Chapter Text
“Face! Murdock!” B.A. bellowed as he clambered down the bank. His still cold limbs burned with new fire as he scanned the water. Behind him, he barely registered Hannibal keeping pace with him.
B.A. cursed as he nearly slipped and skidded down a particularly slick patch of rock. Then he cursed some more, for good measure. Cursing tended to make him feel a bit better, but this time it didn’t work.
All he could think of was the line snapping in a jumble of tangled debris, Murdock and Face’s alarmed expressions and flailing limbs as they disappeared into the river.
He hadn’t seen them come back up.
I could have missed it. He told himself. In the chaos of trees and swirling angry water, he could have missed them coming back up. He hadn’t had a perfect view, already rushing downstream. Or they could be gone. Entangled in the ropes, caught up on the debris. They could be—.
No.
He cut himself off. He couldn’t think like that, Hannibal would tell him not to. The others would find their own ways of poking fun at his melodrama if they knew. Except they might be—
Damn it.
Damn. It.
Damn it all and these stupid mountains.
Branches whipped past his face, and he used one to steady his furious descent.
Still nothing in the water, they’d already reached the part where he’d climbed out. The river had been so strong, so cold, so fast, he hadn’t been sure he could make it across. He’d never admit that, but he had been shocked at the strength of it. Once, he’d thought he’d have to abandon the rope, because it had took every thing he had just to fight the currents onto the east bank.
And Murdock’s arm wasn’t at a hundred percent, and the rope had been tangled and twisted up in the floating mess of trees and roots. And Face. Face was injured worse than any of them. He’d done alright today, but they could all see he was weaker than normal, blood-loss and injury and exhaustion taking a toll. They’d been climbing so slowly over the rope. He was sure it hadn’t taken Hannibal that long.
“Face! Murdock!” He yelled, hating the unsurprised but still disappointed sinking feeling in his gut when no reply came. He slid down a small rock face on his hip, boots landing with a splash.
“B.A.!” Hannibal yelled behind him and he reluctantly stopped his mad dash. “Hold up. Be smart. If they made it to the bank we won’t be any use if we kill ourselves getting there.”
B.A. glared, chest heaving and limbs still shaking from his own icy swim. But he knew he was right.
They had to scan every inch of the bank.
“We ain’t leavin’ ‘em out there, Hannibal. They’re—”
“I know B.A., we’ll find them.” B.A. found himself both angry at and relieved by Hannibal’s calm authority.
Because he wanted to rip every inch of banks apart, wanted to leap back into the river and search it inch by inch by hand.
Instead he just nodded, squeezing his hands into fists at his sides.
Another surge of water rushed up the bank and soaked Murdock’s shoes, washing over Face’s legs too, like cold hands hoping to drag them back into the raging river.
He could have sworn the water hadn’t reached so far up the bank before.
“Nope—nada, no you don’t—” he muttered hoarsely at the water, already moving. He stumbled to his feet, shoes sinking deep into the soft, shifting wash of rocks and sand.
He grabbed Face by the arm and hauled him higher, away from the greedy river with a sharp, uneven pull, gritting his teeth with the effort. Even here, pooling water soaked Face’s clothes where he lay, still gasping, and sucked at Murdock’s shoes.
They were both shivering, the misty wind off the river bone-chilling against wet clothes.
“Faceman, get up.”
He tried to pull Face to his feet, but he was like deadweight, and Murdock huffed in frustration when he only managed to get him sitting up. His own limbs felt uncooperative, not as strong as they should have been after fighting the cold river.
“Face!” He shook him by the arm. “You gotta help me out, muchacho” He got a groggy, miserable sound in return, but no real movement, and Murdock squatted beside him, shaking harder.
“Lieutenant, get up!” He tried his best Hannibal impersonation, and ended up sounding like himself, desperate and almost pleading: “You gotta get up!”
“Was… that supposed… t’be Hannibal” Face grit out between his chattering teeth. Murdock grinned in relief.
Face, finally responding to his promptings pushed his palms against the ground and pulled his legs, slow and uncoordinated, underneath himself.
Murdock tugged his arm over his good shoulder, and together they stumbled towards the trees, the wet footing sucking at their shoes.
The ground began to slope upward, the loose, wet sand and gravel giving way to firm damp soil and a mat of pine needles.
Murdock aimed for it with single-minded focus, chest heaving, ignoring the way his shoulder protested with every jolt.
The shelter of the pines was a mercy. The wind cut less, and the roar and hiss of the river dulled behind the heavy boughs, the rain, which had started up again, was filtered by the thick canopy. Murdock dragged Face deeper until he reached the massive base of a cedar. Another tree had fallen onto it, at some point, and it made for a cozy little sheltered fort.
He let them both collapse under it, landing on his butt in the thick duff of needles and soft earth, Face slumping next to him, panting.
He fumbled for the zipper of Face’s jacket, taking more than one try with cold fingers.
“What- what are…you…doing?” Face asked, shuddering hard.
“How come you never notice…when you’re bleeding lately, huh?” Murdock’s voice wasn’t much better, his own teeth beginning to chatter now.
“What— oh.” Face looked down and grimaced. He tried to help Murdock with the zipper, but he pushed his hands away.
“I’ve been…kinda…distracted.” He finally defended himself weakly.
“I won’t tell B.A. about this, don’t worry, muchacho” Murdock gave him a grin as he finally managed to yank the zipper down.
Face huffed something that might have been a laugh, or might have just been him trying to get his breath back.
He pushed Face’s shirt up, not wanting to bother attempting the buttons.
A steady seep of fresh blood was welling sluggishly from the jagged, ugly wound.
He cursed in a better imitation of B.A. than he’d done of Hannibal, and pressed a fist-full of Face’s already blood-stained flannel against it.
Face sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body going rigid against him. “Ah—!”
“Sorry Face— Easy, easy, just hold still, okay?” Murdock said quickly, shifting closer, bracing him more firmly against the tree. “I got you.” He felt blood, hot against his own cold skin, leaking between his fingers. He resisted the urge to curse more, clenching his teeth together instead.
He flopped back down on Face’s other side, pressing as close as he could for warmth. He kept his hand in place, reaching across him to press against the wound like some kind of macabre embrace. He didn’t let go even when it made Face squirm slightly and breathe faster at the pain.
They had to warm up.
They had to rest, regroup.
He had to stop Face from losing more blood.
Then they would do… something. Murdock wasn’t entirely sure what yet. But he ignored that. Most immediate problems first, just like flying a terminally ill junkyard plane.
Murdock reminded himself he was pretty good at crashing planes. B.A. always saw that as a negative, but he didn’t realize how hard it was to crash a plane and not die. So, this situation might be a crashing plane, but he could set it down easy, couldn’t he?
“B.A. and Hannibal—” Face began, when he’d gotten control of himself again. Murdock realized his teeth weren’t chattering so bad anymore, his voice a little less shaky even though it was now tight with pain.
“We’ll find ‘em, muchacho.”
“Alright.” Face breathed, just like he'd said yesterday, in the copilot seat of the doomed Cessna.
More trust than there was fear in that single word.
Even though he was bleeding and they’d nearly drowned and they were all alone on the side of Doom-freaking-Mountain.
Murdock tried to believe himself just as fervently.
“Look, there!” Hannibal pointed at something and B.A. tried to follow his line of sight, heart pounding harder in his chest all of a sudden.
They were nearly to the bridge, and B.A. could see the wreckage of it still bobbing in the river, missing more pieces than it had been before.
A mass of debris, mostly uprooted trees and broken limbs, had caught against it, some of it piling up onto the eroding shore as the river thrashed at it.
B.A. saw what Hannibal was pointing at as they climbed down the steep bank parallel to the river.
A flash of something white half submerged under a tangle of branches.
B.A. moved faster, catching up to Hannibal, then passing him. He splashed into the shallows, barely being careful where he placed his feet, despite Hannibal’s earlier warning. The river tried to drag him in but he fought it, bracing his muscles to resist the undertow that wanted to pull him down beneath the debris as he got closer.
The scrap of white vanished and he shoved his arms into the water, feeling blindly, deep enough that little droplets of water splashed against his face.
His fingers closed over the material and he groped around it for anything else.
There was nothing else there.
Just the scrap of material.
He pulled it free and held it up. Staring for a second before Hannibal grabbed his arm and pulled him back out of the water.
It was unmistakable.
A long, tangled piece of white gauze.
The river had washed the blood out of it, besides a ruddy stain.
B.A. formed a fist around it. “Damn it!” He shouted. Voice nearly swallowed by the raging river. Hannibal pulled him back up the bank aways where they could hear each other once more. Hannibal’s expression was grim when B.A. finally turned to face him.
His own blood felt like it was on fire. A hot, suffocating tangle of anger and fear sat heavy in his gut, twisting tighter the longer he stood there. Everything since the crash, the mountain, the river—boiling over.
He grabbed on to the anger.
It was easier.
Anger he knew what to do with.
He threw the piece of gauze on the ground, which was less satisfying than it should have been.
“B.A., the situations still the same. This doesn’t necessarily mean anything.” Hannibal placated.
“We shouldn’t be in this whole situation, or on this damn mountain, Hannibal!”
“But we are, B.A., so it doesn’t matter.”
B.A.’s jaw flexed. He stared at the gauze where it lay in the mud, that faint rust-color still clinging to it in patches.
“Face and his stupid junk plane. And why the hell didn’t he tell us he was hurt, that damn fool!”
“None of this is important right now B.A. You know that.” Hannibal stuck his unlit cigar between his teeth again, infuriatingly calm.
B.A. cursed under his breath and kicked a branch out of his way, pacing a tight circle. Hannibal continued, “are you really still mad about that? Why would you think Face would lie about something like that?”
“We gotta trust each other” he snapped back, “he can’t be—“
“B.A., I trust Face with my life all the time. And so do you. So why are we having this conversation?” Hannibal had an expression that B.A. could read clear as day: if we really have to talk about this right now, get to the damn point, even if the only emotion in his voice was mild bemusement. B.A, knew how it must look, complaining about Face right now of all times, when they were looking for their—
For them.
B.A. glowered, feeling like he was losing control of the conversation.
“We just gotta find them Hannibal. Get outta these damn mountains. Me and Faceman, we shouldn’t—“
Hannibal smiled, which B.A. thought a bizarre response.
“Shouldn’t—?” He prompted.
-Have been arguing.
-Have been so hard on him.
Murdock, he gets it, that’s our thing.
But Face… that’s not how it is with us.
Not really. Not when things are like this.
B.A. clenched his hands so tight that his gold rings dug into his palms.
Hannibal looked up from scanning the opposite bank and nodded once, understanding, as if he was a damned mind reader, which B.A. thought sometimes he might be.
“Ah. Believe it or not, our Face is remarkably good at not taking things personally.” He said lightly, “but I’m sure he’d appreciate a muffin basket. Come on, we gotta keep looking.”
BA huffed a breath, but followed Hannibal onwards, the ground rising higher and higher above the river.
The roar of the water dulled as they climbed, replaced by the creak of trees and the soft hiss of rain through needles. The wind changed as they got some elevation from the river’s own personal storm.
“You smell that.” B.A. said suddenly, making Hannibal turn sharply.
He paused for a moment, expression focused. “Smoke.”
“It could be them.”
Hannibal paused, scanning the trees, the damp ground, the steady drizzle.
“It’s not,” he said finally. “Nothing out here is dry enough to get a fire going from scratch. Somebody else is out here.”
“That don’t matter. We should keep looking for Murdock and Face, boss.” B.A. insisted, anxiety rising at the thought of a distraction right now, now that Hannibal had dashed any hopes of it being their friends.
“We don’t know what kinda shape they’re in, B.A. We might need help. We do need help getting out of the mountains.”
BA hesitated, scanning the bank once more, then turned reluctantly away, making their way back to the trail that led from the broken bridge.
Murdock blinked his eyes open, not sure when he’d closed them. He was still pressed against Face in their little fort, his presence a heavy weight against his side, but he wasn’t trying to hold his blood in his body anymore.
He’d taken off his undershirt as soon as the bleeding had slowed a little, hurrying like a shy kid in a locker room to get his jacket back on as the damp air bit his skin.
He’d tied the shirt off in a clumsy knot around Face’s middle, it was a terrible makeshift bandage, but the only thing he could think of.
And then he’d… fallen asleep.
For how long?
Blinking up at little patches of gray sky through sleep-blurred eyes gave no indication.
A prickle of unease worked its way into his chest. He should be doing something. Watching Face. Looking for the others. Getting a fire going. Something.
Speaking of Face.
“Uh, Faceman?” He asked, rubbing a hand groggily over his eyes and reaching out to pat at his friend’s chest.
No answer.
Murdock shifted, pushing himself more upright, which made Face slump heavier against him, his head tipping sideways into Murdock’s shoulder at the jostling.
“Face?” He tapped him on the cheek. He didn’t feel cold at least, his skins warmth contrasting sharply with Murdock’s cold fingers.
Face’s lashes fluttered faintly, his brow pulling together.
“Hey, c’mon, rise and shine,” Murdock said, repeating his words from that morning.
Face made a low sound, somewhere between a breath and a protest, his head lolling slightly before he managed to drag it up. His eyes cracked open, unfocused, sliding past Murdock before drifting back.
“…’m up,” he murmured.
“That’s not super convincing, fella.” Murdock said, a quick, nervous huff of a laugh following it.
Face frowned faintly at him, letting his head drop back against the tree trunk.
Murdock leaned over him to look at the his makeshift bandage, unzipping his jacket again, relieved when his fingers cooperated.
The shirt was darkened through with blood, but not completely saturated. That was… something.
He started to pull the fabric back to get a better look.
Face hissed sharply, flinching away hard, a hand coming up to catch at Murdock’s wrist.
“Hey, alright, alright,” Murdock said quickly, backing off a fraction but not pulling away entirely. “Easy. Just checking.”
Face’s grip loosened almost immediately, but his breathing had picked up again, shallow and uneven.
Murdock stilled, watching him for a second longer than he meant to.
“…Okay,” he muttered, more to himself than anything, letting go of the fabric. “Okay. That’s fine. We’ll leave it.”
He pulled the jacket back into place and sighed.
They couldn’t just sit here forever.
Murdock glanced out through the trees back in the direction they’d come frowning. He had no idea how far the river had carried them. No idea how far off the bank they were now.
Although it had been necessity at first, now their position posed other risks. It would be awfully hard for B.A. and Hannibal to find them hidden away in their secret little fort.
“Hannibal and B.A. are gonna be lookin’ downstream,” He said, trying not to think about the fact he had absolutely no idea how far down stream they were, and if the east bank was even passable between where they’d went in, and here. “We need to try and meet up with them, I don’t know if we’d hear them from here, even B.A.”
Face grinned weakly and Murdock had a feeling it was for his benefit alone, “maybe you can work on your yodeling again.”
Murdock grinned back at him, anyways. “Best idea you’ve had all day, muchacho.”
He shifted, bracing a hand against the ground and pushing himself up to a crouch. His muscles, stiff and tired, protested but he ignored them along with his aching shoulder.
“C’mon,” he said, reaching down and catching Face lightly by the arm. “Let’s go for a lil nature walk. See if we can get Hannibal and B.A. to come to my yodeling concert”
It took longer than it should have to get Face on his feet.
Murdock knew that and it made worry creep at the back of his mind when Face finally managed to get upright, and immediately stumbled against him, breath hitching.
“You okay to walk, Facey?” He asked hesitantly.
“…Yeah.” He responded after such a long pause that Murdock didn’t think he was going to answer. “Save your shoulder.”
Murdock hesitated, but then finally let him go cautiously, once he’d steadied slightly.
He gestured for Face to go first with an elaborate wave of his hand in the direction of the river, and stayed close behind him. He started off okay, slow and careful in the direction Murdock had indicated. Once, tripping over a branch, but he caught himself on a tree before Murdock could grab him. Then, his path seemed to take on a winding, aimless quality, veering away from the short, direct trajectory the way they’d come. He didn’t say anything until Face was walking in a direction Murdock was sure was further down stream, parallel to the river if his mental compass was accurate.
He caught up to him easily, grabbing him by the arm.
“Uh, Face? Whatcha doing buddy? Rivers this way.” He nodded his head sideways.
Face didn’t answer right away, just kept walking another step, then two. Murdock was forced to move with him, not wanting to pull him off balance. Finally he slowed, wavering slightly.
“…What?” He said finally frowning at him, like the question hadn’t made any sense.
Murdock turned to him sharply, holding him still with both arms now. He studied him closer.
Face’s eyes didn’t quite focus on his, glassy and somewhat off. Sweat was making his pale skin shine.
"Face…” Murdock said slowly, then he cursed.
From a higher vantage point, B.A. had been able to catch sight of the thin grey trail of smoke reaching into the sky.
They set their course and hiked straight towards it, both of them silent for long stretches.
B.A. knew what they were doing was smart, so he tried to stop the mental onslaught of thoughts that kept plaguing him.
This is taking too long. We should have stayed at the river. This is taking too damn long.
The terrain was difficult, the trees dense with low hanging branches, until they connected with the trail from the bridge again. The trail wound through the trees, climbing gradually and then leveling out again. Every step felt to B.A. like they were abandoning Murdock and Face.
He could almost imagine the smoke getting further and further away even as they hiked, like a bad dream. Like two fools trying to find the end of a rainbow, expecting to find gold, only to never reach it.
Sometimes, they lost sight of it all together in the trees. Every time that happened, B.A. clenched his fists tighter, relaxing only marginally when he could see it again. He tried to keep track of how long they’d been walking. But it was hard. Time felt relative out here. Especially with the grey, cloudy sky obscuring and diffusing the sun.
Finally, they crested a small rise, and the trees began to thin, birch trees still naked from winter mixed in with the pines. Here, the smell of smoke was unmistakable, and B.A. quickened his pace slightly as Hannibal gestured to another small path off to the left.
B.A. caught the sight of shapes through the trees, large and brown-ish and moving.
For a second, his brain conjured images of bears. B.A. slowed, grabbing Hannibal’s arm in warning as they crept forward.
Then, a clearing came into view.
Four animals stood tied along a high line stretched between two trees. Long eared and rangy, their heads picked up sharply and they stiffening with surprise at the sight of Hannibal and B.A.
They weren’t horses. Or donkeys.
“Mules.” Hannibal said.
The closest one stepped sideways, snorting loudly, pulling on its tie line as they grew closer.
Beyond them, a white canvas wall tent stood in the center of the clearing, a small, smokey fire smoldering in front of it.
“What’s all this commotion, ladies?” A gruff voice came, and a grey head poked out between the flaps.
Then the man stepped out, clad in red flannel and shrugging on an oilskin jacket.
He startled almost comically when he picked his head up and saw them. Weathered, bearded face slackening in surprise before turning to a genial, but confused expression.
“What are you boys doing out here?”
“We could use your help.” Hannibal said, relaxing his posture in to something friendly and non-threatening. B.A. tried to copy him.
The man studied them for a minute, then shoved his other arm into his coat sleeve. He furrowed his brows but nodded. “What can I do for ya?”
Face blinked hard, trying to clear the blur from his vision. Murdock was saying something, and he hadn’t been paying attention.
His head felt too heavy, fuzzy, like someone had stuffed it with cotton. His limbs a million miles away, clumsy and hard to control with any precision.
And he was cold.
Not the sharp, biting cold from the water. More like a prickly, uncomfortable chill. Sweat clung damp against his skin, making him colder every time the breeze picked up. Except for his side, which throbbed with a sharp, burning heat that didn’t match the rest of him.
He drew back instinctively when Murdock put his icy hand on his cheek.
“Facey—hey, you with me?”
He nodded, a beat late, and reached out automatically when the action sent a wave of dizziness over him, catching a handful of Murdock’s jacket to steady himself.
“…Yeah… yeah,” he muttered, though his voice didn’t sound quite right to his own ears.
“We gotta keep walking.” Murdock said, and he lifted Face’s arm to pull it over his shoulder.
“Yeah…okay.”
He tried to keep pace with him, and it took more effort than it should. His steps didn’t seem to line up quite right, his legs felt too tired, too slow.
Anxiety crept through the hazy, sick feeling. He breathed a little faster.
“Uh, Murdock? I’m… I feel—”
“I know, muchacho. I gotcha. Just keep walking a little further, huh?”
And he thought he heard the same undercurrent of fear in Murdock’s voice, too. He curled his fingers tighter against the leather of the pilot's jacket, and forced himself to keep moving.