He Ain't Heavy

Syria was rough. But Brock felt like he had earned an advanced degree in desert survival by the time they returned home.

Brock learned from all of the guys who were patient and took the time to walk the area with him explaining important, possibly life-saving things that he needed to know. Jason walked with him through the caves and deep crevices explaining how groundwater would pool in the lower areas, and the importance of locating a safe water source if he was ever separated in the desert. Smart, resourceful, calm. Jason had repeated those words every time he took the kid out with him.

"Slow your breathing," Bravo One told him. "You're smart - use your head, use the resources around you, and don't make hasty, desperate decisions. Smart. Resourceful. Calm."

While Trent was distracting him from the pain while he cleaned and stitched a deep cut on his foot that had become caked with dirt and sand, the medic calmly explained the difference between rainwater, groundwater, water found pooling on the ground, and moving water from streams and rivers vs. stillwater from ponds and old wells. He taught him about keeping open wounds clean with standard issue supplies, as well as how to keep a wound as clean as possible without a first aid kit or clean, running water.

Ray helped him improve his shooting skills and to use what he knew about things like wind speed, temperature, different kinds of rifles and how to get optimal results in various conditions. Bravo Two taught him about being calm in tense situations and not making rash decisions. Sonny taught him how to spot a buried mine, walk carefully through unfamiliar, hostile areas. How to salvage a damaged engine, start a car without keys and drive in deep sand.

Nate allowed him to tag along and hang out with him when the old guys were busy or shot to shit. He gave him the lowdown on the various personalities, not just the guys of Bravo who he was quickly getting to know well himself, but the support team guys who were much closer to Brock's age and experience level, and the Alpha guys who were most often the team who would be deployed with Bravo when a mission required more that one tier-one team.

Brock was quickly growing on all the older guys who understood the incredibly intense, dangerous, and stressful situation he was thrown into with little warning. They could see his potential and his innate goodness and desire to fit in their tight family and make them proud. The senior guys especially could clearly see that their boy was struggling. He was trying to hold it together, and he was performing at a high level in the field, but by the start of their second month at the rural outpost with almost nightly dangerous missions and patrols, the stress was getting harder to manage, and the cracks were getting harder to hide.

Brock was leaning heavily on Trent when he wasn't in the field engrossed in doing his job. Trent, always the calm, dependable caregiver could see the kid was looking to him for support and reassurance, and as always he stepped up to the plate without having to be asked or ordered to keep the young rookie from going off the rails. He teased the kid into putting something into his tight belly at every meal and drinking water or gatorade regularly to avoid dehydration in a climate Brock did not have anywhere near the experience tolerating as the senior guys who had been in and out of the Middle East for decades.

The night after a particularly dicey mission to infiltrate a heavily guarded series of caves to flush out and bring in a high value target, the young dog handler was visibly exhausted and shaky after a long, tense debriefing where he was questioned extensively. The mission had been a success, and Brock had done fine as far as Jason was concerned, but there were some higher level officers 'observing' and 'evaluating' during the debrief who chose to focus in on the kid who was clearly blindsided by their intense, rapid questioning.

Bravo One was pissed off, and his displeasure was obvious to Blackburn who intervened on Brock's behalf. The older guys on both Bravo and Alpha who could see the kid was teetering on the edge, but trying his best to answer their questions and explain his decisions in the field to their satisfaction were not happy to say the least. Trent, who was sitting next to Brock at the long table while Bravo was questioned, reached under the table to rest his strong hand on the boy's leg which he was unconsciously bouncing up and down anxiously throughout the debriefing.

The medic looked over to make eye contact with Sonny who was seated on the other side of the kid to silently confirm that his longtime brother was aware of Brock's upset. The Mighty Quinn as he was often called was well aware and close to making a scene when he caught Jason's stare indicating that he should let him and Blackburn handle their visitors. Sonny controlled himself, ignoring the aggressive officers and sliding his chair closer to his much younger brother so that his hard, muscled leg was pressed up against the leg of their rookie providing him support and physical contact on both sides for the remainder of the debriefing.

After showering and heading over to the small dining hall to get something to eat before crashing in their bunks for hopefully the next several hours, Trent took Brock who he was already starting to think of as 'his kid' back to their sleeping quarters to get something light in his stomach and hopefully get him settled and sleeping before the rest of the team arrived.

Brock had been quietly playing with his food without eating anything which did not go unnoticed by his new brothers. Jason and Trent had one of their famous silent conversations before the medic took his kid back to get him fed and put to bed.

"Come on, kiddo," Trent nudged the boy who was oblivious to the concern of the very grown men around him. "I think you've done plenty of playing and moving that food around your tray to make it officially inedible."

"Huh?" Brock said, looking up at his trusted guardian. He was clearly confused and exhausted which made him appear even younger and more vulnerable in his brothers' eyes. "What Trent?"

Trent shook his head, reaching out to gently squeeze their boy's warm neck.

"Come on," Trent said, gentle but firm. "You and I are going to grab something light and head back to the barracks. Let's go, buddy."

Brock stood without further comment. He wasn't hungry anyway, and some quiet time in their sleeping quarters with just Trent, who made him feel safe and could possibly do something about the pounding behind his eyes, seemed like a really good idea. The kid paused for a minute looking down at the mess on his plate as if he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do with his tray.

"Don't worry about it, son," Jason said quietly, nodding at the dirty tray. "You go mind Trent, and let him get you sorted out. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Brock said, looking back at Trent for further instructions.

The medic put his strong arm around his kid and led him away from the crowded table to a cooler next to the chow line where he picked up two containers of blueberry yogurt, a bottle of fruit punch which he had learned was a favorite of his new charge, and a couple chocolate and peanut butter chip granola bars to take back to their room.

Brock walked next to his loyal caregiver, dazed and quiet.

Back on Bravo's side of their barracks, Trent got the kid sitting on his own bottom bunk and leaning back against the wall for support. Brock had been sleeping in the bunk above his assigned nanny, and Trent was not convinced he wouldn't topple out onto the hard concrete floor if he tried to put him to bed in the top bunk.

"Honey," Trent said gently, sitting down next to the kid on the side of his bed. He reached out to push back his sweaty bangs and feel for fever. "You're a little heated up, and I'm not going to ask how you're feeling because I know my shit, and I can see you are about an inch from hitting the wall."

"I don't feel good, Trent," his boy confirmed miserably. When Trent moved next to him leaning back against the wall, Brock rested his tired, head against the medics strong shoulder.

"I know you feel like crap, and your belly is likely in knots," Trent said, lifting his arm to allow the boy to curl up against his side. "But I need you to either eat a cup of this tasty blueberry yogurt or one of these granola bars I know you love. And then you are going to drink at least half of this red sugary fruit punch and crawl under these covers. I want you sleeping long before the rest of the team comes crashing in here.

"I'm not hungry, Trent," Brock whined, sounding all of fourteen. "My belly is kinda achy and I feel full."

"Do you feel like you need to spend some quality time sitting in the bathroom?" Trent questioned, reaching over to gently rub his worn out boy's warm cheek. "If you feel like you're going to puke, give ol' Trent a heads up and I'll grab my bucket. Otherwise I'm gonna check your temp to see how much of a fever you cooked up when I wasn't looking."

Brock did as he was told, sitting still while he had his temp check to confirm he was just over one hundred.

After no action in the bathroom, Trent diagnosed the achy belly as stress induced. He got the kid to finish of the yogurt and his bottle of fruit punch before swallowing two Tylenol to hold down the fever. He put him down in his bottom bunk knowing that he had been struggling to sleep soundly and not wanting to risk the overtired boy forgetting where he was and trying to step out of the top bunk if he woke suddenly.

Trent also knew he'd be checking on him periodically, and it would be easier to examine the kid on the lower bunk. The born caregiver planned to sit with the kid for the next hour or so to confirm he was sleeping soundly before climbing up into Brock's top bunk to get some much needed sleep for himself before Bravo was sent out again.

"Shh, honey," Trent whispered gently, rubbing his kid's back in an attempt to put him to sleep. Brock was half asleep and mumbling unhappily to himself. "You're okay now. I'm right here, and I want you to close your eyes and relax."

"Don't go yet, Trent," he begged, grabbing hold of the older man's arm. "Please can you stay?"

"I'm not going anywhere, son," Trent reassured him, moving his hand from the kid's back to stroke his warm forehead. "Close your eyes and settle down now. Go to sleep, I'm right here with you."

"Okay, Trent," he slurred, so close to passing out.

Trent was eyeing the door, willing it not to open before his kid was sleeping deep and calm. Reaching over to grab his phone from the edge of his bunk, Bravo Four made a preemptive text to his brothers warning them not to barrel in and startle the sleeping kid.

Trent: I just barely got the kid down. He's beat and running a fever. Don't come in making all kinds of racket and waking him up. He's exhausted and in need of several solid hours sleep before he ends up in the infirmary.

Jason: You think this fever is going to be an issue?

Trent: My gut says he's just worn to a frazzle, not eating enough, overcooked from this insane heat he's not accustomed to yet, and not sleeping good. Which is why he needs some solid rest.

Ray: Copy that, brother. No waking the baby.

Sonny: But you think he's okay, Trent?

Trent: He will be. But he needs to rest and recharge.

Jason: We got it. We'll be back soon. And we all are going to get some rest.

Almost five hours later, Bravo was awakened suddenly by the kid who called out something indecipherable in his sleep. He startled himself awake, sitting up quickly, disoriented and struggling to untangle himself from the sheet that had become twisted around his legs. He was only half awake, confused, afraid, and heading toward panic mode when Sonny, who was the closest in the bottom bunk just a couple feet away, got to him first.

"Hey, hey there, Shorty," Sonny said in a gentle tone of voice his brothers had only heard him use with Ray's little girl and Jason's kids. "You're okay. It's just me, mean ol' Sonny. How about you settle yourself down and let me help get you untangled here."

Sonny reached out slowly, not wanting to startle the kid further, and rubbed slow circles on his back while Trent got himself down out of the upper bunk and pulled out his trusty med pack.

"You with me there, honey?" Sonny continued with the calm, gentle voice. "Can you hear me, Brock?"

Brock looked up at his trusted brother with confusion obvious in his watery brown eyes.

"Where am I Sonny?" the kid whispered hoarsely. He reached out to clutch his older brother's strong arm.

"You are right here with your grumpy old brothers, kiddo," Sonny smiled at him, reaching out to feel for fever. "We're in beautiful, sunny Syria. Kickin' ass and takin' names. And right now I'm thinkin' we need to get Grumplestiltskin over here with his tools of torture to get our favorite new kid checked out.

"He's heated up again, Trent," Sonny looked nervously over his shoulder at his brother for support.

Knowing that Sonny was concerned for the kid who was working on melting his hard heart, Trent patted his giant brother's back before indicating he should move back to his own bed to allow him to examine the kid. Looking up briefly, Trent could see that Nate, who had been observing, quiet as usual, turned to bury his head under his pillow and return to sleep.

Bravo's sniper had no doubt Trent had the kid handled. And he, who always worked with Trent professionally and civilly, had never warmed up to the medic who could be gruff and all-business when providing aid to his brothers in the field. Before going back to sleep, Nate listened silently a few minutes more to their usually grumpy medic calmly and gently soothing the confused and fevered kid into easy submission.

"Okay, hot stuff. Open up and under your tongue," Trent spoke softly, both to calm his kid and to allow Sonny and Nate to hopefully return to the sleep they all needed.

"My head hurts, Trent," Brock said quietly once the thermometer was removed. "And I think we might need that bucket. I'm sorry."

Trent smiled softly, pushing back his wet, sweaty bangs. "There's nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. It's been a rough several weeks. This insane heat takes years to really get accustomed to, and no one gets the pukes on purpose."

"What do you need, brother?" Sonny said quietly, turning back to face him and the sick kid. Bravo Three sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Grab the bucket for me, Son," Trent said, putting his hand which was definitely not cool, but still felt like ice against the belly of the kid who was burning up in his bunk. Calm and comforting, he rubbed the boy's belly which he knew was soon to revolt.

Brock had started the tell-tale attempt to repeatedly swallow down what both older men knew was inevitable. Sonny grabbed the plastic bucket and crouched down next to the kid who Trent was turning on his belly and holding over the side of the bunk.

"Don't fight it, Brock," Trent said, gentle and firm. "It's coming up either way, and I promise you'll feel better once your belly is emptied out. Just try to relax and let it go for me."

Sonny held the bucket under the kid's head while he turned and was violently ill. It went on for several minutes until all he was hacking up was red-tinted bile.

"Fuck, Trent," Sonny looked like a nervous mama, still holding the nasty bucket while rubbing the boy's back. When there was a lull in the action, Sonny quickly pulled the kid's t-shirt up and over his head, using it to wipe away sweat and splattered puke from the kid's face before tossing it into the corner and leaving the kid clad only in his boxer briefs. "Is that blood?"

"Relax, Sonny," Trent ordered calmly, not trying to scare the kid. "The sugar fiend here drank a bottle of red fruit punch before I put him down. It's not blood. He's likely picked up some kind of nasty stomach bug he's not immune to yet. We've all been there. He's gonna be okay, and feel a lot better once his belly is emptied out. The heat is aggravating both the nausea and the fever, but not to fear. I have everything I need in my trusty bag to get this one sorted and settled."

"You gonna take him over to the infirmary?" Sonny asked, standing to go dump and hose out the dirty bucket.

"Well," Trent said, leaning back against the wall and allowing the clingy, miserable boy to crawl over and rest his aching, hot head in his trusted caregiver's lap. "Since it's staffed with medics who have no more training than yours truly, I think this skinny little handful is going to stay here with me for now. He's going to mind whether he likes it or not, and he's surely not going to like what he's got coming next. But he's gonna do as sweet old Trent says and let me get him sorted and feeling better right here at home."

When the door shut behind Sonny, Nate groaned, sitting up and sliding down to the floor looking disheveled.

"Sorry, I woke you again," Brock said softly, looking up from Mama Trent's lap to apologize to his other brother.

"Don't worry about it kid," Nat said lightly. "I need to hit the head and get some hot, still, desert air. And it was your nervous old nursemaids that disturbed my sleep. Not your fault."

"You need me to bring you anything back, Sawyer?" Nat said, dressing in shorts and an old t-shirt and not making eye contact with the medic.

"I'm going to get him medicated and wiped down," Trent answered. "Take the smaller cooler and ask one of the kids in the kitchen to fill it with ice. It shouldn't be a problem, but if he's got any questions, just tell him we've got a sick operator and your medic needs it asap."

"Anything else?" Nate nodded, stepping aside to let Sonny get by with the cleaned out bucket.

"If the Slushie machine is on, grab him one," Trent said, still rubbing their boy's upset belly softly. "He's gonna need some fluids, and a sugary treat that this one will get as a reward for his cooperation and limited whining is just what Doctor Trent ordered."

"Uh oh, kiddo," Nate chuckled, walking toward the door. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but based on my experience visiting the pediatrician with my own babies, a treat for good behavior combined with a sick kid and mean old Trent's med bag, is likely going to mean a sore little ass and the rest of the day sleeping on your upset tummy. But the good news is, the old grouch actually has a huge soft spot for sick kids, so I'm gonna predict you'll soon be sleeping soundly and waking up feeling a lot better."

Once Bravo Five had left with the cooler, Sonny sat back down on his bed smiling at the pouting brat in his brother's lap.

"Nate can be a royal prick when he wants to be," Sonny said. "But he's not wrong about what you've got coming, honey. But don't worry. You know that Trent here is the best. He's gonna get you feeling a whole lot better while being a whole lot sweeter than he is with the rest of us."

"Why can't I just take more Tylenol, Trent?" The kid asked pitifully, watching his much older brother put on his gloves and take out the little plastic box he knew held the dreaded needles. "I don't need shots."

"You most definitely need shots," Trent snorted, pulling out the antiseptic wipes the kid knew he would soon be using to clean his butt like a little kid. "Your upset belly can't handle oral meds right now. And even if you could keep them down, the injections work faster, and last longer. And if you want that red slushie when Nate gets back, I'm going to strongly suggest you curtail the whining and get to work on the minding."

"Don't test him, Squirt," Sonny warned. "He's got a mean streak. And he never bluffs."

"He's right about that, son," Trent said solemnly. "And we all know this isn't what you want to hear right now. But, it's time for you to turn over and take down your drawers."

"Come on, Trent," the kid groaned. "Why can't you jab me in my arm?"

Trent rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the kid who was looking up at him hopefully.

"Brock," the no-nonsense medic said sternly. "I am not arguing with you. I am the medic, and I am in charge. And believe it or not, I know what I'm doing. Now either you get yourself turned over, head down and ass up, or I'm going to put you across my knee like you're Nate's nine-year-old daughter and give you the medicine you need for your own good while I let Sonny drink your Slushie."

"Don't test him, boy," Sonny laughed, moving to get the kid moving before Trent got mean for real. "Come on. Stop crying like a little girl. Tush shots are no fun for anyone. But if you stop fussin' it will be done before you know it."

Once he was turned over, Sonny quickly tugged down his shorts and held him still with his iron hand on the kid's lower back.

"Lift up your tail for me," Trent ordered. "If you relax, it won't hurt. I promise."

Resigned, Brock did as he was told. And happily as his brothers had promised. It was over quickly. And it didn't hurt.

"We're done?" Brock asked, surprised. While Trent was cleaning up his supplies, the kid carefully reached back to rub his ass and pull up his shorts. "Thanks for taking care of me Trent. I'm sorry I fussed, but I really hate needles. Especially when they're being jabbed in my butt."

Trent chuckled. He removed his gloves and tossed them in a nearby garbage can before sitting back down next to the nauseous boy and resuming the back rubbing which he had learned was the surest way to settle his kid.

"Apology accepted, honey," Trent was still using the gentle but firm voice. "I've never met anyone who enjoys getting their butt jabbed, and since it's just the three of us, and Nate isn't here to tease and rile Sonny, I'm going to let you in on an embarrassing Bravo secret."

"What secret, Trent?" Brock looked up at his trusted mama bear with his worn out, feverish brown eyes.

Trent smiled at the kid, leaning in and lowering his voice. "No one on either Bravo or the support team is a bigger baby about getting his hard ass jabbed than The Mighty Quinn over there," Trent chuckled, shaking his head. "Back in the day, when he was a lot older than you, but younger than Nate, he needed a Penicillin injection to clear up a nasty infection. We were in a base hospital in Central America, and it took both me and Jason, in addition to some unlucky medic on night duty to hold down this overgrown child while the doctor jabbed him with the supersized dose reserved for giants with extra thick asses."

"Lies," Sonny grouched, giving Trent the evil eye. "And boy, let me tell you. If you had been there and got a gander at the giant, probably dirty needle that sadistic doctor jabbed in your poor ol' big brother's back door, you would have hit the floor. It was actually more like a giant, rusty nail than the baby needles he just used on your little tail."

"Yeah," Trent snorted sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "It was worse than an amputation in the field. I don't know how you survived, Sonny. But my point is, compared to your tantrum, the mini-pout fest of our baby rookie here was barely noticeable."

"He lies kid," Sonny said, indicating that their trusted medic should move to take a much deserved break and let him take over wrangling the sick kid.

"How about you and me hang out together here for a little while?" Sonny suggested taking Trent's place next to the clearly exhausted kid who was fading fast. "Nate should be back soon with your slushie and some ice. You can relax with your treat for being a good boy, and I'll hook you up with a nice cool wipe down."

"Mama Trent can have himself some lunch in the dining hall with the grown-ups and then door-dash something back for you and sweet ol' Sonny to eat after you take yourself a mid-afternoon nap and let that medicine, your sweet treat, and a sponge bath from yours truly get you feeling better," Sonny continued, leaning back and lifting his strong arm, allowing the clingy kid to melt into his side, sliding down to rest his aching head in the older man's lap."

"That sounds good to you, honey?" Trent asked, confirming Brock was on board with him leaving. He crouched down to feel the kid's forehead and cheeks, and ruffled his messy hair before standing to dress, just as Nate was returning to deliver the requested slushie and ice.

Brock nodded, looking up at his regular babysitter. "Sonny and I will be okay," he said softly.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Trent said, motioning for Brock to sit up and drink his slushie.

"Thanks, Nate," Brock said. "Red is my favorite."

Nate nodded at him turning to gather his shower things to go get himself cleaned up before heading to grab a late lunch. "So I've noticed, Shorty," he said lightly. "The kid in the kitchen fired up the slushie machine just for you when I said you were down with the pukes."

"Alright, kiddo," Trent said, heading for the door. "You're in charge. Don't let Sonny do anything that's going to piss me off. I'll be back in a while with something to put in your belly, and I expect you to be snoozing. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Brock said, leaning back against Sonny and sipping his cool treat. "We'll be good."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Trent smiled, shaking his head and heading out to track down some lunch and touch base with the boss.