#so yeah that's partially why I'm writing that one whumptober | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whumpdoyoumean · 21 days ago

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Whumptober #22

A/N: Surprise! This is a precursor to day 8. I actually had this one planned ages and ages ago, before I'd written 8. I tried to write them so that each one could stand on its own and not be too confusing, since they're being posted out of order. Anyway, enjoy!

xxx oh, that's not good

"I didn't see any sign of him," Guy frets as she and Lamb reconvene at the front entrance of the house.

"Are you surprised?" Lamb says. "These guys aren't exactly geniuses but they're not stupid enough to keep a kidnapped MI:5 agent in their hall closet! Come on, we've still got loads of places to look, and not a lot of time to do it before those idiots come back. Stables next."

Guy sighs and nods. "Right."

Her expression is one of deliberate focus as she exits the house and heads toward the stables, gun in hand. She's so focused on the stables, in fact, that she doesn't bothering observing the rest of her surroundings, which is probably why she doesn't notice the many pairs of boot-prints in the mud. And why she doesn't notice Lamb stopping to look at them. He doesn't call after her, partially because he's confident there's no one waiting in the stables to ambush her, precluding the need for backup, but mostly because he can't be arsed.

He follows the prints to a pair of basement bulkhead doors round the east side of the house. There's a heavy chain and padlock keeping them shut, but the lock obviously cheap. All it takes to get it open is a large stone Lamb finds on the ground and a few heavy blows. He highly doubts there's anything in the darkened basement that he'll need to shoot, but he draws his gun anyway before pulling the doors open and making his way down the steps. It's dark at the bottom, and it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust.

When they do, he can see that he's in the right spot.

“Fuuucking hell,” he murmurs, holstering his weapon before stepping further into the basement. “Christ, Cartwright, you alive?”

The figure huddled against the far wall stirs slightly, but offers no other response. Lamb makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat (or worried, more like – not that River will be able to tell, the state he's in) and crouches next to the younger agent. There's old blood in his hair, dark red matting the blonde over his left ear and dried onto his neck. An ugly purple-yellow bruise stretches over his jaw on the same side, a few days old. A gash on his right cheekbone looks newer. Lamb doesn't need to see to know that his torso likely took the worst of it; ribs and kidneys tend to be favored targets of this sort of brainless thug. River’ll probably be pissing blood for a day or two, and he'll be hurting for a bit, but he seems surprisingly okay given the circumstance.

“Oi," Lamb says loudly, giving Cartwright's shoulder a firm shove. River's brow crinkles into a frown and he grimaces, blue eyes fluttering open. His gaze lands on Lamb and he groans, letting his eyes fall back shut. Lamb prods at him. “If you think I'm gonna carry you out of here, think again."

Cartwright opens his eyes again, staring up at the low ceiling. He takes two deep breaths (But not that deep, Lamb notes) and then slowly starts to push himself up on his elbows. He doesn't say anything, hardly even seems to notice, when Lamb reflexively puts a hand on his back to help him get upright.

Lamb doesn't like it.

“What," he says, putting a sneer into his words in the hopes of drawing some sort of reaction. “Don't tell me you don't have something smart to say. No, ‘I’d’ve had it’? No, ‘Where the hell have you been’?"

Cartwright sighs, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “I’d’ve had it," he says, and looks up at Lamb. “And where the hell have you been?"

Lamb bites back a smirk, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, you'll be fine. Come on!"

He turns, pulling his mobile out as behind him Cartwright makes his way, groaning, to his feet. Shirley answers after the first ring.

"Yeah?"

"I found Cartwright," Lamb says. "Hurry up and finish what you're doing and meet us out by the cars." He glances over his shoulder as he returns his mobile to his coat pocket. Cartwright is swaying slightly, but there's a determined set to his expression. Lamb raises an eyebrow at him. "You coming?"

Cartwright gives him a shaky thumbs-up. "Yep."

xxx

It's not a sunny day—far from it, seeing as they're in the English countryside in October—but the daylight is still far brighter than the hole in the ground where River's been held the last three days. Or maybe it's four? He's lost track. Regardless, he finds himself wincing as he emerges from the basement as the relative brightness sends bursts of pain through his skull.

"Lamb!" Louisa's voice. "He's not in the stables. Where did you go?" She looks over Lamb's shoulder and her eyes widen. "River!"

"Hey, Louisa," River says, raising his hand in a sheepish wave.

Louisa steps around Lamb and grabs River's arms, looking him over, brow furrowed. "You alright?"

River shrugs. "Oh, you know..." He looks up at the back of Lamb who, unsurprisingly, didn't stop to watch Louisa and River's reunion. "I'm surprised Lamb came himself."

"Yeah. Marcus and Shirley are here, too."

"Really?" River frowns. "All of you are here?"

"Well, not all of us. Roddy's still at Slough."

River snorts. "He doesn't count."

Marcus and Shirley are already at the cars when they get there, and Shirley grins as soon as she sees River, straightening up from where she'd been leaning against Marcus's car.

"Were they keeping you in the stable?" she says. "'Cus that would be really fucking embarrassing."

"It was the basement, actually," River says dryly. He's not sure why he expected anything else from her.

"Because we're Slow Horses," Shirley continues as if River hadn't spoken. "Horse. Stable. It's funny."

River shoots her a sarcastic smile and holds up his middle finger. Shirley scowls.

"Rude."

He opens his mouth to answer, and is interrupted by the loud crack of gunfire.

"Get down!" Lamb shouts, and River thinks it's a little funny that he bothers saying it; they're all already moving, diving for cover behind the parked cars. They may be Slow Horses, but they're still Service. They aren't just going to stand around while a sniper opens fire on them.

“Shit!" Shirley cries as a round strikes the dirt near her. "Where is that coming from?”

“Uh – barn.” Marcus is the one who answers. “Hayloft, I think.”

Lamb growls. “You didn’t clear the fucking barn?”

“You called and told us you had River! You didn’t say anything about clearing the barn!”

“I said to finish what you were doing, I didn’t think I had to fucking spell it out! Bloody well should have known, though, you’ve all the sense of a toad. Didn't clear the fucking barn..."

"We can return fire, but I don't know what good it'll do us," Marcus says. "He's got better cover, better range, a better vantage point..."

“He’ll run out of ammunition eventually,” Shirley says, and Lamb lets out a bark of laughter.

“Yeah, I suppose we could just roll around in the dirt here and hope the bastard is stupid enough to waste all of his bullets. Anyone else have any bright ideas they'd like to share? Cartwright?”

River, who's only been half-listening to most of the conversation, looks up at the sound of his name. “Erm – what? Sorry?”

Lamb’s irritated expression shifts slightly, his forehead creasing in the middle. Then his eyes flick downward, then back up again, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. “Are you hit?”

"What?" Louisa says sharply.

River looks down to where his hand is clasping his hip. He hadn't even noticed he was doing that...He lifts his hand away from his side enough to catch a glimpse of bright red before quickly replacing it, swallowing hard to quell the nausea that tries to rise up.

“Yup. Yeah, I--I think so. Yeah."

He's not sure he would've realized if not for the sight of blood. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing.

"Jesus," Marcus says.

Louisa's voice is tight with near-panic. "We have to get him out of here!"

"It's fine!" River's voice is loud, almost shrill. It comes out too insistent. He swears internally, then takes a breath and forces a smile that he hopes looks less manic than it feels. "I'm alright, it's a good guy wound."

Shirley makes a face. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The good guys in action movies, they always – you know what, never mind!" His mind is racing. He's pretty sure adrenaline is supposed to bring clarity, but his thoughts are all noisy and competing for attention. The one that makes it out of his mouth, before he has time to really process it, is, "This is a good thing."

"How?!" Louisa and Shirley cry in baffled unison.

There's an opportunity here for River to turn something humiliating—having to be rescued from the ex-military meatheads that had managed to kidnap him—into a win. He just has to make them see it.

"Look, now that their secret hideout isn't a secret anymore, they're just going to go deeper underground. Whoever's shooting at us is alone right now. We can press him for information, I--" He falters momentarily as he sees the doubt plainly written on his co-workers' faces. "I can distract him, and you can sneak around the back of the barn and get the jump on him. We might not get another chance."

"You'll distract him?" Lamb chuckles. "What, for the two seconds it takes to blow your head off? All that'll do is give me an extra pile of paperwork to fill out."

"But--" River begins.

"We're not here for him, Cartwright, we're here for you. And we have you, so we're gonna fuck off back to London. Let the Dogs deal with these pricks."

River blinks in surprise. Of all of them, he'd thought Lamb was the most likely to agree that they should try and get something out of this shitshow. If Lamb notices his shock, he doesn't mention it.

"Guy, Cartwright and I'll go in your car. Dander, you're with Longridge – Christ, I feel like I'm arranging a carpool. Anyway, whoever is up there isn't a very impressive shot, or Cartwright wouldn't be alive right now, but still: move fast."

There's an exchange of glances, some nods. No one counts down, but somehow everyone starts moving at once – Marcus and Louisa yanking open driver's side doors and clambering in, keeping their heads down and trying to make themselves as small as possible (an easier task for Louisa than Marcus) as Lamb and Shirley get into back seats. River is waiting for it, for the sound of gunfire to pick up again, but it doesn't come. He should feel relieved that they aren't being shot at, but all he feels is dread.

"Cartwright!" Lamb barks.

River is still sat in the gravel beside Louisa's car. He's sitting there when a man in a balaclava comes out from behind the small garden shed the cars are parked next to.

Oh, that's not good.

The man's got a gun raised, and it's aimed right at Louisa's head and fuck if River is going to let her get killed. His body doesn't feel like his own as he launches to his feet and places it between the gun and Louisa. There are two loud pops, and then he's falling and the man in the balaclava is falling, too and Louisa is screaming his name but he can't gather the breath he needs to answer because it feels like he's just been kicked in the chest by the world's angriest horse and he can't breathe--

Someone grabs him under the armpits from behind and pulls, and that's enough to shock his lungs back into working.

He screams.

When his vision returns, he realizes he's in the backseat of Louisa's car. He's more than slightly mortified to find that he's laying partially in Jackson Lamb's lap, one of Lamb's hands held tightly against the bullet hole in River's chest.

"Drive!" Lamb yells, and the car lurches into motion and the only sound River makes this time is a low, strangled groan.

River isn't particularly religious, never has been, but as he bleeds and bleeds and tries to breathe in the backseat of Louisa's car, he finds himself pleading with whatever higher power is out there to please, please not let him die in Jackson Lamb's arms.

xxx

#whumptober2024 #no.22 #“oh that's not good”#slow horses #fic #tw swearing #shot #river cartwright #jackson lamb #river cartwright whump #slow horses fic #whumptober #my writing #my fic #whump fic #whump #y'all this one was such a struggle to write lmao #my internal perfectionist showed up and she showed up loud and aggressive and it took a while to get her to shut up enough for me to write #i am happy with where it ended up though

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caffiene-fueled-fuckery · 1 year ago

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Whumptober 2023 - Day 2: MASH (Father Mulcahy H/C)

Hiiii. Yes, I know it's no longer October. But October was midterm season for me and I barely got a minute to myself so I decided to keep writing the prompts anyway. I've done a few out of order already, but this is from prompt/day 2. I decided to write this one with my OC Della in it as well :)

Note: The prompts I used for this day were thermometer and delerium. Before anyone comes after me saying this isn't what it's like to hallucinate, realize that different people experience things differently. I'm not just writing this out my ass, my step-mom has schizophrenia, and I've watched my dad help her through episodes enough times to pick up on some things that help her. But again, things that help her may not help someone else. So yes, I used personal experience and research for this (esp for Della's advice to BJ and for some of what Della says to Father Mulcahy). His reactions were also partially based on experience and research and some of it based on headcanons, etc. People don't act like themselves when they're scared and hallucinating, so as much as pieces of this may seem OOC, just keep that in mind.

TW: mentions of past abuse and sexual assault, hallucinations, illness

Summary: When Father Mulcahy came down with hepititis, Della can't shake the feeling that he's worse off than the doctors make it seem. Only Hawkeye and BJ are aware of how high his fever has spiked, but they weren't prepared for trauma-based hallucinations he's experiencing. It isn't until Hawkeye and BJ can't calm him down that they decide to get Della, hoping that she'll know what to do to help her best friend.

Fic Under the Cut!

She’d nearly scrubbed her hands raw with how long she’d stood there, hot water cascading over agitated flesh. The scrub room was empty—it had been for at least twenty minutes. All the other nurses had left, including Kellye, who had also been assisting BJ with his “by-the-book” surgery. And yet, Della still stood over the sink, staring without seeing into the basin below.

The whole camp had been tested and immunized against hepatitis and thankfully, there was only one positive case, but that didn’t put her at ease. She’d known something was up with Father Mulcahy as soon as she’d seen him that morning, but hadn’t been able to put her finger on what was the matter. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to lose his appetite if there was something bothering him, and she had attempted to shrug it off, but there was something that still nagged at her. It wasn’t until both Potter and Hawkeye asked him if he was feeling okay that she started to really get worried. Mulcahy wasn’t someone who liked others noticing when something was up—he’d much rather be the one to help them.

Della continued to absentmindedly scrub her hands, lost in thought. When she’d began her shift earlier in the day, he’d been isolated to his tent with only moderate symptoms. Fatigue, joint pain, loss of appetite, jaundice… and the beginnings of a fever. But over the course of her shift she found herself continuously cracking her knuckles and the unease in her stomach grew into a heavy knot. Repeatedly, she’d tried to shake the thought away, which garnered her a few confused looks, but in the end her nerves just wouldn’t settle. Something just didn’t feel right.

“Hey, Della—”

She jumped, flinging water across the floor as she whirled around. “Huh? What?”

“Geez, you okay?”

She blinked at BJ, thoughts reeling to form a straight line. “Yeah. Why?”

“Are you gunna turn the water off?”

“Oh!” She huffed a curt laugh as she twisted off the tap. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Something on your mind?”

“No! No. Just got lost in thought. Memories from home.”

“While washing your hands?”

“…Yes.”

BJ narrowed his eyes back at her. “I’m not going to push you, mainly because I have something important to ask, but next time try not to scorch your hands alright? You kinda need those.”

“Right. What was it you needed to ask me?”

BJ started to cringe, but quickly forced his face to be a blank slate. “Do you have any advice about how to reassure a patient that��s hallucinating?”

“Hallucinating? Sure. I mean, it really depends on the content of the hallucination, though.”

“Right…”

“Do you know what it is? Are they seeing things? Hearing things?”

“A bit of both, I think.”

“Have they said anything?”

“Nothing that I could make any sense of, no.”

“Have they been responding to you?”

“Uh… not exactly.”

She lifted a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s confused. I don’t think he knows where he is or why.”

“Ah, well that complicates things a bit. He’s not really coherent, eh?”

“No, not really.”

“You could try getting down on their level. Sit next to their bed and talk to them, try to reassure them that they’re safe.” She paused, pursing her lips. “The patients I dealt with back home who hallucinated were mainly the psychiatric patients, so the approach was a bit different. But I’m assuming your patient is having hallucinations because of a medication or an infection?”

“Fever.”

“Exactly. Actually, do you want me to try and talk to him? It would probably be easier for me to feel it out first and then tell you.”

“Oh, uh, no. No need.”

Della furrowed her brows. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Alright… Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

“You’re the closest thing to a psychiatrist we’ve got here, Dell. Don’t sell yourself short.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not a psychiatrist, Beej. I don’t even have any formal schooling towards being one. I just worked in the psych ward because we had no nurses.”

“From what I heard, they put you there because you were good at it.”

She shrugged. “Supply and demand. They had more veterans than they could care for that needed psychiatric aid.”

“Well, either way, you’re a hell of a lot more qualified to deal with this type of situation than any of us.”

“Whatever you say,” she chuckled, watching BJ head for the door.

“Thanks again. Go get some dinner and some rest, yeah?”

“I will. Don’t worry.”

----

“What are you doing? Wake up!”

Fog clouded his conciousness, but the voice reached him anyway. It roused him from an unsettled sleep. He stirred with a groan, attempting to turn on his side only to be met with a pool of sweat, which dragged another dismayed sound from his throat. Even with his eyes closed his head pounded mercilessly, and attempting to straighten his jumbled thoughts into a line only made matters worse.

“Wake up, boy!”

He clenched his eyes shut harder. Not today. Please, not today.

“He’s awake again.” It was a voice he recognized but couldn’t quite place. Not his Father. Not one of his brothers. Someone from seminary, maybe? He shuddered at the thought.

“Should we try what she said?” Another familiar voice, but again one that he couldn’t place. Fear floated in his semi-conciousness mind, nearly tangible enough to grab, like the heat that enveloped him or the knot in his stomach. What she said? What who said? His Mother? One of the Sisters? Please, not his Mother. Anything she suggested would be—

A hand landed on his arm. He gasped, rolling back only to hit the wall. A dull ache took over his head, his vision swimming as he looked up at the hand hovering above him. It belonged to a tall, brown-haired man with a thick mustache. Shaking his head, he gulped, and shut his eyes again, willing for his abuser to disappear.

“Geez, Beej. What did you go and do that for?”

“I didn’t mean to, Hawk. He just… threw himself back against the wall.”

The disapproval in that voice… A quiet whimper left him without permission, along with an internal mantra of ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…’

“You should be.”

“I’m sorry.”

“When has sorry ever been good enough?”

“I’m sorry, please don’t hit me.”

One of the voices was back, tentative and soft. “Why would I hit you?”

His mind reeled. Father wouldn’t want anyone to know of his punishments. But if he was here… Mulcahy shuddered, opening one eye. The voice had belonged to the mustached man. No—belonged to his Father. But the other voice sounded more like him. The one that—

“Why wouldn’t he hit you? You’ve been nothing but a burden on them.”

He curled in on himself further, protecting his vitals. “Anything but the poker. Please.”

There was a moment of silence while he shivered against the wall before the sweat-soaked blanket was pulled from his arms. He tensed, trying to keep his last line of defense in his grip but found that he was too weak to do so. The voice spoke again. “Father? What’s wrong?”

Father? Why were they speaking to his Father? How mad was he? He couldn’t open his eyes—the fear kept him paralyzed, even his breathing seeming to stop. The pressure in his chest grew while he waited in silence to hear his Father’s answer, but still after a while there was no response. Until once more a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Father?”

Mulcahy jumped, a startled noise torn from his throat. “Please don’t,” he croaked. “Please. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“You’re weak.”

“I know.” It was almost a sob. “I’m sorry.”

“Who do you keep apologizing to?” The other voice spoke again.

“Why aren’t you hurting me?”

“Hurting you?” his father asked. “Why would he hurt you? Why would either of us ever hurt you?”

The ache in his head worsened and heat grew behind his eyes. What was this, a trick question? Why did he have to play games with him? Why couldn’t he belt him and just get it over with already? “I don’t understand…”

“Understand what?”

“Why aren’t you hurting me? Why, Father? Can’t you just…” He gasped for air, his body trembling. “Why must you make me think you won’t when I know you will? Please…” His voice trembled too, thick with suppressed tears. “I can’t take it.”

“I’m not your Father.”

“You never considered me your son.”

“No, I mean, I’m really not your Father, Father.”

“Yeah, Father, it’s us. Open your eyes.”

He shook his head with a shiver. “N-no.”

The other man spoke again. “We won’t hurt you.”

“Yes you will.”

“No we won’t.”

“You both do. I-I don’t like it.”

“Father.” Another hand landed on his arm, but the grip felt different than the other one.

Instinctively, his eyes flew open. Through unshed tears appeared a black-haired man hovering nearly overtop of him. “No! No, please! Don’t touch me!”

The hand retracted. “Father, I—”

“Don’t touch me, please! Please!”

“Father, please. We want to—”

He jerked away from the hand reaching for him. “No! No, please! Please!” We want to. I want to. You want to. You want to. “I don’t want it, please! I never wanted it!”

Both figures retreated. Both voices muttered to each other, which he could barely make out over his own harsh breathing and the chattering of his teeth. He strained to hear them.

“Should I go get Della?”

Della? He had Della? He’d do something even worse to her than he did to him… “No,” he croaked. “Don’t hurt her. Don’t.”

“We’re not going to hurt, Della, don’t worry.”

“Don’t hurt her, please. Please.”

“I won’t hurt her.”

“You’ll do what you did to me to her, too.” His voice trembled. “Don’t do that. She doesn’t… She doesn’t deserve that!”

“Father, I’m not going to hurt her. I’m going to bring her here.”

“Here?”

“I’m going to bring her to see you.”

He shook his head, unable to comprehend what was happening. Why would that man… that despicable man, bring her to him. All he’d ever done was brought him pain, shame, and agony. Why now would he bring him someone warm and familiar when he’d never been allowed it in the past? And why would his Father allow this?

“You don’t want to see her?”

His voice broke, laced with confliction. Of course he wanted her there. He needed her. But wouldn’t that be dragging her into his mess? Would they really not hurt her? “Della.”

His father cleared his throat. “Go get her.”

Della. Della. Della. He repeated her name over and over. She’d always stood by him and he by her, and he longed for the feel or her arms around him, though he could never admit it when he was of sound mind. She meant safety. Security. A kind of love and care that he never dreamed he’d be worthy of until he met her, and it could be taken away in an instant if that malicious man inflicted pain meant for him onto her. But Della was strong, no doubt more fearless than him and fiercely protective—she could handle them. She had no qualms standing up for others; it was a trait he’d always admired about her. And maybe, while he was indisposed and too weak to fight back, she really would protect him. Her love could shield him from the men that he could never be rid of. A tear slid down his cheek as the conflicting emotions warred in his head—the longing for her presence and fear of her being hurt. Mulcahy covered his face with his arms, calling out without ever realizing he’d spoken.

“Della.”

----

The tent was quiet, save for the noise of flipping pages. Della laid on her stomach on her bunk, immersed in the novel her father had sent her in the mail. Honey coloured eyes scanned the text, not even noticing as stray curls fell in her face or the same damn fly landed on her hand for the dozenth time. Crickets chirped beyond the canvas, mingling with muffled voices from far-off conversations and the odd crunching of footsteps from a tent to the latrine. It seemed that most of the camp had settled in for the night, even Kellye who often danced the night away with her in the O-Club was settled in her own bunk with her nose in a book. Nurse Able sat together with Nurse Baker on her bunk, the two of them fingering through a Sears catalogue with only the odd mumble here or there. The four of them could be chatty, but it was nights like these where they could pretend to forget about the war. Forget about how close they were to the front line, about choppers, about the uncertainty of their situation—

“Della!”

She jumped, nearly tumbling over the railing of her bunk. “Huh? Yes?” She steadied herself, focusing on where Kellye held the door open. Her brows shot up, heartbeat skyrocketing. “Hawk? What’s wrong?”

“Please, we need your help.”

“With what?”

“BJ tried what you told him but we just can’t get him to calm down. Actually, I think we made it worse.”

“I can try but like I said to BJ, I’m not a psychiatrist.”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Della furrowed her brows as she hopped down from her bunk. Able steadied her when she swayed while tying her boot. “Then what’s the problem?”

“He needs you. I don’t think there’s anyone else here who would know how to calm him down. He’s one of my closest friends and even I can’t figure it out.”

“Wait wait wait, I thought BJ said this was… oh my God.” She finished tying one boot and started on the other, her fingers fumbling the laces. “You didn’t tell me it was Father Mulcahy who was delirious!”

“The fever made him delirious?” Baker piped up.

“How bad is it?” Kellye asked.

“105 degrees and rising.”

“105??” Della stumbled, catching herself on the ladder to her bunk.

“Damn hepatitis,” Able muttered. “He’ll be okay though, right?”

“Once the fever breaks. But right now he’s sicker than a dog and hallucinating like Frank on anesthetic.”

Kellye frowned. “Poor guy…”

“Poor guy is right!” Della finished tying her boots and straightened. “If you’ve come to get me that means he must be really distressed by whatever he’s seeing, which also means it’s probably something that only I know about. You should’ve told me!”

“We couldn’t tell you, Dell, you would’ve worried.”

“I was already worried!”

Hawkeye ran a hand over his face. “Come on, let’s go.”

Della followed Hawkeye out into the night. Gravel crunched under her boots, some pebbles skidding across the ground as she hurried down the line of tents. “How bad is it, really?”

“Dell, I have never seen him like this. Not even close.”

“Like what?”

“Just… terrified.” When they came upon the tent at the end of the row, Hawkeye stopped in front of it. “I knew you’d be the only one who could help us at this point. You’re his best friend, Dell. And he needs you.”

He yanked the door open and Della stepped inside, turning to survey the room. BJ stood against the wall of the tent furthest from the bed. “Man, am I happy to see you.”

She sighed, crossing to her friend’s bed. Father Mulcahy laid curled up on the mattress with his hands over his ears, shivering and slick with sweat, his chest hitching with uneven breaths. “You should’ve come to get me sooner.”

“I’m sorry, Della. I tried what you told me. I really did.”

The rough of BJ’s voice caught her off guard. She looked up, only then noticing the pain etched into his features. “I’m sorry, Beej, I didn’t mean it like that. I just…”

“Think I sucked at it?”

“No, no! You did your best! It’s just, when it comes to him, I…” She sighed, unable to put the overwhelming feeling in her chest into words.

Behind her she heard Hawkeye give him a gentle, “I told you.”

Della sat down on the chair beside Mulcahy’s bed. His eyelids fluttered and his teeth chattered despite the sweat pouring down his face. “BJ, in the shelf behind you are his other sheets. Pass me one, please?” While she waited for them, she turned back to Father Mulcahy and gently rested a hand on his shoulder. He jerked away from it with a gasp, rolling back into the wall. “Easy, John…” She reached out again, tentatively touching the back of his hand before pulling it away from his ear. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

He cracked open one eye and the sight of her pulled a strangled sound from his throat while his eyes flooded with tears. “Della?”

“Mhmm.”

“You’re really here?”

“I’m really here. See?”

He closed his eyes again as she took his hand briefly, stroking his knuckles with her thumb. “And you’re okay?”

“Of course, I’m okay.”

“Dell.” Her curls bounced as she glanced over her shoulder at BJ, feeling Mulcahy tense up at the sound of his voice. She stroked his knuckles with her thumb again before letting go to take the worn-in linens. Della unfolded the sheet as she watched Mulcahy curl back in on himself, hoping its presence would be comforting and familiar as she draped it over his shivering body. However, it seemed to have the exact opposite effect, causing the cleric to gasp as soon as the sheet made contact with his skin and attempt to pull away from it. He shook his head, keeping his eyes clenched shut. Della rubbed his shoulder. “It’s alright… You’re cold, aren’t you?”

Father Mulcahy shook his head.

“You’re not cold?”

Another shake.

“Are you sure? You’re shivering. There’s a sheet—”

One more shake.

Della pressed her lips together for a moment, thinking. “There are enough for you to have one if you’re cold.”

Mulcahy shook his head again, but his teeth chattered still as he spoke. “I don’t need it.”

Della lowered her arms, pulling the sheet off of him and letting it drag on the ground. She frowned, thinking over her options again before Hawkeye piped up. “What’s up with that?”

“He thinks he’s back home,” she answered automatically, “sharing a bed with his brothers.”

“But still… why not take the sheet?”

Della bit her lip. She knew exactly why: during his childhood his family didn’t have enough money to heat the house, so he would routinely give up his chance at warmth for his siblings and then risk being punished if he as much as shivered. “I’m not sure.” She knew that even though he was at MASH with them and not back home in Philadelphia with his family, it still seemed real to him. His past and present were meshing together, and it likely wasn’t with his family alone. “Hawkeye?” “Yeah?” “Can you go back to my tent and grab something from my bunk for me?”

“Now?”

“Yes. My sister sent me this light blanket she made. I don’t know if it smells more like me or the camp, but either way it’s something other than a thin sheet that could remind him of home or seminary school or anything else. Bring it here for me, please, will you?”

Hawkeye furrowed his brows at her mention of seminary school but didn’t question her. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

Della scooted forward on the chair, reaching out to Mulcahy again. She rested a gentle hand on his arm where it covered his ears again, letting her thumb stroke his feverish skin in an attempt at comfort. “Beej?”

“Mm?”

“How was he before I came in? I noticed you were standing against the wall.”

“Frantic. Wouldn’t let me anywhere near him.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

Pain flickered in the man’s eyes. “Yeah. He kept asking me not to hurt him. I would never.”

“Did he address you by name?”

“No. Not once.”

“He didn’t understand who he was seeing, Beej. He thought you were someone else.”

“But who? Who would hurt someone like him?”

Della sighed, shaking her head. “Did he react the same way to Hawkeye?”

“Yeah.” BJ swallowed hard. “It didn’t seem to matter what we said or did, it only seemed to freak him out.”

“Dammit.” Della shut her eyes. She let out a long, shaky breath.

“What is it? What’s—”

“Just… Stay back for a few minutes, okay? And try not to take it personally. I’m sure in his right mind he knows that you and Hawk would never hurt him, but in this state, he thinks everyone and anyone could, especially when you look like two very specific people from his past to his scrambled brain.”

“I—”

“Just let me handle this.” She lowered her voice, her thumb finally stilling as she heard Hawkeye approaching outside. “Please.”

BJ nodded, then looked to Hawkeye over her shoulder. He held up a grey blanket that seemed to have been crocheted out of a thin wool, adorned with a pattern of pale blue flowers. Not only was it something familiar to now but it was thin enough to not cause him to overheat. “This it?”

“Yes.” She reached out for it. “Thank you.”

BJ tugged on Hawkeye’s arm, pulling him to the other side of the tent with him. They spoke in hushed voices, no doubt discussing how to break the man’s fever once he’d calmed down.

Della slid onto the edge of Mulcahy’s mattress and draped the blanket over him. At first touch he flinched, but she quickly spoke up. “It’s still me. It’s Della.” She tucked it around him, rubbing his arm. “Is that better?”

He nodded, but kept his eyes clenched shut. “Dell…?”

“Mhmm?”

“Are the bad men gone?”

Those words knocked the air from her lungs. The innocence in that question—in that voice. And the fear… “What bad men were you seeing, John?” He shook his head and she gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I can’t tell you until you tell me, hun.”

BJ and Hawkeye exchanged glances. It wasn’t unusual for her to use terms of endearment, but it wasn’t often, if ever, that they heard anyone use them on the Chaplain. Most people didn’t even call him by his first name. But then again, if anyone would, it would be Della.

“My father,” he mumbled.

“No, I haven’t seen your father. Who else did you see?”

“He… He…”

Della rested a hand on his hair, brushing sweat-soaked bangs from his forehead. “Easy… Take a breath for me, alright?”

His attempt was futile. “He used to come into the dorms… there were so many boys, but he always chose me…”

She closed her eyes momentarily, taking a long, silent breath. “John, was it Rector O’Malley that you were seeing?”

A tremor ran through him at the mention of the man’s name. He hugged the blanket closer to his chest. “I don’t want him to touch me.”

“We’re in Korea, hun. He can’t hurt you here.” Della looked over to BJ and Hawkeye, both of whom stared back at her, slack-jawed and horrified. “I don’t see him. Do you still see him?”

“I don’t want to.”

Della frowned as Mulcahy clenched his eyes shut tighter. She brushed his hair from his forehead again. “I know you don’t.”

“Please don’t let him touch me, Dell. Please.” His voice crescendoed in volume and desperation. “Please. Please, don’t let him—”

“Hey…”

Mulcahy wrenched away from her, crying out as he did so, only to once again roll into the wall. Hawkeye and BJ jumped up, but Della held up a hand. Their presence would not help the situation, that she was sure of. Her hands hovered over his trembling form as he continued to plead with her. “Are you hearing him?”

“Please don’t let him touch me. Please don’t touch me, please don’t—” A sob ripped from the Priest’s throat as he tensed, tormented by something no one else could see. “Let go! Please, let go! Please!”

“John—”

“Please don’t hurt me!” His body jerked this way and that in an attempt to escape the grasp of invisible hands, ramming his shoulder into the nightstand and nearly punching the support of the tent. “Don’t touch me, please! Please!” Mulcahy threw his head to the side, eyes still clenched shut and brows pinched. He curled in on himself, protecting his vitals. “Leave me alone… Please…”

Della winced at the pain in her chest. She slid a bit closer to him, letting one hand very gently rub his side. “Are you hearing the Rector or your Father?”

“I don’t know,” he sobbed. “It’s dark. I just don’t want him to touch me again. It hurts.”

“Hurts? Are you in pain?”

He nodded, stopping only briefly before crying out again. “No. No! Please!”

“Hey—”

“Please, not that! It hurts!”

“John—”

“Please, don’t,” he begged, choking on a sob. “It hurts. Don’t touch me there.”

“Hey… It’s only me touching you.”

“It’s not.” Mulcahy shook his head, drawing his elbows in closer and burying his face. “Please help me.”

“He’s not here, John, he can’t hurt you,” Della said, still rubbing his side to remind him that she’s there. “The only hands on you are mine, hun.”

“N-no! No!”

Mulcahy’s sobs only grew louder and more pained. Desperate. Della stared at him trembling beneath her touch, scared and delirious. What should she do? Hell, what could she do? The only options that came to mind weren’t conventional for a patient and certainly not for a priest. But in that moment, Mulcahy wasn’t either of those things to her. He was her best friend, one of the people she loved most in the world, and he was terrified. She set her jaw, intent to make him feel safe regardless of what Hawkeye and BJ thought, or anyone else for that matter.

“Hey, hey, hey, shh…” Shifting further onto his bed, Della pulled Mulcahy into her arms in an attempt to both comfort him and stop him from flailing.

He fought to break free from her grip. “No! Don’t hurt me! Don’t touch me!”

“It’s only me, John. I’m not going to hurt you…”

“N-no! Please help me, Dell. Don’t let him do that to me again, please. Please.”

“Shh, he can’t touch you here, okay?”

“It hurts!” Mulcahy’s whole body tensed as he tried to curl in on himself further, shaking violently. “It—Hurts—”

Della closed her eyes, her lips pursed as if she felt the pain inflicted on him by his feverish state. She thought over what could possibly be of comfort to him but came up short. In this instance, anything related to the bible could bring him back to seminary school, and regardless, she didn’t know anything off by heart. Then there was Hawkeye and to a slightly lesser extent BJ, but both of them had only furthered the man’s panic. The only other thing she could think of that could bring him any sort of comfort in a state like this would be Kathy, the only other person he’d ever mentioned showing him any sort of love or affection. But Kathy was halfway across the world…

Della adjusted her arms around him, pulling Mulcahy closer to her chest. She rested on hand on the back of his head, the other wrapped around his waist, idly rubbing his back in the vicinity of her hand. “Shh… it’s only me. I won’t hurt you.”

“I—Don’t—Want it—”

“I know you don’t.”

“I didn’t then either, but he… he…”

“I know, hun. I know you didn’t. It’s not your fault.”

“It must be,” Mulcahy sobbed into her neck. “Or else he—NO, NO!”

Della tightened her arms around him. “No, no, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“He’s—hurting—me—” He tensed up again. “Why won’t you—stop him—”

“I can’t.”

“Please, Dell!”

“John, I can’t, honey, I’m sorry. I can’t see him.”

“Dell, please. Please.”

The sound of his sobs made her chest ache and she found herself wishing she could fight off this imaginary figment of a very real man. “I know you feel him and hear him, hun. I know he feels so real and you’re scared and confused… I know. But I’m the only one touching you, honey, I promise. You’re safe.”

His body jolted again. “No, he’s—he’s—”

“He’s not here, John. You’re safe.”

“But I feel him…”

“He’s not real. He’s not real…”

“But I s-saw him! I can still hear him. I can still feel him… touching me.”

“The person you saw was Hawkeye, not O’Malley.”

“Hawkeye…?”

Della smoothed his hair. “Hawkeye Pierce. Tall, black hair, blue eyes, a bit of a smart-ass but a fantastic doctor. You met him here in Korea before you met me. Ring a bell?”

“Korea… Yes. Hawkeye.”

“Yes. He would never do what O’Malley did. It was only him you were seeing.”

“But he was with my Father…”

“He was with BJ. Not your Father.”

“BJ…” Mulcahy shuddered.

“BJ Hunnicutt? Light brown hair, blue eyes, ridiculous mustache… Always talking about Peggy and Erin.”

“Erin…” He sniffed. “His baby girl?”

“His baby girl,” Della hummed. “Good. See? You’re safe. Neither Hawkeye or BJ would hurt you.”

“But I could hear O’Malley and my Father. I could feel them—”

Della tightened her arms around him when he tensed, a sob being dragged from his throat as an unpleasant sensation ran through him. “Shh… It’s not them. BJ and Hawkeye are standing across the tent right now. They’re in my field of view. I promise, neither of them are touching you.”

Mulcahy flinched again, curling further into Della’s embrace. “Then how are they here…? How come I can feel them?”

“They’re not here. There’s no way they could be here in Korea. You’re safe.” It felt bizarre to say those words together. Safe in Korea… Though she knew it was true. Mulcahy was safer here than he was back home, either with his family or the other authorities in the church.

Mulcahy curled further into her, uncharacteristically clingy. His voice remained tight and thick with tears. “Then why… Why do I feel this way?”

She cringed. She hadn’t wanted to try and differentiate the men and cause more confusion for him, but his distress called forced her hand—she couldn’t calm him down unless he believed that he truly was safe. “You’re hallucinating, sweetie. You have a high fever.”

“Hallucinating? Why? How can I make it stop?”

“We have to wait for your fever to go down, hun. That’s about all we can do.”

“You can’t make them stop?” A violent shiver ran through his body, accompanied by an involuntary whine from a pain she didn’t dare imagine. “There’s nothing you can do?”

“I’m sorry, John. I’ll stay with you, okay?”

“Okay.” He choked out a sob, shivering again. He pulled his legs close to his chest. “They’re—”

“Shh…” Della ran a hand over the back of his head. “It’s only me, sweetie, I’m holding you. It’s only me.”

The only response she received was a whimper, followed by another sob. Mulcahy buried his face further in her neck and the combined heat of his skin and tears made her heart ache. She ran her fingers through his hair, not caring what the doctors across the tent thought. “I’ve got you, John. You’re safe… I promise.”

Della leaned her cheek on the top of Mulcahy’s head, still holding him while he cried. Her own eyes welled with tears as she chanced a glance at Hawkeye and BJ. Both men stood across the tent form her, barely computing what was going on with their friend. Hawkeye shook his head and looked away from her, at a loss. BJ pressed his lips into a firm line. It was hard to see one of their closest friends in so much pain, but what was worse was knowing he’d been in pain this whole time, yet had never said a word of it to them. It only solidified the bond between Mulcahy and Della in their minds. Neither of them knew what was going on, but Della not only understood what was happening with very little context, but was also able to calm the man when he started to spiral into hysterics.

Hawkeye glanced over at BJ. “It’s a good thing I went and got her,” he whispered. “We would have never calmed him down.”

BJ stared intently at the sobbing priest still wrapped up in Della’s arms. “He thought… I was his Father. Coming to hurt him.”

“And me? What about me? Why did my presence scare him so much?”

“The Rector. In his mind… You were the seminary school rector that raped him. Repeatedly by the sounds of it.”

“That’s…” Hawkeye followed BJ’s gaze. Someone who only ever wanted to give to others had only ever had things taken from him. All Mulcahy wanted to do was help, but he’d only ever been hurt. Perhaps that was why he was so reckless with his life—he had nothing to lose. Nothing to go back to. Sure, he had Kathy… but that was it for him, wasn’t it? And the shame that came from that kind of abuse, not only from a religious figure, but from a parent, and either way someone he should have been able to trust… “I feel sick.”

“This isn’t the way I’d have liked to find out.”

“I’m sure it’s not how he’d like you to find out either. In fact, I’m sure he would’ve wanted you to never find out.”

“That’s true.” BJ paused, watching Della adjust so that she was laying down a bit more to help Mulcahy be more comfortable. “There’s one thing I can’t figure out, though. If we both resembled an abuser… Who was Della?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I was his father and you were the rector, then who was she in his mind?”

“There’s no way to know, really. Kathy, maybe? Although I doubt it. He did call her by name. I think she was just herself.”

“Somehow she broke through that haze?”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Hawkeye pondered. “Things get all mixed up when you hallucinate. Sometimes you still know you’re in the same environment and aspects are altered or added. Sometimes you don’t know. Sometimes it seems to be a mix. So… he thought we were his abusers, but Della was just Della.”

“That… doesn’t make sense.”

“Hallucinations rarely do,” he joked, though there was no humour in it. “He clearly feels safe with Della, so her presence was able to somewhat ground him in reality, even if the rest was still hazy and overwhelming. That’s how she was able to calm him down.”

“I thought you didn’t know anything about patients hallucinating and such.”

“I don’t! Only the general stuff we’re taught in medical school, but that stuff’s gotta be outdated now. I was able to piece it together based off of what Della told you and from watching her just now. Besides, haven’t you ever had a fever-induced hallucination before? You told me once about a time you got real sick as a kid.”

“Yeah, but my hallucinations weren’t…”

“Trauma?”

“Yeah. I just thought I saw a shark in our living room. That’s nowhere near the magnitude of what he’s experiencing.”

“Well, when you have trauma in your past they seem to go hand in hand. You were only a little kid when that happened, right?”

“Mhmm.”

“I was an adult.” Hawkeye sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “When I got a bad fever once I kept thinking I was drowning. Kept seeing this… this hand, reaching down to me. And right as I went to grab it, it disappeared. It was… terrifying.”

“I once hallucinated my mom,” said Della, her voice soft but still loud enough to hear. “She stood there telling me I was horrible at my job and that the suicide one of our patients was my fault.”

BJ spoke for himself and Hawkeye, who seemed too caught up in his thoughts to articulate. “That’s awful. I’m really sorry that happened.”

“It can be the people you least expect.” Della’s voice trailed off as she rubbed Mulcahy’s back. He still laid in her embrace, curled up and leaning against her chest, his breathing evening out as he drifted back to sleep. She looked back up at BJ, who seemed both shocked and not shocked at all at the way she held him. The way he let her hold him. “My point is… My mother would have never said that to me. She died when I was a teenager and she was a sweetheart. It was my manager at the hospital who derogated me. And yet, the two traumas ended up mixing together.”

“I guess it’s not a one-size-fits-all, huh?”

“Nope. You can’t loop all instances of hallucinating together, it just won’t work.”

“Well,” Hawkeye croaked, coming back to himself. “Regardless of how you knew what to do, I’m just glad you did. That’s why I went to get you, both because I knew you’d be our best shot. Plus, you’re the only one other than maybe Kathy who could ever hold him like this.”

Della’s cheeks burned. “I-I knew physical comfort helps him but what I was doing already wasn’t working, so…”

“Hey, I’m not knockin’ it if it works!”

BJ chuckled. “It’s sorta endearing, eh, Hawk?”

“You guys,” Della grumbled, fighting back even more heat rising up her neck. “He’s not in his right state of mind. Under normal circumstances, he would never…”

“We know, Dell.”

“We’re just teasing you,” said Hawkeye with an impish grin.

“Well knock it off.” She couldn’t help but smile, but it quickly fell from her face when Mulcahy started mumbling under his breath. She listened closer, tilting her head slightly, but couldn’t make out anything. Intending to calm whatever unpleasant thoughts seemed to be in his head, she started to rub his back again. When she looked back up, Hawkeye was shaking his head at the ground, a deep frown on his face. “Hawk?”

“I just… I know I don’t have the full story and probably never will, but form just the brief glimpse we got… I can’t believe he had to go through that.”

“You’d never know it,” BJ added.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Della pondered for a moment before continuing. “The signs are there if you’re more in-tune with them. But I know what you mean.”

“I don’t ever want to see that agonized look on his face again. Especially not directed at me.” Hawkeye let out a long breath, still staring at the floor before bringing his gaze back up to his sick friend. He took in the sight of Mulcahy, having finally seemed to settle against Della. “I never thought I’d hear that kind of tormented sobbing come from him. Ever.”

“Like you said, hallucinating is complicated. People don’t act like they normally would, and to anyone witnessing someone else hallucinating, it doesn’t seem to make sense. But it doesn’t have to make sense to scare someone, especially if the hallucination stems from or is directly related to past trauma. And that’s the thing about it, right? The reactions may not match with how that person actually reacted to the real life event. Like when I hallucinated my mom blaming me for that patient’s death… I was inconsolable. But when it actually happened, I barely said a word.”

“Well, I’m not sure how Father Mulcahy would have reacted to what happened to him but… I’m sure if it’s what I think it was, he would’ve been punished for crying out or begging for help.”

Della nodded, thinking back to the memories Mulcahy had shared with her. “Exactly. But right now he’s confused and scared, disoriented, he’s not feeling well, and he’s vulnerable. Being suddenly thrust back into a time of persistent trauma that he thought he’d finally escaped… that would fuck with anyone.”

Hawkeye nodded, but it was BJ who spoke up. “Well, we’re glad you’re here for him.”

Della gave a breathy laugh through her nose, not looking at him but at Mulcahy as she nodded. “Me too. It was nagging at me all day… I knew something was up.”

“You have good instincts,” Hawkeye said, offering a small smile. “Thank you, Della. He’s lucky to have you.”

Della smoothed Mulcahy’s hair as he slept. “I’m lucky to have him, too.”

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