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lokimostly · 5 years

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Home from War (Ch.7/8)

James Conrad x Reader Word Count: 4,521 Warnings: descriptions of injury/blood, needles, character death, angst Fic Summary: One year after you lost the love of your life, a last-minute decision changes everything you thought you knew. Now only one question remains: how to make it out alive, and return home from war?

A/N: None, and that should scare you. Enjoy! <3

Without Conrad, trekking through the jungle was even harder than you’d anticipated. Finding someone to support your physical weight was easy enough. The emotional weight of being apart from him was something different entirely. Your heart was aching at the thought of him: the soft accent of his voice, his sharp jaw and blue-green eyes. The tenderness in his touch despite the calluses of his hands. The curve of his lips when he gave you that small, secret smile only you were allowed to see.

So much lost time to make up for between you two. You silently resolved that if you ever got off this island, you’d kiss those lips for days.

The group stopped to rest. Slivko and Mills to make a splint for your leg, so that you could walk on your own – albeit at a limp. Your mobility wouldn’t be possible without the morphine, either, and you were down to your last dose.

Just one more thing to worry about, you thought.

The sunlight was growing dim as you hiked further uphill. As the sun set, the trees around you turned red and orange. The morphine was beginning to wear off, too, and faster than you desired. Every step became more and more difficult, more painful. Quite frankly, you were sick and tired of pain.

The distorted warbling of the Sea Stallion’s broken speakers echoed through the forest like the voice of a ghost. The closer you came, the louder it got, until finally you spotted the green and orange helicopter through the foliage.

“Gather up everything you can, including those seismic charges,” Colonel Packard ordered. “They got his attention the first time.”

The soldiers got to work. Slivko helped you sit down inside the helicopter, which seemed mostly intact. It was full of crates and barrels of seismic charges and napalm, secured in place by a frayed net. Slivko jumped up onto the platform, stepping through the boxes and looking around.

Mills stood outside and stared at the contents of the Sea Stallion, unenthused. “This is a bad idea,” He muttered.

“Let’s just get on with it,” Cole replied, ducking his head and climbing inside.

Slivko came back with your medical bag– a small, camo duffle with a red cross on the side. You unzipped it and gasped in relief, finding everything exactly where you’d put it: in particular, more morphine. You found the bag of painkillers, acquired a needle, and administered another shot to your thigh with practiced efficiency.

Slivko watched on, pushing up his red headband. “How often do you take the injections?” He asked. His voice held a notable tone of worry.

You glanced up at him. “Every four hours.”

His brow furrowed.“But it’s only been… two and a half since the last time. Maybe three.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sliv,” you said casually, returning the needle to its case and examining the rest of the bag’s contents. There was gauze, antiseptic, bandages, atabrine, and more than enough morphine to see you through until you got off the island. It was an enormous relief.

Slivko put his hands on his hips and watched the soldiers roll the barrels of napalm down the platform, carrying them down the hill. He turned back to you. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the atabrine.

“It’s for malaria. I gave you your shot before we left,” you replied easily. Slivko had always felt like a little brother, for whom you had a good deal of patience and affection, so you didn’t mind his questions.

“And that?” he asked, gesturing to a bottle of clear fluid with an orange cap.

“That’s naloxone. It’s in case of opioid overdose,” you said. You paused, pressing your lips together and thinking for a moment before beckoning for Slivko to sit down. “C’mere. I’ll show you.”

He sat down. You pulled out an empty needle and twisted the naloxone open, handing it to him. “Have you used a needle before?”

“Yeah, but not in my arm, or anything.”

“That’s fine. Naloxone works intramuscularly, so you can inject it into other places. It just doesn’t take effect as quickly as it would through a vein.�� You pointed to the side of your leg, where you’d been self-administering morphine, to your shoulder, and other common points of injection.

“Besides,” you added, “I don’t think I want you messing with my veins. You might punch through one. No offense.”

“None taken,” he smiled, before his expression turned more serious. “But…. you’re not gonna overdose, are you?”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry,” You began putting the contents back into your bag. “It’s just good for you to know. I can’t be the only one who knows all this.”

But that wasn’t entirely true. You were cutting it close with the morphine and you knew it.

There were several factors that determined your wellbeing, and very few of them within your control. Pain would only slow you down, and if you were slow, you wouldn’t survive – even more than that, the makeshift splint needed to hold. Any wrong move, bad fall, or general upset could shift the bone out of place and cut off your femoral artery. If that happened, it would only be a matter of minutes before you bled to death.

Even by mediating the pain and treading carefully, you had to face facts. Your chances of survival were at a record low.

Conrad and Weaver stood on the precipice of a cliff, looking down at the river below. Night had fallen some hours ago. The moonlight, bright and cold, illuminated the water through the fog, casting everything in a misty blue glow.

Conrad exhaled softly and forced himself to focus. He was having a hard time distracting himself from thoughts of you, and it showed – he’d taken more wrong turns than he could count, missed and misread signs that led the group in wrong directions. Finally he snapped out of it long enough to find the river, and now tried once more to force his thoughts away from you.

“The boat must be around that bend,” he said, pointing. Weaver nodded, raising her camera. The shutter clicked.

Conrad heard Weaver’s breath snag in her throat and looked over. She lowered her camera slowly and the two of them watched, wordless, as Kong tread slowly past, almost close enough to touch. He paid them no mind. The creature really was a giant – standing as tall as the mountains around him, every step shaking the earth. But unlike Colonel Packard’s thinking, they both knew the truth: that the giant was by no means evil, merely a king in his own domain, in which you were all trespassers.

Breathing quietly, Conrad’s eyes followed the direction of Kong’s path. With a sudden feeling of dread, he knew exactly where Kong was headed: to the bursts of explosions in the distance, lighting up the blue night with fiery clouds of orange and red.

Kong let out a roar of anger, his giant teeth bared. Conrad’s throat tightened in fear. Colonel Packard was trying to draw Kong out, and you were there with him– which meant you were in mortal danger.

Conrad turned and began heading down the mountain. Weaver spun, following him as fast as she could.

“What are you doing?” She shouted, leaping precariously from boulder to boulder, struggling to keep up.

“We have to go– now!” He responded, landing on flat ground and sprinting through the trees. He couldn’t keep himself from you any longer – not when he might be the only one who could save you.

You stood in the grass behind a wall of fire, watching the seismic charges go off in clouds of orange and red. Packard was adamant about drawing Kong out, despite everyone else’s inhibitions. Were you in better shape, you might’ve considered a coup de tat. Now, however, you were in no condition to do anything of the sort.

Despite how anxious you felt, your heartbeat was unnaturally slow. The constant injections were beginning to show their uglier side effects: fatigue, blurred vision, nausea. At the moment, you had no time to worry about it.

Beside you, Mills practically vibrated with fear as Kong came into sight. He roared again once he spotted your group, and stormed through the water just like Colonel Packard had planned. Your hands adjusted their grip on your gun and you resisted the strong urge to flee.

For what wasn’t the first time, you wished Conrad were here with you.

Conrad and Weaver came running down the mountain so fast that they almost tumbled when they reached the rest of the group.

“Don’t shoot!” Conrad shouted to Brooks.

Brooks lowered his with an exasperated expression. “Conrad, where are we going?”

“You three need to go back to the boat,” Conrad said, leaning on his knees to catch his breath. He pointed with one hand. “It’s that way. Wait for us till dawn. If we’re not back by then …” he shook his head, swallowing. “Just go.”

Brooks scoffed. “You ain’t gotta twist my arm.” He picked up his bag and headed down the mountain, followed by the geologist San.

“Wait, where are you two going?” Marlow asked, rising to his feet.

Conrad and Weaver exchanged a glance.

“We’re going to save Kong,” she replied, nodding resolutely.

And Y/N, Conrad thought grimly.

Marlow smiled. “Not without me, pal.”

You watched as trees fell like windblown grass beneath Kong’s feet. He stopped a hundred yards from your company, staring intently at Packard, who stood in front of you with a fiery torch in hand. The air was charged with electricity, waiting for a lightning strike.

Then he charged.

You and the other soldiers faltered backwards as he came closer, stumbling over your feet. Colonel Packard, however, stood still as stone. He watched Kong storm through the water, shaking the earth with his roar, and he waited. And waited.

And then he through his torch into the water.

The napalm that had been poured onto the surface of the water by Slivko and the other soldiers lit up, engulfing the giant monster in flames.

You watched, horrified, as Kong let out a roar of pain. He struggled to fight through the flames before their heat engulfed him and he disappeared from view. Your fellow soldiers had similar expressions on their faces – terror mixed with sympathy. He didn’t deserve this.

Packard was completely enthralled by the Kong’s roars of pain. A mad grin was stuck to his face, stretched from ear to ear and completely manic.

He’d lost it.

Suddenly, Kong came through the fire again with renewed anger, and flung the boiling water at the riverbank. You shrieked and tried to duck away from the flames, falling backwards. You fell hard against the ground as your surroundings lit up in flames. A few of the soldiers immediately succumbed to fiery deaths. Their screams of agony filled your ears as a different fire burned in your leg, burning with renewed pain.

Then Kong fell.

Overcome by the fumes and the fire, his body came crashing down on the shore and the ground shuddered beneath his weight.

You tried to stand and gasped at the fresh wave of throbbing pain as it hit your body. Your bone had obviously shifted. You strained forward and peeled away the bandage with shaking hands, fearing the worst– that your artery had been cut off.

The world didn’t stop for you, and neither did Colonel Packard. “Men! Place your charges!” he shouted. “It’s time to show Kong that man is king!”

“Armed one,” Mills said, as he turned on the charges.

“Armed two,” came another.

You grimaced at the sight of fresh blood on your skin, swallowing another wave of discomfort mixed with relief. Your wound had reopened, but it didn’t look like the artery had burst.

“Armed three,” Slivko said, looking at you with an expression of are you okay?

You didn’t see it. You were entirely focused on unzipping your bag as quickly as possible, finding a roll of gauze and wrapping your leg. Your hands found the fresh gauze when Conrad and Weaver charged through the trees and into the clearing.

“Packard!” Conrad shouted. Your eyes snapped up, and you froze.

Packard looked up slowly, detonator in hand. Conrad raised his rifle, chest heaving, and pointed it at Packard.

The other soldiers raised their guns at him automatically. The sound of several firearms cocking at once made your heart jump into your throat. Your hands stilled, half-finished with their work, as you watched the scene unfold: the man you loved held at gunpoint by half a dozen soldiers.

Slivko stood next to you, his eyes darting back and forth as he struggled to stay composed. Seeing the hesitance in his face and the fumbling of his fingers put him in a different light: he was no soldier. Only a kid.

Marlow appeared out of nowhere, catching Reles and Slivko by surprise. He pointed his pistol at Slivko, raising his eyebrows when Slivko’s aim left Conrad for Marlow instead. “I asked you fellas nice the first time,” he pointed out.

“We don’t want to fight here, Packard,” Conrad said. His eyes flickered momentarily to you before he focused on the Colonel again.

“This thing brought us down!” Colonel Packard argued, pointing the detonator at the lifeless body of Kong strewn halfway up the bank. “It killed my men!”

“Kong was just defending his territory!” Conrad snapped, exasperated and desperate.

“We are soldiers!” Packard’s eyes twitched and his lips curled as the last threads of his sanity unravelled. “We do the dirty work, so our families and our countrymen don’t have to be afraid! They shouldn’t even know a thing like this exists!”

“You’ve lost your mind,” Conrad said, shaking his head and breathing heavily. He took one hand off his rifle, holding it out. “Put that detonator down.”

Time stood still. Slivko sniffed audibly as he struggled to keep his aim straight, blinking the sweat out of his eyes. The moon hung in the sky while the fire burned in patches of grass, setting everyone’s silhouettes in blue and orange light. Nobody moved.

Packard’s face contorted in a snarl and he pressed the button on the detonator. It whined, rising in pitch as the countdown ticked.

“Stop!” Weaver shouted, breaking the terrible silence. “The world is bigger than this.”

“Bitch, please!” Packard scoffed indignantly. “Slivko, get her out of here!”

But Slivko didn’t move. His hands were shaking violently as his eyes darted from face to face, the scales weighing heavy in his mind. He glanced at you in confusion and fear. You nodded, giving him a pointed look: Trust yourself.

“You know it’s the wrong thing to do, son,” Marlow encouraged gently.

Slivko stared at him for a beat of silence. You saw the moment when his eyes solidified, and he reached a decision.

Slivko turned his rifle on Packard. “P-put it down, sir,” he stammered, as bravely as he could.

Packard automatically reached for his gun.

“Packard!” Conrad urged. The Colonel froze, like he’d been knocked out of a stupor, and slowly let go of his pistol.

Everyone lowered their guns, save for Conrad, who kept it pointed at Packard. You allowed yourself to relax by a fraction, gathering up the gauze in your hands.

At that moment, the water in front of you began to bubble and smoke. There was a giant surge from beneath the river. A geiser of water shot up into the air. It evaporated into clouds of mist, moving away with the wind, and revealing the cause of the eruption: a Skull Crawler like you’d never seen, three times larger than the others.

“That’s the big one,” Marlow choked.

So much for a moment of safety.

“Fall back,” Conrad ordered. Nobody moved. “GO!” He shouted. This time, Slivko and the others obeyed, taking off into the trees. Only you, Packard, and Conrad remained.

The giant Skull Crawler’s throat clicked and warbled as its raised its head to look at the night sky, which was turning from blue to rosy with the dawn. It howled.

Conrad’s heart stalled in his chest. He turned to Packard and held out his hand, beckoning for him to run. “Colonel,” he urged desperately. The Skull Crawler howled again, loud enough to burst your eardrums.

“Sir!” He shouted.

Packard didn’t move.

Conrad waited until he couldn’t anymore, his eyes darting between you and Packard until finally he shook his head and left him where he stood. He ran, scooping you up with one arm and grabbing your bag with the other. You shrieked at the sudden movement, clinging to him for dear life.

“Kong’s down, let’s go!”

You broke through the trees and Conrad set you down, chest heaving. You stumbled, holding onto him and blinking hard. There were white specks floating around your eyes, blurring your vision.

Conrad glanced down at your leg: the bandage was half-wrapped and reddening, hanging in tatters. He dropped to his knees, letting you lean against him while he tied it secure. His large hands shook with adrenaline, but they moved carefully so that he wouldn’t hurt you by mistake; Even in the most dire moment, he was tender in his care and conscious of your pain.

He tied the bandage off and lifted you up again, more carefully this time, and nodded to one of the nearby hills. “This is the edge of the island,” he said. “Weaver, get up on those rocks and fire a flare. With any luck, Brooks’ll see it.”

There was the sound of something big coming through the forest behind you, and everyone jumped. Your breath shuddered and you tightened your grip around his shoulders.

“We’ll buy you time,” Conrad promised. Weaver nodded and took off. Conrad adjusted his grip on you and beckoned for the others to follow him, heading into the wetland. “This way.”

You locked your arms around his neck as he ran alongside the bank, swallowing the pain of every jolting step. Behind you, you could hear the roars and crashes of the two monsters coming together in epic battle – but honestly, you didn’t care. All you were focused on was staying awake and hanging onto Conrad as he plunged into the water, wading towards the edge of the island.

You closed your eyes and buried your face in the crook of Conrad’s neck, wishing yourself away from it all. You were so tired: tired of pain, tired of running from things that wanted to eat you, and very tired of hiding your affection for the man you loved. Your heart beat slow and steady in your chest, and you breathed in deep. He smelled like home.

You heard a sudden burst of gunfire and raised your head. Marlow’s boat come into sight around the bend: Brooks was at the helm, firing away at the machine gun anchored to the front of the boat.

“Come on! Let’s go!” Conrad urged, directing everyone towards the boat. The two monsters were fighting too close for comfort, sending shockwaves through the water that made it difficult to board.

Conrad lifted you up onto the deck and you pulled yourself into a sitting position, your legs hanging off the side. You grabbed Slivko’s hand and pulled him up, reaching for Mills. Your bandage was looking worse now – deep red and caked with dirt. The pain was beginning to sharpen like a blade, growing less dull with every stroke against the whetstone.

You had no tolerance for it. Opening up your backpack, you pulled a syringe from its case and injected another dose of morphine without thinking.

Conrad was lifting himself onto the boat, his muscular arms flexed, when the gun stalled and stopped firing. Brooks fumbled with the controls, trying to start it up again.

Marlow pushed him aside. “I got it! She’s temperamental- watch out!”

Suddenly, the Skull Crawler was coming towards the boat, undeterred by the ship now that the gun wasn’t working. You face paled and you grabbed Conrad’s hand automatically as anxiety rose in your chest and your throat constricted in fear. You noticed the absence of Kong to distract the monster from you.

You scanned the wetlands, finding Kong struggling to break free from the wreckage of several freight ships. Their anchoring chains were wrapped around him, holding him down in the water. He roared. Step by step, the Skull Crawler came closer. One by one, the chain links snapped.

Just before the Skull Crawler was within tail-swinging distance you heard Weaver’s flare gun fire again. The flare landed right in the Skull Crawler’s eye socket, exploding on impact. It screamed, raking its own claws across its face to try and dislodge the burning flare.

“Clear!” Marlow shouted, finally unjamming the gun. The rapid fire resumed, and you relaxed slightly.

The Skull Crawler howled in anger and snarled at you, coming towards the boat despite the array of bullets.

You felt Conrad’s hand leave yours. He pushed away from the boat without a word of warning, sprinting through the water.

“James!” You screamed, ripping at your own throat. The Skull Crawler’s massive head turned, and it followed him, leaving you and the boat behind.

Before you could move, Kong freed himself from the chains and threw something – a rusted freight propeller – lodging it in the Skull Crawler’s side. It fell with a deafening screech.

Conrad stopped running, gasping for breath and watching the two monsters resume their fight. They wrestled across the wetlands, dealing blow after blow with deadly intent, but neither could bring down the other.

Your head was swimming. The cacophony of noise constantly vibrating through your body was making you sick to your stomach. Despite the humidity, your skin was covered in a thin, cold sweat.

Kong threw the Skull Crawler against one of the mountains and sent an avalanche of rocks into the water. You heard Weaver scream across the valley and turned, watching her fall through the air before she hit the water.

Your nurse’s instincts kicked in and you felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. “Head for shore!” You shouted frantically, snatching up your bag and bracing yourself as the boat sped up and turned. When it was a few yards away from solid ground, you dropped into the water, moving as fast as you could. The monsters kept fighting, sending huge waves across the wetlands that helped push you forward.

Conrad shouted across the water, catching up to you as you fought towards dry ground. “What are you doing?”

“Helping!” You responded, dragging your bad leg and coming up onto the shore unsteadily, duffle bag in hand. Conrad came up behind you and lifted you up, surging out of the water.

You pulled away from his grasp and dropped to the ground in front of Weaver, who laid unconscious halfway on the shore. You pushed her hair away from her face and checked for vitals.

She wasn’t breathing.

You took a pulse check with shaking hands and began CPR, pumping on her chest. As you tried to restart her heart, your own heartbeat felt dangerously slow. You were seeing double, but it was inconsequential– what mattered now was keeping Weaver alive.

Somewhere in the moment, the fighting had stopped. Everything around you was far too quiet– there was only the sound of your shallow breathing, and Conrad’s footsteps as he returned with Weaver’s camera in hand.

Suddenly Weaver lurched upwards and you caught her, helping her onto her side as she coughed up water and choked on air.

“Easy, just breathe,” you heard yourself murmuring, but it didn’t sound like you – your own voice was distorted and far away in your ears.

Weaver coughed. Her brown eyes blinked and came into focus, looking up at your face. When they did, her eyebrows pulled together.

“L/N?” She asked, her voice laced with worry.

You opened your mouth to respond, but couldn’t find your words. It was like your tongue had turned to lead. You began to lose your grip.

Too little blood, too many injections – and the thought occurred to you too late.

“L/N?” Weaver repeated urgently. Her eyes darted from your face to your leg– the bandage was drenched with crimson. She looked up at Conrad desperately. “She’s falling–”

He caught you in his arms. “Y/N, Y/N, stay with us,” he urged, pushing your hair from your face. Weaver’s eyes filled with panicked tears and she stood up on wobbly legs, waving to the boat. “Help! Over here!”

Conrad lifted you up and ran towards the water. Slivko helped pull you onto the deck and lay you down on the surface. Your breathing was shallow. You could barely feel your heart pumping away in your chest. Your grasp on consciousness hung by a thread.

“What happened?” someone asked.

“I don’t know,” Weaver’s voice came, sounding muffled and distorted. “She ... and then–”

“–lost too much blood–”

“–find the bag–”

“–nalo-something, there–”

“Hang on,” Conrad’s voice came, like a gentle wave over the sand, pulling you back to reality. You could feel him holding you in his lap, the panicked rising and falling of his chest, the tender touch of his hands on your arms. The smell of sandalwood and smoke. Everything about him felt like home.

Conrad watched your beautiful eyes unfocus and come back as you tried to stay awake. You were still fighting, bless your heart. Conrad’s chest tightened and he swallowed thickly, pushing down a wave of emotion. He tightened his grip around you, whispering assurances as Slivko shuffled through your bag. Your head fell back against his shoulder and you let out a shaky, jagged breath.

Conrad slid one hand down your arm and wrapped his hand around your wrist, feeling your pulse. He prayed silently to anyone who was listening: not her. Please.

Slivko worked fast as his hands would allow, uncapping the orange bottle from your bag. Weaver helped, pulling away the splint and unwrapping your bloody bandage.

Conrad stroked your hand, feeling the coldness of your skin, the almost-indiscernible slowness of your pulse. Tears filled his eyes and he inhaled quickly, willing them away.

“You remember my promise?” He said, loud enough for you alone to hear. His normally steady, accented voice trembled with emotion. “We’re going home. You and I. Wherever you want to go, I’ll follow.” His lips trembled and he raised your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against your palm.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head and fighting against his tears. His heart felt wrenched and pulled apart. “We’re going home.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes had closed, your breath scarce and fading fast. You were somewhere far away: somewhere deep and dark and painless, dreaming of the man you’d lost and found again, the man holding you in his arms while you faded, whose voice you could hardly hear. Dreaming of coming home.

But they say no man comes home from war. Not really.

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