Knees buckling, his vision blurry, and with a hammering in his skull, he barely made it to the wall before collapsing down on to his hands and knees. Hawkeye retched, and what little he had been able to stomach from the mess earlier found its way back up. He leaned hevaily against the wall of the OR, his ribs screaming in protest as he tried to catch his breath.

Find Trapper. Find Trapper. Find Trapper.

He had to get up. His mind screamed at his limbs to respond, willing them to move. Every second that passed was another second Hawkeye didn't know if his best friend was alive or dead. He had to get up.

He ignored the protest of his ribs as he pushed himself off the ground. He ignored the double vision that gave him enough nausea to light up the city of Toledo. He ignored the pounding in his head, the searing pain swelling from the base of his neck.

Find Trapper. Find Trapper. Find Trapper.

With a pained grunt, Hawkeye shoved himself away from the wall and took a few uncertain steps into the dusty fog. The ringing in his ears gave way to an overbearing cacophony of sounds emanating from around him. He was surprised he hadn't noticed before. There were voices crying for help, grunts of exertion and groans of pain, echoes of shells impacting nearby, people shouting orders left and right. He blinked rapidly as the haze thinned, taking in the damage. One of the buildings was what had gotten hit, some splinters of its wooden frame were still on fire. Hawkeye swept his gaze across the terrifying sight, hoping that Trapper was one of the few up and moving, rendering aid and transferring patients to the OR. But he didn't see the tall, curly-haired surgeon.

"Doctor? Doctor? Are you alright?"

Hawkeye barely had time to register the voice before a young blonde nurse was standing in front of him. He swayed on his feet and she shot out a steadying hand, her eyes scanning him over.

"Are you alright?"

He realized she must have repeated this a few times if her concerned stare was any hint. Hawkeye couldn't imagine he looked great, if the state of his uniform was anything to go by. But he tried his best to throw on a charming smile, hiding the pain away behind his carefree mask.

"Just peachy. I didn't know we were getting dinner and a show today. Anyways. Gotta go, sweetheart, looking for someone!"

Before she could protest, Hawkeye had straightened his shoulders and walked purposefully towards the smoking remnants of the building.

The nurse shook her head and made to follow him. But he had said he was fine. Making a mental note to find the doctor again to check on him, she jogged towards her next patient.

Hawkeye stole a glance behind him. He was grateful she hadn't followed. Pretending he was fine, even for those brief moments, had left him winded and light-headed. But he was on a mission. He couldn't give in to his pain. He couldn't give in to his exhaustion. He'd make it, he'd be fine. He'd be fine because he had to be. He was on a mission. Hawkeye focused on the goal ahead of him, repeating the mantra that had tormented his waking moments. He wrapped one arm protectively around his chest and limped painfully towards the site of the explosion.

Find Trapper. Find Trapper. Find Trapper.

"Trap!"

"Tr-Trapper!"

Hawkeye hollered, wincing at the rough sound and weakness of his voice. His progress was slowing; he hadn't found him by the destroyed building or amongst the group of injured the corpsman were bringing in from around the camp. He had to be around here somewhere. Think…we were headed towards the supply tent…Trapper had shoved me back away from the blast…maybe he was over by OR? He had looked there already, but decided to head back. With his vision ranging from blurred to double, he couldn't exactly trust that he hadn't overlooked something.

It only took him a few minutes to limp back towards the OR, but it felt like days. Hawkeye found his left leg getting to be quite uncooperative, a dull ache shooting up with every step. He could feel his energy draining away as edged closer and closer. The adrenaline that had kept him on his feet, and kept the pain from his injuries away, was dwindling. He had to find Trapper soon. He just had to.

Hawkeye finally reached the OR and looked around. They were still bringing people into the building, and he knew he would be called to help soon. It would be all hands on deck if anyone was seriously injured. He didn't see Trapper and was about to head towards their tent to see if he'd gone there, when something caught his eye. There. Peeking around the back of the OR. The sole of a boot...

Trapper!

Moving faster than he believed he could, Hawkeye ran-hobbled to the back of OR and stopped short. The sight almost had him doubled over and vomiting again.

Trapper was lying face down in the dirt, arms outstretched ahead of him and his legs bent up, as if he'd been crawling. Beneath his torso loomed a stagnant pool of blood, reflecting the rays of the evening sun. A white piece of bone protruded from his shin, gleaming sardonically against the brownness of the dirt and drab green of his uniform. He wasn't moving. Was he breathing? God, was he breathing?

Hawkeye shook himself out of his brief stupor and rushed towards his best friend. The doctor was in control now, he was all business. His own pains and injuries flew to the back of his mind.

He stooped down next to Trapper and hesitated just for a moment, before feeling for a pulse in his neck. Please, please, please…

A weak, but steady beat drummed beneath Hawkeye's fingertips, easing the pit of unease that had settled coldly in his gut. With skilled precision, Hawkeye searched for other injuries. Besides the sickening fracture to his leg, and some shrapnel wounds that explained the blood pool, Trapper seemed to be okay.

Quickly but carefully turning him over, Hawkeye tried to wake his best friend.

"Trap! Tr-Trap! Hey, you with me? Trap?"

No response. The only sound breaking the stillness of the evening was Hawkeye's ragged breathing. He tried to calm the panic bubbling in his chest as he stripped off the remnants of his jacket. Trapper was too pale, too still...he had to stop the bleeding and get him some medical attention, now. Hawkeye wadded up his jacket and pressed it firmly down onto the trickling wounds on Trapper's stomach.

With a pained grunt, Trapper's eyes flew open. He latched onto Hawkeye's arm with a vice-like grip, the agony evident in his stare.

"It's alright…it's alright Trap, I've…I've got you. I'm gunna get you to post-op, okay?"

Trapper gave him a brief look of understanding before his eyes fluttered closed and his body went limp, giving into exhaustion and pain. Hawkeye was worried, but the thready pulse in his friends wrist assuaged his spiraling thoughts. The torso wounds were worrying, as was the obvious loss of blood, but it was the sliver of bone sticking awkwardly out of the tear in Trapper's pant leg that roiled Hawkeye's insides. He had never been good with broken bones. He remembered one summer when his best friend had fallen off his bike and broken his arm. The bone had been sticking out of the skin, and Hawkeye had lost the contents of his stomach on the side of the road. It really was a miracle he was a doctor.

Tiredly running a hand through his hair, Hawkeye sat back on his haunches. Debating. Thinking. He had to get Trap to post-op... He could have at least stayed awake to help me get him to his feet. With a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he tried to decide how best to get Trapper up.

Gotta keep that leg off the ground, so I can't just throw his arm over my shoulder and walk him there. I could always put him on my back and fireman's carry him…but his torso injury…damn. Huffing out a resigned sigh, Hawkeye knew he'd have to carry him in his arms. Like a couple on their wedding night. Like the leading lady swept up into the arms of the dashing lead. Taking a deep a breath as he could, already anticipating the pain, Hawkeye steeled himself for this next hurdle.

"Why couldn't you have been a 5'6" petite brunette?"