Archive of Our Own

The one thing Cameron McLeary wasn't expecting to ever happen again, was waking up in the land of the living. He thought maybe he'd go to Heaven, maybe Hell depending on the specifics of beating Billy Chamberlain's ass in the Bible, and he thought maybe it would be like sleeping forever. Maybe he'd simply cease to exist, maybe he'd fade into an inky blackness for the rest of eternity. But no, his tear stained eyes roughly blinked open, ears ringing and body aching. He'd never felt this much pain in his life, this all consuming, never-ending agony shooting through every nerve he had.

He opened his eyes more, staring uncomprehendingly at the sight that lay before him. What?

He was laying on his stomach in the derrick, flames engulfing everything, a fiery inferno practically sky-high, while the blaze licked at the steel of the beams that held the derrick up. He shifted, making an attempt to get up, but was quickly downed once again by the pain of his many injuries. How many did he have? He didn't remember having as many injuries before he… well, before he blew up the rig, but he supposes he was high on adrenaline for at least 12 hours, so maybe he didn't notice them. That, and he did just try to blow up the entire rig , which probably gave him a few new ones.

Delicately, he tried to roll over onto his back in order to get a better look at his situation. He was alive, sure, by some miracle, but there was no telling whether or not his injuries were going to kill him anyway. Carefully, he looked over himself the best he could from his position. 

He must have busted his head open, probably his nose as well, because he could feel blood trickling down his face, which was trying damn hard to ruin his eyes. He knew his arms had several gashes in them, because he had tried to bandage them up some before he had gone to the stack. He also knew that the flare stack collapsing had given him a few burns, and the impact had given him insane amounts of bruising and deep scrapes.

He did his best to sit up a little, trying to see how his lower body looked. Deep gashes littered his torso and waist, blood oozing out of countless open wounds and pooling around his body as it poured from him like a river. It was safe to say, if he ever somehow made it out of this hellhole, there was no way he would be able to save his Cadal jumpsuit, or his muck boots, or anything he was wearing. He had never been more glad that he didn't bring much to the rig. His boots were beat up, but still functional, however his jumpsuit was so torn that he was starting to feel the bite of the cold, even by the flames of the derrick. Burns littered his body, but they were surprisingly not too bad, considering he was at the heart of the explosion. Small mercies.

His hands and feet had gone numb, whether it be from the cold or blood loss, --(probably both, because he was never that fucking lucky)-- he didn't care, he just knew he needed to get blood pumping to them before they froze of from hypothermia. He was sure, if he took his gloves off, they'd be turning blue. Perks of falling into the North Sea in December.

Now that he had officially taken stock of how fucked up he was, it was now time to move onto the big question, how the actual fuck was he alive? Really, it made no sense. He was at the center of the explosion, he lit the lighter, he dropped it, it was supposed to be the end. He was supposed to die, maybe be a ghost or go to Heaven or some bullshit, and he'd be on his merry way. But no, here he is, alive and breathing on the Beira D Oil Platform. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

While he may have survived the explosion, he doubts anything else did. He was pretty sure everyone on the rig died way before he dropped that stupid fucking lighter anyways. He was the last one still kicking after Finlay died. Which means, right now, he was the only one alive to figure out what the hell to do. He'd rather not kill himself again , but looking at his situation, it was easy to assume he was going to die one way or another before a support ship or a helicopter or literally anything that could get him out would arrive. He supposed, for now, the least he could do was find somewhere comfortable to bleed to death or drown.

..

Roy..

..

Yes, he decided, if he was going to die anywhere he could choose on this rig, he'd want to be by Roy. At least it was something to do, other than wait to die in the derrick. 

Slowly, and oh-so tenderly, he attempted to get up. His body screamed in protest, and to be honest, as he was getting up he couldn't help but yell in pain himself. It's not like anyone was there to judge him over it anyway. He stumbled up to his feet, boots slick with blood and hands stained red, and he took a look around. It was beautiful, in a sense, despite how fucked up the entire thing was. The Shape, or whatever the fuck it was supposed to be called, seemed to have gone dormant once again. It spiraled up into the sky, but it lacked its lifelike nature. Where once it was pumping blood and ooze through its strange veins, it now simply stood still. Its once bright colors that reminded him of intestines had faded, now a dark and ugly red that crusted over and was now flaking apart. It seems he had at least killed what was on the rig, somehow.

On wobbly feet, he began his trek from the derrick to administration's roof, which was not going to be an easy task with how he was now. He limped through where he had walked in to end it all, and not a moment too soon, because behind him, the weight of the now dead Shape caused the entrance of the derrick to collapse seconds after he made it through. Breathing a sigh of relief, he looked around the deck. God, it was a mess. Blood drenched almost the entire deck, crates and tarps and wires and who knows what else were all carelessly thrown across every possible surface. And it was raining. 

Slowly, Caz limped forwards, searching for a way to easily access the roof. Maybe near the flares controls? He wasn't sure. Out of the corner of his eye, just a little ways away from the entrance of the derrick, he saw Muir and Innes. He couldn't help but stare. Muir's mutilated body cradled Innes even in death, tenderly keeping him close. Caz looked away before he started crying. God. He missed them. He missed them so fucking much.

He pushed forwards, the sight of his two coworkers forever engraved in his mind. When he caught a glance at Finlay's body, he couldn't help but tear up despite his best efforts.

I just want them back. I want to go home. I want to see my wife. I wish Roy was still here. 

Never in his life had Caz wished he was dreaming more than he did right now. Running away to this damn oil rig was the worst mistake of his life. If only he weren't so fucking stupid, if only he thought with his head for once in his fucking life. Maybe then, the rig would be fine. Maybe it was him being here that made this happen. Maybe he was the reason everyone died.

…And maybe beating the shit out of Billy Chamberlain was his biggest mistake. He thought about it for just a moment, before he quickly came up with an answer.

No. I don't regret it.

Getting into a brutal fight with Chamberlain was stupid of him, yes. So, so fucking stupid. But at the end of the day, the man had insulted Suze in front of him, with Suze in the room no less. He should have known Caz would rip him a new one, Caz had always acted on impulse before. Suze said he thought with his heart instead of his brain, and no matter how smart he was up top, his heart would always make the decision first. Suze.

But no, he didn't see fighting Chamberlain as his biggest mistake, not when he taught the man a lesson about insulting his wife.

At the end of the day, though, in some ways he didn't regret coming to the rig. He'd met some great people, Muir, Innes, Finlay, Brodie, Raffs, they'd all been such amazing people. Fuck, and here he was tearing up at the thought of them once again. He quickly snapped back to reality as the wind started picking up, the rain turning into a downpour. He needed to get to the admin roof and into shelter before he froze to death.

He made his way across what was left of the deck. It was leaning heavily to one side, and he could practically feel the rig slowly sinking into the North Sea. They had quelled the sinking before, but now that he'd blown a massive hole through the derrick, it was only a matter of time before the whole rig was submerged in the ocean. He hoped Suze wouldn't be too heartbroken, after all; She had wanted a divorce if he ran to the rig. What he would give to see her one last time.

The waves tore against the lopsided lower deck, eating away at Caz's legs as water splashed against them. As quickly as he could, he found a crew lift. The fuse box was shorting out and to be honest, even though he was an electrician, it would have to be a miracle from God in order for him to get it working again. He made his way up the first few flights of stairs, but was quickly blocked by crates in the way of the next door. God, it was a good thing he was basically a rig expert now.

He had been up and down this damn rig so many times he almost had the layout memorized, and today was the first day he'd been to half of the places. He'd never once gone to the stack controls before, but here and now he could point you the exact right direction. He hated this fucking place.

He made his way down a hallway or two, before he finally found another flight of stairs. Most of the cabins were flooded, as was most of the lower floors of admin, and he knew engineering was fucked, so he'd have to get as close to the roof as possible and climb from there. Maybe if the crane hadn't collapsed he could have taken that way, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He never wanted to climb on a fucking crane ever again. If he survived, he doubted anyone would believe him.

The stairs led him up two floors, where he landed at one of the higher floors of admin. He was surprised to see a lack of water damage, but he didn't dwell on it for long. With his luck, Rennick would somehow not be dead and the whole floor would flood, so he resolved to get out as quickly as he came. The next set of stairs were blocked by the Shape, rapidly decaying and flaking off into small, horrible pieces that hung in the air. Even if it was dead, he didn't want to go anywhere near it if he could help it. He looked around for any signs, and found one that proudly displayed ‘Roof Access’ , his saving grace. 

He fled down the hall, searching for yet another roof access sign, when he heard the telltale sign of flowing water. Fuck.

Immediately, he broke into a sprint, –(or what could pass as a sprint, because with how fucked up his entire body was, he was lucky to even be walking.)-- racing towards the nearest door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a roof access sign that pointed to the left, and he made a sharp turn down a conjoining hall. Moments later, the wood beneath his feet began splintering, and he picked up the pace. He practically dove through a small hole on the side wall that led to an offshoot storage room, and mere seconds later, the floor of the hall gave way into a river-like current. Thank fuck.

He looked around the room, finding a vent he could climb through on the ceiling. Caz took a deep breath, and hoisted himself up. Not far, now. The roof should be coming up soon; this was one of the last floors before it, and the vent would probably lead him somewhere close by.

Caz shuddered as he made his way through the dingy vent. To be honest, he was always a little claustrophobic, and needing to crawl through so many vents when his life was at risk was not making the phobia any better.

He took a deep breath, and continued forwards.

He wiggled his way through a few turns, and ended up climbing up a few inclines, before he found an opening inside the building on the same level as the roof. Not wanting to take his luck for granted, he forced his way through the opening and tumbled out, landing on his ass. If I survive, my doctor is gonna have a field day.

He quickly got up, stumbling towards the door that led to the roof. He opened it carefully, and he was greeted by a gust of howling wind and pelting rain. He stepped out and closed the door behind him, because his mother always told him to be polite when she was still around, and he clumsily started heading towards the hut he left Roy in. Fuck, the wind sounds so much like Muir. He shook his head, ridding himself of the thoughts, focusing instead on Roy. Despite the fact that Roy was dead, and Caz was probably going to join him, he couldn't help but be happy that he was going to see his best friend again.

The man was like a surrogate father to him, despite Roy being only thirteen years older than him, he was there when Caz's own dad was too busy being a raging drunk to care for him. He'd been there for him through ups and downs, hell, he'd even been Caz's wingman for Suze.

He approached the small hut, stopping just outside the door, hand outstretched and reaching for the door handle. He took a steadying breath, willing back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. With only a little bit of hesitancy, Caz opened the door to see Roy just how he'd left him. It was a surprise in all honesty, the explosion from the derrick was enormous, and really it should have been taking out the rig faster than it was. Whether it was a blessing or a curse, Caz wasn't sure yet.

Moving into the small space, Caz looked around a little more. There were radios, the phone, and papers were scattered everywhere. It was in disarray, just like the rest of the rig, but what stuck out to Caz the most was the phone hanging just out of Roy's grasp. He probably went into a coma and died shortly after he got their attention over the PA system. His heart clenched.

Caz couldn't help but begin feeling tired. It was probably from the blood loss, God, he was losing so much blood. It oozed steadily out of his wounds, and a small, illogical part of him wished for Roy to wake up and help patch him up. Caz shook his head, attempting to stop himself from thinking like that. He turned to the first aid kit, weighing his options. In the end, he decided to patch up the worst of his injuries, if only to prolong the time he could spend beside Roy. He was never the most religious man, and if there was a chance that he wouldn't see Roy in Heaven, he wanted to make sure he spent as much time as possible with him before he died.

He cracked open the large first aid kit in the corner of the room, digging through it frantically to find some gauze. It didn't take long to find it, and from there all he had to do was wrap it. He all but collapsed next to Roy, unbuttoning his collar and unzipping his jumpsuit in order to get a better look at what he was wrapping. Fuck, it did not look good. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to stay upright for so long.

He didn't want to think about his arms or legs, sticking only to what was on his torso. He was bruised to hell and back underneath his work shirt, which was drenched in blood and sweat. Several long, inch deep gashes littered his stomach, and the more he felt around, the more sure he was that he had a broken rib or two. He carefully began wrapping his torso, trying not to think about how he was sure he could see an organ or two peeking through his skin. He wrapped them tightly, and quickly zipped his jumpsuit back up. God, its so fucking cold.

With his injuries dealt with for a while, he looked over at Roy, who was staring blankly into space, unblinking. Gently, with tender care, Caz reached over and closed his eyelids. 

Now that he was sitting down for the first time in hours, he couldn't help the bone deep exhaustion that left him unable to get back up. He rested his head back against the wood of the desk behind him, and closed his eyes.

Maybe, if I go to sleep, I'll die peacefully, and I can see Roy in Heaven.

That sounded nice.

Him and Roy. He'd miss Suze and his girls, God, he'd miss them so much. But at least it wouldn't hurt anymore, and right now, all he wanted was for the pain to stop. Maybe, if he died here and now, he'd get to say sorry to the crew.

Just as he was drifting off, probably into a permanent sleep, he heard a noise. It was like static, and immediately, he thought of the emergency radio Finlay and Brodie had talked about. He opened his weary eyes, looking over to where several radios and antennas sat. Through the static, he could hear a voice.

“Beira D Oil Drilling Platform, do you read me?”

He'd never heard something more beautiful in his life.

“Come in! Beira D, do you copy?”

Caz clumsily crawled over to where the radios sat, unable to will his legs to get up. He reached up with unsteady hands, grabbing the radio that was talking. He had no idea how to work it, but goddamn he was gonna try. Desperately, he hit a button.

“Be-Beira D. I copy…?” His voice was raspy and low, he would be lucky if the person on the other side would be able to understand him.

“Thank fuck. Beira D, do ya know how long you've been off radio?!” The man on the other side was angry, but relieved. He could hear sighs of relief in the background of the transmission. “Get yer Installation Manager! Over.”

“Not… not possible, sir,” Caz coughed roughly, his voice strained from all the screaming he'd been doing. “Over.”

“What do ye mean, ‘not possible’?! Over.” The man asked.

“He's–” Caz choked on his words. To be frank he didn't give a fuck about Rennick, but he was allowed to be a little emotional after the day he had. “They're all dead. Everyone. Over.”

The silence from the other end told a lot.

“Say again? Over.”

“They're all dead. Everyone is dead but me, o-over.” He choked back a sob, willing himself not to cry over the radio. He felt like he was going to puke, like all his guts were going to come back up. He forced down a dry heave.

“Repeat, your entire crew is dead? Including Rennick? Over.”

Thinking back to his training on radio etiquette, Caz responded with a strangled gasp. “A-Affirmative. Over.”

“What's your name, son. Over.”

“Ca-Cameron McLeary. But my friends call me Caz. Over.”

“Alright, Caz.” The man started. “How the fuck did your entire crew die but you? Over.”

“Aye, well, ye probably wouldn't believe me if I told ya, over.” He chuckled. 

“Try me, over.”

Caz took a shaky breath. “We– we hit somethin’. Somethin’ big. It compromised the Beira's infrastructure, that's what Finlay told me.” He sniffed, tears threatening to leave his eyes. He really didn't want this poor guy to have to deal with him sobbing his eyes put on top of the situation on the rig. 

“Whatever we hit.. it… it was– it was horrible. Some organic mass. It took over the rig. It changed people. It mutated ‘em.” A sob wracked through him as he continued, tears evident even through the radio. “God.. fuck, it was horrible. It's horrible. I just want to go home. I'm gonna die here!”

Across the radio, the man tried to calm him down. “Deep breaths, McLeary! Take a deep breath, I need you to keep going, over.”

“Aye– aye, yer right.” Caz said through tears. “The jennies went out at one point, had to turn ‘em back on with Finlay. An’ the rig started sinking, so me n’ Brodie had to engage the tension winches in the legs.” He paused, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

“Aye? And what else? Over.” The man tried to encourage.

“The flare stack blew.. main feed ruptured, Brodie sent me out to switch the stupid thing to the auxiliary line. Didnae work, so I had t’ go out and relight it manually.” Caz tried to wipe away his tears to no avail, as they steadily rolled down his cheeks. “The stack collapsed w–... with me on it… hit the rig hard, that time.” He chuckled humorlessly, pausing.

The man on the other side of the radio waited a moment, before responding.

“So, the flare stack collapsed, with you on it, and you're still alive somehow?! ” The poor bastard was so out of his depth it was almost funny. “Aye, okay, fine, what next? Over.”

“Woke up in the under rig.. dunno how I survived, but I did. Finlay and Brodie thought I had died, but I met up with them in engineering. Brodie cut the cable or whatever it is that holds us t’ the seabed, so right now, the rig is free-floatin’--”

“Yer free-floatin?!?” The man cut him off, so surprised he had forgotten radio etiquette. “Erm, over.”

“A– aye, we're free-floatin’. Brodie… he– he—..” Caz choked, and his previously dried tears started again tenfold. “He drowned. In the pontoons. He drowned because I flooded them so the rig would even out. He drowned because of me. ” He sobbed, shoulders shaking under the weight of his dead crew mates.

“Deep breaths, McLeary. I don't need ye passin’ out right now, aye?” The man tried. “Over.”

“After he… after Brodie– dr… drowned– , Finlay… She tried to blow up the rig. Kill whatever it is on this rig. She didnae get very far.” He rested his head against the wood of the desk, unable to keep his head upright anymore. “She… she got crushed, under the crane. The rig shook, and i’ fell on ‘er. She told me… she told me to be brave. For them.”

The man on the other side pressed the button to respond, but all there was was silence. He was at a loss for words.

“For my wife. My weans.” He sniffled. “I took the lighter to the derrick, and I dropped it into the oil. Blew the rig sky high, I dunno how I survived. An’ now we're ‘ere. Over.”

The line was quiet for way felt like ages. For a moment, Caz was sure that the man had decided he wasn't worth the trouble and abandoned him, but after a few moments the radio crackled to life.

“Alright.” The man began. “A support ship was sent to the Beira D a few hours ago, when we first lost radio contact. It's roughly two and a half hours out, two if we push it at max speeds. Do ye think the Beira will make it thay long? Over”

Caz thought for a moment. “...Aye. It might. But… between you n’ me… I dunno if I'll make it. I'm… I'm not exactly in the best shape. O.. over.”

“You'll make it, Caz. We'll stay in contact until the ship arrives, okay? Over.”

“Aye.. alright.” Caz was skeptical, but he could at least hope. “But.. promise me somethin’, yeah?”

“...What is it? Over.”

“If… if I don't make it… can… can ye… fuck. ” He took a shaky breath. “Can ye tell my wife that I'm sorry… and that I love her more than anythin’?”

“...” The man sighed loud and heavy. “Aye. I can do that. What's her name? Over.”

“Susan McLeary.” He choked out. “We have two weans together, beautiful little girls. I missed their school concert coming here, y'know?” He chuckled wetly. “I'd give anythin’ to see it now.”

“I promise you, McLeary, you'll see ‘em again. And you'll tell yer wife that ye love her yourself, alright? Over.”

“Aye… I hope so.”

The rig creaked, shifting and swaying against the waves of the brutal storm outside. It had picked up since the radio transmission had begun, that was for sure. A wave crashed against the deck, sending the rig swaying to one side. In the admin hut, several radios and papers flew off the desks hitting the other side of the room violently.

“Caz?!” The man said, hearing the commotion over the radio. “Are ye still with me?! Over!”

“Aye, aye, I'm with ye.” He gasped, the sudden sway of the rig pulling at his injuries. “Fuck me! The rig is swaying with the storm is all. Fuckin’ up admins hut, for sure. Over.”

“Just try to stay on the line, aye?” The man said. “We need ye alive, over.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of them.

“Y'know…” Caz started. “After all a’ this, I'm probably gonna get the jail right after I get back.” 

“What'd ye do? Over.”

“Bastard by the name of Billy Chamberlain insulted my wife in a bar.” He sighed. “I was drunk outta m’ mind, so my first instinct was to beat ‘is ass. I used to be a boxer, that's jus’ how it rolled in that business. Fucker pressed charges.”

“Aye, that's nasty.” The man said. “What'd he say?”

“I dunno if I even really remember, t’ be honest. I-I was right drunk.” He laughed. “M’ wife was there n’ all, I think he might have called ‘er a whore, or somethin’. Whatever it was, i’ pissed me off n’ then some. Me buddy Roy ‘ad t’ hold me back ‘fore I ripped ‘im a new arsehole. Still landed ‘im in the hospital.”

“Well, if nothin’ else, it's proof ye love yer wife, that's for sure!” The man laughed good-naturedly, obviously trying to keep Caz alive and talking. “That's gotta count for somethin’! Over.”

Caz laughed, strangled only a little by the blood in his throat. “Aye, aye, ye.. ye may be right.”

The rig shook, and the rain tore at the windows of the hut. To his right, Roy's body swayed with the way of the rig. Caz closed his eyes, trying to pretend he was back on the mainland. It was easier said than done, because the longer it took for the support ship to get there, the more his body started to hurt.

“If–if only these damn m-medical kits ‘ad painkillers. I cannae find ‘em… no… no matter wh-where I go on this blasted rig.” Caz complained.

“How injured are you? Over.”

“Ye– …ye want the list alphabetically or chronologically?” He joked, trying to cover up his breathing, which was rapidly becoming more and more labored. “For… for starters, I've certainly gotten my… myself.. knee-deep in hypothermia, I-I can promise ye that. An’ I'm sure I've got mo–more bruises than ye can c-count.”

“Do you have anything external? Scrapes, burns, anything? Over.”

“ Aye. ” He stressed. “T 'be honest, ye… ye might want yer s-supply ship to work under the assumption that I'm bleeding out, ‘cause I patched myself u-up, but… I–.. I have massive cuts all over th’ place. Got… I've got some burns from.. from the explosion in the--the d-derrick. O–over.” Caz wheezed, desperately trying to even out his breathing.

“It won't be long ‘til the support ship gets there, aye? Just hang on.” The man soothed. “I'll radio them, tell ‘em to go full speed, aye? Over.”

“A-aye. Over.” And for a brief moment, Caz was left alone. 

His body felt heavy, and it felt like the weight of the whole oil rig was resting on his shoulders. For a while, it had been. 

I hope the guy believes me. Caz knew it would be a false hope to think anyone would believe him, but maybe, just maybe, if the support ship sent people onto the rig, they'd see the hell he went through the past twenty four hours. It was a little selfish, but he wanted to be believed. And Suze would so divorce him if he was sent to the Psych Ward. 

He looked out the window from where he sat on the floor, flexing his fingers and counting raindrops to try and keep himself from falling asleep. Thunder rumbled, and the lights flickered. God, he was so tired. He would give anything to sleep right now; he didn't have breakfast, he barely slept the night before, and he was so, so tired. Dark purple bags were under his eyes where you could see through the bloodstains, and there was a perpetual half lidded-ness to his eyes as he struggled to keep them open.

He just wanted to go to sleep. Curl up next to Roy, pretend like he isn't fucking dead, and die on this stupid fucking rig. He wanted to be in his own bed, held tenderly in his wife's arms. He wanted to be in his shitty fucking bunkbed in his cabin, waking up from a horrible nightmare. He wanted to see the crew again, God, please, tell him the crew was alive. He wanted to say sorry. Sorry he couldn't save them. Sorry it had to be him that was still alive instead of one of them. Fresh tears started rolling down his cheeks again, when the radio crackled back to life, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“The support ship is almost to yer location, aye?” The man said. “I need ye to tell me; are the generators running to full capacity? Is the rig lit up? Over.”

“T' be honest, I–I dunno. I know m-most of the rig is f-f– flooded , so most of the i–internal lights are toast. Th’ lights in ‘ere started flickerin’, too. Over.”

“Aye, alright.” The man sighed wearily. “Essentially, right now, the rig is a floatin’ unknown. Ye said yer free-floatin’ right now, and that's keeping the rig upright, aye, but it also means we dunno yer exact location. We dunnae wan’ the ship hittin’ the rig, so I need ye to do somethin’ fer me, aye? Over.”

“A–aye, alright wh–what do ye need me t’ do?”

“Yer in the admin roof's hut, yeah? Over.”

“Aye.”

“There should be a flare gun somewhere in there. I need youse to find it. Over.”

“W–will do. Over.”

Caz leaned up against the desk, using it to push himself up to his feet unsteadily. His eyes swept across the room, searching for where a flare gun could be. Locking eyes with a set of lockers, he stumbled over to them, nearly falling flat on his face in the process. With great effort, he searched through them. He found papers, photos, hell, he even found an old wedding photo of Rennick and his wife. There were clipboards, hard hats, a few loose socks and shoes, until eventually in one of the top lockers, he pulled out a dusty flare gun from behind a box. It was small, smaller than he thought it would be, painted a dusty old orange with rust on the handle. Quickly, he returned to the radio.

“A–aye, I found it. What now?”

“The ship should be about thirty minutes out, which means if it were daytime it'd be able to see ye. Since most of yer lights are out, though, it cannae see ye.” The man began. “What I need ye to do is go outside. Aye, I know it's stormin’, but ye need to fire one of the flare shots straight up in th’ air, aye? Over.”

“Aye, a–affirmative. I'll get right on it.” With shaky hands, Caz set down the radio and picked up the flare gun.

He took a deep breath, blood catching in the back of his throat as he fought to stay conscious. He needed to fire this damn flare. Bracing himself for a frigid wind, he put a gloved hand on the doorknob of the admin hut. With only a brief moment of hesitancy, he opened the door and walked outside.

Immediately, the rain soaked through his torn jumper and chilled him to the bone, the wind trying its best to blow him off the rig. He looked around, making sure that there wasn't anything above him to interfere with the flare. Fuck, the rig was sinking. Sea water freely splashed just barely below the deck, the legs and lower deck completely submerged. Large waves easily crashed over the upper deck, tearing at the cargo. It wouldn't be long now until the rig was underwater. For a brief moment, he thought of Muir and Innes still on the deck. He stumbled over to the railing to take a look, and saw just barely that Innes was still cradled protectively in Muir's mutated arms. The sight made him shed more tears as he tried to choke back a sob, nausea creeping into his stomach. He had a job to do.

He pointed the flare gun straight upwards, and then pulled the trigger. There was more force behind it then he was expecting for such a small gun, but nonetheless, it was successful. He watched as the flare blew up in the sky, illuminating the rig in a bright orange for just a few moments. Now that he was outside, he could see in the distance a large ship. It was one of the shipping boats, one that had tons of cargo on the back. It was supposed to be a routine resupply to stock the rig up on food and other items, but it's not like they'd need it now.

Quickly, Caz drew back inside. No need to make his hypothermia even worse.

He picked up the radio, pressing the talk button.

“Fired th’ flare, n–now what? I-I saw th’ ship a ways out, bu-but th' rig isnae doing s-so well. We've almost sunk up t’ the deck.” He updated. “They… Finlay an… an’ Muir an’ I-Innes.. ach, w-well, I… I didnae expect t’ take their b-bodies home, but th-they're about t’ be submerged.”

“I hate t’ say it, Caz, but they're not our priority.” The man said. “Yer the only one still kickin, so yer our top priority, over.”

“A–… Aye.” 

The two sat in a deafening silence, the disagreement from Caz clear as day despite the fact he didn't say a thing.

A few minutes later, he heard a loud horn from the incoming ship, and at the same time, the rig shook, rattling harshly as a tremor went through it.

“I h-hate t’ say it but… I need off this rig, right the fuck now!” He stressed. “The– the Beira isnae gonna hold very much longer.”

“Go out and fire another flare, aye? They shouldn't be much farther out. Over.”

Caz took a deep breath, before he stumbled back outside. He made his way to the area overlooking the deck again, and to no surprise the Beira was sinking rapidly. Sea water tore just inches below the upper deck, bleeding into the derrick and putting out a lot of the fires that were still leftover. Caz pointed the flare gun straight up, firing another shot. The ship was closer. How the fuck were they gonna get him off this damn rig?

Quickly, he fled back inside and grabbed the radio again.

“Wh–what d-do I d-d-dp whenever the– the ship gets ‘ere?” He asked.

“The support ship is gonna anchor down as close to the Beira as possible. Then, they'll probably send out a lifeboat.” The man said. “you'll probably have t’ meet them at the lowest point ye can get t’. Do’ya think ye can do that? Over ”

“Fuck… I-I might be able t’ g-get down there… but… but I dunnae think I could get through th’ water. I… I feel sick.” Caz admitted, voice low. Nausea churned in his gut once more, coming back tenfold despite the absence of the shape.

“That's fine. When I tell you, I need ye to go to the lowest point ye can, and when ye can't go any farther, use a flare, aye? Over.”

“Aye… aye, I can do that.” He breathed. 

They stayed in silence for a few minutes longer, before the radio crackled to life again.

“The ship is anchored, they're sending a lifeboat over now. I need ye to hang up and try to meet with ‘em, if you can't make it, make sure ye fire the flare.” The man said. “I probably won't end up seein’ ye again, I don't usually do this. Over.”

“A–aye…” Caz blinked away tears. “D… donnae forget the promise.. if ye hear tha’ I don't make it out alive, yeah? I… I hope maybe I'll see ye.”

The man was quiet on the other end. “Aye. I hope I see ye too. Good luck, Caz. Over and out.”

“Aye… o-over and out.” Carefully, he set down the radio, turning his eyes over to Roy's body. He crawled his way over, hesitantly getting close. With shaky arms, he wrapped Roy's cold body in his arms, giving him one final hug before he left. It would be the last one the two would ever share, and the thought of such a small thing gone permanently made Caz's shoulders quake as he sobbed.

“I… I'm– I'm so sorry, big man.” He choked, his face curled into the nape of Roy’s neck as he stained the man's shirt with tears and snot. “I'll… I'll see ye so-someday, aye? I-I… I promise. God, I miss y e.” Caz coughed roughly, crying so hard it was difficult to talk. “I love ye, big man. I… I love ye so much. I wish it wasn't like this.”

On shaky feet, he stood up. His eyes combed over Roy's body one final time before he forced himself to turn his back and look away. God, fuck, please , he didn't want to leave Roy. “I love ye so fuckin’ much. I'm sorry, Roy. I'm sorry. I-I… I… I have t’ go… Efters.”

Flare gun in hand, he pushed himself to the door. He opened it, stepped out, and closed it with purpose.

He needed off this rig. Now.

Wind whipped at his face, the brutal rain soaking him to the bone, eating away at him. The rig shook, quaking and giving way under the weight of the ocean; Mother Nature's final goodbye to him singing in his ears in the form of creaking metal and howling wind. Hand gripping what was left of the safety rails, Caz shook and tripped and stumbled down the stairs that led from admins roof to the deck. He crashed to the ground at the bottom of them, falling to his knees and gripping a hand against his mouth to try and bite back the nausea building up in his throat.

The violent waves of the ocean caressed the deck, washing away debris and sending anything in its path straight off the side of the rig and plummeting into the ocean. The rig was at a steep angle, and Caz’s heart sank as he surveyed the area. 

When he tried to stand, he was knocked right back down by the waves, and so he made the split second decision to point the flare gun straight up into the air and fire it. He heard several shouts just a little ways away, and he almost melted in relief. Tears pooled in his eyes as several moving blurs came into his vision, flashlights in hand as they rushed closer.

It felt like he wasn't in his own body. Like he was just a bystander. Several men were at his side out of seemingly nowhere, voices indistinguishable as they blended in with the sound of the storm. Vaguely, he could hear snippets.

“Aye, he was no lyin’...”

“What is this fuckin’ stuff?”

“Is he even gonna make i’ te th’ ship?”

His head felt like it was full of fog, like cotton was in his ears and stones were in his lungs and belly, like all his limbs had turned to lead. He felt hands grab him, and he couldn't help but flinch and whine in pain as they harshly grabbed one of his gashes, irritating the endless bruising on his body.

“Carefu… …op man…. ‘e was hurt.. ..hell n’ back…”

God, his head hurt. His head pulsed in pain with the waves of the ocean. Distantly, he felt the men pick him up. 

“Christ, he's gone cold!”

“Fuck, I think he's dead!”

He coughed, blood coming up his throat. 

“He's breathing, thank Christ.”

“Come on… wake up!”

He was awake, wasn't he?

“Can ye hear me, Caz? Caz!”

“Why's he no waking up?”

He was so tired. He was so tired.

“Caz!”

It hurt so much.

“Is he gonna die, Brodie?!”

He closed his eyes, giving up on the constant struggle to stay awake. 

He could feel himself being set down somewhere, somewhere dry and out of the rain, but by no means warm.

A horrible chill settled into his bones as he felt his consciousness slowly faded away, falling through his grasp like grains of sand.

He could almost hear Suze talking to him, he felt himself hallucinate the sensation of laying in bed beside her back at home. He missed holding her close, he missed looking into her beautiful eyes, he missed talking to her, he missed her .

Maybe I'll see her again. He thought to himself hopefully, the last of his conscious thoughts fading away as he slipped into a deep sleep.  For her, I'll plow on.