He watches as the clock ticks over from 0359 to 0400. A sigh slips passed his lips as he adjusts himself on the couch once again, not able to find a completely comfortable position. He's not sure how long he's been awake now, just that once again sleep has evaded him. His body itches to get up and move, an urge he barely represses. One look at the kid's closed bedroom door keeps him in place. He doesn't need to add on to the misery the kid is currently in. Shifting once again, Swanny recalls the dark circles under the kid's eyes the last week, the exhaustion evident in every line of his body. Clay's been silent about his anguish, keeping it bottled up inside, but Swanny could see it in the kid's eyes. He looked broken, lost, haunted.
Swanny understood it, as well as anyone could. There were few people around that could fathom what the kid was going through right now. He knows the guys on Bravo are trying to encourage the kid, keeping his spirits up every time they talk to him, but they can't fully understand it. It's not their fault, it's just circumstance. They don't know what it's like to have their life change in an instant, to have the one thing they loved most in the world, a piece of themselves, ripped away. They don't understand the mind games you have to play with yourself to get up in the morning, the strength you have to muster up on a daily basis to look at your own body, to try and make peace with the scars and sudden limitations, your body betraying every minute of conditioning you'd put it through. Swanny might not have had his legs blown apart like the kid, but he got where Clay was coming from better than most.
Every day was a battle, no end to the war in sight.
It's not Swanny's body that's betraying him so much as his brain. The very center of his being is his biggest problem ... or at least that's what he thinks. No one knows for sure. No one seems to care enough to figure it out either. They just want to treat the symptoms, the issues that pop up and interrupt everyday life, so that he can go back to having a "relatively normal life". Like what the fuck does that even mean?
He tells them he has a headache, they give him pain meds. Trouble sleeping? They've got a pill for that. Mood swings? Pill. Anxiety? Pill. He's got so many medicine bottles rattling around in his backpack he sounds like a damn mobile pharmacy.
His world wasn't blown apart like Clay's, instead it was slipping away from him a little at a time, like sand slipping though his fingers. He used to be able to hold on and keep most of it together. As time's gone on though, he's started to lose his grip and it's slipping away from him faster and faster. He's not the man he used to be, not someone he even recognizes in the mirror anymore. The Swanny that was only lives in stories now, a man of myth and legends, never to be seen again.
When he'd first gotten the call from Jason, it shames him to admit it, but it'd been the first sign of life flickering within him for months. Clay had given him a place to live and a new hope that things could work out and for a few days it had been good. He woke up each day with the thought that today was the day things would turn around. He had a job interview, he had a place to stay, he had people around him he could count on; it was a fresh start and it was good. Then, like always, it had turned to shit again. The memory lapses resurfaced and along with it came the mood swings and anxiety. It felt awful to think it, but having something to do, someone to look after, gave him purpose again.
"I'll take care of him," he'd promised Jason. And he had.
He got up every morning with no hesitation, ate a quick breakfast, showered, and left for the hospital. He stayed by Clay's side as long as they would let him, from the start of visiting hours until the very end of them. For the first few days the kid was unconscious, but it didn't matter. Swanny would sit with him, read to him from the newspaper or turn on the ballgame and commentate to the silent room. Once Clay finally regained consciousness, Swanny doubled his efforts, seeing the depression settling in the kid's face. He brought cards up to play, brought Clay magazines and puzzle books, he talked to the kid about anything and everything except life on the teams. When Clay finally started rehab, Swanny tagged along, pushing the kid like he was back in BUD/s.
He even came up with a system so that he wouldn't forget anything. He stopped at the store and bought a giant pack of sticky notes and a marker and plastered them all over the apartment. Turn off the stove. Car key? Phone? Lock the door. All little reminders, things he usually forgets to do when his mind slips away from him. He created a schedule on the cabinets of what meds to take and when. It wasn't the prettiest of systems or the most organized, but it worked for him and that's all that matters.
And for a while, Swanny's mind settled. He went home, to Clay's home, and settled into a deep sleep every night, exhausted from the sheer act of trying to bolster the kid. He thought he was turning a corner. With something to focus on and pour all his energy into, the nightmare that had become his life slowly faded to the back of his mind. As the kid got better, however, Swanny could feel himself backsliding. The more independent Clay was, the less he needed Swanny. The less he needed Swanny, the more Swanny pulled back into his shell.
It had finally come to a head yesterday when they went to the hospital. Clay, in his own quiet way, was trying to support him back and Swanny appreciated it. He truly did. It'd been a while since he had someone, anyone, really care about his well being. It wasn't easy though, letting the kid witness all of that. Clay was used to the state-of-the-art hospital and rehab facility he was treated at, not the VA where the rest of the vets were treated. He could tell it was a bit of a shell-shock for the kid to see the homeless and down on their luck hanging around outside and the long lines to check in at every point. More than all of that, though, he hated to show the kid all his cards. Swann liked to play the hand he was dealt close to the chest, not letting anyone else really see what was going on. With Clay by his side though, he had no choice but to lay it all out.
When the doctor told him there was no way to get him an MRI, Swanny felt like his world was crumbling around him. After everything, all the research and appointments, after the psych visits and the countless pills, this was not where he wanted it to end. He'd been slugging through this for months now, the only reason he could put one foot in front of the other sometimes was with the hope of finally getting confirmation, finally getting treatment. With one simple word, his world came crashing down.
There would be no treatment for him, no fixing this … broken thing inside of him. Instead he'd be given pill after pill to alleviate his symptoms as they popped up. He would never get better. In fact, he'd only get worse and worse. He can't take much more of this. Put him in a war zone and he can take anything you throw at him, but this? This was too much. He refused to waste away, to lose his mind completely. There was an end in sight after all.
One look at the kid and he knew Clay wasn't about to give up. Clay was just naive enough, just stubborn enough, just hopeful enough, to think he could be the game-changer, that he could make this right. That spark of hope felt like a dagger in Swanny's chest. Clay just didn't understand. This wasn't something they could fight and win. Swanny was already fighting a losing battle with his damaged brain, he had no energy left to take on the VA as well. There's nothing left for him. His only hope is that maybe, by his sacrifice, he can change someone else's life, that he can save someone else's life.
He's already made up his mind about what is going to happen.
Glancing at the clock again, Swanny watches as the time edges ever closer and closer to the time he's set in his mind, 0630. That's the time Clay has been starting to move around in his room for the last few weeks so Swanny forces himself to stay still and stare at the ceiling until then. As soon as the clock hits 0630, Swanny tosses his blanket to the side and pushes himself up from the cushions. He already has the rest of his day planned out. Clay has to leave by 0900 for his physical therapy appointment so Swanny is going to make sure the kid is taken care of one last time. He also knows that Clay doesn't get back until after 1100 so it gives him plenty of time to get the job done before the kid gets back.
There's a peace that settles over him as Swanny opens the blinds, letting the early morning light spill in. He moves to the kitchen and starts a fresh pot of coffee, taking the time to measure it carefully, wanting it to be just right. Once it starts bubbling and perking, Swanny heads towards Clay's room and listens for any sign of movement. Hearing none, he raps his fist against the door.
"Time to get a move on, kid," Swanny calls out, listening for the rustling of sheets. It takes a minute, but eventually he hears movement on the other side of the door.
He's already got a cup of coffee poured and waiting for Clay when he steps out of his room a few minutes later. He looks rough to Swanny, still stuck in his head and not sleeping enough by the looks of the dark circles under his eyes. Clay's closing himself off and there's not much Swanny can do for him anymore. He presses the mug of coffee into Clay's hands before turning back to the ingredients on the counter.
"Did I ever tell you about the time we got pinned down in the Tribals?" Swanny asks, cracking eggs and dropping them into a bowl.
Clay settles onto a stool at the counter, sipping his coffee and appearing only halfway alert. It doesn't matter though, Swanny thinks, whisking the eggs. If only some of it permeates the kid's mind, that's what counts. It's a story just like a hundred others he's told. Their team gets pinned down, no comms, no QRF, but through sheer stubbornness and badassery, they pull themselves out of that shithole and make it to their exfil mostly intact. It's not that story he wants Clay to remember, but the moment. If anything sticks with Clay, he wants the kid to remember him as a SEAL, a natural born operator, not the shell of a man he'd become.
The eggs are a little burnt and the toast is definitely burnt, but Clay doesn't comment on it. He eats his breakfast, drinks his coffee, then disappears to get a shower. Swanny takes great care in cleaning up the kitchen, returning everything back the way it should be. By the time Clay reappears, Swanny is leaning against the counter waiting for him.
"I'm heading out for PT," Clay tells him, picking up his keys from the counter. "I'll see ya in a few hours."
Swanny steps forward and gives the kid's shoulder a squeeze. He stares a Clay for a moment, a warm smile on his face. He wants to tell Clay how much their friendship has meant to him. It's a little odd and build around necessity, but it was a friendship all the same. Clay, for a small moment of time, had saved him from his failing mind, had given him a mission, made him an operator again. He wants to thank Clay for that, but can't, just hopes this moment will be enough.
"Take care of yourself kid," Swanny tells him instead.
Clay's brow furrows in confusion before he nods. "You too, Swanny," Clay tells him before he disappears out the door.
He waits. Waits until he sees Clay's car pull out of the parking lot. Waits a few minutes to be sure he isn't going to show back up. The last thing he wants is for the kid to walk in in the middle of his end. He doesn't want to hurt the kid anymore than he has to. He hates that it has to be here, in the kid's apartment, but he has nowhere else to go, knows if he up and disappeared, the kid would never stop looking for him. As it is, he's sure Clay is going to question what's happened, wonder how he could've fixed it, that's just the kind of person he is. Swanny wants to make this as quick, clean, and painless as possible for the kid.
Grabbing the pad of sticky notes out of the drawer, Swanny contemplates what to write. A thousand thoughts run through his head, but they all come down to the same thing.
'I'm sorry'.
He adheres the note to the middle of the counter where the kid will see it, then moves on. He lines his wallet and keys up on the counter for easy access. Holding his phone in his hand, Swanny stares at it for moment in contemplation. There's only one other person he wants to say goodbye to. Typing out a quick message to her, Swanny places the phone on the counter.
He steps into the bathroom and stares at his face in the mirror one last time. The person he sees reflected back at him is a complete stranger to him. Once he was an operator, a pipe-hitter, a knuckle-dragger, a problem-solver, a shooter. He was the best of the best, at the top of his game, performing dangerous feats in the name of god and country. The teams were his life and his life was the teams. There was no separating the two. Now though, he's slowly dying from these invisible wounds, from damage to his brain no one can see and no one knows are there but him.
Turning away from his reflection, Swanny pulls open the medicine cabinet and stares at the plethora of orange pills bottles staring back at him. They thought they could solve his problems with pills so that's how he was going to finally put a stop to it. He left very specific instructions for what was to happen next. If they couldn't help him when he was alive, maybe his body could help others avoid the same fate. There has to be an end to it, to the suffering and the pain. Let it start with him.
Picking up the first bottle, Swanny stares at the label for a moment before popping the cap off. Taking a deep breath, he taps a few out into his hand.
Thank you for all the wonderful comments and kudos on the first chapter. I apologize for taking so long in getting this next part to you. I had most of the story done before 219 aired, but after watching Swanny's story, I decided it was too important to leave out. So I've been making some tweaks and re-editing the last few parts. Thank you for reading!