Chapter Text
song i listened to while writing: all i want by kodaline
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If John Egan had thought he’d been spiraling before, it was nothing compared to the days that would follow Gale telling him that he’d proposed and Marge had said yes to getting married if they ever escaped this hell hole.
John liked women. He knew he liked women and never questioned that. Women were pretty, and he enjoyed the feeling and look of the female body pressed against his, and the man had spent many nights indulging in just that. But Gale… he had always found Gale, with his blond hair that always looked perfect even now in this dump and those bright, astonishing sky blue eyes pretty in a way that made his breath catch.
He chalked it up to the fact that Gale looked like he’d walked straight out of a major motion picture, and he told himself everyone thought and noticed that when Gale Cleven sauntered into a room. Or he tried to, and it worked most of the time. But it didn’t work that night. There had been a lump forming in his throat that he couldn’t ignore.
“So?” He had blurted out in the moment to the news of his friend’s engagement without stopping to think how it sounded. The bitterness he heard in his tone made his stomach turn. He wasn’t ready to face what that meant. Not that it mattered, as it had went unnoticed by Gale. For how close the two were a lot about how John had somewhat always felt, especially where Marge was involved, went unnoticed by Gale. And John had always been secretly thankful for that.
The younger blond man just stared at the floor with his eyebrows furrowed, and at first John had assumed he was probably lost in thoughts of his future wife. It had given John a minute to think of something else to say, to muster up some enthusiasm he knew he should have felt for his best friend, but he’d fallen short on words. “That’s great,” he added weakly. “Congratulations.”
Gale hadn’t replied right away, still staring at the ground. He’d eventually given a light, almost indescribable shake of his head and inhaled the smallest of breaths. “I was even thinkin’ maybe you’d be my best man.”
Those blue eyes then flickered up to meet John’s with what looked like trepidation for just a second before they quickly fell back to the floor. His voice sounded strained and now, John realized and wondered why Gale also seemed to lack excitement for what should’ve been great news. It should’ve been the best news they’d had in a long time. He studied the man’s figure that was slumped defeatedly against the wall and tried to read his mind.
He had wondered what would happen if Gale could read his.
“I will be your best man,” John stated simply. There was no reply from Gale, so John quietly rolled over to go to bed. The silence between them felt thick with things John knew a man wasn’t allowed to say to another man. Things he was almost sure would make Gale never speak to him again; things that would get them killed, especially here, and he knew that.
Flash forward to now, those unspoken things were eating John Egan alive. Even if he hadn’t fully acknowledged what they were. He felt hollow. It felt like he was losing his best friend all over again and he’d barely survived that the first time. And, even though rationally he obviously knew it wasn’t, this time nearly felt worse. Because Gale was right there in front of him, but he’d never felt so incredibly far away.
Which wasn’t Gale’s fault, but John couldn’t help but be angry with him. He could feel himself becoming hysterical. He could feel himself reaching a breaking point. This all bubbled up, and before he’d known it he’d goaded Gale into hitting him to feel something- anything.
It had been days since and he could tell his friend felt terrible about the incident, but John had been avoiding him as much as possible without any explanation. Instead, he’d taken up spending time with a young soldier from a few barracks over whose name he couldn’t remember most of the time, only caring for the fact that he bared a striking resemblance to his dear friend Gale Cleven.
The two men were out later than allowed one night, with lights out having been nearly twenty minutes prior. The risks of this were insurmountable but neither of them seemed much to care, which is something John also liked about Gale Cleven’s lookalike. The man was just as reckless and unconcerned about his own safety as John was. Both spent their days and nights flirting with death in an effort to distract themselves from the empty holes each had in their chests.
Tonight, however, the flirting with death… it turned into something else. Something John had never let himself fully feel before. But now, it felt like John had nothing left to lose. He couldn’t think of a reason to hold back what he’d felt so ashamed of, had kept hidden so deep down, ever since he’d met Gale Cleven.
He was suddenly shifting to purposely press his leg firmly against not-Gale’s before he could think twice about what he was doing. The other man didn’t move away, in fact he moved closer to John and pushed back. John’s heart pumped hard in his chest, his mouth went dry, and he turned his head to find that not-Gale was already looking at him.
He was about to say fuck it, he was about to throw all caution to the wind uncaring and not thinking about how the consequences of finally giving into this desire might be death. He was determined to not do much thinking at all, but then an out of breath figure veered around the corner of the barracks the two men had been sitting against and poorly hidden behind.
It was Gale. Once his eyes had settled on them he saw the redness of anger color the man’s soot and dirt coated face.
“Are you a fuckin’ idiot?
John couldn’t helped the delirious laugh that bubbled out of his throat. “You know that a lot of people would probably say that, Buck, yeah.”
Gale’s lips hardened into a thin line. John could tell he was about to get berated like a naive child, but Gale froze with his mouth open before any words got out and he blinked with wide, confused eyes.
John suddenly became hyper aware of how he close he was to the man next to him, and how Gale was looking directly at the way they were slotted together shoulder to thigh and side by side in a way that was not normal for two men. He sobered up from his reckless train of thoughts that he knew had been brought on by hopelessness and scrambled to his feet. He then tried to dust himself off in an effort to appear casual and not as nervous as he suddenly was.
“Let’s go,” he snapped. He pushed past an unmoving Gale and purposely did not look back at the man he’d left sat on the ground.
A few seconds passed before he could hear Gale start to follow him, but John made sure to walk at a speed that kept distance between them. He didn’t know what Gale had thought that was and didn’t want to see the disgust that might be on his friends face if he had put the pieces together. John didn’t even want to put the pieces together himself and he wouldn’t be able to explain what that had been if Gale asked. He didn’t know how.
Neither uttered a word as they made their way back to their barrack.
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He avoids Gale now even more than before but it isn’t as hard this time around because it seems like Gale is avoiding him, too. The fact guts him. It makes him feel small like the gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe. John Egan was an egotistical and eccentric man, or at least that’s the reputation he had built for himself. He didn’t know how to be small. But at this point, he was a shell of a human being.
John Egan wanted more trouble, he wanted something or anything that would make him feel even slightly alive, even if it was pain. And John Egan almost always got what he wanted, so he finds it.
He doesn’t remember how he managed to piss the two random POWs off so badly, but next thing he knows he’s curled in a ball on the ground getting the absolute shit kicked out of him from both sides. He’s laughing, outraging the men even more, who then start to beat on him even harder. There’s pain radiating from every part of his body and he revels in it. He makes sure to feel every second of it, every kick, every shock the blows send through his body, but then suddenly it stops. He groans in disappointment.
There’s the sound of shouting and the rustle of a struggle. John rolls over onto his back and just flops there in the mud. There’s so much blood pouring from his wounds that it bleeds into his eyes, and he can barely make out four figures wrestling with one another. He can, however, despite his pounding ears hear the approaching march of the Krauts who must’ve just now somehow noticed the commotion.
The four other men become aware of it, too, and the fighting stops almost immediately upon the click of the guns that he can only assume are now very likely trained on all of them. One of the men cautiously moves to stand directly in front of him.
“You ever fuckin’ touch him again and I’ll fucking blind you.”
The words are spoken quietly but harshly at the two POWs through what he can tell are gritted teeth. John’s head is spinning but he knows that gruff, angelic voice. He knows that voice better than the back of his hand. He’s never, ever heard it in such a dangerous, low, and threatening tone before.
“We’re goin’,” his angel barks, most likely at the Krauts this time. He’s roughly gripped by the shoulders and yanked up to his feet. He wobbles and is nearly falling back into the dirt immediately. The grip on him tightens and a strong arm wraps around his waist, pulling him close to steady him. “John.”
His eyes are still closed wearily but he smiles. He can taste the blood in his teeth and flooding his mouth. It invigorates him. “Hey, baby, you come here often?”
Gale doesn’t laugh. He throws one of John’s limp arms over his shoulders, starting to lead them to what John assumes is their bunks. “This isn’t funny,” he snaps.
John is still smiling. He lets his head fall against the shorter man’s shoulder. “I didn’t say it was, doll face.”
He’s being held so close that he can feel Gale’s jaw tighten in annoyance. Gale struggles to get him over the steps to the safety of inside and John starts to actually feel bad. He tries to pull away to carry some of his weight himself, but Gale jerks him back to his side with enough force it makes him wince at the pain it shoots through his ribs.
Once they’re over the doorstep he feels the multiple hands of their bunk mates pulling at him and helping Gale. He’s laid gently onto a bed and he hears somebody swear as he starts to drift in and out of consciousness.
“Fuck, Buck, the fuck happened to him?”
“Just help me get his clothes off. I don’t know where he’s bleedin’ from.”
John was starting to feel cold. He wondered if this was it. But that was what he wanted, right?
”You stupid, stupid man. Fuck.”
Buck was the poster boy of a good, honorable soldier. He almost never drank, he never messed around on Marge, he almost never lost his composure. Bucky can count on just two hands the amount of times he’d heard him swear, and over half of them had been in the just the last few days as John really had started spiraling out of control. He heard Buck inhale sharply upon removing his shirt fully, and they both now knew that Bucky’s injuries were much worse than either had thought. This really could be it.
No, he thought. Not yet. Not like this. He had to say it first. He had to tell him. He couldn’t go without telling him. He was more scared of that than he was of death.
“Buck.”
There was no reply. He could feel hands desperately pressing cloths against his broken body in an attempt to stop the life from leaking out of him.
“Buck.”
“What, John?”
He took every bit of strength he had left to reach up and take his best friend’s frantic hands into his own. They weren’t alone, they were surrounded by other men who were also rushing around him in an attempt to save his life, but it felt like it was now or never.
“I love you.”
Once the three words left his mouth, what he thought might be his last breaths followed. It was so dark. He wished he could clearly see Buck’s beautiful face one last time instead of the blurred figure he’d become. Or maybe it was better off that he couldn’t, because Buck didn’t say those forbidden words he’d held inside for so long back. It stung but he wasn’t surprised; he couldn’t be. Even if by some chance Gale did want to say it back, he would have had to live with the consequences. John, well, it was looking like he wouldn’t have to.
“Then don’t you fuckin’ leave me here.”
There was a desperation and brokenness in Gale’s tone that John had never heard before. He figured it was as close to an I love you too as he would ever get.
His hands loosened from Gale’s and fell to his sides as he felt his head loll back into the pillow.
“No, no, no.”
Gale’s pleading is the last thing John is able to make out and it puts a faint smile on his face. Gale did love him too. It didn’t matter right now in what way, he just was happy to feel in what might be his last moments that Gale loved him too. It was almost enough and he’d accepted a long time ago that “almost enough” was all he’d ever get of Gale Cleven.
John breathes in, and then it all turns black.
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Chapter Two Summary/Peek:
He sees Gale swallow nervously at the suggestiveness in his voice but he remains unwavering. There’s a challenge in John’s eyes as he stares the younger man down. He wants to push Gale to ask more; he’s daring him to.