Hunger Games: unexpected, CharlieDraco, soulmate!au, "I'm not sure about this."/"Just trust me.", axe

Showtime, Right Hand Man: soldier!au

Amber's Attic: CharlieDraco

Hamilton Mania: stabbing (ball)

Word Count: 1472

Draco enters the medic tent, sipping his second cup of coffee. As a battlefield medic, rest is a luxury he can't quite afford, and caffeine has become his saving grace.

The tent is a disaster. Wounded soldiers rest in each bed. They deserve better attention, but all Draco and his team can do is keep them alive until they can be transported to a proper hospital.

With a tired smile, Padma shoves a chart into his hands. "Never thought I would be so happy to see you," she mutters.

"Busy night?" Draco asks, but he knows it's a stupid question. He had heard the noises through the night; it's always a busy night in the tent.

Padma yawns, nodding toward Seamus who has fallen asleep at his desk. "Call me if you need me," she tells him. "Don't wake Shay. He had to play surgeon at four this morning."

With a nod, Draco turns his attention to the chart, flipping through the pages. Three soldiers, all set to be transported before noon. Padma has already tended to them before he had arrived, so all he can really do is wait.

"Morning, Draco," Hannah calls as she enters the tent.

Draco opens his mouth to respond when pain suddenly rips through his body.

He knows all about the soulmate curse; everyone has a soulmate and will share their soulmate's wounds—only the sensations, thankfully, and not the actual marks. Draco has experienced his fair share of scrapes and burns, along with a broken bone or two, but never anything like this. The muscles within his left shoulder feels as though it's being ripped apart. Beneath the awful feeling of his body being shredded, there's an unexpected heat as something seems to burn as it passes through him.

With a cry, Draco falls to his knees, breathing heavily and clutching his shoulder. Hannah is by his side within moments, her blue eyes swimming with concern. He must have screamed really loud because Seamus' snores turn into a confused grunt, and his sleepy voice is barely audible. "What the hell happened?"

"Good question," Hannah says. "Help me!"

Draco barely registers what happens around him. He's vaguely aware that Seamus and Hannah are at his sides, that they struggle to get him to his feet and into a chair. The edges of his vision seem to blur and darken, and he breathes harder. He will not pass out; he is stronger than this.

"Draco," Hannah soothes, stroking his hair like she's trying to calm an anxious kitten, "it's okay. Talk to us."

"My soulmate… My bloody soulmate is a bloody idiot," he groans. "Went and got their stupid self shot!"

"Must be American," Seamus yawns, seeming to settle down now it's clear that there's no actual danger present.

Hannah rolls her eyes. "Go back to bed, Seamus." She grips Draco's hand gently. "Are you sure they were shot?"

Admittedly, Draco isn't sure what being shot actually feels like. His curiosity has won out several times, and he's asked some of his patients to describe it, but it's still something he hasn't experienced before. Still, from all the stories he's heard, there's no doubt in his mind that's what he feels now.

When Draco doesn't answer, Hannah lets out a heavy sigh. "Rest up," she tells him. "I can handle it from here."

"I'm not so sure about this," he groans.

"Just trust me. It's not like it's terribly busy today."

He's tempted to argue, but his shoulder aches too much. Besides, she's right. The current lot will be moved in the next few hours, and then, with any luck, the tent will be empty for a while.

"Fine."

…

At half past noon, once the soldiers have been transported, Draco begins to feel better. There's still a slight pain in his shoulder, but he knows the aftershocks of particularly nasty wounds can linger for some time. He manages to ignore and almost forgets it entirely until a soldier is brought in—a soldier whose left shoulder is wrapped in a bloody bandage.

"Don't look so shocked," the soldier says with a grin as he pushes his hand through his red hair. "I'm sure you've seen worse."

Draco stares at the soldier, mouth hanging open as he tries to process what he sees before him. It's a coincidence. Has to be. They're in the middle of war, and soldiers get shot all the time.

But he feels a strange connection to the soldier—Charlie Weasley, according to the dog tags around his neck—he can't explain. Suddenly, coincidences mean nothing.

"Just gonna stare at me all day, or are you gonna remove the bullet?" Charlie asks dryly, taking a seat.

"Right… I, uh… Bullet."

Draco curses himself inwardly. He's supposed to be cool and calm, but he feels like a bumbling idiot now. Trying to compose himself again, he carefully removes the bandage. "Looks good," he notes. "Should be easy enough to remove."

He takes a deep breath as he collects his tools. For several seconds, all he can do is stare at the gunshot wound, realization dawning on him. If he feels what his soulmate feels, he will feel it when he digs in there and tries to remove the bullet. The task takes a lot of focus and concentration as it is. If he has to actually feel it himself, he's fucked.

"I can't do it."

Charlie frowns and leans back in the chair. "First gunshot? Blimey, I knew you looked young, but I can't really be your first."

"You're not," Draco assures him with a huff, annoyed by the implication. "But you're… I felt it when you were shot."

Charlie doesn't say anything for several moments. A long stretch of silence hangs between them. His eyes soften, and he laughs. "How the hell do you manage to burn yourself so often?"

"Excuse me. I'd like to see you make coffee on an hour of sleep," Draco snaps.

Charlie laughs. "So… My soulmate, huh?" he muses. "I thought you'd be taller."

Draco wants to respond, but he realizes there's a more pressing matter at hand. The bullet is still embedded in Charlie's shoulder, and he cannot be the one to remove it.

"Hannah!" he calls, grabbing a stress ball and bracing himself for the inevitable pain. "I need you."

…

Hannah keeps looking between them as she wraps Charlie's shoulder. "So… soulmates," she says brightly, smiling at each of them in turn.

"Apparently," Draco says, squeezing the stress ball. The aftershocks of the bullet's removal still ripple through his body, but the stress ball makes him feel like he won't lose his mind completely.

"That's sweet, Draco," she sighs. "Met on the battlefield."

Draco doesn't find it particularly sweet. If anything, he curses the universe. He's always sworn he would never date someone in the military. As a medic, he's seen the way war can destroy a person, and he's tried to avoid catching feelings for soldiers.

But he doesn't tell Hannah this. Really, he doesn't feel like speaking at all. Even if he's managing his pain, it's still too much, and he wants nothing more than to sleep.

"All done," she tells Charlie. "You'll have to go through an evaluation, see if you're still fit for combat. We'll keep you here for observation in the meantime."

Charlie's eyes lock with Draco's, and he grins. "Perfect."

…

"The food is rubbish," Charlie says, stabbing at some sort of meat with his fork.

"Better than my cooking," Draco laughs.

Charlie abandons his attempt at spearing the meat and sets his fork down, opting to pick things up with his fingers instead. "Worse than this?" he laughs. "That's just sad."

"Oi! I brought you a get well soon present. No need to insult me."

The soldier tries his best to look contrite, but there's no hiding the mischief in his eyes. "A present?"

Draco fishes the little figurine from his pocket. It's silly, and he feels ridiculous for it, but it's the best he's got. He adjusts the tiny plastic axe in the goblin's hand before setting the figure down on Charlie's blanket. "It's stupid, but… I dunno. It reminds me of home," he says.

Charlie lifts the goblin, poking the axe gently. "You don't strike me as a Magic and Myth player," he notes.

"You play?"

The other man grins proudly, nodding his confirmation. "We'll have to get together and have a campaign when we're both back home," he says. "Magic and Myth, dinner, dessert?"

"That sounds an awful lot like a date," Draco laughs.

Charlie shrugs. "It is. You're my soulmate, after all."

Draco can't help but smile. Maybe he never wanted to love a soldier, and a battlefield romance isn't his style, but the universe has spoken. How can he ignore its call?

"I'm looking forward to it."