(Both photos from the ERSATZ created by @clownsaint, middle picture is from Pinterest)
Carrie x Warwick
w/c: 1.3k
Summary: forced to wait out an attack in a cramped foxhole Carrie & Warwick bicker about tactics and risk, takes place during the pilot after Mophead's death.
tags: depictions of war, angst, death, violence, guns, mention of dead bodies, suicidal ideation if you squint, morbid fluff, close proximity, resurrection, bombs, injuries.
A/N: Ersatz has been plaguing my mind for days after watching it, these two specifically are too interested to not write about! Also thank you to @isu20 for helping me develop this fic!!!
"Well, so much for following your lead, reckon there's no point in holdin' back now huh?!" Carrie's raspy cackle somehow carried over the sound of bombs and screaming into Warwick's senses.
Warm blood slathered against his gloves and molded mask as he raised his head. He couldn't find it in himself to sigh at his fellow contam soldier's antics, taking in the bodies and wreckage he'd come to recognize each day out there on the Southern front.
Dirt flew through the air like its own ammunition thanks to the blast, goggles scanning for Munroe & Mophead in the symphony of whistles and screaming percussion.
The white haired amnesiac was severed in half a ways down the trench. Munroe was who knows where in all this carnage as another wave crashed down upon the trenches.
This wasn't ideal, but then again, Warwick had learnt to handle it, everything familiar despite the difference.
There wasn't a win to be had in this fight. Too many bodies were blasted and severed, and not enough hands were on deck to fend off the enemy. Someone would need to pick up the mess afterwards.
No need to contribute to the growing pile, even if they would all come back through the machine.
"Get down!" Warwick ordered the last standing soldier cackling through the falling bombs, spotting a small foxhole in the wall of the trench.
That would do. The only problem was getting into it along with Carrie, forever a stubborn one. As he fired another shot above the trench, wild with adrenaline and riding the high that battle served him, he was.
Warwick couldn't blame him for recklessness, if anything, it made Carrie a better soldier.
But boredom made one mad for anything of interest, even death. Warwick saw the symptoms clear as day in Carrie, didn't mean he'd tolerate it as Coperal.
He'd spent more than enough time dragging the soldier back to the machine to wake up and repeat the same song and dance.
It was his job after all to keep his team alive, even when his most loyal one was addicted to the fight, doing anything he could to stave off that sickly stillness.
"I said, get down Carrie!" One yank to Carrie's pack had him toppling from the top of the trench into the blood-soaked dirt along with his rifle. Warwick took the chance to begin dragging them both into the foxhole before Carrie could get on his feet.
The adrenaline always did make him run his mouth, thrashing and snapping as wild as the chaos around them. Despite his injuries, Warwick kept his arms firmly locked around Carrie's waist and collarbone, chest to the one-eyed soldier's back to prevent a fair chance at escape.
"Let go of me, ya bastard, ain't running away from the fight now!" Carrie snarled, limbs pushing at where Warwick held firm, squirming like a rat in a trap.
"I can take it then, and I'll take it now, ya worried I'll land my shot?!"
Warwick only shoved them both into the confined space following another deafening bang in response, the smell of damp dirt and wood mixed sickly with the ash and chemicals surrounding the two.
"Ain't no point getting blasted to smithereens, my boy," Warwick panted against Carrie's neck, keeping a tight grip on the frenzied soldier as he leaned back til his back met the closest wall, slumping down.
Hold still firm, Carrie clawed and squirmed despite the restricting space, muttering threats and growling jokes like bribes to loosen his captor's grip.
"Ya just couldn't let me have it, could ya mate? Gotta steal my spotlight or whatever you can get ya hands on."
The crude joke wasn't appreciated. Warwick tightened his grip in response, leather and fabric shifting against the other, turning his head to growl lowly once more.
"Knock it off, we wait it out. They'll need someone to pick up the bodies anyway."
"An when did ya start takin me for the janitor?!" Carrie snapped back, shifting himself to a more comfortable position under the guise of pulling away from Warwick’s hot breath, struggling, starting to cease, having tired himself out from his fit.
Much to Warwick's relief, feeling his comrades breath even out, trigger fingers twitching against Warwick's sleeve, nerves still wound tight but accepting defeat nonetheless.
"Nah, nah, none of that soldier, ain't no chance your shot'll make past the barbed wire at this rate. You're of better use fetchin' the dead for now."
The rumble of the Corporal's voice, with a smirk clear in his words, Carrie growled in annoyance at his body's surrender despite still thrumming with anxiety.
That sick itch to shove him off and run back into the fray for his rifle, but he'd been in this situation before, held against his will by the burly boar of a man to neutralize further damage. Carrie would have been more cooperative by now if his brain didn't crave the chaos like a fix.
He was just lucky Warwick was determined to keep him alive and had the strength to keep him in place.
Instead, his foot restlessly tapped against the wall, hands now clinging to Warwick's arm to ground him as another bomb whistled overhead before shaking the dirt walls of the foxhole around them.
In those moments, Warwick kept his cool and Carrie regained what little composure he knew of, the two listening for any more enemy fire sat in silence for a beat or two, letting the ringing in their ears settle to the still silence and whistling wind.
It was one of the seldom times Carrie felt something akin to peace, still tense but with the understanding that the attack had passed, he was content to play pretend so long as Warwick held him back.
It's too bad good things don't last.
"Almost over for us now, mate, whatever that was is easing on now. We just hold out til-"
Carrie suddenly gasped in pain, coughing violently as he looked down at himself with a certain ironic laugh.
"Hate to burst your bubble, but I don't think I'm up for that." Carrie interrupted as the pain of everything finally began to dawn on his body, the impact from before.
Warwick hadn't noticed how Carrie's chest had caved in beneath his clothes with the blood on Warwick's gloves, or with his objective to get them both to cover and stop Carrie from getting blown to pieces, he hadn't even noticed.
"So much for playin' janitor huh sir?" Carrie's joke quickly turned to garbled choking as whatever damage that impact had done stole his breath away.
From what Warwick could see and feel, it probably had punctured lungs, scewered further by broken ribs like an iron maiden poking it full of holes.
Warwick was thankful he'd lost that fear of seeing another man die in his arms years ago, unable to do anything but let Carrie down easy.
"You're in one piece, that's the best thing ya can be in this situation," Warwick assured as he kept his hold true while blood began to drool between Carrie's jagged teeth.
"You'll...carry me...back won't ya?" The words were drowned in blood as Carrie choked on his half-done remark, arm grasping and flailing once more between lungfuls of fluid.
Telling if the jagged-toothed soldier was laughing or crying was indistinguishable, white eyes widening as the familiar darkness crept in along his vision.
"Yeah mate, I'll carry ya back." Warwick confirmed through the last gory gasps of Carrie, whatever was still left of his heart slowed before giving up, body falling limp against Warwick's back.
Even still, after Carrie's body failed, Warwick took a good second holding his corpse, allowing what little peace he was allowed to linger, before standing to begin fetching the rest of the bodies to drag back to base.
He'd need to get Carrie's ribs fixed and a new set of lungs in him before he could bring his soldier back.
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