Going to be away from home tomorrow, so I'm posting my final SEAL Team Week fic a little early.

Prompts used: non Bravo member, free choice

Dedicated to lostinanotherworld24, for all the chats about Bravo team dynamics, Vic being an actual grown-up, and how much he needs to stick around so he can balance out Clay's dumbassery - and also for coming up with some of the dialogue in this fic. If y'all haven't already, do yourself a favor and check out her excellent stories.

Title from the song by Sam Tinnesz.

On his fifth mission out with Alpha Team, Kees van der Berg falls behind.

It's not like it's really his fault, or at least not that he wants to admit. The damn hole comes out of nowhere. One minute Kees is running along, holding his own, and the next there's a jolt to his ankle and he's falling forward with pain racing up through his lower leg.

By the time he manages to scramble up to his hands and knees, get back on his feet and move, the tangos they were trying to stay ahead of are on him. With bullets pinging off rubble all around, Kees has little choice but to seek cover in the closest building. It's a husk, already damaged by earlier shelling, its empty windows gaping like a skull's eyes.

Turns out, in hindsight, that it's probably not the best place to take shelter. Unfortunately, Kees doesn't figure that out until just a little bit too late.

Pinned down in that building, unable to so much as pop his head up without getting it shot off, Kees suffers a moment of blind panic that Alpha might actually just leave him behind. They've got an HVT to escort, and honestly, he isn't sure they really like him that much. Thus far, his entire brief career as a Tier One operator seems to have consisted of getting sworn at, lectured, and forced to buy case after case after case of beer.

The teams don't leave Kees behind - he should have known they wouldn't - but in the end, it isn't Alpha who comes after him. It's Bravo.

It makes sense. The two teams were running together for this op, with Alpha taking point, taking responsibility for getting the HVT safely to exfil. That leaves Bravo free to come back for the dumb rookie who stepped in a hole and got stranded.

Well, two members of Bravo, anyway. They go high and clear out the tangos that had been pinning Kees down, and then they make it inside the building and the one in the lead yells, "Time to go, kid!"

Light-headed with relief, Kees gets to his feet, wobbling on the injured ankle, and heads for the open doorway.

Conveniently, that's when the mortar hits nearby and brings part of the building down on top of them.

The world seems to blink out, but only for an instant. By the time the debris finishes settling, Kees is already struggling up to his knees, brushing away small chunks of concrete, coughing and calling out. Embarrassingly, he didn't get a good enough look at the Bravo guys to determine for sure which ones they were, so he doesn't know which names or call signs to yell. Settles for just saying, "Hey! Y'all okay?"

It's a relief to hear the muffled coughing, the mumbled conversation that confirms Kees isn't alone here. That he hasn't gotten any of his DEVGRU brothers killed. At least not yet.

Shifting aside some rubble makes a hole that Kees can crawl through, and there they are: the two members of Bravo, checking each other over, a little dusty and banged up, but looking more or less okay.

Before speaking to them, Kees does a quick check of the badges on their sleeves. Bravo One and Bravo Two, then. Spenser and Lopez.

They pick themselves up, brush themselves off, and get to looking for a way out.

Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be one. The only exit is blocked by a big slab of concrete propped at a precarious angle. Daylight shows through a few holes overhead, but they're small, they'd be tough to climb up to, and the remaining ceiling around them looks so unstable that Kees cringes at the thought of even trying.

Apparently Bravo One and Two agree with his assessment. After a quick radio exchange with HAVOC, they come to the conclusion that there's nothing to do but wait for someone to come back and dig them out. Blackburn promises that that will happen as soon as possible, and tells them to hang tight until it does.

It's not exactly the Ritz, what with the nagging threat of further collapse literally hanging over their heads, but it could be worse. They settle in for the wait.

Based on the stories he's heard, Kees was expecting Spenser to be some sort of gruff, grizzled, taciturn veteran. The man in front of him definitely doesn't match the mental image. He's honestly kind of baby-faced, appearing much younger than Kees would have expected for a team leader - especially one with Spenser's reputation. Only the faint crow's-feet around his eyes give away the fact that he's probably somewhere in his late 30s or early 40s.

"Hey, kid," Spenser calls. He coughs, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and then asks, "What's your name?"

"Ah, it's Kees. Kees van der Berg."

And there's the little eyebrow raise that Kees has long since learned to expect. When most Americans hear a name like his, they generally tend to picture it belonging to someone who looks more like, well, Spenser himself. A black kid? Not so much.

Bravo One quickly moves on, nodding and shifting his weight with a slight grimace. "Well, Kees, let me give you a little piece of advice. That right there is Vic Lopez. He's my 2IC. If you hold still long enough, he's gonna start telling you all about his awful, shitty childhood. If that happens, my advice is to kick him in the nuts and escape while he's distracted."

Spenser's voice is acerbic and mocking enough to make Kees wince, his gaze flitting over to Lopez to see how he'll react. Bravo Two remains stone-faced, like he didn't even hear, though he most definitely did.

Spenser might be one hell of an operator, but he honestly kind of seems like an asshole. Lopez must be a very patient man if he's able to overlook that well enough for them to work smoothly together as One and Two.

There's awkward quiet for a minute, and then Lopez asks casually, "You know what I've been thinking?"

Spenser sighs deeply. "No, but I'm sure you're about to tell me."

There's that arrogant tone again, like he'd rather chew off his own arm than listen to anything Lopez has to say.

Seemingly unfazed, Bravo Two muses, "Jason and Ray must have really hated me if they wanted me stuck serving as your 2IC for a big chunk of my career."

Silence follows that rather blunt declaration, and Kees presses himself against the rubble at his back and tries to disappear. Interpersonal drama is not one of his favorite things. Give him a firefight any damn day.

Spenser tilts his head back to look up at the jumble of cracked concrete above his head. After a minute, he says in an oddly cheerful tone, "Yeah, maybe they did. Can't relate, though. They loved me."

Lopez coughs. "They told you that, huh?"

"Damn straight they did."

"Just out of curiosity, how much alcohol had they had when they said it?"

"None," Spenser says defensively, but then he grins and adds, "Morphine, on the other hand..."

Lopez's stone face suddenly cracks in an answering smile, and Kees blinks a couple times, conclusions shifting in his mind.

Huh. Okay. So that's how it is.

Lopez turns his attention to Kees and says, "You think my sob stories are bad? Wait till this guy gets started."

Spenser scoffs. "Come on, man, mine have got nothing on yours. Go ahead, tell the kid all about how you had to walk 10 miles uphill in the snow every day just to receive your daily beating, for which you were grateful-"

"Clay's parents never wanted him," Lopez breaks in, raising his voice just enough to drown out Spenser's. "They tried to get a 27th-trimester abortion, but it turns out those are illegal, so-"

"Vic literally had to sleep on a pile of rats, and they would bite him all night-"

"Clay kept finding his way back home after his parents dumped him in the woods, so they tried to launch him into space."

For an instant there's unexpected, blessed silence, but then both men start laughing.

"Space?" Spenser sputters. "Really?"

Lopez raises a laconic eyebrow. "A bed of rats? Come on, man."

"You didn't even let me get to the part where you contracted the plague," Spenser complains.

Lopez's other eyebrow goes up. "Is that even a thing anymore?"

"Hell yes it is." A pause. "But it's treatable with antibiotics."

"Explains how I survived, I guess," Lopez deadpans.

Spenser's attention turns back toward Kees. "How about you, kid? What's your story?"

Put on the spot, still trying to adjust to the unexpected shift in their dynamic, Kees mentally scrambles for a few seconds. "Uh, it's kind of... normal. I'm an only child. My dad's Dutch, mom is American. We moved from The Netherlands to California when I was a baby, so I grew up surfing and rock climbing and shit like that."

"Happy childhood?" Spenser prods, eyebrows rising. "No rats or abandonment?"

"Um, yeah," Kees stammers. "And no. Respectively. My family's pretty great."

Spenser groans. "Come on, man, that's boring. You've got to come up with something."

Kees blinks a couple times. Yeah, the legendary Bravo One is definitely not what he expected.

"Uh," he says. "I'm an only child now, because... because my sister was eaten by a shark. Right in front of me."

"Much better!" Spenser points at him triumphantly, then winces, dropping his arm to press against his side. The weather is actually pretty mild, but Kees spots rivulets of sweat starting to cut tracks through the dust on Spenser's face.

Shit.

Lopez apparently notices too, because he quickly gets up, with a wince of his own, and moves to his team leader's side. "Clay? Hey, man. Where are you hurt?"

Spenser sighs, letting his head droop back against the concrete behind him. "Think I cracked some ribs, Vicky. I'll be fine." He cracks his eyes open, fixes his 2IC with a sharp stare, and says, "And don't think I don't know you hit your head. How bad?"

"Headache," Lopez admits. "Not too bad. Don't think I'm concussed."

There's a pause. Spenser, his expression unchanging, continues to stare.

Lopez sighs. "Not badly concussed."

Then both of them look at Kees, their gazes pinning him like a bug on a board. This time he doesn't wait to be asked, volunteering, "Sprained my ankle. Hurts, but I can still walk on it. No other harm."

They accept that. There's not much to be done, no open wounds to bandage or fractured limbs to brace, so the three of them settle back down and wait some more.

For a while, everything goes quiet. Spenser and Lopez appear to be attempting to nap, so Kees tries to join them, but his hyperawareness of every gust of wind and shift of rubble prevents him from falling asleep.

He notices that Spenser keeps sweating, shifts from time to time, occasionally squeezes his eyes more tightly shut like he's fighting through an especially sharp spike of pain. Not sleeping, then. Just hurting and being quiet about it.

After a while, Lopez rouses to try to convince Spenser to drink some water. Bravo One stares at the canteen, licks his dry lips, and then says in a carefully even tone, "I... think maybe I shouldn't."

Kees stares at him in confusion for a minute, and then it clicks with a jolt that drops his heart harder than a collapsing building.

Spenser suspects that he's got internal injuries.

Fuck.

"Okay," Lopez says calmly, lowering the canteen. He keys his radio. "HAVOC, can we get an ETA on that rescue? Suspect Bravo One may be bleeding internally."

"Good copy, Bravo Two," Blackburn responds. "Estimate rescue is 20 mikes out. Hang in there."

"Understood, HAVOC." Lopez lets his hand fall away from the radio. "You hear that, Clay? They'll be here soon. Stay awake. Keep your eyes open."

Spenser nods, but doesn't say anything. Not until maybe five minutes later, when he suddenly whispers, "Hey, Victoria?"

"Yeah, Sediment?" Bravo Two smiles at his team leader, but it's tight and worried around the edges.

"I'm... having some trouble..." Spenser swallows hard. His eyes dip closed, then slowly open again. "Just take care of the kid," he mumbles. "Don't... let anything happen to him."

Kees feels the tiniest hint of offense that Spenser thinks he needs looking after, but it's immediately overridden by a much stronger sense of panic, because this is bad. Kees can't be the guy responsible for getting Clay freaking Spenser killed. This can't be how his Tier One career begins. His own team might murder him.

Spenser closes his eyes again. This time he doesn't open them.

"Clay. Stay awake." Lopez pats Spenser's cheek, then tugs gently at a strand of his tousled, dusty hair. When he doesn't get a response, he says more heatedly, "Goddammit, Spense, you are not making me go home and explain this to Jason. He will murder me and have Full Metal hide my body, and I'm too young and beautiful to die. Open your eyes."

Spenser coughs, lets out a faint groan, and manages to lift his eyelids enough to aim a vague glare in Lopez's direction.

"Hey, boss." Lopez's voice is light with relief. "You look pissed. How about you give us a nice summary of all my many flaws?" When he doesn't get a response, he cajoles, "Come on. The kid here has never heard your 'how do I hate thee, let me count the ways' speech."

"Annoying," Spenser mumbles.

"I'm annoying. That's one. What else?"

The two of them keep it up until rescue arrives.

To Kees's surprise, Alpha and the rest of Bravo, having gotten the HVT safely to exfil, return to help dig them out. When Spenser hears their brothers' voices, he actually rallies a bit, rouses enough to raise his voice and call, "McAdams, that you? We've got your kid!"

"So I heard!" Kees's team leader yells back. "Also heard you're a little busted up. Hang in there. We've got medics with us."

"Clay, talk to me," a distinctly Southern-accented voice demands. "How bad you hurt, buddy?"

That will be the Texan, Bravo Three, Sonny Quinn. Kees has heard plenty of stories about him too.

Spenser's face relaxes into a smile so genuine that it nearly melts away the deep pain lines. "Hey, Sonny." His voice falters a little. "I'm... okay."

There's an audible scoff from outside. "Sure you are, Goldilocks. You hold on, you hear me?"

"Yeah," Spenser manages, but so quietly that Kees figures the men outside probably can't hear it.

Once the block of concrete is moved, medics swarm over Spenser. It isn't long before he's carried out of sight, Lopez and Quinn staying as close to his side as they can.

With them gone, Kees's attention turns to his own team members, who cluster around him, checking him over, brushing bits of rubble out of his hair.

Lump in his throat, Kees faces McAdams. He swallows hard. "Boss, I'm sorry. I... my ankle..."

McAdams claps him on the shoulder, raising a puff of white dust. "You good, kid?" He asks shortly.

"Um." Kees nods. "Yeah."

"Okay. Just don't do it again."

And they go home.

It takes a while, but eventually news comes back on Spenser. He did have to have surgery for internal bleeding, but it was caught in time and he's expected to make a full recovery. Lopez has a concussion, but he'll be fine too.

All in all, Kees's first brush with disaster could have ended a lot worse.

Strangely, for all that he was nervous about the potential consequences of his mishap, things with his team actually seem to get better after that. He gets the distinct sense that they were worried about him. Oh, they still tease and lecture him plenty, but the demands for cases of beer start to tail off. His wallet is very thankful for that.

But then, a few weeks later, Kees arrives at his cage one morning to find a neatly folded note attached to the door.

It's a handwritten invoice for two cases of beer: one owed to Clay Spenser, and one to Vic Lopez.

Son of a bitch.

That's all from me for SEAL Team Week! I had fun writing these, but my brain is very fried now. Thanks for reading them!