This was originally posted on ao3 midway through season 2, so please forgive anything that may no longer be canon compliant.

"I know, Clay. I know," Sonny soothes, grip tightening around the kid's chest. "Just try to relax. I've got you. I'm not leaving." The Texan grabs Clay's left hand and puts it on Cerberus' head. "Feel that? Cerb is here too." He feels Spenser's hand move sluggishly as he grips the dog's hair and hitches another painful gasp of air. Cerberus whines and shifts closer to the young SEAL, offering what comfort he can as he lies against Sonny's uninjured leg.

It's probably been about four hours that they've been here, with Clay propped against Sonny's chest, slowly bleeding out and losing his breath as putrid water flows around them. But it feels like four days.

Clay is dying. Sonny's able to acknowledge that now. At some point, his focus had begrudgingly shifted from saving Clay to making him comfortable. Making sure he knows he's loved and he isn't alone.

###

The mission goes to shit almost from the start. Whether it's bad intel or just bad luck, they don't really have much of a chance. They've been dropped in the dead of night a few klicks outside of a small dilapidated outpost in the Central American jungle to capture a warlord's 2IC and bring him back to Mandy alive.

ISR has been spotty from the beginning. They knew it would be. The thick overhead tree canopy means there isn't a clear view for those back at Havoc to offer much in the way of support. What they didn't know was that there would be so many enemy combatants.

They were expecting somewhere between 8 and 12.

What they get is probably upwards of 30.

The plan is for Jason, Ray, Brock, Cerberus and Trent to approach the compound from the south, ambushing the guards in the small clearing in front of the building and taking out anyone who gets in their way. Sonny and Clay move to the east, where they expect the HVT to squirt when the attack begins.

But as soon as the action starts, more and more hostiles begin pouring out of the cellar the SEALs didn't even realize was in use.

Jason has to call Bravo 3 and Bravo 6 off of the side of the building to assist with taking out the overwhelming force coming at the rest of the team. That means the two Bravo groups are shooting toward each other as much as at the enemy. Their elite training means their shots are clean; there isn't much danger of a friendly fire incident. But seeing their brothers being attacked certainly amps up the tension.

When it happens, it happens fast.

Clay is a few feet to Sonny's right, and a step or two ahead of him as they shoot at five men who have become aware of their presence and engaged them. The two Bravo operators are in a bit of a tight spot, backed up to the edge of an embankment that leads about 30 feet down to a small stream below.

Through their NODs they can see the rest of Bravo in the distance, engaging the bulk of the enemy, and all Sonny wants to do is take out these men so he can help the rest of his brothers.

Clay suddenly swivels to the right as he becomes aware of a new threat, but it's too late. The impact and force of the shots send Clay stumbling back into Sonny. The Texan hears Clay's grunt just before the younger man slams into him, and the momentum sends them tumbling together over the edge of the ravine.

The fall to the stream bed below isn't all that far in terms of distance, but it's just steep enough that there isn't much they can do to try to stop themselves. Sonny hears Clay curse and he hears barking and gunshots in the distance as he tumbles ass over teakettle toward the bottom.

Just before he comes to a stop, he hears it. A crack that anyone who has ever snapped a bone would instantly recognize, as it reverberates through his entire body. He has a split second to register the flash of pain in his right leg before he comes to a stop, sprawled on his back in the water, the embankment to his left.

Everything is dark, and he realizes he lost his helmet and his night vision in the fall.

He's not ashamed to admit that his first thought isn't Clay.

Sonny's training kicks in and he desperately scrambles for his weapon, anticipating shots to start raining down on them at any moment, and they're sitting ducks in this position.

But it doesn't happen.

With the exception of the continued fighting up above, he doesn't hear anything but his own labored breathing.

And that is when his thoughts shift to Clay.

"Spenser?"

Nothing.

He feels disoriented in the dark and can't find his flashlight.

Can't see anything and can't shout for Clay for fear of drawing attention to their position, so he takes a breath, calms himself and takes stock of the situation.

His right leg is clearly broken just above the knee. He figures it's the adrenaline keeping him from really feeling the pain, but he can't move it.

At all.

He pulls his gloves off and runs his hand down his thigh. He's happy to find the thick fabric of his pant leg intact, but quickly pulls away when he feels the compound break underneath. Other than that, he seems to be in okay shape, with the exception of a pretty intense headache, which probably came from bouncing around after losing his helmet.

He's dismayed to discover that his radio is also gone.

The ground moves under his left leg and it takes his brain a moment to catch up and realize the ground isn't moving. The movement is coming from Clay, who Sonny is half sprawled on top of. He feels around a bit and is able to suss out that Clay is lying face down on the ground, with his head near Sonny's left hip.

Except they aren't really on the ground.

They're at the edge of the streambed.

And that means Clay's face is in the water.

Sonny heaves his body off of his teammate and scrambles to roll the younger man over.

It's only a few inches of water, but it's enough, and Clay comes up gasping and flailing. Gagging and coughing. He clearly doesn't have the strength or wherewithal to maneuver his own body, so Sonny does it for him, using touch alone to move Spenser into a position where he can expel the brackish water without aspirating.

"It's okay, Goldilocks, slow breaths."

Sonny hears Clay fighting his body's instinct to panic, instead trying to transition into sniper breathing. Slowly in, slowly out. Except he can't quite seem to manage it, and the small hitches in his breath that won't even out scare Sonny.

But what scares him even more is the blood. He can't see it, but he can smell it, which means there's a lot of it. And he can feel it, tacky on his hands where he clutches Clay's vest.

"Where were you hit?" he asks.

No reply.

"Clay! Answer me, damn it," he hisses, trying to remain quiet. "Where were you hit?"

"Chest? Side…" is the labored reply. "Sonny…hurts."

"Okay, hang on."

Without being able to see, Sonny has no way of knowing how serious Clay's injuries might be or how he might be able to help him. He pulls the younger man up against his left side and reaches for his head.

"I'm gonna take your helmet off, okay?"

"K."

When he unclasps the helmet, he feels the straining muscles in Clay's throat as he continues to struggle to breath.

"Just try to relax," he says, as he unclicks Clay's NODs from the helmet and raises them to his eyes. Except they're cracked and he can't see a damn thing.

He tries to turn Clay's helmet light on, but it's busted too.

"Fuck!"

Sonny closes his eyes and breathes.

Clay isn't doing much in the way of holding up his own weight, and every time he starts to lag more parallel to the ground, his breathing seems to get worse. Sonny doesn't want to remove the kid's kit and armor, afraid of leaving him unprotected if they're shot at. But he's afraid the weight of the equipment is making things worse for Clay.

He decides to take it off, and once it's gone, he knows it was the right decision.

"Better," Clay lets out on a sigh, though his breathing still doesn't sound right.

"Good. That's good, buddy."

Sonny grabs Clay's radio to contact Bravo 1 and Havoc, but it's dead. He slams it to the ground in frustration.

"Son of a bitch!"

They're tier one elite Navy SEALs for God's sake. How can their equipment possibly be so shitty that it can't stand up to a 30 foot fall?

Sonny's head throbs and his equilibrium spins, and he makes himself breathe deeply again.

A sudden rustling up the bank to their left puts Sonny on high alert. He raises his handgun, but frustratingly can't see a thing.

He hears a familiar yip and next thing he knows, he has a wet nose in his face.

"Oh Cerberus, ain't I glad to see you," Sonny lets out with relief, even though he can't really see him at all.

"Where's your papa, huh, boy?"

But Brock doesn't follow the dog down the slope.

Sonny can still hear the firefight up above, but it's moved farther and farther away. Which means the guys are still fully engaged in combat and certainly not coming to try to find their missing men any time soon.

He's not sure how Cerberus ended up here, but it comforts him to know the dog will be on alert for any danger. Sonny hates the jungle almost as much as he hates water. And he's not sure if being able to see would help or make his phobia worse. But he does know that Cerb will alert him to any trouble. Not that there's much he'd be able to do about it in their predicament.

Cerberus is nosing around Clay and whining and whimpering.

"Hey, boy," he hears Clay let out and feels him shift a bit to acknowledge the dog.

Cerberus has always seemed to have a special affinity for Clay. Not as much as Brock, obviously, but among the rest of the team, Cerb is most often found on Spenser's bunk or sitting next to him around the fire. Sonny can feel Clay's tension dissipate somewhat as he pets the dog.

"Okay, let's try to figure out the damage, huh?" Sonny says as he starts feeling around Clay's torso.

He finds a gunshot wound in the side of the younger man's upper right chest immediately – a rip in the fabric, skin that's no longer smooth and a whole lot of blood. While it isn't gushing, it's definitely more than oozing, and he knows Spenser is losing it faster than is safe. It's just the kid's shitty luck that the shot barely managed to miss his chest plate.

Clay yelps when he puts pressure on the wound, and Sonny apologizes as he leans him forward to feel his back. There doesn't seem to be an exit wound, which probably isn't good. He discovers the kid was also shot in the upper right arm, and that one seems to have gone straight through. Not nearly as concerning as the chest.

Sonny feels for and pulls tourniquets from both of their packs and applies one to Clay's upper arm above the damage. Clay doesn't react much, and that unsettles the gruff older man.

Next he applies one to his own leg, not sure if he's bleeding much or not. He definitely feels the band constrict, but in a dulled, dampened way. He wonders if he might be going into shock; chooses to take the lack of severe pain as a win instead. Thankful for small favors, he tries to still himself to stop the spinning in his head.

"Sonny…"

"What can I do for ya, Ken Doll?" Sonny tries to keep things light, even though inside, he's terrified.

"Feel funny. Hurts…breathe."

It sounds like it hurts. Clay's breathing is rapid and he clearly isn't getting a full breath in on each attempt. Sonny suspects a lung is collapsed – either from the bullet or the fall – but it's not really his area of expertise.

As he feels his own back start to tighten and cramp, Sonny knows he can't maintain the position he's in much longer. He's sitting awkwardly with no way to really support himself, with Clay leaning precariously against his left side. Sonny grabs all of Clay's discarded equipment – his pack and kit – along with his own, and piles them behind his back so he can lean against them, leaving him in a slightly reclined, upright position.

"Alright, I'm gonna move you over some. Probably gonna hurt."

Bracing his injured right leg as best he can, Sonny drags Clay over his left thigh to pull him between his own legs. Clay groans and pants, and yep – there's the pain in Sonny's leg. Fuck, that hurt.

He has to take a beat to let the agony subside before arranging Clay's back against his chest. In this position, he can feel every rough breath the kid takes. Once they're settled a bit, Clay is able to slow his breathing back down some and Sonny is able to put constant pressure on his chest. Cerberus moves to Clay's lap, and they wait.

And wait.

For what feels like an eternity.

###

Sonny can't hear the fighting anymore. Aside from the general hum of the jungle, all he can hear is Clay's struggled breaths and occasional groans.

His eyes have adjusted some, but all he can really see are shadows of blacks and grays.

"The guys will come," he tells the younger man, though he's starting to have doubts, not sure if he's trying to convince Spenser or himself.

What if the rest of Bravo was wiped out? He doesn't even want to think it, but they were up against quite a force. If his brothers had made it out unscathed, they surely wouldn't have continued to exfil without Sonny and Clay. They should have come to find them by now.

Sonny's leg is keeping him from moving to try to get any kind of help, and there's nothing to do but sit and wait.

Cerberus occasionally gets up and wanders off, Sonny assumes to patrol the area, but he can't be sure. After a few minutes he always comes back.

Now that the rush has faded, Sonny hurts. A lot. And he's nauseous. But the darkness is so disorienting, it's hard to really pin down the cause.

They talk some, but mostly stay quiet.

Clay starts to seem less and less coherent, his limited speech slurring and his head rolling off of Sonny's shoulder to loll forward every now and then. But each time, the angle seems to impede his breathing more and he jerks it back up.

The times he does speak clearly, Clay doesn't make a whole lot of sense – Sonny hears something about a monster truck and a watermelon. And he thinks he hears Naima's name at one point.

He knows Spenser is in a lot of pain. Can feel the kid's tears along his bare neck when Clay's face is angled in just the right way.

They both have morphine in their packs. But he's hesitant to give it to Clay, afraid that it might depress his breathing too much. The kid hasn't asked for it, and Sonny doesn't know if it's because he's afraid of the same thing or if he's too out of it to even think to ask.

And Sonny definitely isn't going to inject himself. He knows he needs to stay as clearheaded as he can.

He wishes he had more medical training. If Trent was here, he'd know what to do.

Hell, anyone else would probably be better equipped to help Clay.

"I'm sorry it's me," he says in the younger man's ear. "And not one of the other guys."

"I'm not," Clay whispers in a moment of lucidity.

Sonny's heart clenches. He just wishes he could do more.

Clay stops talking and seems to doze off after a while, which is a relief. His breathing sounds even worse – wheezing now on every inhale – but Sonny takes some comfort in knowing his brother might be getting a little bit of peace in sleep.

Sonny's unsupported neck and shoulders hurt, and he feels completely drained. The pressure he's putting on Clay's chest loosens as he begins to drift off, but he's helpless to stop it.

###

It's Cerberus whining that wakes him. And it takes him a beat to remember where he is and what's happening.

And then he realizes he doesn't hear Clay's pained breathing anymore.

"Clay?"

He shakes him.

Nothing.

"Clay!"

Cerberus gets louder, up on his feet now, and Sonny can sense him pawing at the ground.

But the Texan's attention is laser focused on Clay, who isn't making a sound.

Sonny brings a hand up to Spenser's mouth and takes a beat to feel for breath.

There's nothing.

And it's absolutely terrifying.

"No! No, no no."

He jostles him, rubs his sternum.

"Come on, Clay! You aren't doing this."

Smacks his face as best he can.

And Clay gasps on a stilted inhale. And then another.

Overwhelmed with relief, Sonny rests his forehead against the kid's mop of hair and breathes.

"You're okay. I'm here. I'm so sorry. You're okay."

Sonny holds him and listens to him breathe. It definitely sounds different now. The sharp, hitched breaths have been replaced with small gasps that are spread too far apart. There's no way he's getting the amount of air he needs, but there's nothing Sonny can do about it.

At least the bleeding has slowed significantly.

Clay seems to calm some, but he doesn't talk again.

Cerberus settles back down on their left side, but Sonny is only paying attention to Clay, counting from one labored breath to the next.

Knowing that at any moment, it might stop completely.

Sonny is really starting to feel mighty awful himself.

He's starting to get tunnel vision, a floating feeling. But he fights it. Staying awake to monitor Clay is the most important thing right now. He can't let himself fall asleep again. He'll think about everything else after they're rescued.

If they're rescued.

Quiet self-reflection has never been Sonny Quinn's M.O. But sitting in the darkness of the jungle, clutching Clay in his arms, his mind wanders to places he wouldn't normally allow.

He thinks about Clay joining the team and how awful he was to him for the first six months or so. He's not above admitting to himself that a good bit of that was jealousy. The kid was so talented and even with as much shit as Jason gave the rookie, Sonny could see that their leader was enamored with their new teammate. Saw brilliance in Spenser. And that rankled Sonny. But over time, Clay more than proved himself. And became the closest of friends.

Sonny's throat lumps up at the thought of going back to the team without Clay.

Sonny has lost friends before. Teammates even. It's always been traumatic, but quick.

Never like this. This slow, painful, inevitable crawl toward death. He knows it's creeping closer and closer, and he can't do anything to stop it.

He's reminded of something Clay told him a few months ago.

It was after Sonny's close call with the torpedo tube. They were at the bar and Clay was still wallowing over Stella some and had a few beers too many. The topic of the tube came up and Sonny tried to make light of it. But Clay paled and became very serious. He admitted to Sonny that there had been a point near the end where he just wanted the tube to rapidly flood with water, killing him more quickly.

Sonny stared at him, kind of shocked and not quite comprehending. Clay said hearing him slowly die and not being able to stop it was worse.

Sonny didn't fully understand where Clay was coming from at the time, but he does now, as his friend thrashes weakly in his arms.

He knows Clay is dying. There isn't much left in the way of hope. To be honest, he's probably not all that far behind.

Sonny has his gun.

Knows he could end Clay's suffering.

His own too.

But he can't do it.

He thinks about what it would be like for the team if they found them like that.

He thinks about the cause of death that would be listed on Clay's death certificate.

About what Lisa would think of him.

And he thinks about the next of kin notification Ash would get. A notification the bastard doesn't deserve. He's not Clay's family.

This is Clay's family.

Sonny

Cerberus

Their brothers

Sonny knows if he was about to die, he'd want it to be with them.

###

The sun is just starting to come up when Clay goes a bit rigid in Sonny's arms, a harsh groan turning into a whimper.

"I know, Clay. I know," Sonny soothes, grip tightening around the kid's chest. "Just try to relax. I've got you. I'm not leaving." The Texan grabs Clay's left hand and puts it on Cerberus' head. "Feel that? Cerb is here too." He feels Spenser's hand move sluggishly as he grips the dog's hair and hitches another painful gasp of air. Cerberus whines and shifts closer to the young SEAL, offering what comfort he can as he lies against Sonny's uninjured leg.

In the dim light of the new day, Sonny can finally see what he's been feeling for hours.

Clay is covered in blood. So is Cerberus, though Sonny's pretty sure it's Clay's.

The kid's hair is soaked through with sweat, and his face is deathly pale. His eyes are clenched shut and his lips hold a tinge of blue.

Sonny just holds him tighter.

###

Suddenly, Cerberus is up like a flash, sprinting up the embankment, barking his head off.

Sonny has a moment of fear that the dog is going to give their position away, but then he hears it.

Sounds like Jason's voice. Like he's hearing it through a tunnel.

He can't quite pull himself out of the fog that has enveloped his brain, but he hears muffled shouts and sees movement to his left.

"Down there!"

"Are…alive?"

"Good boy…"

"Help… get Clay"

"Shit!"

"Trent! …down here now!"

"…watch out …leg"

Sonny instinctively tightens his grip on Clay as someone tries to pull his body away.

"It's okay, Sonnyboy. It's us, brother." Ray's voice. Tense. "Let go so we can help him."

Flooded with relief, Sonny's arms fall to his sides and he lets them take the kid from his lap.

Jason comes into hazy view in front of him and grabs Sonny by the nape of the neck.

"You with me, Bravo 3?"

"Clay…"

"He's alive. Trent is working on him."

Sonny releases a sob he's been holding in all night.

"Jace, he… I tried to -"

Jason's forehead touches his own.

"It's okay. You did good, Sonny. At ease."

And Sonny finally relaxes as the darkness claims him again.