A/N: This is my first foray into a fandom this old, but I really couldn't help myself. I fell in love with Hawkeye's character so… First I'm gonna pile on the hurt and then I'm going to absolutely smother the hell out of him with the comfort. I would also like to say I mean no disrespect for anyone struggling with mental illness, unfortunately it was seldom if ever treated correctly during WWII/ the Korean War
It's far too early for this. At least Hawkeye thinks it's early. Having been dragged out of the swamp mere hours after collapsing onto his cot with what he can only imagine is an hour or so of sleep, observation is currently above him. The only thing he's certain of is that he's sitting next to BJ in Colonel Potter's office, and Charles- who looks annoyingly refreshed- is the second most obnoxious person he's ever encountered.
"Gentlemen- and I use that term very, very loosely-" Charles raises an eyebrow at them from where he's standing by the window. "I have been given the high honor of attending a conference in Tokyo this weekend."
"Ah yes," Hawkeye leans back in his chair, tilting his head towards the double doors, "Radar! Could you do me a favor and file that under 'W' for me?" He whips his gaze dramatically towards Charles, "As in Why should I care?"
Hawkeye takes great pleasure in watching Charles open his mouth to correct his joke, only to gape almost fish-like when he comes to the realization that he'd sacrificed the punchline for that very reason. He deflates and makes a face somewhat reminiscent of a malcontent owl, which alone would have been satisfying enough, but Hawkeye is also rewarded with a hidden grin from the Colonel from behind a quick sip of what could either be questionable coffee, or gin. Maybe both.
"This concerns you, Pierce, because I, unlike you and your lackey-"
"Lackey?!" BJ pushes himself up in this chair looking fully offended, but Hawkeye quickly waves him back.
"No, no, Beej I think he meant to say Lassie. He knows you mean well."
"Well how do you like that? Just when you think you know a guy he turns around and reduces you to a pooch!"
"The dog would have more worth, I'm afraid."
"Boys!" Colonel Potter snaps, losing his patience. "Shut yer gabs! Winchester, get on with it!"
Charles clears his throat and nods shortly. "For the duration of my stay, you two will be solely in charge of my post-op duties."
"Of course we will be Charles, the Military only pays us to sit around when we don't have wounded, and when we do, they pay them to lay around; and not in a fun way!"
"Ah-ah-a, Pierce but this is different!" He swings his hand around to point at them like a professor, excited to prove a point. "You see, as it stands- not that I expect you two to have noticed with your drunken escapades as of late- I have a rather unusual case in my immaculate care." Spoken with all the self confidence of a recovering narcissist.
"What can we say? Business has been light." BJ shrugs, knowing full well they've only had a couple of soldiers left in Post-op from their last round of meatball surgery. The majority of them had been shipped off to Tokyo three days earlier.
"I refuse to die for the army, so at least let me go out doing what I love." Hawkeye leans back far enough to prop his feet up on the Colonel's desk.
"There aren't enough women in Korea for that."
"Who said it was just the women- OW!" The Colonel swats his leg with a rolled magazine, fixing him with a stare that shuts him up, if only for the moment.
"AS I was saying, you delinquents, there is a man under my care whom came to us yesterday under great mental duress. I have been monitoring him during my shift to ensure that he does not cause harm to himself, or God forbid anyone else. And now it will fall into your hands to ensure that his quality of care, if somewhat diminished, continues. At least until they can send us a padded bus, or a qualified psychiatrist. Whichever this wreck of an establishment deems more suitable."
"So you dragged me out of what could have been the best sleep I've had in weeks to tell us to do our jobs like we always do?" Hawkeye drops his feet off the desk, and pushes himself up in his chair, ready to be done with the whole useless meeting to try and salvage even a little bit of shuteye.
"Not so fast Pierce! Now I'm sure you'll agree this isn't exactly our usual fare here. So put on your listening ears and sit down!" Colonel Potter growls out the last bit, and Hawkeye drops back down with a huff, crossing his arms and moping like a child.
BJ decides it's his time to play mediator to get things moving. "Okay so we have a headcase in Post-op, what are we dealing with exactly?"
"As much as it pains me to admit, I am not a savant in the inner workings of the mind. But, if I had to take an educated guess- I would say that it's a rather severe Gross Stress Reaction...or to put it simply: Combat Fatigue. When he came in he was convinced that we were the enemy. God only knows what kind of torture his scattered mind had concocted, but from the altercation he had with the M.P.s while being dragged in, I can only conclude that it was indeed nothing short of hellish . We had to sedate the poor sod."
BJ sees Hawkeye bristle in his peripherals, and nudges him with his elbow in warning. He's not sure how much more interruption Colonel Potter will abide by without doling out some form of punishment. Hawkeye's mouth runs fast, but the Colonel's wrath runs faster. He nods at Charles, lacing his hands together over his stomach and reclining in the stiff backed chair.
"We'll have to keep a close eye on him then. Has he had any moments of clarity?"
"Despairingly little. Though he seemed to be somewhat lucid when I was called away."
"And does this mystery man have a name Charles? I prefer to treat my patients more like people and less like wild animals if I can help it."
The Major hesitates for a moment, and Hawkeye is absolutely ready to jump on him for his oversight when the Colonel cuts in.
"That would be Private Dallas Gillian wouldn't it, Winchester?"
"Uh, oh yes! Private Gillian..." He chuckles below his breath and clears his throat.
"Seeing as this is technically a one person job, I'm going to have you two split the shifts. Four hours on, four hours off until help arrives. I don't want our nurses left alone with him if he turns combative, got it? With any luck it won't even be a day and you'll be right back to knitting and drinking."
"Oh and Hawkeye? Since you seem so invested in this patient's humanity, you get the first shift, starting as soon as Winchester leaves here at 19:00 hours."
"Aaaah I see how it is, he who cares most gets the first lash. Well then, if you'll pardon me Colonel, I'm going back to the swamp. If anyone needs me, I've been buried with my cot, leave a message at the seance."
When 11 o' clock rolls around and BJ strolls into Post-op to relive Hawkeye, he finds him nodding off at the desk as Nurse Kelley moves silently between the few remaining patients. She doesn't seem bothered by his lack of attention, rather more concerned about waking him than she is about him doing anything. BJ makes a mental note to buy her flowers later, anonymously of course. He rounds the desk, placing his hands in the pockets of his white coat before kicking Hawkeye's chair with one foot, waking him with a start and a short yelp.
"Mornin' Hawk! I see you've been busy."
"Beej? Is it that time already? How long have I been asleep?" He looks out of sorts as he runs a hand through his ruffled hair, but it's not unexpected. He'd been woken more than once after he'd returned to the swamp. Once to play mediator to Klinger and Margaret who had been arguing loudly outside of their tent, and the other to give some more drunken uncle advice to Radar and his latest girl problems.
Nurse Kelley leans back from between two beds to answer his question. "Only about 10 minutes Doctor, you're on a short shift, remember?"
"Oh yeah, thanks Kelley." He yawns, taking off his doctor's coat and throwing it on a nearby hook. He stretches dramatically, arms over his head as he heads back past the desk, accidentally knocking into a chart sitting on the corner with his hip .
It slams down flat to the ground with a loud BANG.
There is a short silence that follows before one of the patients next to Kelley shouts and springs up from his bed, shoving her harshly to the ground.
"NO! Not this time! I won't! You can't make me!" The man scans about the room wild-eyed, and BJ doesn't get much time to look at him before he makes a charge for the door. He makes the safe assumption that he's the Private from their talk that morning.
He the closest to Kelly and decides to check on her first, calling out to Hawkeye as he bends to help her up. She's bleeding from the elbow.
"Shit, Hawk grab him!"
"It's okay! I'll get him, make sure she's okay!" He calls back, already pursuing the other man out the door.
Hawkeye isn't exactly athletically inclined, so it's no surprise when the Private manages to outrun him. He very nearly loses him, catching a break when he sees the door to the mess tent flapping closed. Private Gillian must realize he's cornered himself, Hawkeye can see his silhouette as it rushes from one side of the tent to circle back toward the doors. Now is his opportunity! He quickly steps inside, arms outstretched to either side to block his escape.
He's about to grab at Gillian when he feels the tip of a knife, looking down at his chest, shocked, when the blade doesn't stop. For a moment he doesn't feel anything, the adrenaline coursing through his veins sweeping his nerves under the rug before sense kicks in and signals the intense and cold rip of the steel between his ribs. He gasps, hands closing uselessly around Gillian's where he holds the handle, looking into the other man's eyes just as he pulls back- taking the knife with him.
It's like a fire has been lit in his chest. Hawkeye falls to his knees panting,a metallic taste pooling at the back of his throat. He tries to scream but he can't get enough air, only managing a wheezing moan as he clamps his hands over the wound.
He hears more than sees the other man leave, the crunch of gravel under his boots fading in the distance. He slumps forward, catching himself with one hand and focusing intently on the growing spots of blood on the ground below in an attempt to ignore the blinding pain and vertigo.
This is bad, he knows it's bad, knows that he needs to move. The doctor in the back of his mind screams at him to go, to find something to at least stop the bleeding, to find help dammit! So he grits his teeth and stumbles up from his knees, using the side of the tent for support before pushing off and out the door.
He moves slowly, and for a moment he forgets where he's going. He stops, one hand still clamped firmly over his chest, panting and taking a dazed survey of his surroundings. The green of the tents swirl and blend together in the dark, and he has to catch himself from tilting to the ground. That's when he spots the illuminated entrance of the hospital building, and his destination is set. That's where the medical supplies are after all, he just has to hold on until he can get there.
Hawkeye struggles for air, a fog growing in his mind the less he takes in, he thinks he blacks out at some point. He has no idea how he ends up in the Scrub room, so he stands confused, looking around and swaying in place. He spots a neatly folded towel next to a sink and something clicks. He grabs it, holding it to his wound and pushing down. His vision flashes white and his knees give out, sending him sprawling to the ground in agony, one hand pinned between the ground and his chest. He loses consciousness.
To say the Radar is grumpy would be an understatement. There had been a commotion earlier in the night between the Corporals on guard duty and a patient that had escaped from Post-op which had ended with them frog-marching the man back while he yowled like an angry cat. Colonel Potter, fed up with the whole ordeal, then ordered him to contact I-corps immediately to expedite some kind of transportation for him. Never mind the fact that it was so late at night that not even the owls would be awake. He had just managed to get back to sleep a few hours later when the bus arrived.
It was just his rotten luck that this would be the one time the military be quick about helping them.
He's well awake now, after filling out pick-up and transfer forms in triplicate to be sent out first thing in the morning. He might as well use the time doing something productive, so he grabs a clipboard and a fresh sheet of paper, brews a cup of coffee and enters the supply room attached to the OR.
He'd been meaning to do an inspection so that he could requisition supplies they were running low on. He'd tried relying on the actual supply officer before, to less than stellar results. Better to just do it himself.
Radar makes a slow circle of the room, squinting at some of the smaller labels. They'd need more penicillin soon, so he makes a note.
Once he finishes taking stock of the medicine, he moves on to a shelf where the extra surgical gowns are kept neatly folded and cleaned between waves of wounded. He counts them, then counts them again. He comes up 7 short and makes another note. There should be some hanging in the scrub room, but there shouldn't be that many missing. He places his pencil over his ear and lifts his coffee for a sip. He'd better go and check just in case.
Knowing he has to brave the walk through the OR first; Radar clutches his clipboard to his chest. It's never that creepy when all the lights are on, but without wounded and in the middle of the night, there's no good reason to turn them on or keep them on- Not when they're running on something that barely passes for a generator. So he ducks his head, stares at the floor, and moves through the room as quickly as he can. He breathes a sigh of relief when he reaches the doors, pushing one open with the back of his mug laden hand and steps through.
He twists and uses his elbow to hit the light switch. What he finds frightens the life out of him, and he drops his half empty mug, ignoring as it spills and goes rolling across the wooden floor.
"Oh God, Hawkeye?!" Radar drops to the ground and attempts to roll him onto his side, remembering some vague first aid class he'd been forced to take as part of basic training, but he hesitates when he spots the towel pinned underneath him, the red of blood stark against its white surface. He gasps and backpedals, mind moving a mile a minute.
Hawkeye is collapsed in the scrub room, he isn't waking up, and he's bleeding!
"Hawkeye? Hawkeye please!"
He doesn't know what to do, he's not a doctor...A doctor! He needs to get a doctor!
"Oh gosh, Oh God! Hold on Hawkeye! Hold on, I'll be right back with help, I promise!"
He doesn't have time to go hunting someone down. There has to be someone Post-op, they still have a few wounded there. He makes up his mind, bolting outside and straight to the other side of the building.
When he bursts though the doors of Post-op, Margaret whips around in surprise, which quickly turns to ire.
"Radar! What do you think you're doing?! This isn't a playground!" She backs down a little then, noticing his panic.
"Major! Come quick! It's Hawkeye! I think he's hurt, bad!" He grabs her by the sleeve, and she lets him pull her out of the room. She looks back at the other nurse in the room in silent communication to keep an eye on things.
"Hurt? What do you mean? Radar, what's going on?" She pulls her sleeve out of his grip, but still runs after him.
"I went to do an inspection of the supply room and I noticed there were some missing surgical gowns so I went to go look in the scrub room and I found Hawkeye on the ground and there was blood and he wouldn't wake up and oh god!"
He's grateful when she takes the lead, pushing into the scrub room with her shoulder and immediately dropping to the ground beside Hawkeye to look him over. She pulls in a sharp breath when she rolls him onto his side and spots the blood soaked cloth.
"Radar, I need you to find a doctor! As quickly as you can, please!" Margaret doesn't turn around, her job now is to keep Hawkeye from bleeding out beneath her hands.
It's 1 in the morning when BJ leaves Post-op. After the excitement of the evening he's not feeling terribly sleepy, so he chooses to grab a cup of coffee from the Mess Tent before returning to the swamp. He's just settling down at a table and relishing the silence when Klinger comes trudging in. He's dressed quite modestly, all things considered. Choosing a shoe with a low heel that doesn't clash too terribly with the military green of his helmet. In fact his whole outfit is rather sedately colored, and it reflects his mood. He watches amused as the other man grabs his coffee and plops down across from him.
"Oh boy, you would not believe the night I just had!"
"I think I can take a good guess." Bj leans on his elbow, resting his chin on his palm.
"Riiight, you were the one that was in charge of the looney bin last night, huh?"
"For two whole exciting hours of sedated silence. We had to put him under as soon as you guys dragged him in"
"I'm just glad they gave us these," Klinger says, patting the rifle hanging at his side, "Even he wasn't stupid enough to try using a knife in a gun fight."
"He found a knife huh? Sounds like one hell of a harrowing night. Hawk must have been relived when you caught him."
Klinger gives him a side glance over his coffee, confused.
"Captain Pierce, sir?"
BJ gestures his cup vaguely toward the swamp. "Uh-huh, you know the one: tall, dark and sarcastic."
"Yeah, I know who you mean sir, but he wasn't there."
"What do you mean he wasn't there?"
"Exactly what I said! He wasn't there."
"He was right behind the guy, there's no way he wasn't-" BJ pauses when he spots something on the ground near the entrance. He sets his mug down and moves to get a closer look. Klinger follows him over, bewildered. He wrinkles his nose when they get near it.
"Eugh! Who would spill ketchup all over the dirt like that?"
BJ doesn't reply and kneels down to inspect the spot. He feels an icy pit forming in his stomach when he processes what he's seeing.
"Oh god, that's blood..."
He hears Klinger gasp behind him.
"Captain!"
Klinger points at the support pole near the entrance and that's when the ice in his stomach pools into dread. There, smeared across the canvas, is the very clear shape of a bloody hand print.
BJ goes pale and turns back to Klinger as he pieces the information together.
"Klinger, he had a knife?...and Hawk...Hawkeye wasn't with him when you caught him?"
He can see the moment Klinger comes to the same conclusion. He's just opening his mouth to confirm it when Radar's voice comes booming over the P.A.
"I NEED ANY AVAILABLE DOCTOR TO THE SCRUB ROOM IMMEDIATELY!"
There's a pause, and BJ can just make out Margaret's frantic voice in the background before Radar rushes back on.
"PLEASE HURRY!"
There's a loud clattering noise that gets cut off with the announcement, and the abruptness of it jolts both men into action. BJ rushes out of the tent, Klinger fast on his heels. They make a beeline straight for the hospital building, barreling though the double doors and straight into the scrub room.
BJ stops short. Margaret is bent over someone on the ground, one hand holding a bloody towel to his chest and the other on his cheek, leaning in close and trying to rouse him. She glances at them when she hears them enter, and gives BJ space to kneel next to her on the ground, which he does immediately. He doesn't pay much mind to Klinger stepping past them to take a shaken Radar out of the room by his elbow.
Although he'd already guessed-even before he'd gone though the doors- who the emergency call had been for; seeing his best friend unconscious and bleeding makes him freeze in place. He sits uselessly and stares, far too long- at the blood seeping through the towel, the strained way Hawkeye is breathing, the unnatural pallor of his skin- until Margaret grabs his shoulder with her free hand, squeezing a little roughly as she repeats his name.
"BJ are you listening to me? He needs our help!"
Oh god.
"BJ!"
They both jump when the doors slam open and Colonel Potter comes rushing into the room.
"What in blue blazes happened?!"
"Colonel, quickly! It's Captain Pierce!" Margaret waves him down so that he's knelt on Hawkeye's other side, not bothering to try and move BJ.
The Colonel automatically reaches to check his pulse, trying and failing to keep himself from looking as alarmed as he feels. He sits silently, taking count while doing a visual survey of the situation. The heartbeat under his fingers is far too quick and far too faint. He takes his hand away and leans forward, tapping at Hawkeye's cheek and calling out to him in attempt to rouse him. He receives nothing but the continued rasping of breaths in reply.
"Okay Margaret, let me take a look at the wound." Colonel Potter speaks calmly, the weariness in his tone hinting at the fact that he'd seen similar situations in the past. She silently lifts the towel, blanching when it tugs at the wound, and excuses herself to grab a clean wet one when it becomes clear they won't be able to get a closer look without removing some of the dried blood first. The Colonel takes over putting pressure on the wound in the mean time.
"BJ, son, look at me." Potter ducks his head low to meet his gaze and makes him follow it back up with him to be sure he has his attention. "Now he can't afford to lose any more blood, and I can't very well leave him to get some myself."
BJ takes the open ended statement for what it is, and nods reluctantly at the Colonel, giving Hawkeye's shoulder a brief squeeze before standing on shaky legs. He pulls the door open to let Margaret pass before disappearing behind it with one last backward glance.
In the next chapter: Colonel Potter operates on Hawkeye, BJ and Margaret assist. The entire camp waits with baited breath for news. Special guest appearance from the Teddy Bear.