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Trent is torn.
It's a familiar feeling these days.
He is perpetually a man of two worlds. Separating life into chunks lived at home as loving partner and then more frequent and larger pieces as an operator spent away on missions and deployments. Ever since he joined Bravo it became harder and harder to try to distinguish the two as separate and distinct things because the notions of work, and team and family, all got a little more intertwined and a whole lot more messy.
Even when he's operating he struggles to define his role solely as one thing. To some extent that's the nature of existing in Devrgu where every team member of the team must be ready to breach, shoot, defuse, negotiate or blend in sometimes all within a matter of minutes as the mission requires. But on top of that he also has to balance his responsibilities as the team's unofficially designated medic. There is no actual title, no designation or formal requirement, and yet they all know it's his name getting called when shit hits the fan and five heads will be turning his way expecting him to find a way to make it better.
Most of the time he finds a way to walk the line and to keep one foot in each world with his priorities straight and his head in the right game at the right time. Most of the time its cut and try and he can make a clear assessment based on his given role at that specific time.
Except when it isn't. Like those moments where both sides of him are called upon in a crucial moment and he can't decide who he should be for those few key seconds. How to be everything to everyone. Should he shoot first and treat later or abandon the tactical needs in favour of ensuring a life is saved? There are costs either way and sometimes he drowns in the what ifs and the could have beens that result from those split second decisions.
Even more despised are the moments when there is more than one injured party who needs him and frustratingly always only one of him. Sure he knows how to triage and prioritize but that doesn't make it any easier when you have to turn your back on one person to help another. Even worse when it's a brother suffering on either side which happens far too often for his liking. He's pretty sure that Bravo was put on earth to ensure he goes grey long before his time. The team will probably never know how hard it is for him to delegate and trust someone else to handle part of a situation where multiple lives are on the line. How much he fears not being around or not being able to help them when they truly need it.
And if he's brutally honest with himself he's done exactly that in abandoning them right now.
While the rest of the team eagerly packed up to return to Jason, he convinced Clay to let him remain in the temporary triage center that's been hastily assembled in the main loading docks and assembly hall.
He figures Jason would forgive him, even though Clay raised an eyebrow at his request, correctly surmising that there were lots of paramedics who probably could have managed just fine without him. Trent trusts Jason would have understood his desire to deal with the living and to help those he still can. And hell Jason Hays practically patented the whole burying one's feelings in work thing so even if he could object now Trent would happily call pot meet kettle.
He reminds himself of that when the guilt tries to rear its head again and when thoughts of the team standing a last watch without him sits like a pit in his stomach.
Trent is thankfully distracted from his rapidly derailing train of thought by a policeman escorting over another victim to his station. She's the eighth battered, beaten dehydrated, malnourished, woman who sat in this chair in front of him. This one has eyes so hollowed and so vacant, he wonders if there is still anything left doesn't even seem to have registered the fact that her life's course has just altered again. Doesn't seem at all aware that she's been snatched back from whatever unspeakable horrors were awaiting them at their next destination. Instead she sits silently in the chair, still and fragile as a statue. He's terrified he might shatter her if he even so much as exhales.
She doesn't speak, doesn't blink, or acknowledge any of his questions in any way. The only reaction he gets is a wince when he moves her wrist. The bruising pattern is distinct, and he can almost see the way it snapped under someone's strong grip, wrenching it sharply to pull her in a direction she didn't want to go. His blood boils at the thought of such unnecessary violence and he feels a renewed sense of gratitude for the bullets he expended earlier.
It's a miracle they got these women out when they did but that doesn't mean their life hasn't been drastically changed forever. The journey here alone, being kidnapped and mistreated, is more than enough of a harsh introduction into the level of cruelty and malice that exists in the bowels of humanity.
Trent slowly wraps a tensor bandage around her bruised and swollen skin, winding it up higher to wrap it around the torn skin and abrasions where she was clearly tied up at some point. He secures it with a clip, pressing down just enough to make sure its stays on but trying not to cause her any additional pain. Its one small gesture, but maybe over time, over many acts of kindness she will someday be able to trust again and find a renewed belief that not everyone is out to hurt her.
Finished, he makes a few notes on the triage placard, noting the wrist injury, her vitals, and a recommendation for an X-ray and an IV as she is one of the more dehydrated ones he's seen so far. Trent reaches up to hang it around her neck, trying not to react when she flinches away. He smiles sadly while he slowly helps her to her feet and assists her in the direction of the area they have set up for those who have already been assessed to wait for transportation to various hospitals.
He is about to wave at an officer to bring over the next victim when Clay's voice comes on the coms, terse and short.
"Bravo 3 need you back at the other building now."
There's no additional details or context provided and it probably says something about his team's track record rack record that his thoughts immediately start cataloging possible injuries that were missed, or more likely hidden, and have now become an issue.
Like he knew he should have forced Sonny to wrap those cracked ribs, but he just didn't have the energy today to fight that fight. It had already taken a tense game of chicken, several threats and seemingly five years off Trent's life just to get the man to lift his shirt so he could find out why his breathing was so off. So maybe something shifted now, he probably should have done more.
Or did he miss something with Brock. After all that with Sonny, he'd happily taken Brock at his word when he said he was fine apart from the obvious nose injury and maybe a minor concussion. Their dog handler wasn't usually one to hide injuries and Trent had taken his assessment at face value meaning now he's wondering if he would have found something had he actually looked closer. Something maybe Brock wouldn't have realized could become an issue like a swollen windpipe, internal bleeding, intracranial pressure, all things that a more thorough exam would have revealed. All things Trent would have and should have caught.
Shit.
There are only a handful of women left and the paramedics have it well under control so he packs up and convinces a local policeman to drive him between sites.
There's radio silence while he's en route which he tries to take as a good sign. No frantic calls for a medi vac. No demands for his ETA. They aren't looping HAVOC in so maybe it's not as bad as he thinks.
Except they are clearly busy with something and his brain has nothing else to do for the next 6 minutes but conjure through all sorts of different possibilities
Trent races into the building, so convinced of what he will find that he is already slinging his kit off his shoulder to start treatment.
Instead he finds them all upright.
All of them, still on their feet... and at first glance they are just as healthy as when he last saw them. His stomach untwists slightly and his panic rapidly shifts to confusion because Bravo 1 is lying forgotten and alone on the other side of the room, while the rest of his team is huddled up in the opposite corner.
It's immediately clear Sonny isn't having any breathing issues because he's barking out instructions to Clay while they manhandle a large piece of rebar out of a mess of rubble. Brock on the other hand, is on the ground now, on all fours and shoulder to shoulder with Cerberus while they both dig around with a sense of urgency that Trent really doesn't understand.
Brock contorts himself slightly, lifting a large slab of drywall and reaching under it. Cerb eagerly snuffles at his side, trying to squeeze himself in underneath just a little bit further, both of them putting themselves into precarious positions that make Trent cringe. If something shifts, or collapses… Seriously. What the hell are they thinking? What could possibly require this?
Trent takes a few steps into the room with the intent of putting an end to this lunacy, but has to stop more than once to dodge flying pieces of rubble being tossed with reckless abandon in all directions.
And then, just as he gets in close, one final slab moves.
He blinks in confusion, staring at the hole that unexpectedly appeared under all that crap.
Clay continues clearing away debris, exposing more and more of the opening. Three headlamps click on, beams of light sweeping the edges of the tunnel and down further until suddenly they stop.
Trent approaches the edge hesitantly, peering down into the thick darkness to where the three rays are transfixed onto a very human like shape below.
And then his head pivots around back to the other body so fast he probably gives himself whiplash.
He turns back again and stares in disbelief because he'd know that head of hair, that uniform, that body down them anywhere.
Which means this one up here, that mess of a human being… isn't him.
His heart races at the idea, at the possibility, chest swelling with hope and warmth even as his mind tries valiantly to temper expectations. Once again he's torn, even as he's beginning to celebrate, chalking another one up to the long list of unbelievable exploits that Bravo 1 has pulled off, he is also rapidly doing the math. That's a long way down there, even if Jason did manage to survive the explosion, even if he was alive when he went down. But the way his team is looking at him it's clear they are expecting a miracle here.
He kneels at the edge, and leans over as much as he can. It's Impossible to tell if Jason's alive. There's rocks and dust on top of him...and a puddle of blood visible from even up here.
Fuck.
And what isn't visible is any signs of movement. No chest rising and falling, no hand twitching, absolutely nothing that might indicate the man below is any luckier than the one up here.
But Trent's heart says he has to be. He has to. They didn't come this far, get this lucky for him not to be alive.
He calls down a bit hesitantly…. "Jason"
That gets no response so he raises his voice "Jason!"
"Bravo 1!" even more sharply, but there's still no response. His cries echo down deep, reverberating off the walls all the way to the bottom where Jason doesn't so much as stir.
Damnit, he needs to be down there, now.
He eyes the ladder which is clearly missing some key structural components near the top where most of the damage is. That's not going to work.
Instead he fumbles to secure a line to his vest, handing it off with brusque instructions "somebody get me tied off."
Within seconds he is repelling downward at a mostly safe speed. He reaches the bottom and doesn't even bother unhooking in favor of scrambling over to Jason's side and counting on his team to give him some extra slack in the line.
His fingers go straight to his neck, willing there to be something there. Jason's skin is shockingly cold and for a second, that's all he can focus on. Then… when he pushes down a little harder, concentrates a little more, he finally feels it, weak and thready and barely there but son of a bitch, he's alive.
Which means he's been alive this whole time, stuck down in this dingy, cold, tunnel probably wondering where the hell his team was while they were busy parading all over the city. There's little time to dwell on that uncomfortable truth right now.
Instead Trent crans his neck and shouts back up the shaft "He's alive. Get the medics here now and I need some more damn light"
He ignores the furor above him. Doesn't wait for the lights, working with what he's got and going by feel. A hand on Jason's chest shows his breathing is scarily rapid and shallow, and the man's skin is cold and clammy, pointing to shock, or maybe hypothermia given the cooler temperature down here. Possibly both.
"Heads up"
Trent glances up briefly to see a rainfall of glowsticks heading down in his direction. They land and scatter around adding an eerie incandescent green glow for him to work with.
Between that and his headlamp it's going to have to do. He's worked in worse conditions.
He focuses his torch on Jason's face and then sweeps down over his body in one smooth motion. Hypovolemic shock is immediately evident, both from the ghostly pallor and then the blood pool around his leg.
He suspects there are other injuries he can't see because clearly the man took this tumble at a bad angle. Spinal damage, skull fractures, internal bleeding are all in the realm of possibility. The blood at his hairline confirming he at least whacked his head on the way down. Jason's hypothermic. His vitals are in the tank, he's bleeding from somewhere external, and who knows where internally. If Trent makes one wrong move he could paralyze the man, cut off blood flow to his extremities or brain. Jason could end up a vegetable, forever doomed to a life dependent on machines.
Breathe Trent.
Slow it down.
He talks himself down as the surge of emotion and adrenaline bleeds into his normally composed medical assessment contaminating it with fear and panic that make it hard to think or plan.
This won't do.
Right now he just needs to be Jason's medic. Just one thing. Just one job. Just this moment.
He breathes out slowly and shuts away any other parts of him that are complicating that. Narrows his focus to the here and now. He just needs to do his job. One small step at a time
Triage.
Prioritize
So what is the biggest issue right now?
The answer comes easily now. Fingers already reaching out and searching for the source of all that blood near his leg. They sweep across a wet patch starting at his low abdomen, continuing down to his thigh.
He slides down towards it, focusing his helmet light on the gash that runs across the top of Jason's hip. It trails down like a shallow river, trickling into a much bigger, much deeper issue that looks like a nasty stab wound to his mid thigh.
Jason managed to get a tourniquet on at some point. Bloody handprints and smears speak to the herculean effort that took. Thankfully the man persevered through because it's probably the only reason he's still alive. The stab wound is still bleeding sluggishly despite the constriction above it so he presses down firmly. Disappointed when even that doesn't produce so much as a flinch from the man.
Clay calls down an update from a forgotten world far above him "Medics are two mikes out. Local cops are clearing a route to the nearest hospital for us"
Right now Trent is eminently grateful that this is one rare mission where they can actually get their man to proper facilities with no hassle. For all the red tape they dealt with at the start, all the hoops they jumped through to maintain local government support, it's worth it right now to be able to get Jason to Doctors and Surgeons with fancy CT scanners and operating tables within a matter of minutes instead of hours or days.
"How's he doing Trent?"
Right, a response to the initial update probably would have been nice. He gathers his scattered thoughts into something somewhat coherent.
"He's non-responsive. Tacky Cardiac. BP is in the tank which isn't surprising considering he's been bleeding out for over 6 hours. Likely broken bones, possible spinal damage. I'm gonna start a central line and an emergency transfusion before I move him. But he needs a hospital yesterday."
Above him he can hear Sonny swearing and he sees Clay stumble up and then out of view suddenly. Trent stares up, trying to figure out what is going on until he hears the telltale signs of someone emptying the contents of their stomach loud enough to carry even all the way down here.
The medic briefly wonders if that's the concussion he's been pretending not to have finally catching up to him or just the jarring realization that it was his decision that meant Jason was left bleeding out down here for an additional 360 or so minutes without care.
Either way he doesn't have time for that right now.
The walking wounded can wait. Torn in two once again, he is going to have to trust someone up there to take care of it because Jason needs him right now. Needs more help than Trent can give right now.
He leans back and yells upwards "I'm gonna need a backboard down here before we even try to move him. We'll have to use a basket to get the board up from here, need to keep him flat and level on the way up as much as possible."
Brock yells back something vaguely affirmative and disappears out of view.
Trent does what he can while he waits on Brock, working with quick efficiency even as his fingers start to get clumsy in the cold cavern. He gets a pressure dressing on the wound, secures the C-spine with a neck brace and starts a transfusion before he wraps it all up nice and tight in a shock blanket. He watches Jason's face intently, willing the man back to consciousness as the blood drips in. Logically he knows Jason's blood volume is still too low but he still can't help fearing this prolonged lack of consciousness speaks to other more serious problems like brain damage that he can't fix.
A shadow snuffs out the minimal light source from above and he glances up to see Brock starting to work his way down rappelling awkwardly through the cramped corridor with supplies in tow.
Behind Bravo 5 another shape leans over, Sonny's head and large shoulders obscuring most of the rest of the tunnel resists the urge to yell at the man to get back because he knows the man wants desperately to be down here helping right now. Is probably going crazy being benched for this particular job. Unfortunately when push comes to shove Brock is the better man for it, better at first aid, smaller to fit through the narrowed passageway, and doesn't have broken ribs that a harnessed descent could put enough pressure on to cause problems they don't need right now.
When Brock arrives they work quickly and efficiently to stabilize Jason and get him secured for transport.
There is no easy way to get him up and Trent doesn't really get his wish of keeping him flat or level, or really even avoiding jostling him. The tunnel shaft is too narrow at points and Trent winces and frowns as they end up having to tilt, turn and do whatever is necessary to get him out. They walk a fine line between going slow and cautious and also needing to get the man out of there so they can get him the treatment he desperately needs at a hospital. In the end he hopes they strike the right balance. Only time will tell but the fact that they are even worrying about injuries would have seemed like a luxury less than an hour ago when they were still planning funerals and casualty notifications.
The medics swarm them at the top of the hole.
Trent mostly ignores them, not bothering to catch them up and moving the backboard over to the stretcher with Brock to hurry them along. He doesn't have the time or patience to work through a language barrier and he's already done most of what can be done for him here so really he just needs them to put pedal to the medal and get them to the damn hospital.
To that end he doesn't wait for them and climbs up into the rig and parks himself at the head of the stretcher laying claim to the primary spot and forcing the paramedic who clambers up after him to take a seat on the bench beside.
As the doors close behind him he catches a glimpse of Sonny, Clay and Brock standing watching their departure. His teammates are dirty, bruised, bloody, exhausted and look damn near the ends of their ropes. He tries to give them a reassuring smile, portray more confidence in the outcome than he currently feels, knowing just how hard it must be for them to lose contact with Jason after just getting him back. He nods reassuringly one last time. It's going to be okay. They are all going to be ok.
He looks back down at his patient as they start moving.
"You hear that. You are going to be ok. Don't you make me a liar."
The paramedic starts hooking up leads to Jason's chest and Trent holds his breath watching the monitors start to register his vitals in a more precise way than his fingers could ever hope to. They are low, borderline critical, but he is still hanging on. He is still here.
Jason is a fighter, no doubt about it. The incredible depths of his stubbornness coupled with his truly appalling lack of self preservation usually exasperate the shit out of his medic but right now Trent will take every bit of that stiff-necked, hard-headed, dogged determination and straight up obstinacy, if it helps keep Jason's heart beating for just one more beat after all he's been through today.
As if to prove him right he watches Jason's blood pressure rises ever so slightly, it goes up, then down, then stays back up again. One small digit higher but it feels like a monumental milestone for the unconscious man.
"Thats it Jason. We got you now. Just keep fighting"
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