Don't Write Me A Postscript

Church hated to admit it but he stopped functioning the minute David slumped sideways into unconsciousness. It felt like everything that made Church into Church up and crashed, completely, incapable of comprehending that David could be that far gone. The thought of another death—of another loss—became too much. His brain blue screened—and wasn't that fucking hilarious?—and when everything rebooted Church felt—

—felt—

everythingandnothingandsomuchbeyond

It felt like a film covered everything. Church worked quickly, quietly, and settled David into a position that wouldn't fuck up his neck even further. He categorized what he could see—the suit said unstable; pinpoint where, what is broken—there. The implant. How? Jammed; has to be jammed. Fix?—and then with a thought Church manipulated the radio waves until he reached the one frequency he knew could direct him further.

"Field Medic Frank DuFresne, speaking!"

"I need everything on repairing a jammed implant against the spinal column, now," Church said shortly.

"Wha—Church?! How did you—why do you need to know that?!" Doc sounded so horrified.

Church slid his gaze off of David for a brief moment and over to Caboose. He made a quick gesture, a twitch of his fingers in a manner that he knew the other man would recognize if only because it'd been so deeply ingrained into him. A second later Church jerked his head back toward the smoke that rose in the distance, where their crashed jeep was, and Caboose climbed to his feet in silence.

"You don't need to know," Church said hollowly. "You just need to provide me the information."

"But—there is a lot about implants, Church! They're—one wrong step and you could leave someone braindead for life! I can't have that—"

"You tell me what I need to do," Church narrowed his eyes, "or I hunt you down and put a bullet in your head. Now."

For a moment Doc said nothing, and then quietly, "When did you get so mean?"

Church shuddered, then bent forward and buried his face into his knees. He fought down the twisted confusion that warred inside him—memories and thoughts and everythingandanythingandtheuniverseathisfingertips—and said lowly, "Wouldn't you do anything for family, Doc?"

"I…" Doc seemed to fumble for words. "I'm sorry. I just…don't feel comfortable with this, Church."

Church closed his eyes. "Wouldn't you do anything for your own child, Doc?" Church whispered, like he admitted to something so forbidden and wrong—but wasn't he, in some respects? Wasn't he?

He heard a faint, "Oh dear," and then a sigh. "I—alright. Alright. But if this doesn't work…"

Church clenched his fists. "It will work," he said. His hands trembled.

"But if it doesn't—"

"It will work," Church ground out.

Doc was silent. For a moment Church just stared at David, stared at the face drawn with stress and gaunt from nightmares and from the other man pushing himself beyond his limits like an idiot. Church's hands trembled.

(he had no right to David anyway)

(that man)

(not after how he threw him away)

Doc sighed. "Alright," the medic mumbled. "Alright. Here's what you need to do."

(he had no right to David)

(David was Alpha's now)

(would always be…)

(he had no right to David anymore)

Church's hands trembled.

Wash woke back up and felt like his head went through a blender or two in three different ways. His neck ached something fierce and his implant honest-to-god burned. Wash blinked bleary eyes and for a moment he saw—he saw—

—pale and blue and cackling laughter with bright eyes filled with madness and hate.

"Don't you get it yet? Don't you? Don't you?"—

—regulation "blue" and a concerned face of Caboose. The young man blinked back at Wash and then smiled.

"Church! Church! He's awake!" Caboose shouted and Wash winced as the noise seemed to jam straight into his implants.

Wash hissed, "Fuck," under his breath because that was honestly a new feeling. The next thing he knew before he could even try to push himself up was Church right in his face.

"Follow my finger," Church said sharply and Wash tracked the finger in a sort of daze. "Good," Church mumbled. "Recite your name for me."

"What—why?" Wash questioned. What had even happened?

"I need to make sure everything's working right, dammit," Church snapped out, then turned his head to the side with a frown. "Yes I'm asking him the damn questions shut up Doc I'm focusing," Church hissed and then turned back. "Recite your name," Church repeated shortly.

"Agent Washington?" Wash mumbled and blinked.

"Great, now your legal name?" Church sighed tiredly.

"I—what? How would you even know that?" Wash frowned.

"Just…just recite it, please," Church sighed and scrubbed his face with his hand. Wash frowned and then mumbled his name, but Church seemed to accept it readily enough all the same. With a tired sigh Church continued to have Washington recite random facts back, and then told the other man not to move as he shifted over to check at—

"What the fuck!?" Wash shrieked and quickly jerked to shy away from the touch at his implants, but Caboose suddenly held him steady. "Why are you—get away, don't touch that, fuck stop—"

"I need to make sure the damn thing is adjusted properly, goddamn it David!" Church snapped back. "Stop trying to struggle, fuck, you piece of shit. I need to—ugh Caboose hold him steady!"

Wash canted a litany of no over and over and fought hard against Caboose—the man had strength and it bothered him something fierce, reminded him of another behemoth that he worked with and cared for and—David couldn't take it. No one touched his implants, no one got close—it was wrong and dangerous and Epsilon—

"Since when did you have autonomy?" he cackled, and cackled, and madness spread like a disease through every pore and orifice and—

"Good, good it's back into place. Shit you gave me a scare," Church mumbled and pulled back. Caboose let go and Wash scrambled. He breathed and twitched and one hand reached back to protectively shield his implants for the world around him as he stared. Church stared back as Wash panted and hyperventilated and kept distance between them.

"You damaged it in the crash," Church said plainly. "It wasn't obvious at first, not until you passed out. The import jammed back into your spinal column and cut off some of the blood vessels and the flow of spinal fluid."

"What?" Wash rasped.

"The jeep?" Church said carefully. "You crashed, remember?"

"Yes, but? My—"

"Your implant, yeah," Church nodded with a sigh. "The whiplash? Or just the impact of the crash or something it smashed your implant, the AI port, straight into your spine. Didn't see the damage until after you passed out—thought it was fine, had the pry the fucking thing back into place." Church grimaced. "Your suit readout says its all good now, though," he mumbled. "Vitals stable and shit."

"We thought you just scrambled," Caboose said, and his voice was so chipper it hurt. "Like me! I threw up. Again. And things were very fuzzy and strange and Church said not to sleep but you slept which was wrong."

"I—did?" Wash glanced between them and tried to piece everything together. He took the bits that Church and Caboose threw out and puzzled them into place. It calmed him, to slot the facts and nonsense together until he got a semi-formed picture. "Oh." It took a second more before the full situation hit him. "Wait, you performed brain surgery on me in a goddamn forest with no training?!"

Church waved a hand and glanced to Caboose. The sim soldier already began to gather up the supplies they'd retrieved from the wrecked remains of the jeep what seemed like so long ago. "Nothing so complex," Church grumbled. "Just…pried it back into place. Had a walking, talking medical journal to help me out."

"I resent that Church!" Doc said with a frown over the radio. "Although I gotta say, you did good for no medical training!"

"Like you're any fucking better?" Church snapped back. "What's a medic without any clue how to be a medic?"

"It's the thought that counts," Doc replied sagely.

Wash watched them. "You are…all insane," he rasped. "Just…shit."

"Certifiable in certain sectors," Doc agreed. "Now you'll need to get that checked out by a professional. A jammed neural implant is no joke! Who knows what kind of brain damage that could cause?"

Wash stared at Church's helmet, and then glanced to Church and Caboose. "That's…great. Thanks."

"No problem! Have a safe trip!" Doc said brightly. "Church I'm going to disconnect now. Sounds like you got shit well in hand."

"Yeah, yeah," Church mumbled distractedly. He helped Caboose pile things back into place as the radio clicked off. Washington watched, mumbled about insanity again, before he gingerly climbed to his feet and helped with the pack up.

"How long was I out?" Washington questioned carefully.

"Two days," Church replied. "What the hell was that anyway?"

Wash blinked. "What?"

"You crashed the fucking jeep, did the impossible and somehow got it caught on fire until it exploded which is…practically impossible. That's not how shit works," Church ground out. Wash winced.

"Ah…cars hate me."

Church stared. "Lame."

"Fuck you. The breaks didn't work on the damn thing anyway," Wash added. "And the gas pedal jammed."

"Lame," Church repeated, and he drew the word out slowly.

Wash rolled his eyes. "We've wasted enough time already," he grumbled and took a step forward. Church caught him before he tumbled over and smashed into the ground. "Ugh, perfect."

"Just take it easy," Church said sharply. "I don't want you to fucking fall unconscious again."

Wash grimaced, but accepted the help. He reached for his helmet to tug it on and frowned when Church slapped his hand away.

"Not until the inflammation dies down," Church said. "Doc's orders."

Wash stared, and then mumbled, "Lame," back at Church. Church snorted.

"Sure, man, whatever," he said. "You good to go Caboose?"

Caboose slauted and slung the crate of supplies onto his back. "Yessir Mr. Grumpypants Sir!" Church rolled his eyes.

"Let's go then," Church grumbled and supported Washington as they started off in a random direction. "Road's gotta be here somewhere."

Caboose nodded and turned. "Autobots transform and roll out!" he chirped and led the way with a bounce in his step. Caboose made the sound effects as if he transformed into a car as he moved and Washington blinked blearily.

"Does that make him Optimus?" Wash questioned, and then wondered why he even bothered to play into it. He had to be going crazy.

"Weren't you already?"

"Shut up Epsilon," Wash mumbled.

Church glanced to him, then shrugged. "I think he's supposed to be Bumblebee," Church said, and Wash felt at least relieved that the other man didn't seem to notice his sudden slip over nothing. "I'm Optimus."

Wash frowned. "What does that make me?"

"I don't know. Our human sidekick?"

"Great," Wash said dryly. "I'm the damsel in distress." He paused, and then groaned. "Oh fuck I really am."

"Bingo."

"Fuck you."

"Hey I just saved your ass, be grateful!"

Somehow Church convinced Agent Washington to drop into civvies between the forest, the dirt road, and this small out-of-the-way refueling station. Caboose and himself followed the transformation and, in Church's opinion it made travel less of a hassle. Also he had better access to glance over at Wash's implants just to make sure everything was okay without actually tossing the man into another panic attack.

"Thanks," Church mumbled to Caboose when the other man handed over the set of maps he'd quite happily purchased. Church commandeered the lone table in the very small food court—literally just a soda machine and a hotdog roller like you'd see in those gas stations back on Earth—and with barely any how-do-you-do unfolded the maps onto the table.

"What are you doing?" Wash questioned around the straw of his ridiculously sugary soda while he watched Church. He had to admit this moment to take a breather was much needed after hours and what felt like weeks of travel between nothing and a forest.

"Calculating," Church said absentmindedly. Quickly Church began to scribble on the maps, a mix of calculations and notes that he remembered from his workroom back at High Ground. He interspaced what he recalled with additional information he'd gathered from their walk and observing the land, scowled, and scratched out several calculations.

Wash watched the entire work, how Church's hand moved across the page quickly and smoothly. He sat up a bit straighter when he recognized the landmark for Valhalla, their destination, and how Church made several small circles around the location, and then further marks with increasing distance from Valhalla. He watched as the notes scribbled across several additional maps that noted roadways and flightpaths, and then a small canyon that actually wasn't even named on the map to Wash's surprise. He felt certain that had to be Blood Gulch the way Church scribbled directions and drew several short arrows in a northeasterly direction.

Once finished Church leaned back away from the maps, spun them around, until they rested in front of Wash.

"Additional potential wreckage sites," Church said, and carefully pointed at the marked and scribbled circles. "Following Tex's trajectory, the explosion, and accounting for weather plus the crash site discovered at Valhalla, these are the most likely impacts of any additional portions of the Pelican." Church glanced to Wash. "Just in case Valhalla is a bust."

Wash gaped. "I—how did you do that?" he squeaked.

Church shrugged. "I was always more of a scientist than a soldier," he said tiredly. "Don't tell anyone. It'd ruin my reputation." He gave Washington a glare at that, and the Agent nodded his head quickly as he pulled the map closer to study the information there. He traced a finger along the road, including the refueling station they were at now, and blinked.

"We'll hit this before we hit Valhalla," Washington said. He sipped his drink as he tapped one of Church's marked locations. "It'll put us out by a few days, but if you are right…."

Church cocked his head. "I'm right," he said plainly and crossed his arms. Wash raised an eyebrow at the arrogance, and then leaned back in surprise when Caboose bopped Church on the head. Church twisted. "What the fuck Caboose?!"

Caboose frowned. "You were being rude again," he said. "Stop it."

Church gaped. "I was not!"

Caboose nodded his head. "Yes, Church. You were."

Church couldn't even formulate words. He just sort of squawked and made sharp, incoherent shrieks before he threw his hands up with a growl and a groan and turned his head away. Wash watched how Caboose smiled, almost devious like, and decided that he didn't even want to know. Something about the interaction made him a little uncomfortable, and maybe it had to do with the way that Caboose was coherent and clear—and then that smile that wasn't goofy at all.

Caboose glanced to Wash, and winked. Then he gathered up the maps and rolled them up. With a cheerful hum and his usual absence to the world around him Caboose piled everything into the crate and carefully replaced the lid. He hiked it back up onto his back just in time for Church to jerk to his feet with a scowl.

"We've wasted enough fucking time," Church grumbled. He shot a glare to Wash when the other man slurped at his drink loudly, and with a huff Church stormed from the refueling station. Wash lamented the fact that he wouldn't be able to finish his drink before with a sigh he too got up. At least they had a plan of action again now.

As a note I had to go through and edit a few chapters to correct "Agent Kansas" to "Agent Nevada" since I done goofed that one and forgot my notes.