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"Eject, eject, eject!" Maverick called the order to eject - he had no choice. They were out of options, their jet torn apart by enemy fire, no ammo, no flares, and the enemy fighter was closing in for the kill. "Rooster, pull the handle! Eject!"
"It's not working," Rooster cried from behind him, an audible click sounding as he pulled down on the election handles, "it's-"
Maverick’s heart raced. "Rooster!"
And then- crack.
The canopy blew open, the ejection system firing and throwing him from the jet, the sky and ocean spinning in a violent blur around him. The G-force hit like a truck, squeezing Maverick's chest, making it hard to breathe.
It was chaos.
A sharp and painted cry cut through the noise, and Maverick whipped his head to the side, fighting against the force.
Rooster.
A piece of the canopy, damaged during the fight, had broken off and struck Rooster. His visor was a spiderweb of cracks, blood coating his skin and leaking from where the glass had broken.
No.
Rooster’s scream dissolved into a groan, his hands going slack, his body limp. Blood sprayed in the air, painting the remnants of Rooster's visor red and Maverick’s heart plummeted.
Not again.
The next few seconds blurred together - the hard hit of the water as they crashed into the ocean, the violent shock of cold that nearly knocked the breath from Maverick’s lungs. But none of it mattered. He ripped his helmet off, his eyes locked on Rooster, who was floating face down, motionless.
He'd seen this before.
"Rooster!" Maverick shouted, his voice raw and ragged, his arms thrashing through the water as he swam toward him. "No!"
He grabbed Rooster, hauling him over and onto his back. The gash on Rooster’s forehead was deep, blood running in steady rivulets down his face, staining the water red. The sight of it - the lifeless, slack body in his arms - made Maverick’s hands tremble, his breath freezing in his lungs.
There was blood in the water.
The blood was everywhere, seeping from a deep gash on Rooster’s forehead, trickling down his face, mixing with the saltwater, painting everything red. Rooster groaned, his eyes fluttering, barely conscious, his face pale under the harsh midday sun.
Maverick’s heart slammed against his ribs, all those horrible memories crashing in with tidal force.
Goose.
Another body in the water, another man covered in blood, another Bradshaw that Maverick had failed. He could see it all again - Goose’s limp body, the blood on Maverick's hands, how he had been so still.
He couldn’t save him.
His breath hitched, panic surging in his chest. This was Goose’s son, and he was bleeding, helpless, floating still and limp just like Goose had been.
Maverick’s heart raced, panic clawing at his insides, because this was happening again, it was happening again. He could feel Goose’s body in his arms, the blood, the failure. Oh God, it was happening again.
His hands shook harder as he pressed against the wound. Too much blood. His grip faltered as his breath hitched. "Goddammit, Rooster. Not you too. Not again!"
This couldn't be happening. Not again.
He shook Rooster gently, his hands trembling. "Rooster, stay with me. You’re gonna be fine, okay? Just - just stay awake." His voice cracked, but Rooster wasn’t responding, his eyes rolling back as blood seeped from the wound. "Goose, shit. No, no no..."
Maverick’s vision swam, the present bleeding into the past, the memories of another Bradshaw resurfacing.
Goose was in the water. Maverick's grip tightened on Rooster’s flight suit, dragging him closer, pressing him to his chest and trying to keep him afloat. Goose’s blood was on his hands. Maverick blinked, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t push the memories away. His hand pressed against Rooster’s forehead, desperate to stop the bleeding, but his mind was stuck on that day so many years. He wasn't breathing.
"I’m sorry," Maverick whispered, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "I’m so sorry, Goose."
He'd failed him. He failed Goose's son.
Again.
Rooster stirred, his face scrunched up in pain, but he wasn’t fully there. The blood from his forehead was dripping steadily into the ocean. Maverick wiped at it frantically, but his hands were shaking so badly that he could barely function. The sight of the blood - Goose’s blood, Rooster’s blood, the same goddamn blood - was overwhelming.
Rooster groaned, a weak, fractured sound that barely registered in Maverick’s mind. Maverick wasn’t here - not really. He was back there, with Goose, holding him as his life drained away, helpless, failing him.
Rooster's lips parted, and his teeth were stained with blood. "Mav..."
And that sound, it meant he was alive, but Maverick didn’t hear him. His world had narrowed to the red streaks running down Rooster’s face, the flash of panic behind his eyes, the old pain tearing him apart. He was back there, in that nightmare, clutching Goose's body, his voice hoarse from screaming, as the weight of failure pressed down on him.
He’d failed Goose, and now he was failing his son.
Rooster’s voice cracked through the haze. "Mav... s’ not your fault..." His words were slurred, weak, but it was enough to pull Maverick back - just a little. Enough to make him realize where he was, who he was holding. This wasn’t Goose - it was Rooster, and Rooster was still alive.
For now.
Maverick shifted his grip, cradling Rooster’s head in his hands. His fingers fumbled to remove Rooster’s helmet, careful not to press too hard on the wound. He was shaking, his breath coming in shallow gasps, but he forced himself to focus, to keep Rooster’s head above water.
He glanced up at the sky, scanning for the enemy fighter. Any second now, it would return to finish the job, and they’d be sitting ducks. Maverick knew it, but all he could think about was keeping Rooster awake, keeping him alive.
"Hang on, Goose," he gasped, "Rooster. Hang on. I’m not losing you. Not again.”
Rooster groaned again, his eyelids fluttering. He was drifting, and Maverick could see it - could see him slipping away.
Just like Goose.
Panic clawed at his chest, his pulse pounding in his ears as he squeezed Rooster tighter, pulling him against his chest. "Stay with me, Rooster. Please. Shit."
Maverick’s eyes burned, the edges of his vision blurring as tears welled up.
The past and present blurred together - the cold, harsh sting of the water, the weight of Rooster in his arms, bleeding, so much like Goose.
Like father, like son.
The sound of jet engines roared overhead, pulling Maverick’s attention upward. His heart clenched in fear as he expected to see the enemy fighter coming to finish them off - but then he saw it: Hangman’s F/A-18 streaking across the sky, smoke trailing behind the destroyed enemy fighter in the distance. Hangman circled above them, just barely visible through the glass of the cockpit.
But Maverick barely registered him. His gaze was fixed on Rooster, whose breathing was growing more labored by the second. Maverick’s hand trembled as he pressed down harder on the gash, trying to stem the flow of blood, trying to do something.
The sound of chopper blades echoed in the distance, the search and rescue chopper a dot on the horizon, but it felt like a lifetime away. Maverick held Rooster tight, his voice low and broken. "I’m sorry..."
Rooster's chest rose and fell, his blood was still warm, and Goose was dead in Maverick's arms.
"I'm so sorry, Goose."