Chapter Text
It’s eerily quiet, far too quiet. Car doors closing is the only sound that echoes through the seemingly empty ranch, but it's not empty. He can feel it in the way the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. They’re not alone, there’s someone here, watching them. Sam takes in a deep breath, breathing in the hot Texas air as he takes in their surroundings. It doesn’t even smell like a farm, the air is too crisp, too clean.
“Are we sure we shouldn’t have brought more people?” Carlos asks, coming around the front of the truck, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at Dante who’s climbing out of his old single cab that he refused to give up to fleet years ago when he was due for an upgrade.
“We’re serving a warrant on a little old lady,” Dante says, joining them. This is his show, they’re just playing along. “It doesn’t exactly warrant a SWAT roll out. I think the three of us are more than capable of handling whatever she has to throw at us.”
“Yeah, a little old lady who also happens to be the grandmother of our murder suspect,” Carlos says under his breath only loud enough for Sam to hear. They’re in agreement. Something feels off.
Sam double checks his vest before following Carlos and Dante up to the door, still scanning for any potential threats and finding nothing. There’s a small sedan parked around the side of the house, the same one registered to the homeowner. There’s nothing here that shouldn’t be, not that he can see at least.
Carlos reaches the door first and stands to the side of it; Dante takes his place opposite him; and Sam stacks up behind his partner, leaning against the wall. He sneaks a quick glance over his shoulder at the window behind him. The curtains are open, and the faint sound of a TV playing old westerns can be heard drifting out to them.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Sam says, patting Carlos’s shoulder with one hand and letting his other fall to the gun holstered on his hip. They’re not expecting trouble, but if his career has taught him one thing, it's to always expect trouble, then if it comes a-knocking you’re never a step behind.
Carlos reaches forward and opens the flimsy storm door, and wraps his fist against the heavy wooden one behind it. Then they wait, when there’s no response, he knocks again, a little more forceful this time. He tries the knob which betrays no give. It’s locked.
“Maybe no one’s home?” Dante suggests with a small shrug.
“Car’s in the driveway,” Sam says with a little shake of his head. Maybe whoever is inside doesn’t want to answer. Maybe the little old lady that lives here isn’t the only one that’s home.
“You guys want to breach?” Dante asks.
Carlos and Sam exchange glances that both mean the same thing. No. They don’t want to breach. They want to come back with SWAT and do this right.
“It’s your call,” Carlos says, returning his attention to the other ranger.
Dante studies the two of them, reading the room, before letting out a deep sigh. “Alright, we’ll do this the right way and get the big guns.”
Sam lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. It could be nothing. She could just be an old lady who’s hard of hearing and didn’t hear them knock. They could be wasting SWAT’s time by having them roll out here, but he’d rather waste their time than be wrong and walk into a firefight with just the three of them.
Dante leaves the door first, stomping his way back down the wooden porch steps, and Carlos not far behind him. Sam hesitates before following, taking one last look around, letting his senses have a second to take everything in. He can still hear the TV playing its tune beyond the wooden panel walls, and that’s all he can hear. No footsteps, no voices, nothing. He makes his way off the porch, the wooden planks creaking under his boots. He makes it to the bottom step.
Click.
Sam starts to turn around and the sound of the lock clicking, his hand flying back to his gun, but he’s not fast enough.
BOOM.
The blast sends him sprawling, knocking him on his face in the dirt. He eats a mouthful of dirt as he attempts to draw in a gasp. It feels like he’s been hit the back by bus. His whole body is screaming, and his ears are ringing so loudly he can barely hear Carlos’s yelling. He gasps, trying to suck in a breath that his lungs refuse to give him. He tries to move, but his brain can’t seem to figure out how to tell his body what to do. Everything is spinning. A hand grabs the shoulder strap of his vest and the next thing he knows he’s being dragged through the dirt. He manages to kick his legs in an attempt to help or get up or do literally anything, but his efforts are futile. He’s hit. He knows he’s hit. He felt with every cell in his body, but the flood of adrenaline and the overwhelming flood of input to his sense makes it impossible for him to tell how bad it is.
Bang. bang. Bang. The higher pitched sound of pistol fire rattles through the air as someone- maybe Carlos maybe Dante- returns fire.
There’s a second deep boom followed by the ping of buckshot splattering against the side of Carlos’s truck as he’s dragged around the hood. He still can’t breathe. He’s trying, he’s trying with every fiber of his being, but nothing’s happening. The world is getting dark around him and the ringing in his ears just keeps growing louder. He can barely make out the gun fire anymore.
“Campbell!” Carlos’s voice sounds a million miles away as he’s dropped to the ground. He tries to find the words to lie and say he’s fine, but like his breaths, they don’t come. “Campbell, talk to me, man!”
Gun fire fills the air. It must be Dante returning fire. The sound of velcro being undone is immediately followed with a release of pressure around Sam’s body, and he finally manages to suck in a deep breath.
“The vest took most of it,” Carlos reports, his voice finally slicing through the haze.
“I’m good,” Sam finally manages to wheeze, looking up into his partner’s worried face. The only thing burning is his arms, all the other pain is just dull and pounding which tells him the only place he’s really hit are his arms.
“You don’t look good,” Carlos replies, the worry staying on his face.
“What happened?” Sam finally manages to get his burning question. He got shot, with a shotgun from the sound of it, but he needs more information. He needs things to start making sense.
“Our harmless granny is wielding a shotgun,” Carlos replies as another deep boom sounds through the air.
“No kidding,” Sam gasps, and tries to sit up, but a firm hand against his chest stops him.
“Stay down,” Carlos directs, and Sam complies without argument. He didn’t feel like getting up anyway.
Carlos stands up and rattles off a couple shots over the hood of the truck before ducking back down as the old woman in the house returns fire. The boom of the shotgun is followed by the sound of a different gun, the pitch is higher but it's just as loud, and the ping of something hitting the truck is a solitary one. There’s someone else in the house, someone with a rifle.
“The bastard’s in there with her,” Dante hisses, opening the back door of Carlos’s truck to trade his pistol out for something with a little more power.
“You don’t say,” Sam groans, and sits up, a new wave of dizziness hitting him. He pushes through it and stands up.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay down?” Carlos demands.
“Yeah, but I’m not a good listener,” Sam replies, leaning against the side of the truck.
Carlos opens his mouth to give some smart reply, but is interrupted by another flurry of gun fire. He hunkers down, but not quite quick enough. A hot spray of blood splatters Sam’s face and paints the side of Carlos’s truck. His partner collapses, the only sound that leaves his mouth is a choked gasp as he hits the ground, grabbing at his chest.
“Reyes!” Sam’s cry is choked as it leaves his mouth. He follows Carlos to the ground, landing on his knees in the dirt next to him. “Reyes, buddy talk to me.”
Carlos opens his mouth, but the only sound that comes out is a weak gasp. He reaches for the straps securing his vest to his body with shaking hands, but Sam shoos them to the side and undoes the straps for him.
“How– how bad?” Carlos manages to choke between strained gulps for air, lifting his head off the ground to try to get a look at it.
“Not good,” Sam replies between gritted teeth as he eyes the hole leaking blood from Carlos’s chest. His shirt is already saturated. “I don’t think this one bounced off your ribs, buddy.”
Carlos closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the ground, letting out a pained moan.
“I’ve seen worse, you’ll be fine. Just stay awake for me” Sam tries to sound reassuring as he presses both hands against the wound, trying in vain to slow the bleeding. His own pain has vanished into an afterthought. “Dante, get me the–”
The other ranger is handing him the med bag out of the back seat of Carlos’s truck before he can even finish making the request.
“Where the hell did that shot even come from?” Dante hisses, tearing the bag open, and grabbing out a roll of gauze. Sam doesn’t care where the shot came from, only where it went. It went right through the vest like it wasn’t even there.
“Chest seal,” Sam says. He needs a chest seal not gauze, gauze won’t stop air from being sucked into his chest cavity. Dante forgoes the roll and grabs what Sam needs as he tears Carlos’s shirt open, sending buttons flying to the ground. He keeps one hand pressed firmly against the hole in Carlos’s chest and grabs the gauze with the other. He uses his teeth to tear the packaging open and wipes as much of the blood away as he can, but its coming out faster than he can clear it away. He snatches the open chest seal out of Dante’s hands and presses it over the wound. By some miracle it sticks. “We’ve gotta get him out of here.”
They’re still taking fire, but it's all just background noise, a familiar tune playing in the back of his mind, one that he’s had a lot of practice drowning out. He takes a second to look around, to find them a way out. He has to get Carlos out of here, but his truck isn’t going anywhere, all four tires have been blown out by bullets, and the engine probably looks like swiss cheese under the hood. His gaze finally falls on Dante’s truck. The single cab. The fucking single cab. Why’d he have to keep that damn single cab?
“Get your truck. I’ll lay down some cover fire.” he orders. It’s not far from them, but farther than he has any desire to drag Carlos while they’re still being shot at. “Back it straight up to us.”
Dante hands off his AR and makes a run for the truck.
“Hang in there, brother,” Sam says, giving Carlos’s shoulder a little squeeze. He acknowledges with a weak thumbs up. Sam grabs the gun and stands up, painting the side of the house in bullets. The shooting stops as both of the shooters dive for cover only narrowly avoiding being shot. He casts a quick glance over his shoulder as the engine of Dante’s old truck rumbles to life, then down at Carlos who is looking paler with every passing second. His gasps for breath have gotten faster. He’s rapidly circling the drain. Sam lays down another round of fire as Dante backs the truck up to them, kicking up a cloud of dust as the tires slide to a stop in the loose dirt.
Sam tosses the gun into the bed of the truck and drops the tailgate.
“Don’t even get out!” he shouts to the other ranger. He wants to be gone the second he has Carlos in the bed of the truck. “Start getting us an ambulance, we’ll meet them.”
He grabs the med bag as he crouches down next to Carlos and launches it into the back of the truck, its contents scattering in the bed.
“You still with me?” Sam asks, pulling Carlos’s limp arm over his shoulder. His partner manages a weak head nod. “Good. This isn’t gonna be comfortable.”
Carlos shakes his head slightly. He doesn’t care. Sam pulls him upright, his whole body screaming from the strain. He musters all the strength he can and hoists Carlos up into the bed of the truck. He slams the tailgate shut and jumps in after him. “DRIVE!”
***
“Boy, the city of Austin is really giving me a warm welcome back, isn’t it?” TK says climbing into the driver’s seat and slamming the door shut. It should be criminal to work this much as a part time employee, but the greater Travis County area seems to have said Oh? You’re back? Here! Have a shit show! In all his years working, he’s pretty sure he’s never made this many runs in just six hours. Every single one of them has been downtown and within a stone’s throw of the hospitals. They’re getting ready to close out run number eight.
“The EMS gods just missed you,” Tommy teases. “I got the same warm welcome on my first day back too.”
“Well I wish they’d knock it off,” TK sighs. “This was supposed to be some easy money and some entertainment while Jonah’s in school.”
“Well, you got the entertainment part at least,” Tommy jokes.
“And the EMS gods aren’t the only ones who missed you,” Nancy says, poking her head up into the cab of the truck through the window into the back. “We did too.”
“For the record, I’ve missed being here,” TK says, “But eight runs in six hours is just a little ridiculous.”
“Agreed there,” Nancy says. “If you ask me, it’s lunch time–”
“Attention all units.”
TK glares at Nancy. He knows what “attention all units” means. It means they will not be getting lunch anytime soon.
“Can anyone clear the hospital for a critical?”
Tommy sighs and closes the toughbook. “My paper work is done. You ready for nine in seven?”
TK rolls his eyes and grabs the radio. “Medic 126 is clear. Where do you need us?”
“Call came in direct from the Texas Rangers…” TK’s breath catches. “They’re already on the road, you’ll be meeting them. They’ve got a 31 year old male, gsw. Rendezvous location will be in your run notes.”
TK freezes. He knows he needs to key up and acknowledge the run, but he can’t make himself move. It could be Carlos.
Tommy reaches over and gently takes the radio out of his hand. “Medic 126 is okay on the information. You can show us en route.”
TK still can’t move. He needs to put the truck in drive. They need to go. It could be Carlos.
“Nancy,” Tommy says, her muffled by the blood rushing past TK’s ears as waves of panic wash over him. “You’re going to drive.”
***
They hit a bump that sends Sam flying forward. He bites back a cry of pain as his back slams into the back wall of the truck. It takes him a second, but he recovers and returns to Carlos’s side. The metal floor of the truck bed is slick with blood. There shouldn’t be blood; the seal on his chest is doing its job, it's staying put and it's not leaking. He grabs hold of Carlos, the blood covering him making his hands slip. He tightens his grip and rolls him onto his side, finding what he’s looking for. There it is. The exit wound just below his left shoulder blade. He fumbles around, finding the trauma sheers among the items scattered around them collecting blood. He makes a cut in the top of the shirt and tears the back of it open before applying another chest seal. It won’t actually stop the bleeding, it will just contain it to the inside of his body.
He stops and takes a second to process, clinging tightly to the side of the truck with slippery hands. He’s not a paramedic or surgeon, which is what Carlos really needs right now. He’s done everything he can do except pray, pray that they make it to the ambulance on time and pray that Dante doesn’t kill them trying to get there. He scoots closer to Carlos and grabs his leg and props them up on his own, that’s really the only thing there is left to do. Keep the blood in his core.
“Sam…”
“We’re almost there. The ambulance is gonna meet us. You’ll be okay,” he promises, grabbing Carlos’s cold hand, not knowing if it's true or not. He has no idea where the ambulance is coming from or if it's even remotely close to them. It can’t be too close, they’re coming from the middle of nowhere.
“TK…” Carlos mumbles at the mention of an ambulance.
“I don’t know who’s coming,” Sam says, he hopes for TK’s sake that he’s not the one on the truck. He doesn’t need to see his husband like this. And he really doesn’t need to be the one in the back if… He doesn’t let himself finish the thought.
Carlos shakes his head. “No…” He reaches with a trembling hand for his pocket. “Phone…”
“You don’t need to be talking right now,” Sam says, “Just work on breathing, okay?”
Carlos shakes his head again and keeps digging his pocket. Sam sighs, he can’t deny him this, and even if he wanted to, he’s pretty sure he couldn’t actually stop him. He moves his partner’s hand aside and retrieves his phone for him. TK’s picture is lighting up the screen. He’s calling him. He knows something has happened, which means he’s on the ambulance coming for them. He doesn’t know TK well, but he knows him well enough to know he’d do anything and everything in his power to get to his husband if he thought there was even a chance something bad had happened.
“Please,” Carlos mumbles, reaching for the hand holding the phone.
“Okay,” Sam agrees and slides his finger across the screen leaving behind a streak of blood as he answers. He holds the phone up to Carlos’s ear.
“Carlos, thank God.”
“Hi baby,” Carlos mumbles, the wind snatching away the sound of his voice.
Sam doesn’t hear the paramedic’s response, but he knows he’s caught on and knows something is not right.
“I love you,” Carlos breathes, before coughing. “I love you.”
His head flops back against the bed of the truck and his eyes roll into the back of his head. His hand goes limp in Sam’s. Sam drops the phone, forgetting to hang up.
“Reyes? Reyes, you gotta stay with me,” Sam urges, shaking him, but he doesn’t respond. “Damn it, come on Carlos!”
He reaches for his neck and tries to find a pulse but feels nothing.
“Fuck,” Sam swears, sliding his legs out from under Carlos’s to kneel over him. He grabs the phone off the floor board and perches it on his shoulder before placing his hands in the center of his partner’s chest. There’s an unpleasant crackle as he pushes down, breaking his ribs.
“Carlos!” TK’s frantic voice is calling into his ear.
“This is his partner, Campbell,” Sam says. Pumping Carlos’s chest in a steady rhythm.
“Campbell? What the hell is going on?”
“He’s been shot,” Sam says. “He just lost a pulse. If you guys can drive any faster, you need to.”
***
TK is out of the truck before Nancy can get it in park. He has the med bag in one hand and the monitor in the other. It barely feels like his feet are hitting the ground as he covers the last few paces between the ambulance and the ranger truck at a run. He can see Campbell still doing compressions. The ranger is covered in blood, he can’t tell if it's his own or Carlos’s and he really doesn’t care. He drops the tailgate of the truck and jumps in the bed.
“He’s been down five minutes,” Campbell pants. TK can tell he’s getting tired, but his compressions are still good so he can keep doing what he’s doing. “It was a large caliber round, went straight through.”
TK turns the monitor on and grabs the chest pads while it takes what seems like forever to power on. He slaps them onto Carlos’s bare chest and plugs them in. “Stop for a second.” he directs, studying the monitor screen. V-fib. “Clear.”
He waits half a second to make sure Campbell is clear before shocking. The shock delivers and the green line on his screen spikes before organizing itself into a real rhythm. He presses his fingers against Carlos’s neck and finds a pulse. It's weak and fast, but it's there. By this time, Tommy and Nancy have arrived with the stretcher.
“I got a pulse back,” TK announces as he and Campbell slide Carlos to the edge of the tailgate. They make the transfer to the stretcher quickly and throw the seatbelts on as they hurry the stretcher to the ambulance. Tommy manages to get a non-rebreather mask on Carlos’s face to start blasting him with oxygen.
“Can I ride?” Campbell asks, as the stretcher slides into the truck.
“If you’re gonna ride, you’re gonna help,” TK says, hardly paying attention to his husband’s partner.
“I can do that,” Campbell says, climbing in after Tommy.
“Do you guys want a minute?” Nancy asks, still standing at the back doors. On a normal day they would take a minute to get settled before taking off, but Carlos has already coded once. They don’t have any minutes to spare.
“No,” TK barks. “Drive.”
Nancy gives a curt head nod and slams the door shut, closing them inside. What feels like only seconds later, they’re moving and the sound of the siren is cutting through the air.
“Tommy, get him hooked to everything,” TK orders, not caring if he’s stepping on his captain’s toes. “And get me bilateral lines. I want blood in one and ringers in the other.”
He knows he doesn’t need to tell her what to do and that she’s probably already at least ten steps ahead of him, but saying it is helping him find his pace, it's making him process what he’s doing.
“What do you want me to do?” Campbell asks. He looks like a lost puppy.
“Sit there until I tell you I need you,” TK says, reaching into the airway cabinet next to him. Carlos’s chest isn’t moving. His heart is still beating, but won’t be for long if he doesn’t get him breathing again. He needs to be intubated– really he needs a lot of things, but no matter how good they are, he and Tommy can only do one thing at a time so they have to pick their battles, and the big ones come first. ABCs. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. Anyone of those things falls apart, the other two follow.
“I’m tubing him,” TK announces, trying to push back his nerves, trying to make Carlos just a patient and not his husband. He needs him to just be a patient, its the only way his brain will process the massive influx of information flooding him. He can’t over think it. It can’t be personal. The only problem is that it is personal.
TK lays the head of the stretcher down flat and tilts Carlos’s head back ever so slightly. Not Carlos. Pretend it's not Carlos. He reminds himself as he grabs the laryngoscope. He removes the oxygen mask from Carlos’s– his patient’s face and inserts the laryngoscope into his mouth and lifts up, moving his tongue out of the way. He’s met with nothing but the sight of blood. So much fucking blood. He can’t see anything through it all, he can't see any of the landmarks he needs to slide the tube into place.
“Fuck,” he hisses between gritted teeth.
Tommy looks up from what she’s doing to give him a questioning look.
“I can’t see shit.” He thinks for half a second. They have a third pair of hands. “Campbell, I have a job for you,” He says, pulling the laryngoscope out and returning the mask to Carlos’s– No. His patient’s face.
“Anything, what do you need?”
“You’re going to hold the suction catheter and keep the blood out of my way while I do this.” He flips the switch on the wall next to him that brings the truck’s suction system humming to life. He shoves the tubing for the suction into Campbell’s hands before grabbing the laryngoscope again. Time for take two. He repeats his previous steps. “Now put that in his mouth and hold it there until I tell you to get it out of my way.”
The suction makes a horrible sucking noise that makes his stomach churn as it begins vacuuming the blood out of his patient’s airway. Not Carlos. He repeats it in his mind like a mantra. Not Carlos. Not right now. He can process later. Not Carlos. He grabs the tube with his free hand, an 8– he’s spent too much time running through this scenario in his mind. He keeps it ready at the corner of his patient’s mouth. Not Carlos. Not Carlos. Not Carlos. As soon as the vocal cords come into view through the blood being sucked away, he slips the tube in. It slides into place exactly how it should.
“I’ve got an airway,” TK declares and Tommy snatches a stethoscope off the wall as TK secures a bag valve mask to the tube. He gives the bag a couple squeezes so she can confirm the tube placement.
“You’re in, but not moving much air,” Tommy says, glancing up at him. As soon as he has confirmation he’s in, he secures the tube into place. If he’s not moving air he’s going to need to be decompressed.
“I’ve got another job for you,” TK says, handing the bag off to Campbell. “Squeeze that every five to six seconds, but don’t squeeze the whole bag into him, just pinch it with one hand.” He then points at a number on the monitor’s screen. “Keep that number between 35 and 45. If it gets above 45 bag faster, if it drops bag slower.”
Then it's on to the next thing.
***
“Are you okay?”
“What?” Sam asks, tearing his gaze away from the trauma bay where they’re working on Carlos and finds himself looking into the eyes of the TK’s captain, Capt. Vega is what it says on her shirt. The concern on her face stretches beyond her friends and extends to him.
“You’re looking a little rough yourself,” she elaborates, gesturing to his arms, which he just now realizes aren’t just covered in Carlos’s blood, but his own too. “Are you okay?”
Sam gives a quick glance at his bloody arms. “I guess I did get shot too…”
She raises both of her eyebrows giving him a stern look.
“Only lightly,” he says, shrugging off the concern, and turning his attention back to Carlos. They’re doing CPR again, and TK is in the heat of it. He’d probably go to the operating room with him if they let him. “My vest took most of the hit. I’ll be fine.”
“Let a doctor decide that,” She replies. “You could have broken ribs under there.”
“What about–”
“He’s in the best hands he could be in,” Captain Vega says gently. “You’ve done everything you can for him, and it seems like you did a pretty good job at that. I’ve had worse hand offs from EMTs. It’s time to get yourself taken care of.”
“He can’t die…” Sam chokes. He sounds pathetic and feels even more so. He should’ve been able to do something. None of this should be happening.
“Come on,” she says gently and takes his forearm in her hand to guide him to one of the gurneys lining the hallway outside of the trauma room.
“Just give me a second,” he pleads. He can’t leave until he knows Carlos is going to be okay.