The wait is excruciating.
It long ago passed humourous, sped right on past annoying, and officially hit agonizing about the time Clay stopped responding to him. After another half hour of silence Sonny realizes that he definitely spoke too soon earlier. Apparently the French do thave the balls to torture people after all.
He occasionally tries calling out to Clay but there is still no response. Not even any movement to speak off. Every once in a while he thinks he maybe hears some slight sound through the wall, his hopeful ears straining to hear if its a chain rattling or a body shifting, praying that it might be Clay coming back around and not just his imagination playing tricks on him.
More minutes and probably hours pass. He doesn't even know how long because it feels like years or even eternities to him.
His mind conjures up all sorts of terrible visions of Clay passed out on the other side of the wall, some horrible combination of blood loss and infections running rampant, maybe a clot stopping his heart. Trent would probably be proud of all the different terribly specific medical scenarios his brain manages to come up with proving that he does actually occasionally listen.
Finally there's a voice he recognizes coming down the hallways in the distance. He strains and picks up a few more familiar tones amongst the jumbled sounds of footsteps and voices approaching.
Thank you Jesus, a rescue operation.
Sonny tries to make it to his feet, determined to be standing when the boys finally bust this dang thing open. Unfortunately neither the chain length nor his stiff uncooperative limbs are willing to cooperate to make that happen so he has to settle for sitting as upright as he can manage and leans to the side trying to see through the hole.
After a few seconds he finally gets eyes on them. Jason, Ray, Trent and Brock, the whole team striding into the main cellblock accompanied by a solemn, somewhat harried looking man that Sonny hasn't seen before. Judging by the way the guards straighten up and snap to attention, trying to look like they were doing their jobs rather than lounging around in a completely unprofessional manner, he is guessing the man might be some sort of supervisor, or at least someone important. Sonny takes some perverse pleasure as the man snaps something curtly at the two bozos and they trip over their own two feet, bumbling and stumbling through a response before hurrying over towards his cell with a speed he didn't think either the mustaschole or his partner stumpy the dwarf was capable of.
There's a rattling of keys, the screech of heavy rusted metal and then the door in front of him wrenches open and a sudden onslaught of light streams into his cell.
He blinks through the abrupt assault to his eyeballs and when his vision finally clears his team is gathered around the door of the cell, smiling and smirking down at him as he sits in the middle of the floor chained up like an idiot.
Jason, Ray, Brock, Trent, the gangs all here.
Sonny can't help smiling back ruefully because if it was anyone else in his position he knows he would be doing far worse. Probably loudly laughing his ass off or mentally building a whole repertoire of jokes to taunt them with until kingdom come. Instead since he is the one on the butt end of this he just settles for a surprisingly sincere "God Damn I'm happy to see you guys."
And he really is. He is ready for this to be over. Ready to get out of this infernal cell. Ready to be done with all these fucking french fuckers.
His relief at seeing the team hale and whole and here for the rescue is enough to distract him for a few seconds but then he quickly remembers why he was so angry in the first place and abruptly realizes the important point he should have started with. "Hey get me out of these damn things, and we need to get to Clay, he's in the next one over and wasn't doing so hot."
Jason's face instantly shifts from mild amusement to concern. "Why, what's wrong with him?" He swings a thunderous gaze onto the supervisor standing next to him who looks equally as confused.
Sonny lets the man shift uncomfortably for a second, probably correctly surmising that his life is at risk if One thinks that he tortured one of his men, and then clarifies.
"He was shot and those bastards just stuck him in a cell and did jackshit about it." Sonny pins his glare on the far more deserving culprits. Twiddle dee and twiddle dumb now trying to look invisible as four more murderous expressions turn in their directions. Good at least they understood that.
The supervisor grimaces and gestures to the closest one, fucking mustache man, motioning for him to unlock Sonny's cuffs. The shithead reluctantly steps away from the wall, digging out his set of keys and approaches the cell but stops a few steps before he actually enters it and looks warily in at how Sonny has positioned himself.
Ray looks between the man, Sonny's free feet, and the clear intention probably written all over Sonny's face. Dammnit. For an idle second Sonny wishes he had a better poker face but that ship has sailed and Ray reads him like a book, stepping in between him and the guard and holding out his hands for the keys. The asshole hesitates again, clearly torn between protocols and self preservation, but after one more look back at Sonny he willingly hands over the keys and steps back a few steps.
Smart man
Ray makes short work of his cuffs and then holds out a hand to pull Sonny awkwardly to his feet. Sonny ignores it, waving the man away "I'm good, go let bam bam out of the well." As Perry exits the cell Sonny manages to stand up stiffly on his own, wavering slightly on shaky legs and trying to inject some dignity into it as he totters a few steps. He wobbles his way out the door, rubbing his wrists and grimacing as pins and needles race up and down his legs. Shaking them out impatiently he hurries out into the main cell block and then over to where Jason and Trent are impatiently watching Ray try to open the cell door.
He passes the guard by, and idly gives a thought to ripping his damn head off but carries on focusing on his other priorities right now.
Ray is still fumbling with the locks on Clay's door when Sonny makes it over to the group. He gets a slap on the shoulder but doesn't even bother to look at who it came from, staring intently down at the ancient lock that Ray is struggling to get the key to work with.
Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up, he urges silently.
And then there it is. A click and the lock pops off, almost mockingly easily now. Jason and Brock reef on the door, everyone wincing slightly as the metal scrapes across the stone floor.
When it finally opens enough they can see him.
And fuck, as he suspected Clay is unconscious, sitting back up against the wall with his bad leg stretched awkwardly out in front of him. Sonnys eyes dance between the bandage on his leg soaked through, the cuffs still twisting his arms back and the way, his head dips listlessly down to his chest and has to physically force himself not to lose it right there and then.
Clay doesn't react to the angry noises or the swear words that get uttered. He remains still and unmoving, settling a strong painful vice grip squeezing Sonny's heart and stomach all at the same time.
Trent hurries in, settling down on one knee beside the kid and places a hand on Clay's forehead. "Jesus, he's burning up."
The contact of his cold hand on Clay's hot forehead finally has Clay stirring under his touch.
Blondie cracks open his eyes, lifts his head slightly and surveys the situation. After a few dazed seconds he smiles slightly at the sight of his team and mumbles an entirely unconvincing "I'm alright."
"Sure you are, kid." Trents tone has the familiar fond exasperation that Clay seems to bring out in all of them and he carefully eases up the sodden bandage to check the wound. Whatever he sees he clearly doesn't like but he manages to keep most of the grimace off his face, placing the bandage back down and focusing on taking Clay's pulse.
Clays eyes start to droop shut with a few heavy blinks but then suddenly snap open again, shock wide in full alarm mode before asking "Sonny?" He looks around anxiously, disoriented with the lights and people, until the object of his concern steps more into the cell, bending stiffly down so that he's directly and obviously in Clay's line of sight.
"I'm right here kid. It's all good, the cavalry's here."
Clay's eyes fix on him and then after a second he seems to process that and relaxes slightly. Eyes starting to sink closed again.
"Just relax Clay. We've got it covered," Trent urges, tone soothing and gentle as he maintains a light hold on Spenser's wrist trying again to get a pulse now that Clay's stopped fussing. There is no hint of his usual reproach or any threat of a lecture here because for once this really isn't Clay's fault. The kid didn't hide an injury or take a stupid chance here and they know exactly who is to blame and who to direct their anger at.
And sure enough as Trent finishes checking vitals, he swivels slightly away, turning a cool blistering glare on the supervisor, standing at the doorway. "How long has he been like this?"
Again the man looks uncomfortable, "I do not know," he manages stiffly, and heavily accented as he chooses his words carefully and continues on.
"I only got here a few minutes ago. Things have been chaotic. Communications down as you know. I was not here as early as I should have been." He finishes slightly apologetically which wins him a few points in Sonny's book but that's also not saying much.
Then he turns to his men, Fatso and Beardo, seemingly demanding an answer. The two guards just shrug uncomfortably, mute again or pretending not to parler le fricking anglais, who knows.
Trent quickly dismisses them all, giving up on getting any useful information and instead turns back to his patient.
"Help me get him out."
Sonny clumsily moves to help but Brock smoothly slides by and beats him to it.
It's probably for the best because Sonny's shoulders are still screaming at him and parts of his hands are a bit numb so chances are he wouldn't have been all that helpful.
Instead he watches grimly as they each get an arm under one side of Clay. Trent gets a second grip under Clay's good leg and then they carefully lifts his limp form and navigate the narrow space through the cell and doorway trying not to bump his bad leg in the process.
When they get him out into the better lit hallway the pallor of his skin scares the shit out of Sonny. The movement and jostling doesn't wake him either as they slowly lower him down onto a couple jackets trying to keep him off the cold floor.
There is absolute silence as everyone takes in the gravity of the situation.
It's the supervisor who finally breaks it, roughly clearing his throat before saying "I will get you supplies and an escort to the hospital immediately. "
The team ignores him, or at least Sonny does. He's not really paying attention and only has eyes for their boy right now.
Trent sets about assessing now that he can see more and has better access to work in alcove outside their cells.
Thankfully within a few seconds the medical kit and board does arrive with a new guard hustling down the hallway. the first evidence that this station isn't completely ill equipped and inept. When the guard gets close enough, Sonny steps forward and wrenches both objects out of his hands. He passes the kit into Brock, but holds onto the board and then steps in front to make it clear that no other assistance is required. They have this covered, these guys have done enough and as far as he's concerned none of them are getting back near Clay anytime soon.
There's a flurry of movement as Brock and Trent work to stabilize Clay. Within a few minutes they have an IV started and fluids pushing, his body wrapped in an emergency blanket and his feet elevated.
At a nod from Trent, Sonny moves closer and sets the board next to Clay's inert form. Jason and Ray bend down to help and with a practiced ease he wishes they didn't have, the team works together to efficiently roll and strap Clay onto the hard plastic. Despite it all Clay remains, silent and still. The only movement is the visible shivers running through his body even under the blankets and Spenser stubbornly ignores all attempts to get a response from him up until a particularly rough sternum rub gets low groan and some flickering eyelids.
"That's it. Wake up lil buddy."
Sonny hovers over as Clay struggles to follow the command. But before Trent can rub again or Spenser can really achieve anything resembling consciousness the supervisor interrupts provoking another blistering glare from Sonny.
"The ambulance is out front now. I have two units ready to lead it to the hospital and make sure there are no delays."
Trent and Brock move to lift the board in response to that, Sawyer clearly eager to get Clay to a hospital, so Sonny has to settle for awkwardly patting Clay's arm a few times and murmuring a see you later to the kid who is still groggily fighting his way back to consciousness and probably doesn't even hear it.
He reluctantly relinquishes his hold on Spenser's arm and watches as the pair carefully rises and carries the makeshift stretcher down the hallway and out the way they came in. Before the rest of them can follow the supervisor steps forward into their path to deliver one last "Again our sincerest apologies. My men were only acting on the information they had in the moment. It was a difficult situation, a possible terrorist threat, you understand."
Jason seems to fight with what he actually wants to say for a second before settling for just clamping his mouth shut and brushing past the man with a pronounced glower. Ray manages a stiff "thank you" for all of them, although its clearly a painful effort to force out each word.
Because no. They don't fucking understand.
And his mistake or at least his men's mistake jeopardized the health of their friend and brother for no good reason other than their own incompetence, and very misguided anger.
And for that very reason Sonny can't let it die.
He turns to the supervisor, leans in dangerously close and grits out "you might want to try that apology again a bit later when he's actually conscious" He is somewhat proud of his self control when he manages to leave it at that.
He turns to follow out after Jason, makes it a few steps and then says fuck it. Sonny pivots back and takes two hard strides back over to where his favorite mustached guard is lurking. Sonny lets his fist fly straight into the man's nose, right above that stupid little mustache and the face that antagonized him through the bars for the last how ever many hours
He relishes the crunch under his knuckles and then uses his best and really only French to bid the asshole "Au Revoir" with a small salute and a satisfied grin.
Sonny storms away without another word, firmly ignoring Ray's exasperated look and daring anyone else to say anything about it or try and stop him now. He's spent enough time in this damn place and has better places to be right now. So let them try.
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