Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Name?”
“O’Walter. Er, I mean...no, it’s...Reilly. O’Reilly, that is. Walter Eugene O’Reilly.” The curly-headed boy adjusted his newly-issued round wire frames, blushing furiously under the hard stare of the guard. “I’m supposed to be at the 4077th.”
“This is it. Got any sort of ID?”
“Well, my dog tags.” Walter stuttered. “Aren’t dog tags meant to identify a person? Here, I—OH! Well, I’m not wearing my dog tags now, am I? Oh boy, I know they’re in one of these pockets…” His fingers scrambled shakily over his coat and trousers, patting up and down for the tags in his pockets. “Here we are. Back pocket. What were those doing there?! I don’t remember…”
“Corporal.”
“Sorry. Here they are.” Walter held out the tags, waiting for the validating nod from the man towering over him.
“Alright, go ahead. Welcome to the 4077th. We hope you enjoy your stay. Don’t forget to tip your bellboy.”
“Oh...okay, I, I guess…”
“That was a joke, Corporal.”
“OH! That’s very funny, sir.” Walter nodded encouragingly. “Thank you, sir.” He swallowed nervously as the gate lifted, and the Jeep rolled through. Walter tried not to notice that the driver, a tall, curly-haired man, was rolling his eyes at him. He couldn’t help how nervous he was; this was his chance to become someone, to start over.
It was a mere five months into the Korean “police action” and Walter had been drafted the day after he graduated high school.
He loved his hometown, Ottumwa, Iowa, absolutely to death. But that school was so, so small; if you had a reputation, there was nothing you could do to break it. You were branded immediately. And Walter had been branded as the one who couldn’t fit in no matter what he did.
His voice, which still hadn’t changed, only emphasized his youthful looks, from his 5’4” body to his babyface. He’d been teased, bullied, beaten up once or twice, and underestimated his entire high school career.
And then, there was his little “power.”
They’d thought he was crazy, but Walter was positive about it. He’d always had it. He’d finish sentences for people, answer questions before they were asked, hear conversations he shouldn’t have been able to, and predict little events here and there, and be right every time.
His ma and Uncle Ed had always believed him, though, and they always told him not to worry, someday it would be useful. Somehow, Walter doubted it.
He’d been a nobody at school. He’d been the short, four-eyed kid who interrupted people’s thoughts and knew far too much.
But this was his chance.
The tall man pulled the Jeep to a stop. “Welcome to the 4077th, Corporal O’Reilly.”
Walter looked around. Broken-down tents dotted the dusty pathway, decorated with crooked signs and ripped olive green canvas hanging from the rickety wooden beams. “This...this is it?”
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The man grinned, eyes twinkling. “This is it. And, hey…” he clapped Walter on the back, noticing how the kid flinched at his touch. “Relax a little, okay? Take a breath. Relax your shoulders.”
Walter nodded, eyes downcast.
“My name’s John Mcintyre. You can call me Trapper, though. All my friends do.”
“Thank you, sir.” Walter said shakily.
“Head into that office over there.” John pointed past the tents to an old wooden building. “That’s the Colonel’s office. Do yourself a favor and let out the breath I can tell you’re still holding. He’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise. Go see him, he’ll sort you out. Or, well, he’ll find someone to sort HIM out, then sort you out.”
“Okay, Sir. Thank you.” Walter nodded, scampering past the tents.
The little wooden building smelled of alcohol and cigar smoke. Walter breathed in deeply once, immediately regretting it as sudden nausea filled his stomach, already queasy with nerves.
“Er...hello? Hello? Is anyone here?” He crept across the floor, jumping out of his skin at the creaking floorboards. The main room appeared to be empty, but a smaller door across it seemed to be occupied—Walter could hear the clink of a bottle or two coming from inside.
Walter tapped softly on the door. “Colonel?”
“What- oh! Come in!” A musical voice floated out from behind the door. “That’s me!”
“I’m Corporal Walter Eugene O’Reilly, sir. I’m...I’m your new company clerk.”
“Of course, of course! Come on in!”
Walter relaxed a little at the man’s easygoing tone. He was a bit taken aback by his appearance; he wasn’t exactly what he’d always imagined a colonel in the army to look like. The man was clearly older than McIntyre, with slightly slivering hair and kind, eager eyes. On his head sat the strangest fishing hat Walter had ever seen. Boy, that didn’t look military. But who was he to question?
“Are...Are you Colonel Henry Blake?”
“That’s what they tell me! Come, sit down.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“So, you,” Colonel Blake pulled a form out of his desk, reading from it carefully, “Corporal O’Reilly, eighteen years old, from Ottumwa, Iowa.”
“Yessir.”
Colonel Blake eyed the young soldier. How had this babyfaced kid gotten past the draft board? Walter blew an auburn curl out of his wide, eager gray eyes. A slightly-nervous smile had started on his lips, revealing the deep dimples in his round, still-youthfully-plump cheeks. Could this...child really handle being a company clerk?
"Why don't you start to set up your things in your new office? Afterwards, I'll start showing you the ropes, I suppose. Hmm. First, someone may have to show them to me...oh, anyway, go on, Corporal!"
“O-Okay, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” Walter stood up shakily, bumping into his chair on the way up.
“Oh, and, O’Reilly? Word of advice: relax. It’ll be alright here. It’s not always so bad.”
Walter nodded, smiling silently. This was it. The first impressions. His chance to be somebody. And that meant no more shaking, no more running into chairs, and, above all else, hide his stupid little ESP ability. Don’t let them know you’re a freak. Belong. It’s not so hard…

Chapter Text

BANG!
The enthusiasm, nerves, and discomfort building up inside Walter's belly burst as he opened Blake's office door a bit harder than he'd meant to. Of course, it wouldn't have mattered had there not been someone on the other side. As soon as it made contact, Walter realized his mistake. He was sure his heart was about to beat out of his chest as Henry looked up towards the crash that followed.
A sharp, ugly shriek burst from the taller figure. Walter gasped as a bundle of papers flew from the man's hands as he was hit. They fluttered all over the room, settling like snowflakes. The man, on the other hand, didn't take it so lightly.
He seemed to rear up like wild horse. The man had sharp, cold eyes framed by a colorless, joyless face. His mouth was pressed tightly into a thin line, and something about him made Walter certain he'd worn that expression far too long.
"OH! SIR! I'm sorry! I'm so-"
"You...you IMBECILE!" The man stumbled towards him, "You little punk! Do you know how long it took to get these papers in order?!"
"Sir, oh gee, I didn't mean to-"
"Say," the man's eyes narrowed even further. "Who are you? I've never seen you poking around here."
"Corp...Corporal Walter...er, yes, Walter O'Reilly. I'm the new Company Clerk, Sir. Gee, I can't believe I did th-"
"Say, Blake, he one of yours?" The man shoved past Walter, pointing his finger at the Colonel.
"Now leave that boy alone, Frank!" Henry stood up, matching his look. "It's his first day. He didn't mean to. Now, was I...expecting papers from you?"
"Well..." the man, presumably Frank, suddenly retreated a bit. "It's...it's the files you wanted on all of the nurses."
Henry sat back, putting his feet up onto his desk. "Didn't I ask Major Houlihan for those?"
Now Frank looked downright fidgety. "I was...I was nearby. I...decided to...well, that is, we were in her tent, and...OH! No, sir, I mean...I...I brought them in for her. As a favor."
"That's what I thought." Henry grinned.
A bright red blush rose over Frank's face. He sputtered incoherently for a moment, then turned back to Walter, whom he'd seemed to have momentarily forgotten about. "Oh-h-h, you just wait, you little runt."
In spite of himself, Walter felt a bubble of anger rising in him. "What'd...What'd I do, Sir?"
"You didn't do anything, Corporal. Just an ill-placed door." Henry shook his head. "Frank, out. Get out of my office."
"But...the papers, Colonel! That corporal of yours just ruined HOURS of work!"
"It wasn't your work, Burns!" Henry finally stood up, clearly agitated. "Tell Major Houlihan that, next time, she can deliver it herself. And make sure to let her know to keep her tent door locked. I'd hate to think there may be someone in her tent that...shouldn't be there." He smirked.
At a complete loss for a comeback, Frank turned on his heel with a huff, marching out of the office like an angry child. Walter had just bent down to begin picking up the scattered papers when Frank slammed the door, which crashed into the young corporal's side. Walter lost his balance and toppled head-over-heels with a squeak, landing flat on the office floor.
With Frank now gone, Henry shook his head, making his way to Walter's side. "You okay there?" He asked, extending his hand. "Sorry about Major Burns. It's really not unusual for him." Henry chuckled a little, pulling Walter to his feet and patting his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"
Walter was a bit taken aback by the kindness in Colonel Blake's eyes; hadn't he just done the same thing to Frank, and made a mess of all those papers? He should be getting reprimanded, not helped. He couldn't believe he didn't seem to be in trouble.
He'd landed a little heavily on his left wrist, but he certainly wasn't about to draw anymore attention to himself, so he held it behind his back and shook his head. "N-No, Sir. I'm okay."
Henry chuckled at Walter's flushed, pale face. Poor thing, Henry thought, he looks scared half to death. "That was Major Frank Burns, if you didn't catch it. He gets in these moods sometimes, but he's harmless if you stay out of his way." He smiled reassuringly.
"Let me clean up, if you will, Sir. Thank you." Walter nodded.
"Sure. Thanks, Corporal. Let me know if you need anything."
Walter had just bent down again to begin the process of sorting through the papers when a clear, sudden hum filled his ears. He bolted upright, cocking his head to one side.
"Corporal?"
"Wha-What's that noise, Sir?" Walter asked, eyes wide and full of wonder.
"Noise? I don't hear anything. What...hey, hey, those are choppers! We've got wounded!" Henry came to life, "how did you-- never mind that. Report to compound, Corporal, you're officially on the job."
Next thing Walter knew, a clipboard had been shoved into his hand. Scanning the paperwork, he realized it was to keep the patients and their information organized.
Henry had pulled him through the office door, into the warm, dense air. Walter tried not to gasp in pain as his left wrist was yanked from behind his back. It seemed the whole camp had sprung to action; everywhere he looked, people were streaming from tents, running to meet the helicopters landing in the center of the grounds.
At the first sight of the bright red blood staining the bodies, Walter was suddenly all too aware this wasn't training anymore.

Chapter Text

Walter’s head was spinning.
That stupid trick was back.
He couldn’t pretend it was just a silly coincidence that he’d heard the choppers first. His palms were sweating, and his belly was churning with butterflies. He didn’t want this to start again.
He was shaken out of his thoughts as a hand landed hard on his shoulder. He spun around to see John McIntyre, the tall, curly haired man that had driven him into camp. “Hey, Corporal! Grab the other end!” He was holding up one end of a stretcher, nodding frantically towards the other. “Help me out!”
Walter nodded, bending down to grab it. Before he could get up again, his eyes happened to land on the body lying atop it. A small gasp escaped his lips. The soldier was hardly older than him. His eyes were closed tightly, and his breath was coming in short, heavy bursts. Scarlet blood blossomed like a rose from the center of his chest.
“Oh, gee…” The ground began to spin under Walter’s feet.
“Hey, pull yourself together! We need all hands on deck!” John snapped, not the least bit fazed by the injured man.
“I’m sorry, Sir!” Walter shook his head, clutching the end of the stretcher until his knuckles became the color of marble.
The two scampered in line behind the other pairs through the compound, squinting through the rising dust. Walter vowed to keep his eyes straight ahead; there was no escape from the sea of blood covering each soldier.
It made him queasy to see. Walter had never been squeamish around blood. Gore had never bothered him; that wasn’t the problem. It was the sight of their gaunt, sunken faces, pale skin stretched too tightly across the skull. It made it abundantly clear that these men were already halfway dead, whether they survived their physical injuries or not.
As soon as they entered the OR, Walter’s senses were slammed with overwhelm. His head throbbed with the metallic stench of coppery blood and stale alcohol. Black spots danced in front of his eyes as his stomach began to churn.
Managing to hold himself up, he helped Trapper John set the stretcher down, taking the clipboard from under his arm and scribbling down the patient’s serial number.
Walter’s face glistened with sweat. The OR was packed with bodies, both standing and injured. He couldn’t take a step without bumping somebody. A tight, claustrophobic feeling pulsed miserably in his aching head. How did these people do this every day?!
A tall, black-haired man came up behind him and tossed a surgical mask to him. “Hey, kid, if you’re gonna be in here, you gotta wear this!”
Walter nodded mutely, tying it around his flushed face with fumbling, clammy fingers. He drew in a large breath, immediately regretting it as the cruel stench of death wafted through. He forced himself to move, holding his clipboard flat against his chest. Serial numbers and names were shouted at him all too quickly; his hand was flying, but he couldn’t keep up.
“Serial number 3028-“
“Name: Capt. William Mc-“
“Lt. Robert Mur-“
“-03!”
Walter wanted nothing more than to clamp his hands over his ears and run away. Make it stop, make it stop! He scribbled what he could, trying to get his thoughts down before the next name or number was shouted at him.
Don’t let it show that you’re messing up, Walter thought frantically, this is bigger than you. Don’t make trouble.
He turned sharply to avoid being hit by an incoming stretcher. Before he could look away again, he happened to catch sight of the black-haired doctor that had given him the mask. He was wrestling with a patient bleeding heavily from the shoulder, trying to sedate him. His teeth gritted determinedly, holding down the man’s good arm and throwing his weight on top.
As the doctor jammed the mask over the man’s face, the wounded soldier suddenly let out a horrible wail that sounded not at all human. Walter gasped as the man thrashed, hitting the doctor across the cheek. Unfazed, the doctor resumed his wrestling, securing the mask. “Margaret! What are you doing?! Sedate him!” He shouted at a blonde nurse standing nearby.
“I’m trying!” Walter heard her shout, fighting with a complex-looking machine.
The animal-like soldier screamed again. He reminded Walter of the creatures they used to hunt and trap in the woods on his farm. Walter had always had a hard time killing, even if it was to eat. The animals always had this look right before they died: panicked, wounded, almost in disbelief.
This man looked far too much like them.
The blonde nurse, presumably Margaret, jumped. “Dr. Pierce, his blood pressure is spiking!”
“Dammit...pulse is dropping!”
“He’s bleeding out!”
The shouts of the doctors, pierced by the occasional sound from the hysterical patient, blended painfully in Walter’s muddled, swimming mind. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the sight of those faces, all the life gone out of them, struggling to hold his breath so he wouldn’t have to face that smell.
Nothing worked.
Walter’s stomach twisted and churned horribly, nearly doubling him over.
Near the entrance to the OR sat a tiny room with a few sinks for the doctors to scrub in. He squeezed his eyes shut, running aimlessly into the bunker-like room.
Before he could draw another breath, Walter collapsed over the edge of sink, pulling his mask away from his clammy face and vomiting.
It was too much.
The pain, the fear, the grim reaper hanging over the entire room...and that smell. Walter inhaled, immediately regretting it. Gagging and coughing, he doubled over again, getting sick until he couldn’t see straight.
“Ow…” Walter gasped, sliding weakly to his knees, clutching the rim of the sink for support. The ground and the ceiling seemed to have switched places. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to keep down what was left in his stomach. “Ow!”
Deep breaths.
Just breathe.
Don’t think, don’t smell, don’t look, don’t hear.
Breathe.
Walter moaned softly. He felt like he was going to be sick again; lord, he’d had no idea it would be this way.
His panic attack was interrupted by a soft gasp from the doorway. Walter’s eyes snapped open.
“Oh my— Corporal!”
The man in the doorframe rushed towards him, sliding to his knees. His graying golden-brown hair was mostly hidden under a cap, and his kind, warm eyes shone with worry behind his wire glasses. The cross he wore around his neck marked him as an army chaplain.
Walter blushed furiously, attempting to clamber to his feet. “Oh gee, Sir, I…”
The chaplain eyed the mess in the sink. “I think I’d better go get somebody.” His voice was high and soft, with a musical quality to it that immediately soothed Walter.
“No, no, nononono!” Walter lowered himself back to the ground. “Please. I don’t want to distract them any more. Please don’t!”
“I...I’m not going to leave you here!” The chaplain exclaimed. He looked around for a moment, opening his mouth like he was going to speak, then closing it again. He eyed Walter for a minute, nodding slowly. Understanding filled his clear, kind eyes. “What’s your name?” He asked softly, bending down to meet Walter on the floor.
“Corporal Walter O’Reilly. I’m the new company clerk.”
“New? When did you arrive? I’ve never seen you.”
“A few hours ago.”
“Ah. Well, I'm Father Mulcahy.” The man nodded again, reaching out and gently placing his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “So it’s your first time in the OR.”
“Yes...Yessir.”
“It’s hard, isn’t it?”
“…Yessir.”
“Corporal,” Father Mulcahy asked, sitting back on his heels. “Would you like to know a secret?” Walter nodded. “Sometimes, I still can’t look. It’s too much for me. I walk through the OR covering my eyes. I blame it on the sunlight or a smudge on my glasses. It hurts me to see such pain. I pray and I pray, and...it keeps coming. It just keeps coming.”
Walter was silent. His breathing had returned to normal and his heart had lost the feeling of pounding out of his chest. Instead, the boy stared numbly ahead, biting his lip thoughtfully. “So...so what do you do?”
“You figure it out along the way. And I promise you will. You learn to rely on each other, and let your friends take care of you.”
A lump formed in Walter’s throat. He looked away, blinking hard.
“I’m a good listener, son. And so is, well, my boss, you could say.” Mulcahy chuckled, holding up his cross. “If you need guidance from either of us, perhaps I can be of some assistance.”
Walter looked up, eyes wide with vulnerability. He couldn’t think of a word to say, so he nodded slowly, avoiding eye contact with the Father.
“Can I help you up, Corporal? You ought to get cleaned up. Perhaps a drink of water.”
Walter’s face swam in emotion as he nodded hesitantly, reaching out his hand.
The kindness in Mulcahy’s smile nearly brought tears to Walter’s eyes. The Father helped him to his feet, patting him once on the shoulder. “Where would you like to go? Your tent?”
Walter nodded mutely. He decided adamantly that he liked this man. He was unlike the others—there was a quiet comfort about him, an unspoken agreement that simply his presence was enough to show his caring. His hand hovered gingerly and a bit shyly on Walter’s back as he guided him through the OR. He was more reserved than the others, a perfect relief to Walter’s whirling mind.
“Lieutenant...er, Father...Sir?” Walter asked uncertainly.
Mulcahy chuckled. “‘Father’ will do just fine, son.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Father. I was just wondering…how many of those soldiers...uh...y’know, pass away on the table?”
“Well, we have the very best surgeons you can imagine. If anybody can help those boys, it’s them. But sometimes things are out of our control, and we have to trust a higher power.”
“That’s not fair.” Walter’s voice was smaller than he meant it to be. He felt overwhelmingly ill, still grimacing at the bitter, stinging taste in his mouth leftover from being sick. He couldn’t believe Father Mulcahy could stand to walk beside him.
They were silent until Mulcahy stopped in front of the Colonel’s office. “This is your room as well, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Go get cleaned up, Corporal. I’ll fetch you some water.”
“Gee, Father, I don’t know how to thank you for being so nice to me.”
Mulcahy smiled reassuringly, patting Walter’s shoulder. “It’s all in my line of work, son. Sit down, perhaps a change of clothes, take some deep breaths. Everybody's gone through the same thing."
________________

A few hours later, Walter had changed his clothes, rinsed out his mouth, and showered, feeling like a new person, physically.
He couldn’t shake the dejection weighing down on his heart, however.
The image of that kid in the OR wouldn’t leave his mind. Taking the free time he had to acquaint himself with the camp, Walter wandered absolutely aimlessly, too lost in his thoughts to see a thing.
He was ashamed as all hell, but boy, was he missing his ma already. How heartbroken she’d be if she had seen him in the OR. Walter could almost feel her cool hand on his forehead, which, after being satisfied that he didn’t have a fever, would brush lovingly down his cheek, banishing any feeling he’d had that tears would be staining it soon.
Right before he left for Korea, she’d cupped his small, youthful face in her hands and whispered that he was, and always would be, her sunshine.
How disappointed she’d be to see her “sunshine” now.
Walter was broken from his thoughts by a voice floating from the tent he’d wandered just outside of. He realized with a start that his feet had taken him to the officer’s tents—a crooked wooden sign reading “The Swamp” hung overhead and, as far as Walter could see, despite being for the officers, the conditions here weren’t much better than anywhere else in camp.
He was about to make his way back when a few words from the conversation made their way to his ears. It was impossible for him not to overhear things with his little “power.”
“So you saw him, too?” Walter immediately recognized the voice of John McIntrye.
“Saw him? It was like looking at a wounded baby animal! I thought he’d break down right there.” That voice was new.
“Poor thing.” McIntrye chuckled. “D’ya think we looked that scared when we first arrived?”
The unfamiliar voice scoffed. “Us? Not quite. That new clerk of Henry’s doesn’t look old enough to be away from his mommy.”
Walter’s blood ran cold. Were they talking about him?
“I’m sure he wants her, too. Boy, they must be running out of men back in the States. They’re kidnapping kids like him now.”
Kid? Walter’s face burned. He was eighteen years old.
“Aw, I betcha he doesn’t last a week.” The new voice said. “You saw his face back there.”
“Give the kid a chance!” McIntrye laughed, “he’s skittish, but he’s got potential.”
“Hey, it’s not his fault! He belongs home with his mommy and daddy. Not stuck here. What’s his name, anyway?”
Walter held his breath.
“Walter O’Reilly. Farm boy from a tiny little town in Iowa.”
“Oh boy. Just send him back now!”
For a horrible, brief moment, Walter thought he’d be sick again. He peered discreetly through the screen door of the tent, catching sight of the second man. To his surprise, he recognized him as the black-haired doctor that had worked on the mad patient.
‘I betcha he doesn’t last a week,’ he’d said.
His worst fear was rapidly coming true. Why was it so much to ask for to belong somewhere? Anywhere?
Once again, his feet took control, carrying him out of the so-called ‘Swamp’ and back to his office. This time, however, for a different reason; he didn’t want anybody to see the tears threatening to burst from his eyes.
Walter sat down on the edge of his bed, feeling more dejected than he ever had. The black-haired doctor’s comments mixed with the sound of that patient howling made him feel as though he was going crazy.
His uncle Ed would berate him for giving up so easily. He wasn’t, truly, giving up, per say, but the hope he’d entered those gates with had taken a horrible blow. He was almost afraid to imagine what could come next.

Chapter Text

Walter’s belly hadn’t stopped rumbling since he’d fixed himself under the covers of his cot. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to go to dinner in the mess tent. It was so loud, so crowded, and his senses were already overloaded. Besides, he’d have to go through the embarrassment of sitting by himself or standing awkwardly until someone came along and picked up the poor little new kid.
Needless to say, he was hungry.
That, and he couldn’t get even slightly comfortable. His back hurt, or he was too cramped, or his neck was bent funny…he’d tried curling up on his side, but there was barely room on the practically-child-sized ‘mattress’ for even his tiny frame, and the blankets had been so tightly jammed into the springs of the cot, Walter was beginning to feel like a sardine. If he lay with his back to the wall, his arms and legs dangled off the edge. Thrashing exasperatedly, he turned to the other side, scrunching into a ball. He kept still for a moment before covering his face, groaning loudly. Now, instead of his arms and legs, his bottom was stuck straight out from off of the cot.
Well, that was worse and certainly not how he wanted to be found in the morning. Walter bit his lip, pulling the seat of his pants back on the cot and wiggling it under the stiff, tightly-pulled covers. “I just wanna go home!” he hissed, pulling the blankets over his face.
Forcing himself to keep still, Walter rolled onto his stomach, trying to take deep breaths and keep his eyes closed. Immediately, homesickness filled his chest, leaving a hollow anger inside. The more he thought, the more exhaustion began to take over. With his neck bent at a funny angle, hips pressed against the edges of the cot, and limbs hanging awkwardly off the edge of the bed, Walter fell into a fitful sleep.
Oh boy, did he wish he hadn’t.
-
-
-
Blood spattered Walter’s fatigues like rain.
He wanted to cry out, but his voice had been robbed, and he couldn't seem to make a sound.
The blood wasn’t his, and it was almost worse that way.
He looked down at the thrashing body in front of him. The pale-blue tint of the wounded patient’s face made it clear that he was halfway to his grave, and there was nothing Walter could do to save him. The wild, trapped-animal look in the soldier’s eyes showed nothing but danger. Walter’s breath came in short, heavy bursts. He had to help the poor man. He couldn’t let him suffer like this. There had to be something, anything he could do…
The man reached out, grabbing Walter around the throat with his bloodstained hand. Walter opened his mouth to scream, but once again, no sound came out. Instead, the howl he wished he could let out erupted from the man. His bloodshot eyes pierced Walter’s. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.
Stained head-to-toe with the thrashing patient’s blood, Walter gasped, reaching for something to steady himself on.
Nothing. Every shadow around him led only to emptiness. Walter tried one final time to cry for help, before letting go and collapsing into an oblivion of empty noise and total darkness.
-
-
-
“AHHH!”
Walter bolted upright with a sharp scream. He flailed wildly, suddenly completely constricted by the closely-tucked blankets pressing on his body. He let out a gasp as the cot overturned, sending both it and Walter tumbling to the floor.
“OW!” Walter squeezed his eyes shut, grabbing his left wrist, which had already been hurt earlier during his encounter with Major Burns. He pushed his upper-body off of the floor, tugging at his lower-half, which was tangled hopelessly in the blankets.
He caught himself looking up and down for bloodstains on his clothing. The image of the patient, both in his dream, and reality, whirled through his mind like the center of a hurricane.
He couldn’t stand this.
Nobody here believed in him. Why should they? He was pathetic.
Walter couldn’t stop himself anymore.
The shadows decorating the room, from the long shape of his desk to the bulges of his bags in the corner, suddenly looked about fifteen times bigger, and much, much scarier. The tiny room had become as threatening as a jailhouse, and Walter was the newest inmate.
He hated to admit that he was scared, but he couldn’t deny even to himself that he was downright terrified.
Lying in a tangled heap on the frozen floor, paralyzed by his nightmare and surrounded by darkness, the young corporal finally let his face crumple, promptly bursting into tears.
Sobbing into his hands, Walter’s small body shook miserably.
Nobody came to comfort him. No Ma O’Reilly taking him gently in her arms and putting him back to bed, kissing his cheek and forehead and rubbing his back until he fell asleep.
Was it silly to want his ma this far from home?
Walter whimpered softly, trying to find the strength to get himself off the floor. He fought his way out of the covers, making his way shakily to his feet. He couldn’t bring himself to go to sleep again.
His mind drifted to the people he’d met today; from the intimidating John Mcintrye, to the downright cruel Frank Burns, the cheeky black-haired doctor and the strong-looking blonde nurse. Then, there was Henry Blake and Father Mulcahy, the only two Walter had trusted thus far.
He suddenly longed for them. He hadn’t known them long, but he had the feeling they’d know exactly what to say. He needed a friendly face; someone who genuinely seemed to care what happened to him.
“Colonel…!” Walter sobbed, half-delusional with exhaustion. “Father? Please...please!”
Oh boy, he needed to do something.
He needed somebody.
He needed a family, and the Father had promised that he would find one here. He may not know where Mulcahy was this late, but he certainly knew his way to one office, and he had a strange feeling that it was the perfect place to run to for cover.
Fixing the wool Jeep cap he'd been given over his wild hair, putting on his glasses, and making his way across the creaking floorboards, Walter took a deep, shuddering breath and tapped gently on the heavy double doors.

***HENRY BLAKE’S POV***

Henry leaned back in his chair with a long sigh, sipping the whiskey in his glass. It was half past midnight, and most of the camp was asleep by now. Henry’s office light was the only one in sight, casting a pale, ghostly glow into the black night. He had just resolved, with a last look to his photo of Lorraine, to turn in for the night when a soft knock broke the silence, followed by the creak of his office door being opened slowly and carefully.
“Wha-“ Henry turned, immediately sucking in his breath. In front of him, silhouetted by the soft light, stood a small, trembling figure clutching the doorknob as if it were the only thing holding him up.
The boy standing before him was dressed in a blue and white striped bathrobe and knit Jeep cap. His unruly auburn curls stuck out from under it, hanging down his forehead and around his ears. Fresh tears glistened on his rosy cheeks, as plump and sweet as a cherub. His small body was quivering like a leaf, and his shining eyes had become wide with fear behind his round wire glasses.
“Whoa...Corporal O’Reilly?” Henry stood up slowly, noticing how the scared young man in front of him flinched at the movement as if expecting to be struck. “Is that you?”
“I’m...I’m s-s-sorry to be disturbing you, S-Sir.” The new company clerk, Walter, inched backwards a bit, until he bumped gently against the doorframe.
“Hey, Corporal...it’s okay, come in. What...what happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Fear crept into Henry’s throat. He’d only known Walter O’Reilly for a day, but there was something about the kid that made Henry’s heart ache for his own family, made him feel as though the only thing he could do to make up for being absent at home was to take care of the one he had here in Korea—and Walter was rapidly becoming a part of that family.
“I...” Walter paused, biting his lip as if unsure as to what he was trying to say. “Can I...can I stay in here for a bit, Sir?”
“Of course. What’s...I don’t understand.” Henry shook his head, gently resting his hand on the young corporal’s back and guiding him to a chair. “Sit. C’mon, sit down. There you are.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You look like you could use a drink, Corporal. How ‘bout it?” Henry opened the liquor cabinet, pulling out a glass bottle.
“If it’s not any trouble, Sir.”
Henry poured the drink, which released a dizzying stench, and slid it across the table. Walter picked it up immediately, wincing a little as he downed the alcohol readily.
“So, what’s going on, kiddo?” Henry leaned forward, eyes overflowing with compassion. Walter’s face was stained with red tear tracks, reaching from his bright, damp eyes, down his round cheeks to the underside of his chin.
“I...I had a nightmare.” Walter blushed a little, obviously not enjoying showing this vulnerability. “I couldn’t go back to sleep. Suddenly, everything just looked so...so...I...I don’t know, Sir.” His eyes grew with a heart-wrenching sadness. A few stray tears escaped them, which Walter hurried to brush off his face. Not fast enough, however, to hold in the sobs coming from the back of his throat. He sniffed loudly, wiping his sleeve across his nose.
“Dark?” Henry smiled, leaning over the desk towards the kid. “Lonely? Scary? Dangerous?”
“Yeah...exactly.”
“We’ve all been there, kiddo!” Henry grinned, taking a sip of the glass he’d poured for himself. “Each and every one of us. It’s a scary place, when you first arrive. Hell, it’s a scary place no matter how long you’ve been here.”
Walter took a long swig of his drink. “Yeah.” He sounded less than convinced.
“So, did something happen, Corporal? Your face is looking a little damp, there. Do you wanna tell me where those tears came from?” Henry leaned forward.
A deep, pink blush spread over Walter’s tear-stained cheeks and already red, raw nose. “Oh...well...I was just a little overwhelmed, Sir. That’s all.”
Henry nodded, not wanting to pry. “Listen, kiddo, here at the 4077th, we provide our patients with the best care out there. But we take care of our own, too. You can trust these folks to have your back, okay?”
Walter looked down for a moment, nodding slowly. “Yessir. Thank you, Sir.”
“There now. You’ll be okay, Corporal. I know it.”
Walter nodded again. The tear tracks on his face had begun to fade, as had the panic that had given him a slightly wild edge to his eyes when he’d come in. It had replaced itself with a heavy tiredness that weighed down like stones on his eyelids. An enormous yawn nearly split his face in two as he finished the last drop of gin.
“Pour you another?” Henry asked.
“Oh, yessir! If you will.” Walter nodded exuberantly, clearly enjoying the feeling of fog covering his busy mind.
Henry turned around, reaching for the bottle in the case. Feeling a little fuzzy himself, Henry let the bottle cap slip between his fingers, bouncing on to the floor. “Darn it…” Henry muttered, dropping the ground. It took him a minute or two to find it, then catch it in his clumsy hands. He brushed the dust from the cap, pulling himself back up to his chair, shaking his head, and reaching again for the bottle.
By the time he turned back, he nearly laughed out loud at the realization that Walter, face flat on the desk and shoulders slumped, had fallen deeply asleep.
Henry grinned. The kid snored softly, not stirring a bit. Sure, he’d probably be more comfortable in a bed, but he was clearly overtired, and it seemed like such a shame to wake him again.
Henry made his way silently through the door to Walter’s cot, pulling the thin blanket off the top.
Immediately, his eye caught the bed with a start. Of course the poor kid couldn’t sleep. The cot wasn’t open all the way. Henry shook his head, amazed that the young corporal had even fit in the half-closed cot—it was old, and often got stuck in one position, and Walter had just accepted it. The rusted, squeaky springs groaned loudly as Henry pushed down on both sides, opening the cot to its full width. Surely that would make for a better rest tomorrow night.
Stepping carefully to avoid creaking any floorboards back to his office, Henry fixed the blanket snugly around the sleepy corporal’s shoulders, tucking it around his chin to keep him in place.
Finally, he gently lifted Walter’s chin just enough to raise his face to slip off his glasses, laying them safely beside him.
Turning off the light with a soft click and heading for the door to make his way to the officer’s tent to get some sleep himself, Henry smiled a bit as he watched Walter wiggle a bit in his chair, settling into the blanket with a happy sigh.
“G’night, Corporal.” Henry whispered. "Sleep tight." He’d let the kid sleep in a little tomorrow. He deserved it. The first night was hard on everybody.
The last fleeting thought Henry had on his way to his tent was a shred of nervousness in remembering the poor kid's pale, teary face. What if he didn't rise to the challenge? No. This had to work. It was going to work out. It had to. He wasn't letting the kid fail so easily, and that was a promise.

Chapter Text

“Rise and shine, kiddo!”
Walter groaned loudly, opening his sleepy eyes to the blurry image of Colonel Blake in front of him. Sunlight bright enough to give him a headache streamed through the windows.
Walter’s eyes bulged, a small squeak escaping his mouth as he attempted to stand. He’d slept all night sitting up on Blake’s wooden chair with his head on the desk, and his neck and backside had never been so sore. Besides that, everything below his waist was still asleep. “Ow-w-w-w...”
“Rough night there, Corporal?” Henry chuckled, slinging an arm around Walter’s shoulder and patting him on the back.
“Yeah...” Walter rubbed his head, trying to clear the fuzziness, “gee, I’m sorry, Colonel. Boy, I’m embarrassed.”
Henry shook his head. The young man’s cheeks had turned bright pink. “I’ve seen rougher first nights.”
“Y’have?”
“Sure. You didn’t hold anyone hostage with a gun, didja?”
“Oh, Sir, no!” Walter’s eyes widened sincerely.
“So, shake out your legs, roll your neck, then why don’t you go take a shower before I put you to work? Wake yourself up a little. Wash the gin out of your brain.”
“Yessir. Thank you, sir.” Walter brought his hand up in a clumsy salute, backing out of the doorway (well, into the doorway), spinning around and into the sunlight.
Walter kept his head down, but his eyes watchful. He’d always had a knack for playing invisible, though nothing went unnoticed by him. He noticed that every tent had something wrong with it; rips in the screen doors, crooked hinges, torn canvas...he noticed that, as he passed by the mess tent, not many people were actually eating. They picked at the food, shaking their heads and scrunching up their faces, but left the food alone. He noticed that lots covered their eyes and noses when they walked along the overly-dusty roads, that the caving roofs didn’t look like they’d protect much against the rain, the camp was surrounded by a field crawling with land mines, that they were too, too far away from home for a war that wasn’t even a war.
And yet, Walter noticed, they smiled. They smiled and they laughed, they sang, played games, shared photographs and letters from home, and they seemed to be there for each other. They were happy. Walter had picked up almost immediately that they were a family; and if he could become a part of that family, he’d be just fine over here. He’d be safe.
Actually becoming part of that family was what scared him.
Walter shook himself out of his thoughts and made his way to the showers, crossing every finger and every toe that it would be empty. There was no WAY he was taking off one article of clothing in front of anyone.
Immediately upon entering, steam burst into his face, fogging up his glasses and leaving him practically blind.
Shoot.
“Hey! You mind, here?!” A voice Walter recognized as Trapper John’s floated over the shower stall.
“OH! Golly, sirs, I’m sorry! Let me just...I’ll come back...sorry!” He fumbled blindly for the door.
“Hey, wait! Corporal! Didn’t realize it was you! Stay!” Trapper shouted, squinting at Walter. “Thought you might be one‘na the guys trying to kick us out early and steal the rest of the hot water. Gotta be careful of that, y’know.”
“Yeah,” the man in the next stall said, soaping his face, “that hot water is for us to use up.” Walter froze for a moment, recognizing him as the black-haired doctor who’d been picking on him behind his back. He didn’t want to admit how intimidated he was, but gee, he wanted to leave right now.
“Sorry, sirs. It’s just me. I was gonna take a shower, but I’ll come back la-“
“Aw, we’ll be nice and get out. You’re new. Enjoy it while it lasts.” Trapper grinned, turning off the water and running a towel through his curls.
The black-haired doctor scowled a little. “Speak for yourself! I’m never nice. I’ll see you later, Trap. I’ve got a date with this shower and it is NOT over yet.”
Trapper grinned, wrapping himself in a bright yellow bathrobe. “Don’t let him bully you, Walt. Go on, enjoy the last hot shower you’ll ever take at the 40-double seventh.” Trapper laughed ringingly, leaving Walter alone with the other man.
Walter fumbled with his jacket buttons. No way was he getting in that shower. Him, with his short stature, scrawny build, and round babyface, next to the tall, maturely-handsome surgeon. He’d probably bust out laughing at the sight.
“Aren’t you getting in?” The man asked pointedly, rinsing the soap from his hair.
“Um...” Walter bit his lip, hesitantly tugging off his wire glasses and knit cap. “I...I just need to wake myself up. That’s all.” In a moment of impulsiveness, he turned on the water, leaned over the stall, and stuck his head under. “AHHH!” Apparently Trapper HAD used up all of the warm water. At least Walter was awake now.
The other man was howling with laughter. “You came in here just to do THAT?”
Walter would have blushed had he not been busy shivering. “Uh-h-h-huh.”
“You’re going to catch pneumonia! Here, dry yourself off!” He tossed Walter a towel, still giggling at the picture of the young man, curls plastered to his forehead and body trembling with cold. Walter wrapped the towel around his neck, protecting his shoulders from the water running down his face.
“Thanks.” Walter lowered his eyes. Congratulations, he thought bitterly, you’ve made a total ass of yourself.
As the man continued to snicker, Walter felt a knot of anger tightening in his belly. This was NOT how this was supposed to go. He was so tired of being laughed at by the big-shots.
He’d been underestimated all his life. Beaten down in school and ignored and overlooked by his peers. He wasn’t about to subject himself to that all over again.
Balling his fists and puffing out his chest, Walter bounced a little on his toes to see over the shower stall, trying to ignore the fact that he didn’t even come up to the man’s shoulder.
“What’s up there, Corporal?” The tall doctor grinned, clearly amused by Walter’s attempts.
“I’ll tell you what’s up!” Walter huffed, “just because a...a guy is taller than another guy, or-or more well-liked than him, or higher rank, or older, it don’t give him the right to look down on the little guy!”
“Wha-?”
“I know you don’t think I belong here, Sir, I heardja in your tent. Now, I don’t mean no disrespect, Sir, but you’ve got me all wrong! I...I belong here as much as anybody, Sir. And if you don’t like it, then you can...you can take it up with ME!” Heart pounding out of his chest, Walter whirled around, banging the door open against the structure and slamming it shut again.
Immediately, he flattened his back against the wall, gasping a little as the sunlight washed over him. He was, truthfully, in complete disbelief with himself. Oh boy, that man was probably going to make his life a living hell now. That was what always seemed to happen when Walter had tried to stand up to any of his school bullies.
Shivering and chewing his lip nervously, suddenly more homesick than ever, Walter, head lowered, began to make his way back to the Colonel’s office. Besides the Father, Blake was the only one here that Walter trusted. It was too dangerous away from him. Blake would take care of him.
Tears pricked Walter’s gray eyes. He was already making such a mess of things, getting sick in the OR, running to Henry like a scared little boy after a nightmare, then embarrassing himself and blowing up at the black-haired doctor? What was the matter with him?
Suddenly, Walter heard a door close behind him swing open and closed again. He spun around, heart leaping into his throat at the sight of the man, now dressed in a red robe, running to catch up with him.
Walter tightening his fists. He’d probably come to hit him for speaking that way to a superior officer.
“Hey, Corporal! Corporal, stop!”
Walter couldn’t seem to react, even move as the man approached him. Fear crept through his body, though he tried his best not to show it.
“…S-Sir?”
“Hey,” The man panted heavily, finally catching up and stopping in front of the younger corporal. “Hey, wait up a minute, would ya? I wanna talk to you!”
“Yessir.”
“Now, considering your little confrontation back there, I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that you heard me say a few things you weren’t supposed to hear. Is that right?” Walter met him with only silence. “Now look,” the man continued, “I had just come out of a long, tricky surgery. I was in a bad mood. I’m...I’m sorry you heard me say those things. I shouldn’t have. I never meant to make things harder for you here. Believe me, I know it’s already hard enough. You didn’t need me and my big mouth on top of it.”
“Sir…”
“Clearly, I was wrong. You’ve got guts, Corporal O’Reilly. It’s not everyone that confronts a man while he’s naked. Now, I’m not so good at admitting when I’m wrong, but I was. I’m sorry, kid. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Walter was speechless. He’d come to...apologize? To him? “I don’t...I don’t know what to say.”
“How would ya like to join me in my tent for a martini?” The man slung an arm around Walter. “My name’s Hawkeye Pierce.”
“H-Hawkeye?”
“Last of the Mohicans.” Hawkeye grinned.
Walter nodded, not letting on that he had no idea what or who that was. Hawkeye led him back to the tent in which Walter had first heard him talking to Trapper, residing in the broken-down place they called ‘The Swamp.’
“Hey, Trap,” Hawkeye greeted the curly-haired man sitting on a small bed furthest from the door. “He followed me home! Can we keep him?” Walter blushed as Hawkeye put his arm around him, holding him out to Trapper like a lost animal.
“If he’s had all his shots.” Trapper retorted.
“A drink for the lad, if you will.” Hawkeye grinned, picking up a martini glass and handing it to Trapper.
“You have an entire still in here?” Walter gasped a little as Trapper poured a drink from the winding mechanism in the corner of the tent.
“Sure. Basic necessities, you know.”
Walter grinned. “How’d ya swing that?”
“We have our ways, we have our ways.” Hawkeye handed him the glass, pouring another for himself. “So, Walter, tell us, how have you enjoyed your stay in Chez Mash thus far?”
Walter took a long swig of his drink. He’d need it to describe the time he’d had. “It’s...well, it’s…”
“Terrible? Horrible?” Trapper grinned, leaning towards him.
“Well, yeah.”
“I know you’re probably tired of hearing how things get better, but they do.” Hawkeye said, “as soon as you find your way here, you’ll always have someone to lean on.”
“That’s the same thing Father Mulcahy told me.” Walter said softly. “But I’m not so good at...people. I’m better with animals.”
Hawkeye chuckled lightly. “You’ve got Trap and I, here. For whatever the hell that’s worth.”
“Really?”
Trapper and Hawkeye looked pointedly at each other. “Of course.”
“Thank you, Sirs.”
“Say, have you met a gal by the name of Margaret Houlihan yet?” Hawkeye asked.
“Houlihan? No, but I’ve heard her mentioned.”
“Now SHE’S a looker. Tough as nails, but a looker.”
“I met a Major Burns, he seemed to think so.”
“You met Burns?!” Hawkeye let out a whooping laugh, “how’d THAT go for you? GREAT guy, isn’t he?!”
“Well, I hit him with a door…”
“You WHAT?!” Trapper exploded with laughter. “I love this kid!”
“It wasn’t on purpose, Sir!” Walter grinned, “and he hit me with one, too.”
“Was that on purpose? Because I can kill him for you if it was.” Hawkeye cocked an eyebrow.
“I don’t think so...I was on the ground picking up some papers. He probably couldn’t see me. I fell on my wrist, though. And he didn’t get hurt at all by me.”
“You did? Which one? Does it still hurt?” Hawkeye took Walter’s left wrist, which he silently held out.
“I didn’t mean to make a fuss, Sir, it’s alright.”
Hawkeye cupped Walter’s hand, which looked absolutely tiny in his, feeling up and down his wrist with the opposite.
“OW!” Walter winced in spite of himself.
“That hurts?’ Hawkeye thumbed the spot on his wrist he’d reacted to. “It’s probably not broken, but we can wrap it for you, if you want.”
“Oh no, Sir, I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. We ARE doctors, you know.”
Walter nodded. “Thanks, Sir.” He sipped the last of his martini, sighing happily and setting the glass on Hawkeye’s table. “I oughta get back to Colonel Blake, y’know. He thinks I’m only taking a shower.”
“Aw, Blake wouldn’t notice if the war hit him on the head. Hey, we’ll come with ya. Henry owes me a glass of gin.”
“But...your still.”
“That’s martinis, my friend. They have vermouth in them, too. It doesn’t all taste the same, you know.”
Hawkeye and Trapper led their younger friend onto the sunlit path, reaching over or around him to shove each other occasionally.
Walter smiled, thoroughly enjoying walking between the two men. It felt safe. Made him feel like he was beginning to belong. Not only that, but they even insisted on stopping the OR to take care of his wrist.
Hawkeye Pierce and Trapper John McIntrye were the last people Walter had expected to trust here. And yet…
“Corporal!” Blake called from his office, “I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost in the shower stall. What took you so lo- er, oh. Pierce, McIntrye, isn’t it a little soon to corrupt my new clerk?”
“It’s easier to teach ‘em while they’re young and spry.” Hawkeye smirked.
“Sorry, Sir. I’m here.” Walter said sheepishly, stepping in front of the other two.
“Corporal, we got a stack of forms there, I put them on your desk for you to sort. I don’t know what the hell they’re for, I stopped trying to figure out long ago, so just go ahead and—”
In spite of himself, Walter found him cutting the Colonel off mid-sentence. “Sort ‘em and bring ‘em in for you-”
“Sort them and bring them into me.” Henry continued obliviously overtop Walter. “If you don’t know what they are-“
“Don’t ask you. Got it, Sir.”
“…Don’t ask me. Got it, Corporal?” Henry smiled, still completely lost in his own world to notice the little routine he and his new clerk had performed. Walter noticed Trapper and Hawkeye exchange an amused look out of the corner of his eye.
“Oh,” Walter nodded, “and, Sir, I’ll get on finding you that coffee.”
“And, if you could find me some coffee, that’d be- hey, O’Reilly, I didn’t ask yet.”
Shoot.
“Oh, well, you looked...you looked thirsty, sir.” Walter babbled. C’mon, he berated himself, is that hiding it?!
“This kid can keep up, Henry, you better stay on your toes.” Hawkeye smirked.
Walter blushed a little. He was about to cover his tracks, when a familiar hum caught his ear.
“Hey, hey, isn’t that the choppers?” Walter butterflies filling his belly immediately at the clear buzzing. “We’ve got wounded!”
Hawkeye, Trapper, and Henry exchanged a look. “I don’t hear anything…” Hawkeye said slowly.
“You...you don’t?”
“Wait,” Henry held up a finger, “I hear it. He’s right. Wounded!” He grabbed the PA microphone, shouting into the screeching feedback, “WOUNDED! We’ve got wounded!”
“Hey, kid, how did you do that?!” Hawkeye asked incredulously as the four broke into a run.
“That’s the second time since you’ve gotten here!” Henry shouted.
Walter wanted to kick himself. Why was it so hard for him to keep that little curse inside?
Clutching his clipboard against his chest, Walter forced himself to shake the worry from his mind. He wasn’t going to slow anybody down this time around. He had a job to do (and a damned important one at that, he’d realized), and he was going to do it.

Chapter Text

Walter slowly lowered himself onto the mess hall bench. His legs were throbbing--they'd been handling wounded for over four hours. The most he could say, or even comprehend at this moment, was that he was in complete and utter awe by now of the surgeons and nurses; they went on endlessly without a single care for themselves. They were heroic. 

     No sooner did he think this, then Hawkeye, Trapper, and Henry slid in around him. Each had noticeable dark circles under his eyes. Each and every one of them were slowly working themselves to death. But their faces, still strong and kind, reminded Walter with a start that he was no longer afraid of the inevitable discomfort of trying to find a friendly face during meals as he had been only last night.

     "Hey, kid." Hawkeye lolled his head sleepily towards Walter. "How ya feeling this time around?" 

     "My legs hurt somethin' awful, Sir." Walter mustered a weak smile, "and I feel a little...I feel a little queasy, I guess. All those people, it's..."

     "Hard." Trapper rubbed Walter's shoulder. "But hey, you didn't even puke this time! That's a step up." 

     Walter chuckled weakly. He had to admit, despite the aching of his body, a strange sense of pride had filled his belly since the day had ended. He'd been ready this time around, and couldn't help feeling as though he'd finally done something right in this place. 

     “Y’know,” Henry began, noticing the young clerk's smile, “you did well out there, Corporal. You seem to have the hang of this ‘wounded’ thing.”

     “It’s true.” Hawkeye grinned. “Not only was there no vomiting, but no tears either! I'd call that a success." 

     Walter beamed beneath the pretty blush spreading over his round cheeks. This time around, he’d known what to expect. He’d followed the Father’s advice and shielded his eyes as he went through the OR, and had even somehow managed to keep up this time with the names thrown at him so suddenly. 

     “What I still don’t understand,” Henry set down his fork, face growing stoic, “is how you consistently hear the choppers before anybody else does. What is that, Corporal?”

     Walter’s blush deepened. “I think...well, just coincidence, I guess. I have pretty good hearing, that’s all.”

     "Always been able to do that?" Hawkeye asked. His eyes glittered with interest as he looked the kid up and down. He'd known there was something special about him the first time he'd confronted him in that shower. A sort of battling had begun inside of him; he respected Walter as much, possibly even more so than the others here, but he also couldn't shake the slightly-silly need to protect the little clerk.

     "Well," Walter fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, "yeah. I just...it comes a little naturally, I guess. I can tell what's gonna happen before it does. Y'know...finish other folks' sentences and stuff..." Oh well. It had to come out eventually. He braced himself, waiting for those all-too-familiar looks he'd get back home. 

     Instead, to Walter's surprise, Hawkeye let out a whooping laugh. "Hey, how 'bout that?! We've got our own little radar of the 4077th."

     "'Radar' O'Reilly." Trapper chuckled. "Rolls off the tongue." 

     "Really?" Walter looked between the three with wide eyes. "You think so?" 

     Hawkeye stood up dramatically, taking his fork in one hand and raising it over his head. He swooped down his knee, kneeling before Walter. He tapped the fork on Walter's right shoulder, then left, then finally on the top of his head. "I dub thee, from this day forth, Radar...hey, what's your middle name?" 

     "Eugene." Walter smiled. 

     Hawkeye shuddered. "Alright, take it back. I don't want it." He performed the tapping of the fork on Walter's shoulders and head again, then dramatically announced, "I dub thee Radar O'Reilly." 

     Radar. 

     A wide beam spread over Walter's cheeks. "Thank you, Sir." His voice came out soft and high, a childlike awe about it. 

     "It suits him better than Walter does." Trapper grinned. "'Walter' is a little...big for him, y'know?" 

     "The name is taller than he is." Hawkeye quipped. 

     "Hey!" Walter pouted, sticking out his bottom lip and trying hard to sell the 'angry' look. "I'm not that short!" 

     "Oh yeah. And I'm not that cute." Hawkeye crossed his legs and put one hand under his chin.

     "This calls for a feast." Henry slapped the table. "I think it's time Radar here got a taste of the food he'll be eating every day." 

     Trapper and Hawkeye sat up, suddenly very interested. "Initiation time! Initiation time!" 

     "What, is it bad?" Walter asked innocently. 

     A series of slightly obscenely-loud whooping ensued from all three. "Bad? Kid, we would win this goddamned war if only we fed the enemy this stuff!" Hawkeye yelled. "C'mon now, get this boy a tray!" 

     The mere mention of food made Walter's stomach growl so loudly he considered it far more obscene than his friends' yelling. He blushed furiously. 

     "Hey, how long's it been since you ate?" Henry asked, chuckling a little. 

     "Gee..." Walter counted quietly for a second. He hadn't had a moment to even think about filling his belly. "It's been over twenty-four hours, Sir." Now that he did have time, he quickly realized how starving he was. 

     Hawkeye returned, carrying a tray of...of, well, of something Walter couldn't quite identify. It sure was a strange color, though. He bit his lip, urging himself on with the reminder than he hadn't had anything to keep him going in a day. Just eat something. Doesn't matter if it's...this. 

     Trapper presented the tray melodramatically. "Here it is. The myth. The legend. The unidentifiable. Eat up, Corporal."

     “You sure you’re ready to expose yourself to the toxic waste we call food here?” Hawkeye asked, “your belly will never be the same.” 

     Walter looked down shyly. “I’m so hungry, I’d eat anything at this point.” 

     “It’s your funeral.” Trapper grinned. 

     The three watched mock-ceremoniously as Walter swallowed hard, expecting the worst, and popping a bite of...whatever it was into his mouth. 

     His eyes widened. 

     What was WRONG with these people?! This was wonderful food. “Whoa!”

     “I know, I know.” Hawkeye quipped. 

     “This is good!”

     “Yes, we know, it’s- WHAT?” Henry looked up. “It’s what?”

     “I don’t know what you sirs are complaining about, sirs.” Walter shook his head, shoveling the food into his mouth. 

     “I…I don’t even know what to say to this.” Hawkeye turned to an equally-horrified Henry and Trapper. 

     Walter ate until the rumbling in his belly died down, completely oblivious to the fact that his friends were barely picking at their own trays. 

     Henry couldn’t help but smile at the little clerk’s eating. There was hope for him yet. If he could eat that food, Henry thought, smiling, he could adjust to anything. 

_______________________________

Back in his office, the young corporal examined his reflection in the cracked mirror near his cot. He couldn't help smiling a little at who stared back at him; he was already changed, he could tell. 

There wasn't really a description for it. He had the same youthful, even plump cheeks that made him look so many years younger, the wide eyes framing a smile that reached the very corners of them, the curly, slightly-crazy auburn hair, and of course, he hadn't grown any taller, but...something was different. He could tell. Maybe it was confidence. Could something so simple really make such a change? 

Walter O'Reilly was a small-town outcast from Ottumwa, Iowa. 

Radar O'Reilly was a capable clerk in a new place with new friends and new beginnings. 

He made up his mind right then to leave 'Walter' back home. 

Radar.

He could get used to that. 

Chapter Text

“H-Hello,” Radar fidgeted uncertainly with the headset wrapped around his knit cap, twirling the telephone cord around one finger. “This is, um, Walter... Corporal Walter O’Reilly. I’m with the 7704...er, sorry, the 4077th MASH unit and I’m calling to...I’m calling to request some more penicillin for our patients.” Radar rubbed his forehead, silently cursing himself for his babbling. God, he had no idea what to say, what to do …

The voice on the other end sounded like it was stifling laughter. Radar sighed heavily, choosing not to hear the exact words, though the rejection was clear. 

“Thanks anyway, Sir.” Radar huffed. Just listening to the deeper, more confident voice on the other end made him feel as though he was back in high school. There had always been someone bigger and better than him; it was a chain of command and he had always been on the bottom. 

Wait a second

. Wasn’t this supposed to be bigger and better? Wasn’t he supposed to be bigger and better? There were a lot of people depending on him. He was after something that could save a few lives. Besides, the joker over the phone couldn’t see him; there was something in that. 

“Wait, y’know, listen.” Radar said hurriedly, “are you still there?” 

“Yeah, I’m here.” The bored response came crackling through. 

“I’m not actually done talking yet.” Radar tipped backwards in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk with a glance towards Henry Blake’s office. He wasn’t about to let him down. 

“Oh?”

“Yeah! Now you listen to me, there are a whole lotta lives depending on me getting this stuff. And if we don’t get it, you’re gonna have all those folks’ blood on your hands! Now, I may be new, and I may not know as much about the army as some of you guys may, but I know this: I know it’s your job to provide us with the supplies we need to save lives! I’m not a pushover, alright? I don’t go out that easy.” He took a breath, awaiting a response, but getting none. “So, can I take that silence to mean that we’ll be getting the Penicillin as soon as possible?” 

The man on the other side of the phone clicked his tongue. “You’ve got guts, don’tcha? Alright, Walter O’Reilly,” his words were intercepted by an obviously-surprised chuckle, “I’ll tell you what. I’m not making you any promises, but I’ll pull some strings, alright? I’ll put in a good word. That’s the best I can do.” 

“What does ‘pull a few strings’ mean?” Radar pursed his lips, “‘Put in a good word?’”

“It means I’ll do the best I can. Without, you know, payment, that is.”

“‘Payment?’ What kind of payment?” Radar leaned back farther in his chair, twirling the cord around his finger this time more as a bored time-passer than a nervous habit. 

“There’s a fellow at your camp who’s become sorta known over here for his collection of, er, magazines.” 

“Magazines…?”

“The kind that get you through a cold night.” 

“Er...OH!” Radar sat straight up, the front legs of his chair banging against the floor. “I think I know who.” He couldn’t hold back the slightly-cocky smile on his face. He’d seen those magazines in Hawkeye and Trapper’s tent. The kind with the girls with the long legs and the well, lack of clothes. “I’ve got ya. Alright, so if I swing some of those, you’ll get us the stuff?”

“I’ll do my very best.” 

“You’ve got a deal.” Radar grinned. His stomach was bursting with butterflies, this time from pure happiness and pride. 

“And you’ve got a knack for bargains.” The voice chuckled. “You’re alright, O’Reilly.”

“That’s awful kind of you, Sir.” 

“You can call me Sparky.” 

Radar nodded. “Sparky. Got it. And you can call me Radar. I’ll be in touch soon with your magazines.” 

“Then I’ll be in touch with your medicine.” 

“Bye, Sparky.” 

“Talk to ya soon, Radar.”

Radar hung up the phone, ripping off the headset and fighting the urge to get up and dance. He felt like he was going to burst. 

Radar knocked on Henry’s door, not five seconds before the colonel called his name. “I got the medicine you-

“Did you get the medicine I-”

“Called Sparky and-”

“Call Sparky, he’ll help y-”

“It should be on it’s way n-

“Make sure it’s on it’s way now.”

“You’re welcome, Sir.”

“Thank you, Radar.” 

Radar turned swiftly, shutting the door and nodding his head, out of sight before either of them registered their little exchange. He had a friend to go butter up (and if all else failed, he had some magazines to go steal).

----Hours Later----

Radar O’Reilly stared towards his cot, hand dancing nervously on the light switch. He had never been afraid of the dark before, but he had to admit, it seemed just a bit more menacing here in Korea. 

C’mon, he berated himself, grow up. Just get in and go to sleep. 

Taking a deep breath, Radar, all in one swift movement, threw the light switch off, then dove for his cot like a child afraid of monsters under the bed. 

Unfortunately, his aim was less than true, and, instead of the mattress, he landed on the cold, hard floor, bumping his head on the corner of the cot. 

“Ow!” Radar clapped his hand to his knit cap, which had softened most of the blow. Still...silver stars danced in front of his eyes, dizzying his view and distorting the room. 

It made the shadows look bigger. Taller. Radar groaned softly, covering his eyes and hugging his knees like a scared child. He couldn’t tell whether he was more afraid of his surroundings, or simply another night of tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. 

He glanced hesitantly towards his bag. There was one thing shamefully buried in it, one thing he’d brought from home in a moment of impulsiveness, but oh lord, if he ended up needing that…

Don’t be stupid. Don’t act even more like a little kid, Radar rubbed his sore head. He forced himself to stumble to his feet and lower himself into the cot, which he had to admit, was much more comfortable now fully opened, removing his cap and glasses. 

Just go to sleep, Radar thought. His belly was all in knots, and his head was starting to throb. Don’t do this again. He forced himself to think of his new friends, his new job, taking a few deep breaths and settling into the blankets. He'd ended up getting those magazines, which meant he'd gotten the Penicillin as long as Sparky could convince the supply managers. Focus on that. 

No avail. 

The best he could do was fall somewhere between consciousness and dreaming, and if that wasn’t hundreds of times worse…

His mind wandered involuntarily to a particular night in Ottumwa. He had been around five years old, and there had been a nasty storm sweeping the farm. 

He’d crawled into bed with his Ma, absolutely terrified out of his mind. 

Lightening flashed as the boy, small even for his young age, chubby-cheeked, and dressed in slightly ragged pajamas, brushed his wild curls out of his oversized glasses and snuck carefully down the hallway. Behind him, he hauled a worn-out teddy bear, bumping against his legs as he went. His older brother had given it to him, and he was pretty sure it was the only thing keeping him together right now. 

He jumped suddenly at the thunder that followed, whimpering loudly. It ignited something in him, sending him racing through the darkness and into Ma O’Reilly’s bedroom. 

“Mama! Mama!” He cried, diving under the covers and curling up in a shivering ball against her, hugging the bear against his body. Tears spilled down his cheeks, small frame trembling. 

Mrs. O’Reilly was awake before her boy even hit the bed. “Oh-h-h, I thought I heard you up and about. C’mon, c’mere, it’s okay.” She hoisted him in her arms, wrapping him in the covers and smoothing down his hair. 

The boy shrieked as the next crash of thunder rattled the window. “Mama, make it stop! Make it stop!” He buried his face in his Ma’s arms, crying softly as her hand came down gently on his back. 

“Shhh, c’mon, don’t cry now. A storm ain’t a thing to be afraid of. That rain keeps our farm alive, y’know. It’s a gift from Heaven, baby. It’s the same thing with the shadows, you know. They may look scary in the night, during times like this, but they just make sure the sun has something to light up in the morning.” She fixed the bear in her son’s arms, tucking the blankets under his chin and thumbing the tears from his cheeks. “It’ll all be okay in the morning.”

Radar forced his eyes open. He didn’t want to remember that anymore. He was too far from home to bother thinking about it. 

 He didn’t want to admit it. 

He wanted it. He wanted that little piece of familiarity. He was suddenly aware of the few stray tears trickling down his cheeks, just about still as youthful as the day he’d been remembering.

He missed his home, and the dark was looking awful scary right now. 

Rolling off his cot, Radar rubbed his head again, unzipping his bag and reaching past clothes, belongings, whatever he’d used to cover it. 

He hated to admit that as soon as his hands brushed it, he instantly felt better. 

Radar pulled that worn-out teddy bear from his bag, instantly flooding his memory with images of his brother, his mother, his home. 

Hugging it to his chest, he took a deep, shuddering breath before hoisting himself back into the cot, this time armed with his teddy bear. He’d tried so hard to convince himself he didn’t need it anymore. But here it was. Right there when he needed it. 

Despite the ride in his bag, it smelled like home. Radar wrapping his arms around the stuffed bear, deciding suddenly he was never spending another night here without it. 

The young clerk curled up in a ball, pulling the blankets tightly around his body, holding his teddy bear underneath. Inhaling deeply, Radar buried his face in the familiar object, letting it, paired with the comforting light coming from Henry’s office, soothe him to sleep. 

________________________________

By the time midnight rolled around, Henry Blake had figured out why he couldn’t sleep. 

It was the same thing that had kept him from retiring to his own tent instead of slumping over his office desk.

 He couldn’t. What if Radar O’Reilly needed him again? 

Henry knew he was being silly, being so protective of the young man. But there was something so painfully vulnerable about him, and Henry had a strange feeling that coming for help like he’d done last night wasn’t something Radar did often. Last night, he’d been so shaken up in this scary new place. Henry knew . You had to have a friendly face here, you just had to. And he was Radar’s. Radar trusted him, and Henry wasn’t going to let him down.  

There was no way he was getting one minute of shut-eye until he was sure the new kid was safely and soundly asleep. Then, he promised himself, he’d go to his own tent and follow suit. As soon as he was sure. 

Henry pushed back his chair, walking quietly on his toes. He opened the heavy door as absolutely silently as he could, turning off the lights in his office so nothing could disturb the young clerk’s room. 

Slowly, slowly, he poked his head through. Upon seeing the stillness, he began to tiptoe through, pausing near Radar’s bed. Sure enough, Henry could see just enough through the darkness to make out the shape of the new clerk, back to him and body rising and lowering with deep, even breaths. Radar was sound asleep. 

Henry smiled, walking on the balls of his feet silently the rest of the way across the office. He creaked the door open as gently as he could, slipping out with just enough room. 

Just before he took off for his own tent, he mouthed “goodnight, Corporal” at the sleeping curled-up ball on the cot. Making his way into the moonlight, Henry couldn’t help but smile. 

He was okay. 

Radar O’Reilly was going to be okay here.