Chapter Text
The Youngbloods are loud, talking over each other as they wander down the hallway.
Benz hangs back from the others, quiet as he resists the urge to rub at his shoulder. It’s aching terribly and he knows that he was most likely hit with some of the shrapnel from that building blowing up. But it’s not a big deal yet. He’s fine.
It was a successful run, he should be thankful for that. They don’t have too many of those anymore, not now that the desert rebels are keeping the City on its toes. It seems like for every victory the killjoys have, it only makes things harder for them down here.
Benz sighs but it’s easily drowned out by the noise of Stakes and Sandman bickering. He doesn’t tune into whatever stupid thing they’re arguing about but it does make his mouth twitch into a smile. He’s relieved to see his crew in such high spirits.
With the information they stole tonight, the Underground may finally be able to gain a step in front of Better Living. This is a win that’s been a long time coming.
Now, if only he could figure out how to slip away and patch himself up without the other three noticing.
They turn the corner of the long hallway they’re in, heading towards the cafeteria for a much needed meal. Benz spots his opportunity and turns left as they turn right, hurrying as much as he can- without appearing suspicious- in the opposite direction, towards his office.
Each step jars his shoulder and he has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from showing the pain on his face. He passes a few people on his way, but he’s lucky and most just nod before carrying on with their business.
At last, Benz arrives at the door to his office. He fumbles with the handle for a moment, his non-dominant hand and the pain making the task far more difficult than it should be.
Once inside, he flips on the light and closes the door, making sure to lock it after. He doesn’t want anyone coming in and interrupting or, worse.
Benz mutters to himself as he gathers what he’s going to need. Tweezers, alcohol wipes, needle and thread, and a small basin.
His hands are shaking even more as he sets his supplies down on his desk and sinks into his chair. He’s done this before, patched himself up, but the thought of doing this without anesthesia or even pain medicine is starting to get to him. Benz shrugs it off. He’s a doctor, this is what he trained for.
Besides, he can remember reading about one doctor, back before the Wars, who amputated his own arm without any anesthetics whatsoever. If he can do that, then surely Benz can dig a few pieces of glass out of his shoulder.
He doesn’t own a mirror, at least not one close enough to get to without going back outside, and so he’s going to have to do this blind. He allows himself a moment to close his eyes, to gather his thoughts and force the panic to retreat. In its place, he makes sure that this feels just like any other surgery he’s done.
This is one he’s performed hundreds of times. He knows what he’s doing. It’ll be like when he had to dig that bullet out of the runner last year when the power was out. If he could do that procedure essentially blind, then he can manage this.
Benz blows out a strong breath and shrugs off his jacket, wincing at the sharp pain the action brings. He looks at the damage from the corner of his eye and has a brief moment where he nearly freaks out again.
He was right about the glass. Six, maybe seven, pieces are embedded in his shoulder and chest. One is too far up, too close to his carotid artery.
But the fact that he isn’t dead means that either it’s in there just right to plug up the bleeding- thus meaning he’s going to bleed out the second he pulls the glass out- or it missed it by a hair. Either way, the stakes were just raised ten-fold.
Benz debates giving up, using his radio and calling for one of the others. They’d be able to help him.
But he quickly talks himself out of it. This isn’t something he should worry them with. He’s fine, really. So long as he’s careful and is lucky enough that the shard near his artery isn’t actually in it.
With one arm, he reaches over and takes the bottle of alcohol and unscrews the top with his teeth. After spitting the top out, Benz puts the sleeve of his jacket into his mouth. He’s going to need something to bite on.
He doesn't waste any more time and, in one fast motion, pours a generous amount of the alcohol over the wounds. The sleeve he’s biting down on can’t stop the scream he makes as his entire shoulder burns like he’s stuck red hot tongs into it.
It takes a long time for him to blink the spots from his vision and even longer before he’s able to focus enough to grab the tweezers. His hands shake as he brings them up to the biggest piece of glass, the one sticking out of his shoulder.
Benz yanks it out in one hard tug. The pain hits him instantly and he nearly passes out from the intensity of it. He has to sit there, trying desperately to breathe through his nose and blink away the spots returning to the edge of his vision.
At this rate he’s not going to get the glass out within the hour. But there’s nothing he can do. He doubts he’d be able to go get help at this point and it’s not like they won’t do exactly what he’s doing now.
Anesthetics are too expensive, too hard to get ahold of, for him to waste them on something like this.
He steels himself and lifts his hand back into place to grab the next shard.
_________________________________
Sandman turns around with a smile already on his face, ready to ask Benz if he wants to sneak into the kitchen and see if they can get some of the leftovers from breakfast. He freezes before any sound can leave his mouth.
Benz isn’t behind him.
“Guys,” he asks, loud enough for Stakes and Phantom to hear and stop walking. “Where’s Benz?”
They come up to either side of him, all of them just staring down the empty hallway.
Sandman is certain that Benz had followed them back in. He’d been talking to him while they deposited their bags and went in search of food.
That was only a few minutes ago, a half-hour at most.
Had he told Sandman where he was going and he just didn’t hear?
“That’s weird,” remarks Stakes. “He was right behind us?”
That’s what Sandman had thought.
His gut is telling him that something is wrong. Benz would have told them if he was going anywhere.
Had they been followed back? Could a Drac really snatch Benz right from behind them and none of them even notice?
No, Sandman shakes his head. That’s impossible.
They’d have heard something.
So, that means that Benz must have wondered off on his own. But why?
“He said his shoulder hurt,” Phantom says with a shrug. “Maybe he went to go lay down?”
Sandman frowns. He doubts that it’s something as mundane as that. Benz doesn’t just “go lay down”.
He’s nearly as bad as Sandman for working until he drops- or until one of the others yells at them.
Even when he’s hurt, it’s hard to get him to sit down and-
Oh.
Fucking hell.
“Check his room,” Sandman orders, only waiting for the other two to nod before he takes off down the hall.
If Benz was hurt and didn’t fucking tell them Sandman swears to god he’s gonna kill him himself. He dodges everyone he passes in the hallway, not even stopping to apologize as he runs towards Benz’s office.
When he finally makes it, he finds that the door is locked. He has to fumble with the keys on his belt to find the right one and, once he does find it and unlock the door, he swings it open without hesitation.
The first thing he sees is Benz.
The relief doesn’t have time to set in because the next thing he notices is that Benz is not moving. There’s blood all over him and in his hands is a needle and thread, as if he’d passed out before he’d gotten the chance to sew himself back up.
Sandman has to swallow down the bile rising in the back of his throat as he steps cautiously forward.
This close, he can see the multiple deep gashes in Benz’s chest and shoulder. They’re still bleeding sluggishly and, on the desk beside him, rests a small tin with multiple shards of blood stained glass. Sandman gags but forces himself forward again.
He presses two fingers against the side of Benz’s neck that isn’t full of fucking holes and nearly drops with relief as he finds a heartbeat. It’s a little weak but still, somehow, surprisingly strong, meaning he probably just passed out from the pain or blood loss.
Sandman’s shaking as he unclips his radio and calls the others, asking them to fucking hurry. He can’t do the stitches that Benz really needs- his stupid fucking hands shake too much- but the others can.
It feels like hours, but is more likely only a few minutes, before Phantom and Stakes are rushing inside and taking in the scene.
Stakes comes forward first, coming beside Sandman and shooing him to the side. He pushes the lab coat the rest of the way off of Benz’s shoulders and takes the needle and thread out of his hands as well.
At this, Benz groans, his eyelids fluttering.
“Nuh?” he slurs, fixing an unfocused gaze on Sandman.
“Shush. We’re gonna finish fixing you up.”
He doesn’t mean to sound so harsh. But he doesn’t feel bad for it either.
Benz frowns but doesn’t say anything. His silence is unnerving.
Is he hiding another, even worse, injury?
The thought makes Sandman sick to his stomach but there’s not like he can do anything right now.
Stakes is mouthing at him to hold Benz down and he finds himself doing so numbly. Benz doesn’t fight back as he and Phantom get better grips on him. But he does nudge Sandman’s hand with his own, quietly asking for his support.
Even as out of it as he is, Benz probably knows this isn’t going to be pleasant, and so Sandman doesn’t waste a second in taking his best friend's hand. He may be pissed but that doesn’t mean he’s enjoying the thought of what Benz is about to go through.
Stakes begins pouring some alcohol over the wounds and Benz groans low in his throat, a pain filled noise that sounded like it had been ripped from him. Sandman doesn’t know who’s squeezing tighter, himself or Benz, but somehow they make it through Stakes pouring another round of disinfectant over the wounds.
As Stakes sets the bottle aside and starts threading the needle, Phantom starts talking. Sandman instantly recognizes what he’s doing, keeping Benz calm so he doesn’t freak out while they stitch him up. But he finds himself focusing on what Phantom is saying as well. He’s not even the one who’s hurt and he feels sorta bad for being basically useless during this whole thing. But hearing Phantom’s low, comforting voice as he talks about nothing helps Sandman stay calm as well.
“S’ndy?” Benz mutters, rolling his head in Sandman’s direction.
He squeezes Benz’s shoulder gently, trying to offer as much reassurance as he can with this hard lump in his throat.
He doesn’t have time to do anything else before Stakes is beginning the stitches. All Sandman can really do is hold Benz still as he tenses and groans. It takes everything he has to keep from freaking out at each pained whimper that comes from Benz.
The whole process only takes a few minutes and soon Stakes and Phantom are working together to put bandages on. Sandman knows he should help them but he can’t take his eyes away from Benz.
He’s breathing heavily, face pale, and his eyes are distant. But he’s awake and Sandman is increasingly aware that he’s reaching the end of what he’s going to be able to take without at least something for the pain.
But that’s the problem. If he’d have waited or told one of them before he tried to do fucking surgery on himself, they might have had time to put him under. All Sandman can do now though is listen to Phantom blab on about what so and so has been doing lately, and let Benz squeeze his hand so tightly he’s afraid he’s going to have bruises.
Phantom is mainly just retelling gossip, not even particularly good gossip, but somehow it’s enough to keep Benz calm as Stakes puts the finishing touches on his bandages. The whole process is over quickly and, at last, Sandman allows himself to relax.
Benz comes around more after the bandages are taped and he tilts his head to look up at Phantom.
“Why are you guys here,” he whispers, voice hoarse.
He sounds absolutely terrible and he still looks too fucking pale, but Sandman can’t help the way he snorts at Benz’s question. It earns him a tired, yet fond smile.
“Because you were hurt and didn't tell us,” Phantom scolds, stern but still somehow gentle.
Benz looks away and releases his grip on Sandman.
“Oh.”
_______________________________________
Sandman stays glued to Benz’s side for the rest of the day, helping him back to his room and refusing to leave even after he’s been, quite literally, tucked into bed.
Usually, he’d hate this kind of coddling. Getting hurt comes with the job; they all know that.
But his head is stuffy from the pain meds they gave him- insisted upon more like it- and he still feels badly enough to appreciate Sandman running around grabbing him a drink or book to read.
While Benz doesn’t remember much after he got to his office, from the way Sandman is acting, he must have been quite a sight for the others to walk in on. He feels bad about that, making them worry.
And he finds it kind of funny, actually, to be in this position. Usually it’s the other way around, with Sandman hiding something and giving them a heart attack out of no-where.
Benz scrubs his eye with the back of his hand. He hasn’t really been able to retain anything he’s been trying to read in this book. Under normal circumstances, he has no trouble getting lost in a good book but today his mind’s just not in it.
That’s not surprising though. He did have a rather large shock on his system with the injuries he sustained. But that doesn’t mean it’s any less annoying. He hates being useless like this, unable to even the most mundane of his hobbies.
“If you keep huffing I will lug this pillow at you.”
Benz turns towards Sandman. He’s sitting on the bed beside him, the blankets only around his feet while he flips through some files. The pillow that he had in his lap to hold the stack of files is now being held threatingly in Benz’s direction.
“Sorry.”
Sandman frowns, apparently not pleased with Benz’s fast apology. He lowers the pillow and gives Benz a worried look.
He doesn't have the energy to argue with Sandman today, even for fun. Bue that doesn’t mean he wants him to worry over him.
“You alright?”
Benz is getting sick of hearing that question.
“Yes. I’m fine. Just a little worn down.”
“A little,” Sandman scoffs.
“Well I’m not dying by any means but I certainly don’t feel great, Sandman. What do you want me to say?”
“Maybe an apology,” Sandman shoots back.
Benz gets the feeling that he doesn’t mean for the continued sighing.
And yeah, sure it wasn’t his brightest moment when he’d decided to slip off and deal with his injuries by himself. But if anything, that’s exactly what Sandman would have done if the situations were reversed.
And Sandman knows that. He has no right to be upset over Benz doing the exact thing he does.
“I’m sorry I acted like you for a moment. It’ll never happen again.”
The sarcasm slips off his tongue thoughtlessly. It seems he does have the energy to argue with Sandman today.
But it’s only because Sandman does this shit all the time. He gets hurt while doing stupid shit- shit Benz usually has told him not to do- and then Benz is the one to find him half dead in his room because he thought he could sleep off a blaster wound.
What’s strange though, is that Sandman doesn’t take the bait this time. All of the anger seems to dissipate out of him, leaving him with a sort of heartbroken expression that makes Benz’s stomach ache.
“Maybe that’s the point,” Sandman whispers.
“Sandman-”
“No. listen I- I don’t mean it like that. Like it sounds. But I know I fuck up a lot and don’t realize something’s as bad as it is until it’s too late. I’m stubborn and an idiot. I know. But you may be stubborn too but you’re far from an idiot.”
“I really thought I could take care of it,” Benz whispers.
It’s the truth.
“I know. But you shouldn’t have to do it on your own, okay? Just ‘cause you’re the doc doesn’t mean you gotta fix yourself up too. Please just- next time, tell one of us?”
Benz nods, his throat feeling oddly tight.
He hates the fear in Sandman’s eyes right now. Hates how he knows just how badly he scared the others earlier.
He never meant to hurt them.
“I promise.”
________________________
Stakes pushes the door open to Benz’s room, fully expecting to see him up and about. Getting him to rest is nearly as hard as getting Sandman to do literally anything. He’s prepared to forcibly send Benz right back to bed.
But, to his surprise, Benz is still in bed. He’s fast asleep, wrapped warmly in his blankets with Sandman curled up beside him.
They’re both snoring slightly and Stakes smiles before he backs out slowly, closing the door with a soft click. Phantom gives him a puzzled look.
“There’s no way they’re actually listening for once.”
Stakes shakes his head.
“They’re out cold.”
“Both of them?” Phantom asks, surprised.
“See for yourself.”
He creeps forward and Stakes stands to the side so he can creak the door open to peer into the room.
Phantom steps back a moment later, a pleasant surprised smile on his face as he closes the door behind them.
“Yeah, I’m surprised too,” Stakes admits. “But we both know they’re not good enough actors to fake that.”
“True. Should we set someone up out here to make sure Benz doesn’t try to go back to work when he wakes up?”
Stakes sighs but Phantom isn’t wrong. The second Benz is able to walk he’s going to try and go back to his lab.
“Yeah. I’ll get O’Neal to cover it. The idiots actually listen to her.”