takes place Dec. 8th

[guinea_trap]

"Incoming! Take cover!"

Lipton's shout barely made it to Bill's ears as the shelling started. The men ran for their foxholes as blasts went off around them. Dirt and smoke filled the air, trees burst apart, the ground shook, light blazed through the forest.

"Find some cover! Find a foxhole!Bill was already in one, had been busy fortifying it with

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[remnantofjoseph]

If he watched Gene milling about in his haste, it wasn't out of apathy, or even the shock--the shock was leaving him empty-headed save the sound of Bill's voice and the knowledge that he could only get in Gene's way while he was gathering his things. It wasn't until Gene was already out the door that he went into their room, to see if there was anything Gene left behind.

His bag was gone, but if Bill was crying for a medic, Joe could only imagine a handful of reasons. There wasn't time to weigh the possibilities or compare the voice they heard to the one in the video, he assumed the worst and knew Gene wasn't going to fix that up on his own. He grabbed one of the new quilts from their bed and bundled it over his arm, checking the straps of his wooden leg before he followed Gene out into the snow. There wasn't enough of it to strand him at the house, just enough to give him a clear trail to follow.

He couldn't sprint after Gene, but he didn't have to amble along with the leg dragging behind--it hurt, and it took more effort than was good for him, but this was Bill, and he'd make the fucking effort. A good five or so minutes of pushing himself, swinging and dragging the leg, and he could see them, crouched figures and snow in shades of pink. One long, deep breath, and he went through the motions to get closer, wrap the quilt around Bill's shoulders and give him a hey, Bill, before he's even sure what he was doing. "Did you really need this grand of an entrance," he asked, swallowing and catching his breath before some kind of panic could hit.

[guinea_trap]

Just as the question had passed Bill's lips there he was. There was Joe, and he was fine. There wasn't even a speck of blood to be seen, more than that he was walking. Bill barely had a chance to take in the wooden leg before Joe was wrapping him in a quilt. A quilt.

"What the fuck is goin' on here!?" he said in a burst, grabbing Joe's jacket in one gloved hand. He looked from Joe to Roe, eyebrows drawn in a mix of anger and confusion. "Doc? Why do you have a reindeer on your shirt?"

[le_traiteur]

"Because I felt festive today, Guarnere," I say, in that persuasive, calming lilt I save for moments like this one. Drives Joe fuckin' crazy when I use it on him these days, because it works too well and he likes to stay angry.

I look to him now, over Guarnere's head, and I'm the picture of calm, but I know he can see the urgency in the slight lift of my eyebrows. "Go get Winters or Cain, somebody who can help lift." I hesitate and then add, "Not Buck if you can help it, but try to make it quick." Another beat. "Be careful, yeah?" If he ends up face-down cussin' a blue streak in the snow because he was rushin', it ain't gonna do anybody no good.

[remnantofjoseph]

Joe just stared at him, feeling the tug on his jacket, and wondering how this was the third time he'd seen Bill like this. He didn't even know if he was supposed to react anymore, much less how, and it's easier to just hold Gene's gaze, take in the order and nod. "I'll find you some smokes, buddy," gently picking the hand from his jacket and turning back to the house, as good a place to start as any. He wanted to argue that he could help Gene carry him as much as the next guy, but this wasn't the time for one of their debates.

[guinea_trap]

Bill let out a hoarse laugh, briefly clouding the air in front of his face with a puff of white. "Festive. That's good. That's a good one, Doc." Things were starting to feel pretty good, even if they didn't make no goddamn sense. So good, that Bill pulled himself up, struggling to sit. So good that it sent a small shock through him to see his leg, mangled and bloody and twitching laid out in front of him.

There was a small moan and Bill's gaze lifted skyward, looking for Joe. "Yeah, think I could use those smokes, Joe."

[le_traiteur]

"I need you to stay still," I warn in that steady tone, quiet but authoritative, and I pause only long enough for Guarnere to settle before continuin' what I was doin -- Wrappin', sulfa, there's really only so much to be done when it's this bad. I can't expect Joe to be quick about it, but just now I almost wish I'd gone instead. I'm quicker, but he needed to go.

It just fuckin' figures that Guarnere'd have to show up from the worst possible moment.

[fourforone]

First thing I figured when the snow fell was that I needed a good warm drink and I needed it someplace that I could enjoy it, so the Homestead I was going to and that was when I saw Joe. I shivered slightly, adjusting my winter wool coat tighter around my body as I picked up the pace, taking in the look of him and immediately thinking that something was awry. "Joe, what's going on?" I ask, suspiciously.

[remnantofjoseph]

Gene had told him anyone but Buck, but he was slow enough without passing up first person he came across. And it was one thing to keep his relationship with Gene from the man--if he didn't tell him about this, he'd never be forgiven. "We just found Bill," no clarification on who we were, "He's in bad shape, his leg--" what was he doing, why had he stopped moving, he gripped Buck's sleeve and started back the way he came. "You got any smokes on you?"

[fourforone]

I steady Joe best I can when he stops and dig out a pack of smokes, my eyes widening and my mind already racing through what this means. Bill, in bad shape, his leg. "Yeah, these," I say, but my mind's already occupied with something else. "Where is he?" There's no way that I'm going anywhere but there.

Blank slate means a second chance. This time, maybe I won't run.

[remnantofjoseph]

"Where d'you think I'm dragging you," he bit, his wooden lag dragging an even clearer trail in the snow. He points it out to Buck, "You can move faster than me, just follow that and go on ahead."

[fourforone]

It's like telling me the war could be over if I could sprint to home fast enough. I don't even hesitate soon as Joe's showed me the way and I'm sprinting and out of breath by the time I arrive and there he is. There it is. This scene all over in my mind again and there's blood on snow and Bill and fuck.

I catch Doc's eye for a long moment but instead of freezing, I move forward a step and my trembling fingers reach for the pack of smokes, drawing one out as I crouch down beside him and light it up, putting it right in his fingers. "Heard you wanted this," I say, the shaking out of my voice, thank god.

[guinea_trap]

Bill had wondered what the hell Doc meant about not Buck, and who Cain was, but his thoughts hadn't gotten him much further than Buck was probably too busy with the men. And Cain? Could just have been mishearin' somebodies name.

The morphine was doing the trick pretty nicely, far as he was concerned, and when Buck showed up Bill was able to greet him with a warm, albeit slightly unsteady smile. Even if his presence, clean and unarmed, was just as baffling as everything else.

"You heard right, Buck," he said, grateful as he put the cigarette between his lips, taking a nice long drag. Christ, it'd been awhile. "Got myself into a bind here. Guess I won't be joinin' the Bruins with ya, huh?"

[fourforone]

I smooth shaking fingers until they're hidden behind my coat and tucked away in pockets so Bill doesn't see what's going on, even if the blood in the snow is making me freeze up and I don't know how much more I can take. I have to, though. I have to make it right and I don't do much more than let out a weary, "It's okay, Gono," I manage. "Maybe we'll decide to want you for your mind."

[guinea_trap]

"Ha! Now I know that ain't true, buddy," Bill said with a shit-eating grin. He blinked a few times, 'cause things were starting to feel weird, but shook it off, focusing on the cigarette. He kept wanting to stare down at his leg, morbidly fascinated by the look of it.

[remnantofjoseph]

He was finally starting to feel the cold, though he preferred it to the heat they'd gone to sleep with the night before. If he didn't have the worst moment of most of their lives staring him in the face, he'd be glad for the snow--he'd started to miss seasons. Or just any season that wasn't eighty degrees or more and humid.

It didn't help him right now, cold and sweating anyway under the jacket. Easier to just keep moving, watching Buck disappear and add to the tracks between him and Bill. If he stopped moving, he'd start thinking about what just happened, and he might not be able to start again.

By the time he made it back, Bill was smoking a cigarette and grinning stupidly at them all, and Buck wasn't losing his shit, so he spared a glance at Gene, wearing even less against the cold and wrapping a tourniquet around Bill's thigh. Uncomfortable enough in his own clothes, he pulled his jacket off and threw it down at Gene, swallowing the cold air and glaring, though he wasn't angry. He leaned over and arranged it over Gene's shoulders, knowing he was too busy to put it on yet. "Next time put on more than a sweater before you run off, Dasher." It didn't matter that he wasn't wearing much more now, or that Bill wouldn't understand his concern--he couldn't do anything for Bill right now; he could at least do something for Gene.

[le_traiteur]

"I'm fine," I say, and it ain't that I'm ungrateful for the thought, it's just that the jacket's not doin' me much good if havin' it makes we worry that Joe's not warm enough. "Gonna be movin' plenty in a minute."

This whole situation's got me on edge, for at least a dozen reasons, not the least of which is that Bill doesn't know what's goin' on, and tryin' to explain right now would be a really fuckin' bad idea. The air's heavy with tension, comin' from everybody but the one person who has the most right to be upset, but Bill's feelin' the morphine pretty good by now and smokin' away like half his leg isn't blown to hell.

"Buck," I say with a brief motion his way before continuing to pack up my shit as quickly as possible. "Get him on the blanket, will ya? We gotta get him up to the Compound without jostlin' the leg too much. How you feelin', Guarnere?" He looks half-loopy, but it's always good to check.