Dark Blue Fic: Violent Things [Carter, Jaimie/Dean]
Author: 
siricerasi
Fandom: Dark Blue
Characters/pairings: Carter Shaw, Jaimie/Dean
Rating: M
Word count: 1292
Warnings: aftermath of torture, nothing too gory
Spoilers: none
Summary: He’s not sure if he should be relieved or terrified.
Author's Notes: Written for my hc_bingo prompt "torture".
Title etc from Bite To Break Skin by Senses Fail.
When Dean stumbles into the loft, bruised, bleeding and broken, Carter feels every cell in his body go cold with rage. He’s across the room before he realizes his feet are moving, catching Dean as he sags toward the ground.
“Hey, hey, okay. Easy, Dean.” He guides him to a the couch, settles Dean’s shivering body on the already red cushions. The blood won’t show. Much.
“What the hell happened?” he demands, voice angry despite himself. He never was good at playing nice, not even in situations like this. “You’ve been MIA for 24 hours, we’ve been looking for you nonstop.” He doesn’t add that Jaimie had been getting more and more panicked, pushing them to look harder.
He starts to examine the wounds that litter Dean’s body - bruises cover most of his visible skin, and there are cuts both from beatings and what looks like a razor. His right eye is swollen shut, so purple it’s almost black, and from the way he holds himself Carter’s sure he has at least a few broken ribs.
“Our friend Hale decided he wanted to ask me a few questions,” Dean states through gritted teeth. Carter grips his shoulder, trying to hold him still, hating the whimper of pain that slips from Dean’s throat.
He wants to ask if Dean’s okay (which he’s clearly not) or do something to ease the pain but instead he has to ask, “Did he get anything?” Dean just gives him a look. Carter hates how good the kid is at this job sometimes.
“We should get you to the hospital,” he tells his UC in as gentle a tone as he can manage, but Dean shakes his head.
“’m good,” he bites. “Just gimme a minute to clean up ‘n’ I’ll be fine.” Carter watches him resolutely wipe any emotion from his face, watches him struggle to keep himself together. He’s about to protest, to order Dean to a doctor, when Jaimie walks in and Dean’s mask shatters.
By the time she’s at his side Carter can see tears in the other man’s eyes. As she sinks down beside Dean he leans against her wordlessly, either forgetting Carter is there or simply beyond caring, and suddenly he’s more than grateful he hadn’t cracked down on their not-so-secret affair. Because clearly, they both need this.
Jaimie slips an arm around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him gently against her, and her eyes meet Carter’s over the top of Dean’s head.
Dean starts to shake visibly, burrows deeper into Jaimie’s shoulder as she carefully wraps both arms around him. He can hear her murmuring soothingly into Dean’s ear, lips brushing his cheek, and Carter realizes he’d drastically underestimated the two of them. He’s never seen Dean break, not for anyone, and it’d taken Jaimie all of ten seconds to do it.
He’s not sure if he should be relieved or terrified.
He stands to grab a med kit, returning to small, muffled noises and realizes Dean is crying. It stops him cold in his tracks. Jaimie meets his eyes, shakes her head the slightest bit as Carter settles carefully on the coffee table.
She waits until Dean is somewhat more in control of himself, struggling to draw steady breath, before she murmurs, “You need to get checked out, honey.”
He shakes his head into her shoulder. “No doctors, please. Please.” She closes her eyes, pain and concern creating lines across her forehead for a moment. Dean seems to have forgotten Carter’s there, which for the moment seems like a good thing.
“Dean…”
“They won’t do anything but splint my fingers and wrap my ribs and stitch me up,” he mumbles desperately, as Carter realizes half his fingers are swollen and at odd angles. “You can do that Jaimie please.”
She’s silent for a moment, fingers running absently along his back. “Okay,” she sighs. “But you’re going to take something for the pain. No arguments.” He nods, swallows hard, and Carter wonders how many times they’ve been in this situation.
Jaimie glances at Carter and he starts rummaging through the kit, reaching out to take Dean’s arm gently. But the other man flinches away with a hoarse cry, shocking all of them, as Jaimie instinctively pulls him closer. Away from Carter.
It hurts.
“It’s okay,” she soothes the shivering mess in her arms immediately. “Easy, Dean, you’re okay, it’s just Carter.” But from the look on her face, Carter knows things are very not okay. He clenches his jaw, feels the too-familiar rage stirring in his gut as he imagines what the bastards had done to Dean.
“Carter,” Jaimie says softly. He nods, standing slowly. This, the anger, it isn’t what Dean needs from him right now. And there’s no way he’ll be able to calm himself down any time soon.
He hands her the med kit, hesitates as he turns to leave. Every cell in his body screams at him to stay, to try to help, but that’s clearly not something Dean can handle right now.
“Call me if you need anything,” he states tightly. Jaimie nods, her attention obviously on Dean as he trembles in her arms. The kid’s bleeding, Carter realizes, staining Jaimie’s shirt a rusty brown, and he really needs to leave before he drags Dean off to the hospital.
***
When he returns, somewhat calmer, Dean is asleep, curled against Jaimie with his head resting on her chest. He looks small, too damn young to be so broken.
Jaimie has her arms looped gently around him, one hand rubbing along his arm methodically, carefully avoiding the bandages that cover Dean’s body. His fingers are splinted, the cuts on his face taped shut. His shirt is a bloody mess on the floor and she’d wrapped his ribs, the stark, pristine white fabric looking wrong against all the grime.
He approaches as quietly as he can, but Jaimie still starts. “Hey,” he greets softly. “How is he?”
She shrugs, wipes furiously at her face, and it occurs to him that she’d been crying.
Shit.
“He’s been better,” she rasps. “I did what I could, but…” She shrugs again and it’s all over her face, the fear. Dread. The terror at the thought of losing Dean. He knows because he felt it too.
“You did great,” he murmurs, settling back on the coffee table. This close, now that he’s not so focused on Dean, he can tell how worn she is - tired, red eyes with huge bags, skin pale, hair frazzled. None of them had slept in days, so busy searching for Dean, and she’d definitely taken it the hardest. “Why don’t you go home?” he suggests. She glances up at him with disbelief.
“I’m not leaving him,” she states. No question. Carter sighs, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
“At least get some rest.” He sees her jaw clench, arms tightening around Dean, and reassures quickly, “I’ll stay, Jaimie. Make sure he’s okay. You wanna take care of him, you need to be okay. And right now you look like shit.”
She glances at him uncertainly, eyes shining with a terror he longs to ease. “It’s been a long couple days. Get some sleep.” She nods slowly, rests her head against Dean’s and closes her eyes. Carter stands to find a blanket, feels a twinge in his chest as Jaimie jumps when he tucks it around them.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. She makes a little noise of acceptance, eyes already closed again. Shit, but she’s exhausted. Worn well past her breaking point.
Impulsively he leans down to kiss her forehead, whispers, “Get some rest, kiddo. I’ll watch out for both of you, alright?”
It’s the most he’s ever been able to do.
so follow me into the sun and i will bleed the poison dry
for you
bite to break skin.
don't give the secret.
siricerasi
Fandom: Dark Blue
Characters/pairings: Carter Shaw, Jaimie/Dean
Rating: M
Word count: 1292
Warnings: aftermath of torture, nothing too gory
Spoilers: none
Summary: He’s not sure if he should be relieved or terrified.
Author's Notes: Written for my hc_bingo prompt "torture".
Title etc from Bite To Break Skin by Senses Fail.
When Dean stumbles into the loft, bruised, bleeding and broken, Carter feels every cell in his body go cold with rage. He’s across the room before he realizes his feet are moving, catching Dean as he sags toward the ground.
“Hey, hey, okay. Easy, Dean.” He guides him to a the couch, settles Dean’s shivering body on the already red cushions. The blood won’t show. Much.
“What the hell happened?” he demands, voice angry despite himself. He never was good at playing nice, not even in situations like this. “You’ve been MIA for 24 hours, we’ve been looking for you nonstop.” He doesn’t add that Jaimie had been getting more and more panicked, pushing them to look harder.
He starts to examine the wounds that litter Dean’s body - bruises cover most of his visible skin, and there are cuts both from beatings and what looks like a razor. His right eye is swollen shut, so purple it’s almost black, and from the way he holds himself Carter’s sure he has at least a few broken ribs.
“Our friend Hale decided he wanted to ask me a few questions,” Dean states through gritted teeth. Carter grips his shoulder, trying to hold him still, hating the whimper of pain that slips from Dean’s throat.
He wants to ask if Dean’s okay (which he’s clearly not) or do something to ease the pain but instead he has to ask, “Did he get anything?” Dean just gives him a look. Carter hates how good the kid is at this job sometimes.
“We should get you to the hospital,” he tells his UC in as gentle a tone as he can manage, but Dean shakes his head.
“’m good,” he bites. “Just gimme a minute to clean up ‘n’ I’ll be fine.” Carter watches him resolutely wipe any emotion from his face, watches him struggle to keep himself together. He’s about to protest, to order Dean to a doctor, when Jaimie walks in and Dean’s mask shatters.
By the time she’s at his side Carter can see tears in the other man’s eyes. As she sinks down beside Dean he leans against her wordlessly, either forgetting Carter is there or simply beyond caring, and suddenly he’s more than grateful he hadn’t cracked down on their not-so-secret affair. Because clearly, they both need this.
Jaimie slips an arm around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him gently against her, and her eyes meet Carter’s over the top of Dean’s head.
Dean starts to shake visibly, burrows deeper into Jaimie’s shoulder as she carefully wraps both arms around him. He can hear her murmuring soothingly into Dean’s ear, lips brushing his cheek, and Carter realizes he’d drastically underestimated the two of them. He’s never seen Dean break, not for anyone, and it’d taken Jaimie all of ten seconds to do it.
He’s not sure if he should be relieved or terrified.
He stands to grab a med kit, returning to small, muffled noises and realizes Dean is crying. It stops him cold in his tracks. Jaimie meets his eyes, shakes her head the slightest bit as Carter settles carefully on the coffee table.
She waits until Dean is somewhat more in control of himself, struggling to draw steady breath, before she murmurs, “You need to get checked out, honey.”
He shakes his head into her shoulder. “No doctors, please. Please.” She closes her eyes, pain and concern creating lines across her forehead for a moment. Dean seems to have forgotten Carter’s there, which for the moment seems like a good thing.
“Dean…”
“They won’t do anything but splint my fingers and wrap my ribs and stitch me up,” he mumbles desperately, as Carter realizes half his fingers are swollen and at odd angles. “You can do that Jaimie please.”
She’s silent for a moment, fingers running absently along his back. “Okay,” she sighs. “But you’re going to take something for the pain. No arguments.” He nods, swallows hard, and Carter wonders how many times they’ve been in this situation.
Jaimie glances at Carter and he starts rummaging through the kit, reaching out to take Dean’s arm gently. But the other man flinches away with a hoarse cry, shocking all of them, as Jaimie instinctively pulls him closer. Away from Carter.
It hurts.
“It’s okay,” she soothes the shivering mess in her arms immediately. “Easy, Dean, you’re okay, it’s just Carter.” But from the look on her face, Carter knows things are very not okay. He clenches his jaw, feels the too-familiar rage stirring in his gut as he imagines what the bastards had done to Dean.
“Carter,” Jaimie says softly. He nods, standing slowly. This, the anger, it isn’t what Dean needs from him right now. And there’s no way he’ll be able to calm himself down any time soon.
He hands her the med kit, hesitates as he turns to leave. Every cell in his body screams at him to stay, to try to help, but that’s clearly not something Dean can handle right now.
“Call me if you need anything,” he states tightly. Jaimie nods, her attention obviously on Dean as he trembles in her arms. The kid’s bleeding, Carter realizes, staining Jaimie’s shirt a rusty brown, and he really needs to leave before he drags Dean off to the hospital.
***
When he returns, somewhat calmer, Dean is asleep, curled against Jaimie with his head resting on her chest. He looks small, too damn young to be so broken.
Jaimie has her arms looped gently around him, one hand rubbing along his arm methodically, carefully avoiding the bandages that cover Dean’s body. His fingers are splinted, the cuts on his face taped shut. His shirt is a bloody mess on the floor and she’d wrapped his ribs, the stark, pristine white fabric looking wrong against all the grime.
He approaches as quietly as he can, but Jaimie still starts. “Hey,” he greets softly. “How is he?”
She shrugs, wipes furiously at her face, and it occurs to him that she’d been crying.
Shit.
“He’s been better,” she rasps. “I did what I could, but…” She shrugs again and it’s all over her face, the fear. Dread. The terror at the thought of losing Dean. He knows because he felt it too.
“You did great,” he murmurs, settling back on the coffee table. This close, now that he’s not so focused on Dean, he can tell how worn she is - tired, red eyes with huge bags, skin pale, hair frazzled. None of them had slept in days, so busy searching for Dean, and she’d definitely taken it the hardest. “Why don’t you go home?” he suggests. She glances up at him with disbelief.
“I’m not leaving him,” she states. No question. Carter sighs, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
“At least get some rest.” He sees her jaw clench, arms tightening around Dean, and reassures quickly, “I’ll stay, Jaimie. Make sure he’s okay. You wanna take care of him, you need to be okay. And right now you look like shit.”
She glances at him uncertainly, eyes shining with a terror he longs to ease. “It’s been a long couple days. Get some sleep.” She nods slowly, rests her head against Dean’s and closes her eyes. Carter stands to find a blanket, feels a twinge in his chest as Jaimie jumps when he tucks it around them.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. She makes a little noise of acceptance, eyes already closed again. Shit, but she’s exhausted. Worn well past her breaking point.
Impulsively he leans down to kiss her forehead, whispers, “Get some rest, kiddo. I’ll watch out for both of you, alright?”
It’s the most he’s ever been able to do.
so follow me into the sun and i will bleed the poison dry
for you
bite to break skin.
don't give the secret.