A/N: Hey everyone! So this story started out as a chapter for whumptober but evidently from looking at the calendar, I haven't done too great with that… I had every intention of writing more this month, but then Professors kicked it into high gear because the semester is nearly over. But that's neither here nor there. Anyway, this quick fic sprouted from the prompt "they look so pretty when they bleed" that I saw circulating, except its got my own little spin on it! I'm thinking of making it into some sort of a multi-chapter fic where I go into more detail about each of the guys injuries. Let me know if that'd be something you'd enjoy! And as always, thanks for reading!
Mission Success- All
He could always breathe a little easier on their way home from a mission. No matter how hard or close it had been, everytime he got on that c-17 with all his men intact, Eric counted his lucky stars. Especially when they were coming off of a back to back deployment as long and draining as this one. Not unlike the deployment following Echo Team's demise, this one had been taxing. Most missions felt like they were chasing ghosts, and even when there was a small win, it came at a cost. And that cost had typically meant Trent was working overtime, with each man going home a little more banged up than usual.
Eric turned at the sound of footsteps approaching him from his spot of observation, and happily accepted the drink that Davis held out to him.
"They look like quite the ragged bunch this time around, don't they?" She said, joining him in observing the guys in their various positions around the main cargo area of the plane. He huffed and nodded his response as he looked towards where Jason had propped himself up against the rope bench in what Eric guessed was the only comfortable way possible. The team leader had taken a round to the back of his vest at a pretty close range, earning him some nasty deep tissue bruising that made nearly all movement painful.
Clay, who was notorious for being able to sleep no matter what, was snoring softly in his hammock despite the icepack that he would bet wasn't cold anymore resting over his left shoulder. Turns out the wrong grip on the cord of an opening parachute can do some real damage to a shoulder.
From a distance, Ray looked unharmed. Until you got a little closer and noticed the fresh row of stitches stretching from his temple to the top of his ear and the grade 2 concussion he had been trying to forget about for the last week.
Cerberus laid quietly with his head on the chest of his sleeping owner who's steady breaths ruffled the dog's soft fur. Eric figured that was the only way the fiercely protective k-9 would be calm. Not that anyone could blame him. Everyone had panicked when Brock stopped breathing after being thrown against a wall in the same explosion that had nearly scrambled Ray's brain.
Sonny was another one who looked deceiving from a distance. He was currently stretched out on a rope seat with his cowboy hat pulled over his eyes and an empty beer in his hand, the sound of his snores reverberating through the sleeping quarters of the plane, as usual. What wasn't usual was the pair of crutches that lay on the floor next to him, and the compression bandages wrapped tightly around his lower right leg.
Next, Eric's eyes landed on Scott, who was also fast asleep, thanks in part to the last dose of painkillers. True to his nickname, Full Metal had tried to refuse them, seemingly forgetting how much the dull pain of a gunshot wound lingers. Eric shook his head. He had known Scott for so many years he had lost track, just as Alpha One had lost track of how many times he'd taken a bullet.
And last, but absolutely not least, Trent. Eric finally broke from his position of watch and walked over towards their medic.
"Ya know, those supplies can be restocked some other time. We're almost home." He said quietly, hoping not to wake the men sleeping around them. Trent looked up and gave a half smile in response, his answer still formulating in his over-tired brain.
"Last time I said that Spencer collapsed on the tarmac and needed the one thing I didn't replace." Trent answered.
"And if I remember correctly, that was partially from recovering from blood loss, but mostly from being exhausted in every sense of the word. Not to be rude, but you look pretty damn close to that right now." Eric said, the scene with Clay playing in his mind. Trent finally caught Blackburns raised eyebrow and chuckled as he finally gave in and stopped what he was doing.
"Ok, ok! I know when I'm being ordered without being audibly ordered." The medic said and raised his hands is mock defeat. He happily took the Gatorade that was offered and leaned back against the padded wall.
"Good. Now don't move, just point to the pocket the gaze is in and I'll replace the bandage on that cut." Eric said, knowing he had to take advantage of the rare occasion that was Trent Swayer being something other than stubborn. Sure, the man took care of himself, it was letting others take care of him that he got hung up on. He complied, but Eric didn't miss the sigh that came as a response, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes a little. Trent grabbed the back of the collar of his shirt and pulled it up after shifting slowly on the bench so that the main gash on his lower back that was about three inches long was visible. Eric cringed once again at the sight of the man's back. He had seen worse, but something about shrapnel wounds made his skin crawl.
"Alright all good. We'll be stateside in a few hours. Now get some rest, that's an order." Eric said with a wink. He had stood to his feet after the few minutes it took to properly change the bandages.
"Yes Sir." Trent replied in an overly formal tone, with a smirk hanging off the end. It seemed somehow that the talk of sleep had managed to make his eyelids heavy. He stood with a low grunt from general soreness and shuffled over to his hammock. It wasn't his Sleep Number mattress at home, but that didn't matter much after the deployment they'd just had. He got settled and was out like a light within seconds.
Eric walked towards his own sleeping quarters to practice what he preached, but stopped briefly to turn around for one more look at his team. To him, mission success was defined pretty simply: when everyone made it home.
