arm and shoulder to tap knuckles under Roy's chin. He scrutinized the gaze he turned his way. "Are you feeling sick again? Dizzy?"
"No, no, I'm better." Roy brushed John's hand away, careful not to jar him. "So I should go get them."
John moved his hand back to tilt Roy's head towards the flashlight. "How's your memory?"
Roy leaned away from John's grip, out of reach. He captured John's hand to get his pulse. Cheater.
"My memory?" Roy sounded amused but John couldn't figure why. "I remember who you are, how we got here. I think my memory's fine."
"You sure?" John couldn't stop his voice from rising. Not that he bothered trying. "Because apparently you forgot you can't see, Roy!"
"We need those handie talkies—"
"It's almost daybreak," reasoned John. Actually, he wasn't sure but the last time he checked before the accident it was pretty late. "It'll be easier to get someone to spot us down here. We could wait."
"No, you can't, Johnny," Roy grit out with sudden ferocity.
John fell silent for a moment. He cautiously took as deep of a breath as he dared and felt the beginnings of a razor thin twinge sawing his side.
"That bad, huh?" John exhaled at the same time.
Roy gripped John's left knee. "Not yet, but I would rather have you en route to Rampart by now, hooked up to some O2 and a nice bag of D5Ws, maybe some morphine."
The morphine sounded good right about now. John tried another breath and screwed up his face. For once, he was glad Roy couldn't see.
"Roy, I don't know how far down the embankment we are. Those handie talkies could be just outside the squad or—" John wanted to hit something when he caught the set jaw. No one could budge Roy DeSoto when he looked that way, not even if a fire was going to flash, not even when John shouted across a firey pit that the floor was going, don't risk it Roy, I'll find a way out on my own, don't try to jump it—
No. When Roy looked this way, a fleet of engines couldn't move him.
John tried anyway.
"Besides, even if you find them, how are you going to get back here?" John swallowed. It felt like he held his breath too long the whole time he was talking. His entire chest burned with the effort. He set his hand under his diaphragm and tried to get the fluttering he could hear rattling to quit it and go back to a more manageable pace.
"The lifelines." Roy patted the dash, as if testing its stability. "The extra ones were stored on my side of the squad. I climb out of the squad, grab the lifelines and the belts, hook myself up to them and have you running the line." When Roy shrugged again, John clenched his teeth.
"It'll be just like in a fire, Johnny. We used the lifelines and we couldn't always see straight then."
John really wanted to yell, throw up his arms and start hollering. "Roy, are you listening to yourself? Climb out of the squad? You can't se—"
"I know I can't see, damn it!"
Roy's sharp voice stunned them both. John could see Roy's mouth opened expression.
Roy sucked in a harsh sound, like he was reining in something worse. "Johnny. I—"
"Mood swings, affected vision." John felt strange, displaced when he found himself copying Roy's usual tone. "Roy, this is definitely sounding more and more like a concussion, maybe even something worse. That means your balance is most likely no good. You can't take the chance. You might get disoriented or we're in a steeper incline than we thought or—"
John's breath caught, somewhere between his sternum and his trachea. It came out painful sounding to his ears. His right side burned and the entire time, he had been trying not to lean all his body weight on that door, on his torso. Now, he couldn't stop himself from sliding a bit more into his side of the tilted squad and it felt like someone swung a plank hard into his ribs.
Dimly, he grew aware of the fact he was gasping, Roy's hand cupped against his ribs above the pain, a voice telling him something over and over.
At last, the event past. It left John shaking, dizzy and desperately wanting to throw up again.
"Johnny..." Roy was quiet but resolute. He rolled up one of the turnout coats and added it to the shirt cushion between John and the door, taking some of the weight off. His hand rubbed a spot just under his right arm when John couldn't stop the whimper from getting away.
"I don't think we can risk not taking that chance."
John closed his eyes and swallowed. His left hand cramped. It must have left imprints on Roy's knee where he had gripped, trying to find an anchor as he fought not to get swept away in the pain.
"Johnny?" Roy's hand moved up to his jugular, but not quite pressing down for a heart rate. "Johnny, we need to do this. I'm the only one who can—"
"Yeah." John's eyes pricked hot at the corners.
"I know."