Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The base is eerily quiet, for being such a high focal point of the IMC. He’d expected to be swarmed at some point, yet...nothing has happened, so far. He’s still on edge, checking around corners and using sonar to check hallways and adjacent rooms. The thrill of being in-person runs through him--he’s more at risk, like this, but he sees it as another opportunity to flex his skills.

He can tell BT is trepidly monitoring his movements through the neural link. The Titan understands his prowess, but still frets when the odds are obviously stacked against him. It’s touching, the hulking warrior worrying about his smaller counterpart. While Cooper is clearly suited for mission requirements such as moving on foot into areas, being a skilled Pilot and a rifleman before, there is still a high chance of something going wrong, and BT would not be able to intervene if things went haywire.

“Pilot,” BT cuts through his thoughts over the comm link. “I am detecting a small group of IMC grunts just ahead. I am sensing approximately three, as well as two Specters.”

“Thanks, pal,” Cooper whispers back. The forewarning is something he’s grateful for. More time to be prepared for conflict.

“Please, practice self-conservation when confronting,” the Titan continues, “for you are clearly outnumbered and out-gunned.”

Cooper huffs a puff of air out deflatedly. “Again, thanks for the morale boost, there.”

“I am merely warning you of potential dangers. Your morale is important, but not at this moment, Pilot.”

He elects to ignore responding to the flat response. 

Cooper rounds the corner, Flatline at the ready. The Specters are easily hacked with his dataknife, the two of them rounding on their teammates quickly. Two of the grunts barely have time to reach before bullets pierce their skulls. It’s almost unfair, he thinks, were the force not, you know, desiccating entire planets and colonies for resources. 

He pauses for a moment. BT had said there were three of them, along with the two Specters, yet he has only seen and killed two. Where is the third?

He finds out soon enough. A fist connects to his jaw, knocking him off-balance. On reflex, he brings a hand up to hold the sore bone. Another punch straight to his sternum knocks the air out of his lungs, leaving him wheezing. 

“Piece’a shit,” the grunt snarls, going for their gun. It is hardly raised before Cooper finds his wits enough to grab at one of their wrists, twisting it sharply. The grunt yelps as bones creak and muscles stretch, giving him the time needed to raise his weapon with one hand and shoot into their chest. They fall to the ground like the meatbag they are, slumping over and oozing blood from their fatal wounds. 

“Pilot Cooper, I heard gunshots,” BT butts in. “Are you alright?”

He cradles his jaw again, working it and finding out that it was a poor choice as pain lances through the area. “Well,” he starts hesitantly. 

“That is not reassuring,” BT frets. “Are you injured?”

“I got socked in the jaw is all,” he tries to blow it off as something minor. He can tell it will bruise, which he laments. 

“I do not understand.”

“I got punched,” he elaborates, “right on the jaw.”

“Please hurry so I can assess your injury,” BT prompts. “The console you need to hack is not far from your location. So long as you ‘keep your mouth shut’, you will be alright.”

“R’ger,” he slurs. The area grows hot under his hand, for sure already turning a nasty shade of purple. Still, he has things to do that require doing.

He slinks down the hall quietly; fortunately, no other guards seem to be around. The three incompetent fools at the entrance seem to have been the only ones assigned to the room. The door is easy enough to hack, allowing him to slip in and pad up to the console. His dataknife is slipped out of its sheath, quickly jammed into the console’s mainframe as it begins the hacking process. 

“I’m in, BT,” Cooper informs.

“Congratulations.”

“S’nce when have you had sarc’sm?” he retorts blearily.

“Since I have learned it from you, Pilot.”

Hm. A taste of his own medicine, it seems. He tucks the thought away for later debate. Right now, he needs to focus. 

The knife pings on his HUD as it finishes the hacking. He rips it out, tucking it back where it belongs. He turns around and jogs out the door. 

“Any followers?”

“I do not detect any other soldiers on your extraction route,” BT responds. “Your path is clear.”

“Sweet.” He jogs back along the path he took to get into the data room, still wary enough to check corners before rounding them. Outside, BT waits for him, crouched with a hand extended to lift him into the cockpit. Inside, he sighs: how long will it be until he can get back to base to fix this damn thing?

“Pilot, I detect inflammatory responses to the affected area of your face.”

“No shit, bud.”

“I know speaking frequently is an unbreakable habit of yours,” the sarcasm is back again in full force, “but do try to limit your talking to only required responses. Any unneeded movement of the area will only intensify pain.” Bt straightens, now that Cooper is in the cockpit and harnessed in. “I will take us to a safe, remote area where we can address the injury properly.” With that, Cooper feels the surge of motion as the Titan begins plodding his way away from the base and into the thick forests of Typhon. 

Cooper dozes off in the harness as BT finds a haven. He’s careful to rest the unaffected side of his face against the side of the seat to keep pressure off the soreness that is settling in. He stays in a light sleep that is cut off when BT stops.

“This area seems to suffice our needs,” BT says as the cockpit door opens again. “We can rest here for the night.”

“Cool.” He looks around. “Still, keep an eye out for unfriendly wildlife, yeah?”

“I am capable of searching the area even when not actively guarding. You are safe.”

At that, he lets himself relax. BT crouches as low as he can to be on Cooper’s level--somewhat. The Titan tilts his head as he looks at the mottled bruise forming on his Pilot’s jaw. 

“Suggestion: applying ice and anti-inflammatory medications will help reduce swelling and ease discomfort,” he advises. “There may be Ibuprofen in the medical kit, but I doubt there will be any sort of ice pack.”

“Th’t’s okay,” Cooper sighs. He clambers back into the cockpit to grab the stowed-away medical kit, hopping back out and opening it up. Sure enough, there’s a bottle of anti-inflammatory meds. He shakes a couple out into his palm and swallows them dry, grimacing at the acidic taste they leave in his mouth. 

“Pilot, I may have a solution to our ice pack situation,” BT starts.

“Yeah? Whatcha got?”

BT carefully puts his hand adjacent to Jack’s face, one finger extending to almost brush his cheek. “It is unnecessary to keep all parts of a Titan warm, besides the cockpit, so the metal will be colder. Perhaps resting your cheek on it will soothe it, somewhat.”

At this point, he’s willing to try anything. The meds will take a while to kick in, though he wants relief now. Slowly, he eases into the touch, BT moving slightly to meet him as he leans. His Titan’s prediction proves to be correct: the metal of his finger is cool against heated, angry skin, a soothing feeling that he relishes in. 

A hum escapes him without him realizing it. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good idea, bud.”

“I take it my predictions were correct?”

“Abs’lutely. Feels better a’ready.”

“Excellent.”

Chapter Text

Cooper is stricken for a moment, looking down dumbly at where the knife protrudes from his gut. The image registers in his brain, but the pain that he knows and expects to feel is surprisingly absent.

“Pilot Cooper?” BT’s voice rumbles over the comm link. “Your vitals jumped for a moment. Are you alright?”

It takes a second for the man to regain his wits enough to respond. “Uh,” he elegantly starts, his words faltering as his Pilot suit grows wetter and wetter. How does he answer this in a way that won’t worry his Titan?

“Tell the truth,” BT cuts in. “I already sense that something is wrong. Please, be honest.”

His head swims, his vision skewing as he stumbles against a wall. “It’s not good, I don’t think.”

BT is worryingly silent for a pause before he continues to speak. “Affirmative. Carefully extricate yourself from the building. I will provide a distraction to allow you safe passage.” Moments after, Cooper hears the sound of a volley of Acolyte rockets tear into the sturdy walls of the facility, a cacophony of yelling rising up in response. “Be safe. Please.”

He almost numbly spits out ‘no promises’ in a half-hearted quip before catching himself. There’s no need to stress BT out more than he already is. Though, to be fair, BT can probably already tell what has gone wrong, even if Cooper is reluctant to tell him outright. Sometimes he forgets the Link is as powerful as it is. 

He clamps one hand over the wound, knowing that staunching the bleeding is the best --and only-- thing he can do right now. His free hand fumbles for his pistol, awkwardly unholstering it from his opposite hip. His accuracy is likely garbage right now, but if someone’s in close enough proximity to use the pistol, then they’re close enough for a shot from the hip. 

BT’s rampage continues outside, gradually thinning the IMC forces that haul over to confront him. Bullets ping harmlessly off of the metal of his body and he continues his murderous spree. 

It’s shocking, in a way: BT is typically calm and reserved. Jack knows the Titan is capable of destruction and death on a massive scale, but being in an altered state of vulnerability brings it to the forefront of his mind. He leans heavily against an unoccupied door frame as he waits for the coast to clear enough for him to get to the Vanguard.

BT looks over, noting his position and his deteriorating state, sweeping one giant arm through a gaggle of grunts and sending them haphazardly flying. He trots over to the Pilot, footfalls rumbling the earth beneath Cooper’s feet. Kneeling down to Cooper’s level, BT’s cyan optic locks on to his beloved Pilot as he assesses the situation.

“Pilot,” BT frets, “you have suffered a puncture wound to the abdomen.”

“Yeah,” he croaks as the pain finally bleeds into his mind. His stomach is wet and sticky under his armor, far more uncomfortable than anything else he’s ever felt. 

“Immediate action should be taken,” BT continues. “Risk of internal bleeding and puncture to abdominal organs are priority.” He stoops to lay his hand down for his Pilot to step onto. “Come. I will get you to shelter to address the wound.”

In a daze, Cooper stumbles up into the provided palm, leaning heavily on BT’s fingers to keep himself upright. The tackiness spreads, leaving him dizzy and nauseous.

“Hold tight.” At the last second, the Titan snags an idle Specter from the battlefield, grasping it in one large palm as it wriggles uselessly. BT sets off at a brisk jog, away from the IMC base, now filled with chaos. Hopefully, none of them would think to follow the Titan. 

The thick forests of the planet provide excellent cover for the two of them as they dart away. BT twists and turns to avoid any more damage than necessary. Fauna and wildlife skitter out of the charging Titan’s path, scurrying away into the overgrowth.

Even through the vigorous jostling he undergoes as BT moves, he still feels himself slipping closer and closer to losing consciousness. Dumbly, a blood-soaked hand reaches for the hilt of the knife still protruding from his middle.

Delicately, one of BT’s fingers intercepts. “It is unwise to remove the protrusion until medical action can be taken,” he informs. “Removing it would only speed up blood loss.”

His skin feels clammy by now, nausea and dizziness dominating his mind. He can tell BT is doing his best to bleed off some of the feeling. Soon enough, BT finds suitable cover, hunkering down and laying Jack on the ground as gently as he could. Jack groans as he’s moved, the aching pain radiating out from where the knife sits. The Specter stays in BT’s grip.

“Pilot,” BT offers, “I know you are in immense pain, but I require your assistance.” He sounds almost guilty as he finishes the sentence. Blearily, Cooper focuses on his Titan, doing his best to pay attention. “I have secured a Specter for my use. It will allow finer motor skills. However, it must be hacked, and my core must be installed. Do you think you can assist me in doing that?”

Jack wheezes, delicately shifting onto his side to unsheath his dataknife and hold it out. BT takes it from his grasp, setting the Specter down and getting to work. The knife slips into its circuitry smoothly, the body going limp in BT’s hand. 

BT’s hand rises to his optic. “Ejecting data core. Cooper, you will have to install it,” BT seems to apologize. Are you able to do that?“ The core hisses as it disengages, falling into his waiting palm. It slowly slumps to the ground, though the Titan chassis remains in sentry mode.

Cooper struggles to sit up. Each movement causes lances of pain to bolt through his body, but he knows he needs to help BT to get medical attention. Taking the core from the now-idle palm, he scoots over to the Specter frame to insert it in place of the frame’s original core. It slides in easily, hissing and settling in with a ‘pop!’ 

Immediately, BT’s trademark cyan shows through the frame’s optic, looking over to where Cooper returns to slumping on the ground. 

“Pilot,” BT’s voice rumbles out of the Specter, “you are going into shock. Proceeding with immediate medical care.” The Specter--BT, this is BT, just a different body--reaches into the hatch on the Vanguard chassis and retrieves a medkit, hopping down and kneeling next to Cooper. As he rummages around, Cooper feels himself drifting off once more.

A gentle shake to his shoulder rouses him. 

“Cooper, you must stay awake,” BT begs. 

His eyes crack open tiredly, attempting to focus on his friend as he works.

“I will continue to speak to you to keep you aware, if you would like,” BT continues. “Would that help?”

Blearily, Jack nods slowly. 

“Alright.” He feels BT’s hand move to his stomach near the wound. “I have already activated the emergency beacon,” he rambles. “Evac should be here shortly. That is good news. The quicker you can get help, the higher the odds you will recover with no adverse effects.”

The hand gently moves the knife as BT spreads biofoam around the puncture, making the now-familiar ache spread once more. He groans, one hand mindlessly going to swat BT away.

“Now is not the time to get defiant,” BT scolds. “I am doing what needs to be done. Plus, I overpower you by a great margin.”

A feeble huff escapes the pilot in lieu of a laugh. Distantly, he feels BT prop his legs up with something. He feels himself drifting off again, looking to BT desperately as he fights it off.

BT fumbles for a topic. “Think of Moot,” he offers. “She will likely be waiting for us when we return.”

A smile splits his face at the thought of the canine. Her loyalty and antics have picked him up on his darkest days, even days where BT couldn’t rouse him from his dwelling.

“Stay awake for her,” BT says. “Stay awake for me.”

He fights through it. Darkness pulls at the corners of his mind, and he is tempted to give in. However, BT’s voice does what he intends: it keeps him aware and awake, focused on his words. 

“Think about how it will be when we get back,” he rumbles, retrieving an anesthetic from the medkit. BT removes the cap nimbly, apologetically feeling for a vein and injecting it. Immediately, Cooper feels better. The ache dissipates, his mind stops swimming, though his breathing remains shallow and rapid.

“Can you imagine how worried she will be when we get back?” BT starts. “She has not seen you seriously injured before. Knowing her, she will fret, akin to how she does when you are away. Perhaps the doctors will allow her into your recovery room to keep you company.”

That thought warms him. In his time in the Militia, he’d been wounded many times. Every time, it got uncomfortably lonely, with only BT’s presence through the Neural Link. The idea that Moot may be allowed in the room with him eases his nerves.

“I will admit, I was adverse to bringing her home on that mission, but I have since greatly changed my mind. I adore her, as you do. Her loyalty is inspiring. Even without speaking, she manages to say so much. Remember how she gets so excited, wagging her tail, that she occasionally hits herself in the head?”

The grin widens. His mind shifts from the pain radiating through his body to images of Moot and BT. Moot, bracing herself in BT’s large palm as he lifts her to see if she could handle heights. BT practicing delicacy as he gently pets her furry head with one finger. 

In the distance, he can hear the dropship approaching. BT informs him of so, voice rumbling soothingly as he speaks. “Our way out is approaching. You will be out of here soon. Would you be able to assist my transfer back to the chassis?”

BT helps him sit up gingerly. The ship descends to hover above the ground, the pilot expertly guiding it. The transference back goes smoothly, BT rising to wave the aid over.

“Cripes, Coop,” one of the medical assistants grimaces. “Can’t go one week without you gettin’ into trouble.”

Cooper wheezes a laugh as he’s hauled up and carried over to the ship. He hears BT’s thumping footsteps following them reliably. Inside the ship, he’s laid out on a stretcher, where his armor is further stripped off and the fabric of the flight suit on his lower torso is peeled away. 

The weight of the situation suddenly registers to him: he had been dangerously close to…

Frantically, he looks around for BT. The Titan seems to materialize over the assistants’ shoulders, optic narrowing in his version of a comforting smile. 

“We’re administering a sedative now,” one of them informs. “It’ll knock you out for a while.”

Cooper frowns, croaking out “Moot” feebly.

“She’ll be there when you wake up, promise.”