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Gordon wakes with a start and the first thing he notices is the blood dripping from his nose. He has to assume it’s blood, anyway, considering his nose doesn’t typically run. The second thing he notices is how bad he’s shaking, and the way his clothes cling to his soaked body. The third thing he notices is the sound of a river, which matches with the feeling of freezing water running past his legs. He pries his eyes open as slowly as he can, expecting the burn of some kind of light to hit him. Instead, he is greeted with a sky full of stars. His mouth feels dry, his head ringing as he pushes up into a sitting position. He presses one hand into his temple, the other braced on the gravel of the riverbank. He glances around, absolutely unable to recognize where he is. Whether that’s because of his near-delirious state or that he isn’t wearing his glasses, he has no idea.
With a groan, Gordon finally pulls his legs from the water, hating instantly how numb they feel. He sways, trembling as he stands and struggles to stay on his feet. Scratch that, he fails to stay on his feet, suddenly finding himself on his knees in the gravel. He digs his fingers in, focusing on the feeling. Okay, Freeman. Breathe. In- okay, good- out- yes, again- he reminds himself, then stands again. He’s barefoot, and wearing a tank top that totally hangs off of his frame. It’s Barney’s, he thinks, but… can’t quite remember.
Once more, Gordon searches the treeline. Nothing but trees, no buildings peeking out between them. He isn’t even in a clearing, he’s just… somewhere. Instead, he looks up. A crescent moon is past the trees, hanging low in the sky. Alright, the moon is going down in the west, the White Forest base is… What direction is the White Forest base? He has no idea. He may as well just… pick a direction. Someone is bound to come looking for him, they always do. He sighs, and starts to walk. Well, shuffle is probably a better word to describe what he’s doing, but it doesn’t matter.
Slowly, steadily, a burn starts to creep in under Gordon’s skin. It feels like a fever has suddenly taken over his body, and is attempting to cook him from the inside out. The contrast of the soaked bottom of his pants and the heat is very clear, and even so, he shakes. He’s shaking so hard that he almost doesn’t here the voice over the chattering of his teeth. The voice that makes him freeze in place and listen. He wraps his arms around himself, one hand coming up to his lips. The very edge of his nail finds itself between his teeth as he glances around, trying to pinpoint where the voice came from.
Doctor Freeman…
No… Anyone but him, please… Gordon pleads in his head.
Your time is short, Mister Freeman…
No, no, get out of my head! Get out! Gordon wants to scream, knowing full well that he physically can’t. Get out of my head! He wants to shout at the intruding voice, seeing those horrible, unearthly blue eyes just outside of where the light reaches when he looks back up. In every direction, behind every tree, he sees them, he sees him. Gordon breaks into a run despite how dizzy he feels, tucking his head as he does. Maybe if he doesn’t look, it won’t be there, it will just go away…
More often than he likes, he’s tripping over his own feet, over branches, rocks… There isn’t just liquid dripping from his nose anymore, something hot is running from his eyes as well. He’s vaguely aware that he’s crying, blurring his vision further. And then he’s flat on his face, mouth full of dirt. He sputters, starting to cough, choke on hot air and earth and that god damn voice is still there lingering, taunting him. His fingers dig into the ground and he starts to curl up, make himself smaller, try to hide, hide from the voice, and the world, and life in general. Gordon whimpers loudly, sounding more like a kicked dog than a human at all.
He isn’t sure how long he’s been there for when he registers that the sun is starting to lighten the sky. He can’t feel its warmth, only the cold pressing down on him like a wet blanket. His legs hurt, his hands hurt, everything hurts, he observes, and whines again.
There’s another voice in the trees now, and Gordon shifts to press his hands over his ringing ears. They’re damp, and dirty, and he simply doesn’t care, he just wants it all to stop, please stop and it doesn’t. In fact, the sound of voices- there’s more than one, Gordon notes- only gets louder, as does the drone of machinery. He can feel the vibrations in the ground and can only hope that whatever it is either ignores him entirely, or kills him in one shot, because that death would be so much more peaceful than this buzz in his head.
No, Gordon isn’t granted that peace. Instead, a gloved hand lands hard on his arm, gripping him and forcefully rolling him over. He swings without even thinking, whimpering once again. His fist connects with someone’s face, and that someone drops him almost instantly. Judging by the noise they make, it’s more out of surprise than pain.
The medic Gordon punched recoils from him and puts her hands up, a show of being unarmed. “Mister Freeman, it’s alright! I’m not going to hurt you.” She insists.
Doctor, He wants to correct, but doesn’t. He doesn’t fight her again as she reaches for his arm. Someone else in similar ratty clothes rushes to his other side to help, though that man isn’t dressed as a medic. Gordon does nothing to help them drag him to where they have a vehicle, all he does is squint against the growing sunlight and let his already injured feet drag on the ground.
Gordon is lifted as carefully as they can manage and set in the back seat of a humming car. He isn’t paying attention to what anyone is saying to him, and a blanket is unexpectedly dropped around his shoulders. He flinches, then pulls the fabric tighter around himself. A light is shined in his eyes faster than he can react to it, the medic saying… something he chooses not to listen to. His fingernails find his teeth again as the car starts to move. A third person seated next to him gently pushes his wrist away, which he blatantly ignores. He hears the distorted sound of the dashboard radio, and all three people speak at different times. Catches none of it. And promptly faceplants into the back of the seat in front of him.
When next Gordon is aware of his surrounding at least in part, he notes that he’s been bundled out of the car blanket and all, and is currently being carried. He groans and squirms, then is held tighter. Someone above him says “something something, Mister Freeman”, and he can only guess it’s one of the people that found him. He squirms again, this time truly struggling. He feels the person holding him struggle to keep hold, and is partially aware of his own body hitting concrete. It sends a dull pain through his elbow and part of his hip, then he starts to stand with the help of a nearby wall. His back presses against it, the rock cold to the touch against his skin where the tank top wouldn’t reach. The medic who had been holding him looks incredibly concerned.
“Mister Freeman, I need you to something something, something… ” Gordon tunes her out, though not on purpose. She takes a step forward, he flinches back. She looks over her shoulder and speaks to someone Gordon hadn’t noticed and they run off. Good, less people, the better.
Once more, the poor woman just trying to do her job reaches for him, and Gordon can’t help but swat her gloved hand away. He shakes his head, something in the back of his mind stating that he wishes he had a crowbar. He stares at the medic for what feels to him like hours, shivering and refusing her touch. He begins to feel too hot again, too, his breaths coming more rapidly to fight it.
“Gordon!” A sharp voice cleaves his brain in two, making him jump. He wants to turn and run again, or at least crouch down and hide, but he doesn’t get the chance. Barney’s already in front of him, bare hands on his bare shoulders. They’re warm, too warm, Gordon decides, and squirms under them. “Gordon, relax , for Christ’s sake, where have you been?! You look like shit, what happened ?!”
Once again, Gordon whines, and feels himself swaying heavily on his feet. Banrey’s grip on him tightens to steady him. Barney’s saying something else- to the medic, Gordon guesses- and he doesn’t hear it. There’s an arm around his shoulder now, pulling him into Barney’s side and starting to lead him down the hall. Unfortunately, Gordon’s legs don't stay under him as he’s pulled. He once again finds himself landing face first on the concrete floor, pain forming in his head. He catches Barney making a startled noise, and Gordon is lifted again. This time he knows it’s Barney, thick arms supporting him and holding him close to the man’s chest. All at once feeling chills, Gordon presses himself closer.
Gordon fades back in as Barney settles him down on a lumpy mattress, more than likely the one in the room they now share. For Gordon’s safety, of course. No other reason at all. It isn’t always a perfect setup. The medic hovers just behind Barney, he notices, and she’s already setting up a larger medkit on the floor not far away.
“Hey Gordy…” Barney speaks softly for his benefit, leaning in close. “Can you hear me?”
It sounds like the man is underwater, but Gordon nods. Yes, he can, and it’s a relief to them both.
“Great, okay. We’re gonna take your vitals and get you cleaned up, that okay, darlin’? You’re pretty beat up, we gotta fix that.” Barney’s fingers card through his tangled hair as gently as possible, pulling twigs and clumps of dirt from it. The sight makes Gordon want to scream, the feeling making him want to cry.
He is crying, he realizes slowly, and thankfully, no one comments on that. Barney moves to do his vitals himself, which Gordon appreciates, while the medic starts to clean up something that stings on the side of his head. He flinches, a steady hand on his shoulder.
“Easy, darlin’ it’s okay. We’re gonna take care of you.” The former guard reassures him, a wet cloth hitting Gordon’s clavicle at the same time.
I don’t need to be taken care of. He wants to tell them both bitterly, to lie blatantly to their faces and make them go away. I don’t need to be babied.
“Do you want help dressing these, captain?” The medic asks, far too close for Gordon’s liking. He wonders briefly if Barney is actually a captain.
“Naw, I can handle him. Trust me, I’ve got enough training. I’ll patch him up ‘n all.” Barney answers softly, the wet cloth now folded and swiping under Gordon’s nose.
The medic stands. “All right, then. Make sure he rests and gets fluids. I’ll leave the kit here, it has enough to properly set that ankle, and something to help the pain.” At Barney’s skeptical look, she adds, “It’s surface-level, all it does is cause a numbing sensation for a short while. Use it sparingly, it’s strong stuff.”
“Gotcha, thank ya, Paula.” Barney gives her a nod, and she disappears from Gordon’s line of sight. That leaves just him and Barney.
The other man works quietly, at some point getting up to get a metal bucket to rinse his rag in. He continues to clean up what cuts he sees, hand run it through Gordon’s beard thoroughly to get rid of the dirt. The feeling is pleasant enough that Gordon closes his eyes, letting himself drift.
“So.” Barney starts softly. “They found you about ten miles out from base. Were you sleepwalkin’ again?”
Gordon does his best to shrug and shake his head.
“Do you remember at all?” Barney sets his rag down for a moment to help Gordon sit up.
Again, Gordon shrugs. He has no idea what happened, and couldn’t tell what he remembered if he wanted. His arms feel like lead.
Barney hums, starting to pull the now dirty tank top up. “Right… We’ll sort that out later, for now, let’s get ya in somethin’ clean.” Gordon nods, and lets Barney work.
Gordon isn’t sure when he fades off again, though, Somewhere between Barney trying to wash his hair and somehow managing to get clean shorts on him. All Gordon is aware of his hands on his skin, moving from place to place and treating him far, far too softly. Part of him wants it, deserves it even, though he still tells himself he doesn’t want or need to be babied.
Barney’s voice is mixed in the battle of unconsciousness. It’s not helping him win, being a sound he just wants to be lost in for a while. What also isn’t helping is the slow wash of numbness taking over parts of his body, replacing the pains and aches with… not much, really. It’s better, though.
He hears Barney sigh, prying one eye open enough to see the man. He’s packing away what’s left of the med kit, sparing Gordon a glance. When he notices the man awake, he smiles. “Hey, darlin’. I’m gonna stay in here with ya, that alright?”
At least he’s asking. Gordon nods, the corner of his mouth twitching up.
“Want me to lay with you?” Barney asks even more softly.
Gordon’s face heats up somewhat, but he nods again.
“Sounds good to me.” Barney finishes what he was doing, shuffling to the other side of the mattress and flopping down next to him. His head gets tucked against Gordon’s shoulder, an arm falling across his stomach. He goes so far as to hook one leg over Gordon’s, mindful of his injured ankle. “You’re not goin’ anywhere this time, y’know that…? I gotcha.” Rough fingers push up the oversized shirt he’s been put in, resting lightly in the curve of his hip. A thumb runs gentle lines across his skin, and once again, Gordon could cry.
Barney’s voice so close to Gordon’s ear makes him let out a shuddering sigh. His eye closes again and he forces the tension out of his body. Between the touch and the ebbing pains, he can’t hold out any longer. Barney’s got him. He’s safe.
He can rest now, and he’s going to.