Sam sits in the debriefing, hood up and shaking. He's half slumped forward, one hand steadying himself against the table. It takes all his energy just to try to stay quiet, to breathe, that he keeps zoning in and out. The boss nudges him and it's almost too much to not cry out.
“Sam, you okay?”
He nods, not trusting himself not to whimper.
“Yeah, I just- I'm just tired. It was a hard fight.” He restrains himself from admitting he's injured; his teammates don't care. They've said so before.
As the briefing finishes, everyone stands up to leave- They usually spend the next few hours drinking a bit too much alcohol. Sam isn't sure that he'll actually be able to stand. He knows that when he does, there's going to be blood- it's already seeped through his attempt at a bandage, and he can feel it through his clothes.
“You coming or what, squirt?” Liam pipes up from the doorway. He knows Sam hates being called squirt.
“Yeah, I'm coming. I'm just stiff.” Liam groans and walks out, leaving the boss to deal with him.
“Sam? You sure you're alright?”
He hums as he pushes himself up, squeezing his eyes shut to try to blink away the spots clouding his vision. His hand misses the table as he reaches out to steady himself. He groans.
When he opens his eyes, he's on his back, Jack staring at him from the bedside.
“Hey.” Even with the fog in his head, he knows he's messed up.
“Oh, hey. That's it? You're injured. Why didn't you say anything?” He's not necessarily mad at Sam, but himself. As leader of the team, he's protective of them all, especially the kid.
“I'm alright. I just needed to…” Sam trails off as he realises he's in the medbay.
“You what? Needed to kill yourself? You can't do this, Sam. You got to tell us.”
“You said you didn't want to hear it. All of you.” His admission is quiet, and it hits the boss hard. It had just been an offhand comment a few weeks ago, not meant like this at all. Guilt settles in his chest as he looks at the kid, too small and injured and all his fault.
“It wasn't meant like that.” Sam nods slightly, eyes already closing again. “Get some rest.”
“I didn't want to bother you.”
“To hell with that!” It comes out louder than expected and startles both of them. “Listen, kid. If you're hurt after a fight you've gotta tell me, or at least someone on the team. And don't play it down. You're a part of my team and I need to know if I'm going to help you. Don't scare us like that again, please.”
Sam doesn't respond, instead he curls up -as much as he can with the tearing pain in his stomach- and shift to face away from the boss.
Jack's words were nice and all, but Sam knows he doesn't mean them.
“Sam.” His response is to pull the sheet over his head. He knows it's childish, but he's had enough of the boss' lies. He's not talking about this anymore.
“Get some rest, kid. We'll talk in the morning, but please believe me when I say I care about you, okay? Call us if you need anything, there’s a button by your pillow. Finn's about somewhere too.”
The rest of the team are sitting silently in the mess hall, waiting for news; Alex sits cross legged on the seat, playing nervously with the frayed ends of his sleeves, Liam sitting with his feet up on the table and Charlie between the two, eyes closed and hands in his pockets. Nobody had really said anything; Liam's complaining quickly shut down by Charlie's stern glare.
The tension is obvious as the boss walks in, but he's got other things on his mind.
“Whoever told that kid that they didn't care about him, and that they didn't want to hear it when he was hurt,” he slams his hand on the table “you don't belong on the team. Not Sam.”
Nobody catches the boss' eye.
“Wow. Really? All of you.” He scoffs as he leans in, ignoring Alex shifting away in his chair. “You had all better make it up to the kid or I swear, I swear, you will not last another day on this team. Do I make myself clear?”
Liam was the first to speak, dropping his feet to the floor.
“Sorry boss, but the kid just wouldn't stop whining. I just wanted him to shut up about it for a bit. Whining about that is just pathetic anyway.” Jack glared at him.
“You made Sam think that he needed to hide every injury, that we didn't care. You could have killed him.”
“It wasn't just Liam. He wouldn't shut up when he fell over.” Charlie spoke next. “It was doing our heads in. I just told him to tone it down.”
“When he fell over? The kid had his elbow broken when that happened. And you told him you didn't care. You have no right to treat the kid like that!”
“Can-Can I talk to him?” Alex doesn't look at Jack, but the shame drips off each word. “I wanna apologise.”
“The kid's sleeping. You can go in the morning. The rest of you,” he shakes his head “You need to think about what you've done.”
Sam doesn't sleep. The pain only seems to get worse; the morphine's effects long gone. A soft whimper in the darkness, his hand grasping at his stomach. The Boss had said to tell him, tell someone if he was hurt, right? He couldn't have meant that. His breaths are shaky, stuttering and the pain only grows.
He holds the call button in his hands, but half an hour later, all he’s done is clutch it tightly. The button remains unpressed; he’s afraid to. Sure, he was supposed to tell someone if he got hurt, but he didn't get hurt... he’s just in pain, and that’s not the same. He whines again, desperately clutching at his stomach. He isn't entirely surprised when it comes away red.
With another whimper, he buries his face in his pillow, tears welling in his eyes. It's a kick in the teeth when he realises he’s dropped his button, and another when he knows he can't move to get it.
Jack is walking past the medbay to go to his room when he hears Sam whimpering. He pushes the door open, unsure if he was in pain or having another nightmare. He'd told him to call if he was in pain, right? He can't help but gasp when he sees him. Sam's curled up tightly in the middle of the bed, shaking and whimpering as sweat beads up on his forehead and tears of pain leak down his face. As he comes over to Sam’s side, the boss spots the call button on the floor and the red beginning to seep through the Sam's fingers where they're pressed tightly to his stomach. "Aw Hell!" he exclaimed as he quickly found more painkillers for him. "Why didn't you call me kid? I'd have heard you if you shouted."
Sam moans in response; he isn't really sure where he is, or who's talking to him. The boss tries to uncurl him, gasping as he realises the amount of blood. That wasn't meant to happen. "Kid, you're okay." Jack curses under his breath again, pulling his phone out and calling for backup. Sam, usually a bit too stubborn, is uncomfortably pliable, barely protesting as he's pushed onto his back, and only letting out a small whine as the pressure increases on his wound.
When backup arrives, the boss is a little frantic. Sam has done nothing but lie limp and pliant, barely making any sound and eyes still squeezed shut. Jack isn't quite sure what Finn is doing - too much concentration on every little pained sound Sam makes and unthinkingly following any instructions the medics give him - but soon he is laid back on the bed, wound stitched and freshly bandaged, and a drip set up with painkillers and fluids. The boss doesn't want to leave him alone, in case he wakes up in pain again or something else goes wrong, and as he sit at Sam's bedside he can't help the bubbling feelings of guilt that he also contributed to him not getting fixed up sooner.
He apologises to Sam, not sure if he can even hear him, but he needs to say it. The youngest member of the team looks so small and fragile, but at least he looks semi peaceful. The fluids were helping, but the kid still looked too pale, too weak, in the boss' opinion. He knows it's cliche, but he holds his hand. There's still patches of blood along his fingers, and it's too cold. The boss returns with another blanket, laying it on top of him. Sam whimpers in his sleep, and the boss makes up his mind. The paperwork and reports can wait. He's needed here.
