#but I've so often seen folks just getting started freeze up because it all feels impossible | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hainethehero · 4 years

Text

The HARRINGROVE War AU that no one asked for...

"Jetty!"

"Oh fuck!"

"Fucking hell man! We're fucking dead-"

"Shut the fuck up Meyers!"

"Andrews! Get the medic!"

"Fuck- my goddamn arm!"

"Tommy-!"

The sounds are still in his head, knocking around his brain inside his skull. His eyes haven't closed in days and he's pretty sure his skin is falling off his bones. He feels sick and dirty and his hair feels dirty and unkempt. It had grown back so fast in the short period of time he'd been here... in Hell.

His body hurts, bones jarring and scraping against each other with every movement. There's a throbbing on the left side of his ribs, and the stinging pain of a festering wound on his right. It's been burning for days. His legs are sore, right leg wrapped up to the knee and oozing thick, dark red. The bandages around his head have started getting sticky with sickening ointment and congealed blood. His lips sting painfully every time he passes his tongue over them. They're cracked and busted in several places, red and raw where the skin's been opened.

God, what had they done to him?

He feels a presence near him and freezes, even though the bombs ringing in his head don't quite stop exploding.

"Hi Ms. Nancy, how's he been?"

"You're always right on time Soldier."

The woman's voice sounds familiar but he can't place it in his hazed state.

"I made him a promise." The man responds, a dark, echoing loneliness in his voice.

"Of course," Ms. Nancy replies, walking closer to fix something very near to his left side.

And somehow, his body fails him and goes stiff, sitting upright with his eyes wide and frightened. His jaw is locked tight and his fists are clenched, knuckles white. Every instinct in his body is warning him to get away- to run away from the danger, as if he'd be torn apart by the bomb Ms. Nancy was currently setting atop the bed. A terrified whine escapes his throat and a solitary tear runs down his pale cheek.

"He's been getting worse huh?" The Soldier asks, not unkindly, just kind of sad.

"So far, we've only seen nine cases of men recovering from shell-shock. It's not promising... one of them died last night."

"Died? Did it spread?"

"No Soldier. He put a gun in his mouth."

There's a sudden silence that falls over them, cold breeze billowing through the over-arching windows of the stone Catholic church they'd set up the triage in. Even the pained and terrified moans and cries of grown men had fallen into the hush, as if God himself were present.

Then Ms. Nancy speaks again:

"There's been a new shipment of iodine and sodium hydroxide today. From the French. We've been ordered to ration it but I think he needs his wounds cleaned again."

"Thank you."

........................

He hates when the nurse bathes him.

Hates how useless it makes him feel. Hates that he'd become so cowardly, like a child afraid of the dark. Her thin but gentle hands wash over him, soothingly passing the clean water over his skin, careful not to disturb the wounds. But he feels so wounded all over.

By the time he's back in bed, the night has taken over for the day, and hundreds of his comrades have already conceded to sleep. But he stays wide awake, terrified and paranoid that a bomb's going to go off in the middle of the night and kill everyone while they rest peacefully. So he keeps his rifle by his bedside, ready for a fight.

"Goodnight Soldier." Ms. Nancy says softly, not to him, but to the man sitting beside him.

The Soldier's been with him since the trenches. He was a good man, and a steady presence of stability in these crazy days. He could recall some kind of kinship between them, comprised of half-hearted banter, terrible jokes and early morning conversations that were for their ears only. Talking to him had made being in those vile and unsanitary trenches a little better. They often talked about being back home, safe and surrounded by friends who loved them. Their families were another story but that was beside the point.

"Got a letter today," the Soldier tells him, drinking out of an aluminium canteen. His finger twitches, almost as if he's fighting to respond but is paralyzed to do so.

"From Maxine."

Maxine was Soldier's sister...

She told me that my Dad and Susan were planning to move out of California. Stupid, right? She said something about Indiana, and starting over in a small town. Who knows pretty boy? They might even move to that good ol' Hawkins you keep telling me about."

Pretty Boy... that's Soldier's pet name for him.

"A letter came for you too. From your father."

He must've gasped in shock because suddenly the Soldier is staring up at him with those unreal blue eyes, lips slightly parted in surprise. He feels the Soldier's hand on his shoulder and it's warm and comforting. It beds down the shock a little bit; shock at the fact that his father had written a letter to him. He may have been in shell-shock but even his mind could recall the time when John Harrington said that he was dead to him. That until he'd made something of himself, he would never be accepted- would never be his son.

"Steve? You with me kid?"

Kid.

The Soldier always called him that, despite being not much older himself. He preferred that nickname to rookie though, since he'd only just started while the Soldier had been on this tour since late last year. He remembers the absolute feeling of dread that had filled his body when the draft had come around and his name was on that godforsaken piece of paper. His parents had been all too ecstatic to ship him off on his merry way. He'd been writing to them, feverishly begging for their mercy. Hadn't gotten a letter back since he'd started writing to them.

"Wh- ...what d...does it say?" he hears himself ask softly, throat shaking with emotion. "Can- ...um, can you read it to me Bill?"

Billy- no longer the abstract Soldier in his mind- sighs and leans over in the chair, elbows resting on his knees. He's holding a piece of paper in his hands, fists closed tight, his knuckles white.

"Please Bill..."

"Hold on pretty boy," Billy whispers as gently as he can, blue eyes staring hard at the neat, professional penmanship of who must've been John Harrington, Steve's father. It was concise and void of any kind of human emotion.

"Steve,

Stop sending us letters. It upsets your mother and I'm much too busy to sit down and write replies."

Billy feels his heart break into pieces for the poor kid and he doesn't have the heart to put him through such harsh words. He folds it up quickly and clears his throat.

"Y'know what? I brought Max's letter by accident."

"W- what?"

"Must've left it in the command wing. It's fine, we can always get it some other time."

Steve looks at him, big brown doe-eyes confused and sad at the same time. "What if it's an emergency?"

Billy scoffs. "Trust me, they ain't fighting a war back in ol' Hawkins. Your folks can wait. You on the other hand, need to get some sleep."

A soft smile creeps up on Steve's pretty face and he blushes soft pink. "Well at least tell me what's been going on Boss."

That was his pet name for Billy.

"Where's Tommy?"

Billy's expression suddenly changes and he's no longer pained. Just angry. And lost and so fucking confused. War brought out the worst in men, and it was always hard to fight alongside the corpses of men he'd spent weeks, months in the trenches with. They were all family, and losing even one of them was the worst pains Billy had ever faced.

Steve's hopeful expression turns ever so slightly and now he looks awfully worried.

"Bill? Billy where's Tommy?"

Billy glances up into the kid's eyes and sees nothing but hopelessness there as realization dawns upon him. Steve bursts into wailing tears and crashes back onto the pillows, hands covering his face. His wails trigger some of the sleeping men and they wake up in a shock, disgruntled yells and curses filling the large hall.

"Settle down Soldier," a tired looking nurse hisses, looking more panicked than mad. She gives Billy a pointed glare and goes about on her way to putting the terrified men back to sleep.

Billy sighs and shushes Steve as gently as he can, petting the boy's soft hair until he quiets. He feels a weariness wash over him and crawls into the bed to lay down next to the kid. Steve wastes no time in burying his face in Billy's neck, silent sobs wracking through his frail body. Billy wraps him up in his arms, a scalding hot wave of protectiveness flaring inside his chest.

"It's okay kid, I've got you. I promise," he whispers in Steve's ear, stroking his back in slow, deliberate motions. The pretty brunette cries and cries until he cries himself to sleep, snuggled into the larger soldier, as if he was the only protection he needed.

Billy just holds him through the night.

84 notes · View notes