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Trapper was the only one strong enough and tall enough to carry Hawkeye. He was skinny, sure, but he was also tall and lanky, and it made it hard for anyone shorter to wrangle his legs.
Especially when he was unconscious.
Trapper could practically feel a weight lifted off his chest when he saw the Jeep slow and stop, and he sprinted to the driver’s side to turn off the engine. Hawkeye was out cold in front of the wheel, and though Trapper felt a little bad that it came down to drugging him, he was glad the man was finally getting some rest.
He yanked open the door and, without a second thought, scooped Hawkeye up into his arms. His head lolled uncomfortably back, and Trapper shifted the arm he had under Hawkeye’s shoulders to better support his head. It came naturally, just like holding a baby, albeit a very big one.
“I’m takin’ him ta bed,” Trapper called as he began to walk away from the Jeep. If someone tried to argue, he didn’t listen, only pausing just long enough to make sure the situation out here was being handled.
Satisfied with the attention being given to the problem at hand rather than he and Hawkeye, Trapper left Henry to deal with the Jeep and the latrine and, most importantly, the very angry General that was in the latrine. He’d apologize on Hawkeye’s behalf later, but right now his priority was getting Hawk to his cot so he could get his rest somewhere both comfortable and safe.
Radar was already holding the door to the Swamp open when Trapper approached, and he thanked the kid over his shoulder before shooing him away. The fewer people around while Hawkeye rested, the better.
Finally, Trap was standing beside Hawkeye’s cot, and he slowly crouched himself down to settle Hawkeye into bed. He was slow and gentle, centering Hawk’s head on the pillow first, then freeing his arm to straighten his legs out. Once Hawkeye was stretched out in bed, Trapper grabbed the blanket that had been tossed aside the last time Hawkeye slept–it had to be days ago now–and gave it a shake, watching a bit of leftover dirt float to the floor. Then, he spread it gently over Hawkeye’s body.
Trapper fell into the chair beside Hawkeye’s cot, taking a moment to just look at him. Now that Hawkeye wasn’t running around all manic and paranoid, Trapper could see just how much the stress and lack of sleep had affected him. His eyes were red rimmed even when shut, the bags below them large enough they could pack up and carry the whole camp and still have room for more. His face looked pale and gaunt, and Trapper tried to remember if he’d seen Hawkeye eat anything over the past few days.
The answer that came up was a worrying “not really”, and he promised himself that as soon as Hawkeye was awake, he’d take him to the mess tent and make sure he caught up on his missed meals. But first, he needed to sleep for as long as his body would possibly let him.
Trapper reached out a hand to brush some hair off Hawkeye’s forehead, then carefully settled his knuckles against the skin. He was a bit warm, and though it wasn’t worryingly so, Trapper noted that he’d have to keep an eye out for signs of fever, too.
“What am I gonna do with ya, Hawk?” he murmured out loud, pulling his hand back to himself. Hawkeye didn’t react even slightly; the sedatives had more than done their job.
With a sigh, Trapper pushed himself to his feet, though he stayed standing over Hawkeye’s bed. His own tiredness was starting to hit him now; he’d slept far more than Hawkeye had the past few days, but he’d also been sick with worry about his friend. Now that Hawkeye was finally out, though, Trapper felt confident that he could catch a few extra winks himself.
But before he could turn to take the few steps over to his cot, Trapper surprised himself by bending at the waist and pressing a quick, gentle kiss to Hawkeye’s forehead. He unfolded himself a bit in surprise, staring down at his friend.
“Look at me, ya got me actin’ all paternal,” he said softly, despite knowing that Hawkeye couldn’t hear, and gave a slight chuckle to himself. “Guess last time I put anyone ta bed was my girls, an’ they always get a kiss after I tuck ‘em in.”
Again, Hawkeye didn’t react, and Trapper took a moment to watch the way his chest rose and fell evenly, confirming to himself that he didn’t, in fact, go overboard on the sedative.
He was truly tired. Completely out. At this point, Trapper wasn’t sure that even a bomb going off outside the Swamp could wake Hawk before he was ready. It was exactly what he hoped, though. He’d cover Hawk’s shifts in surgery and post-op for the next week if that’s what he had to do to make sure Hawkeye was back up to par.
With another soft sigh, Trapper tugged the blanket further up Hawkeye’s shoulder, giving a careful, fond pat to his arm on the way. Then he was straightening back up to his full height and raising his arms above his head, stretching out the slight stiffness in his back that had come from carrying a grown man halfway across camp.
Finally, Trapper was turning towards his own cot, toeing his boots off on the way. He tugged his jacket off his arms next, tossing it over the back of the chair before falling into his own bed with a soft grunt. He grabbed his blanket and pulled it up over himself, then turned onto his side to settle facing Hawkeye’s side of the tent. Hawk was still in exactly the position Trap had left him, his breathing still steady and even, and Trapper felt the lingering worry in his mind ease yet a little bit more.
He took a deep breath of his own, letting his eyes fall shut. He promised himself he’d be right here when Hawkeye woke up to make sure he was doing better, had gotten enough sleep, but until then, he thought it’d be perfectly alright for him to get a little rest of his own. After all, he happened to know Hawkeye would want him at his best, too.