Right Direction. (Hailee Steinfeld)

Clean.

TW: Mentions of suicide and death.

I'm fucking done with today. Like, completely.

I pushed the door open of the fire stuck with a huff and jumped down, throwing my helmet down on the floor shrugging my fire pants and boots off, leaving me in department issue cargos and generic LAFD shirt which had splatters of blood spread across the stomach as well as on my bare arms and hands.

"Tobs?" I heard Buck mumble from behind me as I walked away, I didn't stop walking.

I couldn't.

I held my hand in the air above my head. "I'm good. I just need a break."

"Show her as none responding." I heard my Captain say quietly, allowing me to have my space.

We're allowed 'recovery time' after certain types of calls, which is basically just time where you won't need to attend a call if one comes through. It's meant to allow you time to rest both physically and mentally, but from past experience it's basically time for us to grieve the ones we lose. Whether that's going to the gym just to feel anything other than heartbreak for a few moments, having a small nap, or just going into your bunk and crying. We all understood. We understood that these aren't things you can always talk about. Even if you want to, it's like you can't.

This was my second call of the shift, and i've already lost two people.

Two lives that I couldn't save.

"Hey, uhh...Tobin? You have a visitor here for you." TK said softly as he approached me with a small smile and his hands stuffed in his pockets.

I looked at him in confusion, before pointing at myself making him chuckle a little before nodding. "Oh. Uhh, could you tell them I'll be out in a few?" He nodded in confirmation before turning on his heels and walking away.

I needed to wash my hands.

I need to wash the blood off my hands.

The feeling off death, it sticks to you. It's hard to describe, but it's almost like a heaviness on your skin. Like a constant reminder that someone has died in your grasp. Their cold skin not leaving your own. I made my way to the bathroom, silently cursing myself for not stopping to put shoes on, my socks now on the bathroom floor. I took a few steps over to the bathroom sink and looked in the mirror, jaw clenching at the site of the few spots of blood across my face. Small, but noticeable. To me, anyway. Letting out a sigh, puffing out my cheeks I turned my attention to my hands which were resting on the side of the sink, clutching the sides till my knuckles turned white, only highlighting the sight of the blood on my hands even more.

I took a deep breathe. In, out. Forcing myself to let the air fill my lungs completely. Letting go of the sink I eventually turned the tap on, letting the stream swirl around in the sink before placing both my hands underneath the faucet, staring as the clear water now changed to a watered down pink and swirled around the plug before going down the drain. I cupped some of the clean water in one hand and used it to splash onto my arms, removing the blood that had made its way up there too. Grabbing the soap I spun it round in my hands before grabbing the small fingernail brush from the side and running it over the bar and bringing it to my skin, determined to scrub away any trace of my failures on my previous calls.

I scrubbed, and I scrubbed, and I scrubbed. Ignoring the burning feeling on my skin and how the flesh was turning red from irritation.

I sniffed as I changed hands, now scrubbing at the other. The world around me went silent, the only thing in my ears was the sound of Cara's screams, the screams of the family of the boy we just lost. The screams of death.