Just some straightforward, old-fashioned sick whump. Sorry Brock!
Part two coming soon.
Sometimes Brock feels like he's invisible.
Not literally, of course, and not all the time. But every now and then, he wonders if anyone would notice if he just disappeared.
He feels it the most when Bravo's on a mission that doesn't require Cerberus.
He knows he's a talented canine handler, and that's something he's immensely proud of. His well-developed partnership with his military working dog has saved Bravo's collective ass more times than he can count, and he knows how valued that is among his team and command.
But without the dog present, Brock starts to feels like he isn't as important, not as necessary to the dynamic of the team. Jason's the leader, Ray and Clay are the precision shooters, Sonny's the muscle, Trent's the medic, and Brock's just…Brock.
It makes him wonder if he carries a fair share of the team's weight. If the guys think less of him somehow.
In his head, Brock knows Jason wouldn't accept it if he was underperforming. Bravo 1 expects excellence from all of them, and he certainly doesn't hesitate to call them out if they aren't meeting those expectations.
But away from his head – deeper inside where long-held insecurities run rampant and set butterfly wings loose in his stomach – Brock doubts his ability. He watches these men work together like a well-oiled machine and he wonders if he's really a valuable part of that.
Is he as important to the rest of the team as Ray? Or Trent?
Or even Spenser?
The rookie joined Bravo after him – crashing into their lives with ego and drive and seemingly unlimited confidence – and it didn't take long to realize he was the shiny new penny who Jason was enamored with, far more than he ever had been with Brock.
That's fine. Brock doesn't have a desire to lead his own team someday like Spenser does. He simply wants to do his job and he wants to do it well, making a difference along the way.
But that doesn't mean it smarts any less when it's Clay who Jason looks at with that twinkle in his eye.
Brock has to wonder – if he was replaced by someone else, would much of anything change for the rest of the team?
The personalities on Bravo can be overwhelming. The guys rib him for being quiet, but he doesn't think he really is. He wouldn't consider himself to be shy, or socially awkward or anything like that. He just generally doesn't feel the need to speak unless he has a real reason. And he doesn't have the drive to dominate the conversation like some of the other guys do.
So sure, he may be quieter than the rest of the team but that's because they yammer incessantly and it's hard to get a word in edgewise.
But one on one, Brock knows he can talk your ear off. And away from the larger group dynamic he has a close, personal relationship with every single one of them. He's only known these men for a few years – Spenser even less – but there's no one else in his life he's grown closer to in such a short period of time. They're truly his best friends.
He knows he's more of an observer, and he tells himself that's okay. That it's actually one of his greatest strengths. It gives him a good understanding of the dynamic of his team. He knows intuitively when it's safe to tease Sonny and when he should steer clear. Or when Clay needs a bit of an ego boost. He can tell when Jason is going to push them hard and he should probably grab an extra few hours of sleep if he can.
And he can read them all well enough by now to know that this current mission is going to absolutely suck.
That's too bad because he's actually excited for it. They're deep in the jungle of Brazil and it's the first time Brock's been in the actual Amazon rainforest, which is pretty high on his bucket list.
It's a very simple reconnaissance mission – travel on foot to a drug cartel's remote encampment deep under the canopy without being noticed and collect intel on the cocaine operation that's sprung up in the area. The drug money is being used for nefarious purposes that have international implications and, really, what else is new?
Jason's pissed about the whole thing, rightly annoyed that they've even been given the job at all. A low-level op like this could have been given to any team and certainly didn't need to be reserved for a team like Bravo. Or DEVGRU at all. It's a waste of their skills and ability, and there's almost zero chance of conflict.
But when powerful and corrupt government leaders insist on the 'best' so they can get reelected, Bravo team sometimes gets called in whether it makes sense or not. That's politics.
Despite the drama, and the lack of a real challenge, Brock likes this kind of mission.
It's gonna take a good two days to get there and the same to get back, all on foot, and Brock's looking forward to it. Sonny may whine his whole way through, but Brock appreciates the strain he feels in his aching muscles and the hard-won sense of accomplishment when they've achieved their task. He'd take the jungle over the desert any day. He enjoys the constant hum of the birds and insects on the air – life vibrant and bold all around him. It's like he's caught up in a storybook from his childhood – off on an adventure through the wilderness.
#####
Day one goes according to plan and they make good time. There's no one else around for miles and miles. No villages or outposts. Just endless wilderness. They're completely cut off from any of their support team and won't actually talk to them until they get back. That means things are pretty quiet. They chat some, but mostly the aura is kind of depressed.
Jason hasn't been able to clear his sour mood and it's seeping down through their ranks.
Ray and Clay can't seem to let go of a squabble over a missed shot from their previous mission – continuing to snip at each other over their calculations.
And Sonny's exactly what Sonny always is in a situation like this – phobic and grouchy and downright annoying.
Trent's the only one who seems to be his normal self. The man has the patience of a saint, always seeming completely unruffled by whatever screwed up team dynamic is percolating around him.
Brock puts his head down and walks, trying to enjoy what he can of the hike.
#####
When they wake on the second day, Brock feels a bit off. He has a heavy feeling in the middle of his belly that he has a vague sense kept him awake more than it should have during the night. It's left him groggy and tired, but it's nothing to be concerned about so he doesn't think too much of it. They eat quickly, get packed up and set off.
It's apparent pretty quickly that day two is going to be a repeat of day one, with Ray and Clay getting into an argument before they even make it a mile away from the campsite.
Brock tries not to let it dampen his mood, but it's starting to grate on his nerves.
A few hours in, that heavy feeling in his stomach starts to shift into a gnawing, aching pain. If they hadn't all eaten MREs the night before he would think it might be the start of food poisoning. But it isn't severe, so he doesn't worry about it – figuring it will sort itself out as they move along. Walking has a way of doing that.
Being uncomfortable on a mission is nothing new. It's pretty par for the course, actually. Almost everything they do is unpleasant in some way – they're either wet, cold, hot, cramped, hungry, smelly, sore or exhausted. A big part of their training is to learn to not let those sensations affect the objective, and it's the operators who are able to do that who are the most successful. It's second nature to just push through, so that's what Brock does without a second thought.
The nausea starts to creep in when the sun is highest in the sky, peaking through the thick layer of trees above them. Birds caw overhead as the team hikes beside a lightly bubbling river completely overrun by green. It's gradual enough that he doesn't think too much about it until he suddenly feels the telltale lump in his throat, mouth watering to foretell the sickness that's coming.
He barely has enough time to step out of line before vomiting into the brush.
"Whoa, buddy!" Sonny exclaims, jumping back as if he's been personally attacked. "Warn a guy!"
"Sorry," Brock spits the bile from his mouth, grabbing his straw to clear the awful taste as he straightens back up.
"Hey, you okay?" Jason asks, from where he's stopped their progress.
"Just don't feel great," he says. "Maybe a bug or something. Been going on all day. Shitty timing, but I'm good."
"You sure?" Trent's asks, stepping forward.
"Yeah," Brock confirms, sure he'll be fine now that he's cleared his stomach.
Trent accepts the answer, tells him to keep hydrated, and they keep moving.
It happens again about an hour later. This time he feels it coming and is able to spare Sonny the horror of watching.
Trent appears at his side as he works to catch his breath.
Brock raises an eyebrow at him, silently pleading with his friend not to make a big deal out of it. Being sick in front of everyone is embarrassing enough already. He doesn't need Trent mother-henning him to death.
"Have you been bitten by anything? Stung?" Trent asks dutifully. "Snake, frog, bug, anything like that?"
"Don't think so," he shrugs.
"Okay, let me know if anything changes."
And they set out again.
Normally, clearing his stomach would help to alleviate nausea, but it doesn't. Instead, it continues to grow, and by the time late afternoon comes around, the discomfort has strengthened and moved to his lower side instead of the middle of his belly. And the pains have developed from cramps to shooting daggers.
He's sweaty. He feels the moisture sticky on the back of his neck and dripping down his face. He assumes that's probably true of all of them given that they've been hiking for hours on end, but this is a different kind of sweat. The kind that makes you clammy. Hot and cold at the same time.
When he retches miserably for the third time, barely anything left to bring up now, Jason calls for a break.
"Okay, let's take 10," he directs. "Trent?"
Through the rushing of his ears and the itchy heat behind his eyebrows, Brock can hear the barely hidden annoyance in Bravo 1's tone.
He shakily straightens up again, weakness starting to plant itself deep inside his bones. Trent's hand comes to rest on his forehead and he reaches to swat it away. It's humiliating enough holding everyone up like this. He doesn't need to look like a kid in the process.
"You're warm. Is it getting worse?"
"Yeah," he admits, hand shifting to his side. "Lower now too."
Trent stares at him a moment too long, eyes shifting to look down to where Brock's hand is resting, and Brock can see the wheels turning.
"Lower everywhere or only on the right?" he asks.
"Everywhere hurts, but yeah, mostly the right. Like I'm being stabbed."
Trent looks down again, like if he stares hard enough he'll be able to see right through Brock. When he finally lifts his eyes, he's biting his lip.
"You still have your appendix, right?"
A swooping sensation surges through Brock's body and it's like the ground falls out from beneath him. He feels heat flood his face as everyone's eyes land on him.
"Yeah," he says slowly.
Trent closes his eyes and bows his head in the silence that follows.
"You've gotta be shitting me," Clay breaks the quiet. "His appendix? Now? We're a day and a half into the jungle."
Trent shoots the kid a look, but otherwise ignores him, focusing on his patient instead. "Lie down. On your back."
Brock reluctantly pulls his pack off, shivering when the heavy warm breeze meets the damp material of his shirt. He gently lowers himself to the ground, feeling self-conscious with all of them standing there waiting on him.
They need to keep moving.
Trent lowers to his knees in the dirt next to him and starts gently feeling around his belly. Brock can't suppress a sharp gasp when Trent let's go of the area that's the most painful. Agony sears through him and his legs instinctively pull up to protect the tender spot.
"Damn it," Trent sighs quietly.
"It's his appendix?" Ray asks.
Through the stars that are obscuring his vision from the intense burst of pain, Brock sees Trent nod.
"How do you know?" Sonny asks "Couldn't it be anything? The flu? Maybe he just needs to take a shit."
"Look, I barely know fuck all about appendicitis," Trent says. "This isn't exactly my area of expertise. But I do know that if it hurts more when you release the pressure there's a good chance that's what it is. The other symptoms fit too."
Brock continues to lie quietly, heart beating wildly, and unsure of what to say.
"So what do we do?" Jason finally asks.
Trent pauses for only a moment before he says firmly, "We need to turn back."
And that knocks Brock out of his stupor. There's no way he's going to be responsible for the failure of a mission.
"What? No, I can handle it," he says, sitting up with a groan. "It's not that bad. Let's finish the op and then I'll get it taken care of when we get back."
"Not happening," Trent insists with a shake of his head, but it just sounds patronizing. Like he's talking down to a child who doesn't know his place.
"Come on, appendicitis isn't that big of a deal," Brock insists desperately. "I know plenty of people who have had it."
It's true. His sister had it as a kid and one of the guys he was in Green Team with. They both turned out just fine. It's perfectly normal.
"Sure, it isn't a big deal when you have it promptly removed," Trent shoots back, a dead-serious, no-nonsense tone to his voice now. "We don't have that option. It's gonna get worse, Brock, not better. And once it ruptures – and it will eventually – that's life threatening. We can't let it happen when we're two days away from help."
"We can't just scrap the op," Brock says insistently. It feels like walls are closing in on him. This can't be happening.
"Should we split up?" Ray cuts in. "Three go back, three continue? It's not exactly the kind of mission that would require all of us."
Trent's shaking his head immediately. "He's not gonna be able to walk if it gets really bad. I think we all need to go back."
The implication is clear, and Brock wants to bury himself in a hole at the thought of his brothers possibly needing to carry him.
"This is ridiculous," he tries one last time, but he knows it's an argument he's not going to win. "We can't just go back. Jace, you already caused too much of a fuss with this one. They'll be so pissed if we come back empty-handed."
"That's my problem," his boss replies. "Not yours. Let's go."
The look in Jason's eyes tells him he doesn't have a choice. It's not up to him and there's no use arguing.
Brock accepts Trent's help to rise to his feet, and he clenches his eyes tightly shut as the movement leaves him swaying a bit.
"Okay, acetaminophen for the fever and antibiotics to start to head off the infection," Trent says, digging through his med bag. "Then we're heading back. Clay, Sonny, can you carry his things? The less weight on him the better, and we need to move quickly. Continuing through the night if we can."
Sonny steps forward without question to pick up Brock's discarded pack and Clay takes his rifle and bag with a gentle pat to the shoulder and a quiet, "All good, man."
Brock tries to refuse the antibiotics. They're part of Trent's supplies any time the team is in a location like a jungle – where a simple cut can become infected pretty quickly. But that doesn't mean they have a lot of them, and they have a good 30-hour trip left where anything could happen to any one of them.
But Trent insists, going on about antibiotics at higher strengths sometimes being used independently to treat appendicitis nowadays, and what he says goes. Brock knows it's another argument he isn't going to win.
By the time they're packed up and ready to head out again, Brock's begrudgingly accepted that there's nothing he can do to change this. But that acceptance makes him feel just as bad as the pain that's steadily increasing within him. For the first time since he joined Bravo, he truly feels like he let the team down.
"Hey," Jason says gently, pulling him aside quietly. "I know you're beating yourself up in there. Stop. You're more important, okay?"
There's something in his team leader's stare that's too intense. He looks worried. Brock looks away, in the direction they're supposed to be moving.
"Brock," Jason insists, waiting for him to turn back to look at him again. "It's not even a question. Screw the op. We didn't want to do it anyway. You come first. Always."
#####
Things get worse quickly over the next couple hours.
Brock can admit, at least to himself, that he's relieved the decision was taken from him. As each moment goes by, he feels incrementally worse. Each step is like a shock zapping through his body and he starts to wonder for the first time what's going to happen. How he's possibly going to make it all the way back if things just keep deteriorating.
He tries not to think about how far they have to go, instead putting every ounce of his focus into each step.
One foot in front of the other.
"We're gonna get you home," he hears Trent say from where he's following closely behind. "I promise."