Kara has survival instincts. Like every human being, they're written in her blood. That sheer will to live has been her only salvation more times than she can number, but it's not the same as self-preservation.
She can summon that, too, has in fact gotten good at it since meeting her daughter, but today isn't a day for sense. Not on the heels of trying to bleed out at her own front door, of stumbling, finally, into the Winchester after a flight from teddy bears, tight lipped and bone white and arms full of weeping little girls. Not after Mitchell and his fucking whiskey. Not even for this hulk of a man in the sand in front of her, bleeding, groaning, puking.
Kara could step back, but she doesn't, she stands there, chases insanity instead of sense, and watches him until he's done. "You didn't land far from the clinic," she observes, steady in the face of her own flash of nerves. "It's not all bad news."
There was a woman in the ring, and she was no Card Girl. There was something in her tone, and maybe he was just delirious, but even before he looked up, he thought military.
Rubbing the back of his good hand across his mouth, he squinted up at her, one of his eyes rapidly swelling shut. That was the least of his worries.
"Yeah?" he croaked, "You wanna go ahead and tell me what the fuck that means?"
She eyes him, cataloging the injuries on the face now upturned, the way his arm hangs, the passing glassiness in his one unobstructed eye. "It means you're not about to die," she answers, not quite stupid enough to look away from him, even if the naked pain in his face is almost enough to turn her head.
Sitting back on his hunches, he sat there for a moment just to catch his breath, swaying through a wave of vertigo now that the adrenaline that had kept him going through the fight had ebbed.
"Yeah... Yeah, I can walk," he slurred, "Soon as you start making some sense and tell me where I'm walking to."
"The clinic," Kara repeats, and not ungraciously given the fact that he surely has a head injury. "And I'm not so sure you can walk."
She's got both a gun and a flask at her hip, and Kara plucks the latter, opening the gourd. "Drink some water," she says, holding it out. "You're on the island of Tabula Rasa. No, you haven't been kidnapped so much as dicked over by the universe. I didn't bring you here, I can't make you stay, and I can't help you leave. Is that going to be a problem?"
Reluctantly, he took the gourd from her, sniffing it first before he took a sip. Too much, too fast, he choked, pulling the gourd from his lips with a sputtering cough.
Brendan'd done a number on him, the skinny little bastard.
"Kidnapped?" he said with a low rumble of laughter, "Hadn't thought of that one, but thanks for clarifying." The idea of it, that he'd maybe somehow been shot with a tranquilizer dart and dumped in a new habitat like a displaced bear was at least amusing.
Handing the gourd back to her, he warned, "All right. 'm getting up," and motioned for her to take a step back.
Kara raises a brow for the unspoken suggestion. "Frak you," she murmurs, "if you fall on your face I'll have to feel bad about it for a whole day. Let me help."
Even so, she doesn't do more than half raise her arms. "Seriously, you're in a bad way. Were you fighting a frakking semi?"
"You make a habit of feeling responsible for strangers?" he asked, taking one more breath before heaving himself up. Despite his size, he'd always been surprisingly light on his feet, under normal circumstances. Right in that moment, he felt a hell of a lot like he'd been weighted down with lead.
On his feet, he groaned, wobbled, wiping a hand across mouth again and then blinked his vision back into focus. "Something like that," he murmured, because Brendan Conlon had more power behind him than you might've imagined. Going into the ring with a semi wasn't that far off.
Tucking his arm up against his chest, he looked slowly around, taking in the beach, the ocean, the jungle stretched out behind them. "Jesus."
The curse confirms what Kara's already decided - most arrivals come from Earth. It's not fair, but it's true. "That answers that question," says Kara, careful to telegraph the crap out of her movements before she touches him. He's come from a fight, but an organized one, and while Kara's pretty sure of that, the last thing she needs is a dislocated jaw for her mistake.
"I'm taking you to the nearest clinic," she says, firm, and pulls his good arm around her shoulders. "It looks like a tiki hut, but it's not, and I've dragged sloppy drunks bigger than you back to barracks, you're not gonna squish me. Come on."
"Yeah, whatever you say," he murmured, dazedly letting her pull his arm around her and lead him toward a path cut through the trees. He was bone-tired and beat down and he couldn't get Brendan's face out of his head. His goddamn voice.
Tommy, what are you doing?
He was quiet for a moment, his feet thumping heavily across the sand, then a snort of laughter caught in the back of his throat. Barracks. That pretty much confirmed that suspicion.
"What are you? Marines?" There'd been plenty of them at the fight.
"Colonial Fleet," Kara grunts in answer. The wound in her side aches - the effort of keeping him upright might earn her a popped stitch or two, but Kara doesn't dare leave him to fend for himself. All the murderous toys are just that now, toys, but getting stabbed goes a long way to destroying a girl's trust in the ordinary.
"I flew Vipers, it's like a fighter pilot where you come from. I know you'll probably blame the concussion for what I say next, but it's true: a lot of the people here aren't from Earth, some weren't even human until they got here. I'm from a system of planets called the Twelve Colonies. You sound...American?"
He took a long moment to think about that, nodding in distant agreement, 'cause he'd pretty much been branded as being from Pittsburgh since he'd learned to talk, and general American seemed to go without saying.
Finally, he drawled, "So... you're saying you're an alien?"
"Hey, we both are," she says, grinning through the effort of getting them to the right path. "Everyone says this is still Earth, but I'm not so sure. Constellations are all wrong, and if it is, it still exists outside of the real flow of time. It's more its own dimension than anything, and you are taking this remarkably well."
Kara slots a look at him through her falling hair. "You got internal bleeding I don't know about?"
"Yeah, well, I'm not ready to freak out and start cryin' for my mommy yet 'til I'm sure this isn't all just in my head. I mean, outside the real flow of time. Am I supposed to know what the hell that even means?" Tommy asked, swallowing down a grunt of pain and struggling not to lean to heavily against her. It felt a hell of a lot like his arm had been torn clean from the socket, and it was all he could do to grit his teeth through the pain and just deal.
Frowning, he answered, "Would I even know if I did?"
"Not until the shock set in," says Kara cheerfully, "but don't worry." She jerks her chin towards the circular structure in the near distance. "We're almost there. And you'll get what I mean if you stay here long enough - people come from your future, your past, seems like it's never the same time you left, and it never stops. Hang on a sec."
Propping him against her shoulder, Kara shouts, "Hey Winchester! Get your ass out here, I got you a present!"
"Ah, Christ," he breathed, wincing when she shouted right in his ear. The rest of it... The rest of it was too fucking much. Too much for a kid from Pittsburgh who'd never gone to college and had never been into all that sci-fi crap. Even his dreams were usually mundane. Maybe later everything would just click into place and he'd understand what she'd been talking about, but for now, as nice as she'd been to him, he was kind of hoping she'd shut the fuck up soon.
"Some present," Tommy muttered, shifting his weight and gritting through a fresh wave of pain.
She can summon that, too, has in fact gotten good at it since meeting her daughter, but today isn't a day for sense. Not on the heels of trying to bleed out at her own front door, of stumbling, finally, into the Winchester after a flight from teddy bears, tight lipped and bone white and arms full of weeping little girls. Not after Mitchell and his fucking whiskey. Not even for this hulk of a man in the sand in front of her, bleeding, groaning, puking.
Kara could step back, but she doesn't, she stands there, chases insanity instead of sense, and watches him until he's done. "You didn't land far from the clinic," she observes, steady in the face of her own flash of nerves. "It's not all bad news."
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Rubbing the back of his good hand across his mouth, he squinted up at her, one of his eyes rapidly swelling shut. That was the least of his worries.
"Yeah?" he croaked, "You wanna go ahead and tell me what the fuck that means?"
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"Can you walk?"
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"Yeah... Yeah, I can walk," he slurred, "Soon as you start making some sense and tell me where I'm walking to."
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She's got both a gun and a flask at her hip, and Kara plucks the latter, opening the gourd. "Drink some water," she says, holding it out. "You're on the island of Tabula Rasa. No, you haven't been kidnapped so much as dicked over by the universe. I didn't bring you here, I can't make you stay, and I can't help you leave. Is that going to be a problem?"
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Brendan'd done a number on him, the skinny little bastard.
"Kidnapped?" he said with a low rumble of laughter, "Hadn't thought of that one, but thanks for clarifying." The idea of it, that he'd maybe somehow been shot with a tranquilizer dart and dumped in a new habitat like a displaced bear was at least amusing.
Handing the gourd back to her, he warned, "All right. 'm getting up," and motioned for her to take a step back.
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Even so, she doesn't do more than half raise her arms. "Seriously, you're in a bad way. Were you fighting a frakking semi?"
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On his feet, he groaned, wobbled, wiping a hand across mouth again and then blinked his vision back into focus. "Something like that," he murmured, because Brendan Conlon had more power behind him than you might've imagined. Going into the ring with a semi wasn't that far off.
Tucking his arm up against his chest, he looked slowly around, taking in the beach, the ocean, the jungle stretched out behind them. "Jesus."
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"I'm taking you to the nearest clinic," she says, firm, and pulls his good arm around her shoulders. "It looks like a tiki hut, but it's not, and I've dragged sloppy drunks bigger than you back to barracks, you're not gonna squish me. Come on."
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Tommy, what are you doing?
He was quiet for a moment, his feet thumping heavily across the sand, then a snort of laughter caught in the back of his throat. Barracks. That pretty much confirmed that suspicion.
"What are you? Marines?" There'd been plenty of them at the fight.
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"I flew Vipers, it's like a fighter pilot where you come from. I know you'll probably blame the concussion for what I say next, but it's true: a lot of the people here aren't from Earth, some weren't even human until they got here. I'm from a system of planets called the Twelve Colonies. You sound...American?"
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Finally, he drawled, "So... you're saying you're an alien?"
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Kara slots a look at him through her falling hair. "You got internal bleeding I don't know about?"
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Frowning, he answered, "Would I even know if I did?"
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Propping him against her shoulder, Kara shouts, "Hey Winchester! Get your ass out here, I got you a present!"
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"Some present," Tommy muttered, shifting his weight and gritting through a fresh wave of pain.
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