#and as long as they can get someone as deep as mr. blum then i GUESS i could settle for a new vincent VA. i guess....

[lecliss]

Ive only just gotten past Reno's first scene, the conflict at the church, so idk if I got a good first impression of his remake voice or not but like. Jesus christ, no offense to the VA, but that is not fucking Reno. The only thing fine about that voice is the laugh. That was a real Reno laugh, but everything else. Im sorry but its god awful. Maybe if the guy did a better job acting he could properly channel Reno and sound more like him, but that was. A very bad first impression.

[hearteyesmarsh]

Take Me to Church

summary: Some part of Richie knows that no amount of prayer can change things, but at least he can try 

pairing: stozier 

warning: internalized homophobia, kinda angsty

word count: 2k

a/n: omg the way this fic dragged me through the mud with how many times i had to rewrite it is insane...but i hope you like it <3

Richie knew that it was wrong...he knew that these feelings were disgusting. No matter how many times his parents or friends told him that they weren’t. The voices in his head were louder than his friends and family could ever be.

This is why as soon as he realized he had feelings for his best friend, he ran home and prayed. He fell to his knees and prayed for God to take these sinful, nasty feelings away. He didn’t want to be a sinner, he didn’t want to go to Hell. So, he prayed all night long until his parents found him in the morning. 

He went to church every time there was a service. He stayed behind after every service to pray at the altar. He went to the priests and asked them to pray over him, help him become holy again, help cleanse his soul. He wanted more than anything to be clean again.

He avoided Stan with everything in him; he stopped sitting with the losers at lunch, stopped hanging with them after school, he even took a different, longer route to his classes to avoid bumping into him. He thought that maybe if he didn’t talk to him he couldn’t keep the feelings. That's how it works, right?

Stan had never been so confused in his life. Why was his best friend, the boy he had known since he was five, avoiding him like his life depended on it?

Well in Richie’s eyes, his life did depend on it. He was too scared to spend an eternity in Hell, that place was for dirty sinners and he was not a sinner. 

Stan’s worry and curiosity got the better of him. He knew that it probably wasn't the smartest idea but he had to make sure Richie was okay. 

So that day after school, he went to the Tozier residence and knocked exactly three times on the door. He counted exactly 33 seconds and held his hand up to knock again but Maggie Tozier opened the door, worry evident on her face.

“Hey, Stanley…” She smiles, her eyes softening when she sees Stan. “Are you here to see Richie?”

Stan nods, his heart in his throat “Yes ma'am… I just want to make sure he’s okay.” His voice is wavy and unsure and as soon as he hears it he wants to say forget it and go back home.

Maggie pauses, pursing her lips to the side. “I’m sorry, Stan, but you just missed him. He came in the house for a split second to put his backpack down then he left.” She already knew where her son went, the same place he had been going after school for the past two months. She considered telling Stan where he went but hesitated, wondering if it would only make Richie feel worse.

She knew all about her son's internalized homophobia. She heard him as he prayed all night, she noticed how quickly he would change the subject if she or Wentworth brought up his group of friends. She especially noticed how he flinched something terrible if he saw a gay couple holding hands as they walked down the street, it didn’t take her long to figure out what was going on in. Sometimes she wished she could just flick the side of his head and send the thoughts flying out of the other. 

Stan frowns. “Oh okay, thank you, Mrs. Tozier,” he does a sharp turn on his heel after Maggie gives him a soft hum and shuts the door.  “Where in the world is Richie Tozier?’ is the question Stan wants to ask, but he has a feeling he already knows the answer. 

One short bike ride later and Stan is standing in front of what he’s sure is the oldest building in Derry, Saint Peter Catholic Church. He sets his bike on its kickstand and slowly walks to the large, red doors. A small part of him is hoping that his feeling is wrong and he’s not gonna see Richie at the altar. He peeks his head through the door and scans the awfully large sanctuary. His grip on the door tightens when he sees a familiar set of unruly curls. He steps inside completely and he can’t help but to shut and open the door two more times, cringing at the loud creaking noise. He takes a deep breath and slowly walks down the aisle until he’s standing beside the crouched boy.

He debates if he should sit on the ground, only the lord knows the last time it was cleaned, but decides his friend is more important than getting his khaki shorts dirty. Stan falls to his knees and turns his head to look at Richie. He just sits for a couple of minutes, listening to the mumbled words fall from Richie’s mouth. His throat is dry and his heart is aching as he ponders if he should say anything. He swallows hard and looks straight ahead, eyes glancing over the stained glass portraits of the Catholic saints. “Richie?” He questions, his voice shaking.  

Richie’s heart drops in his chest when he hears the voice, but he should’ve known who it was. Who else would open and close the door three times? He doesn’t look at Stan, he can’t or he’ll be hooked all over again.

Stan sighs. “Richie, I want to help you. I can't help you if you don’t help me though. Can you tell me what's wrong?” He knew what was wrong, he knew what was wrong as soon as he walked into the room and saw Richie praying. 

He had been in that situation before. He remembers how he would read his Torah ten times a month. He remembers asking YHWH to forgive him for his transgressions.  He remembers feeling disgusting and those days when he couldn’t even look in the mirror. Eventually, he came to terms with himself. He knew that he wasn’t disgusting and he wasn't abnormal. He was Stan a gay, Jewish boy, and that was perfectly fine.

When Richie still hasn’t answered, Stan decides to fill the silence. “I’ve been in your shoes, Rich, it’s nothing wrong with being gay. You are not disgusting and you are not going to Hell.” 

Richie knows that Stan is right, but a part of him can’t believe him. He had been taught his whole life that homosexuality was a sin, why would that change now? 

“I get it, Rich, I really do,” Stan whispers, now turning to face Richie completely. He carefully takes Richie’s clasped hands and pulls them towards his chest. “It’s hard accepting yourself after being told your whole life that you’re a sin after you’ve only heard one thing you’re whole life and that ‘gay people are going to Hell.’ But that's not true, its nothing...absolutely nothing wrong with being gay.” Stan sees how Richie's body is slowly relaxing, so he continues. “The people in this town are close minded and ignorant if anything they’re in the wrong. You’re an incredibly sweet, caring person. You’re not going to hell because you like boys and you may not believe me, but it's true.”

Stan’s speech seems to work because it gets Richie to finally look at Stan, finally look at the boy he was slowly falling in love with. As soon as Richie’s eyes meet Stan’s he feels the world fall apart around him and he finds himself crying-no sobbing. “I don’t want to be dirty anymore, Stan. I'm not a sinner! I’m not!” 

Stan instantly pulls him into his arms, running his fingers through his hair. “I know you’re not Richie, I know you’re not. You’re gonna be okay, maybe not today, but you’ll be okay.” Stan whispers, and he knows that’s all he can do right now. 

Stan doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting here but he knows his legs have fallen asleep and his wrist is cramping up from constantly running his hand up and down Richie’s back. He tries his best to comfort the older boy, but he knows that it probably isn’t doing any good. Stan is terrified that someone is going to walk in on them, he knows that the reaction to one boy crying in the arms of another isn’t pretty. “Richie,” Stan sighs, gently pushing Richie’s face back so they’re eye to eye. “Please talk to me, I’m not here to judge you. I just want to help,” he uses the pad of his thumbs to wipe Richie’s wet cheeks. 

Richie hiccups and it takes everything in him not to push Stan away, run away, and never look back. He knows that he won’t get anything out of it except more pain. “Help me, Stan, please. I just wanna be okay again,” Richie pleads, his heart is racing and he has an impossibly tight grip on Stan’s wrists. “Why do I feel these things, how do I know if I’m…..” Richie trails off, and Stan can hear him gulp. “Gay,” the word feels like acid in his mouth. “You felt like this too, right? How did you get over it? How did you get them to stop?  ”

Stan shakes his head. He had told Richie that maybe he liked this boy in their history class, but quickly retracted the statement and started dating Patty Blum in their algebra class to prove that he didn’t like boys. “I- the feelings never went away Richie, they’ll never go away. They only get stronger.” He watches Richie’s face pale. “It’s not a bad thing, you get used to it eventually. It just takes some time...and support.” He remembers crying to his mom as she comforted him, reminding him that she will always love him no matter what. 

“How did you know Stan? Who was it?” Richie starts shaking again, his mind and heart racing as if they were trying to win a race. How should he be handling this situation? Should he let his emotions lead him or should he try to stay logical and do what he was taught is right? He stares Stan in his face and when he sees the tears building behind his eyes, he’s instantly taken aback. The most put together, stoic person he knows was sitting in front of him about to cry, and that scared him more than any feeling could. 

“It was um-” Stan stops, how smart would it be to tell Richie that he was the reason Stan knew he liked boys? He racks his brain for an answer, an excuse to give Richie that would satisfy the both of them. “It was Mike, Mike is how I knew.” A couple of seconds pass and Stan gets nervous, did Richie not accept his answer? Or maybe it was a trick question and Richie already knew it was him. 

Richie instantly knows that it's a lie, Stan is too sure of himself to stutter in any situation. “Stan, please don’t lie to me. I need to know.” Richie’s eyes are wide and pleading. A part of him feels like he knows the answer already and a part of him is praying that he’s wrong because then it becomes real and Richie isn’t sure he can handle that right now. 

Stan looks everywhere but Richie’s face, specifically upwards hoping that the tears will fall back into his eyes. His breathing picks up and he swallows hard. “It was you Richie, it was always you,” Stan whispers, finally looking Richie in his eyes. He can feel the tears running down his face and he starts to wonder why Richie couldn’t just leave it alone.

“Are you sure?” Richie responds, his throat tight and he can feel the tears start back up again. 

Stan nods, unsure how it would help Richie in any way, shape, or form. He isn’t left wondering for long because Richie smashes his lips against his. It's a messy, teeth clattering kiss but Stan wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Richie lets go on Stan’s wrist and moves his hands to Stan’s soft, curly hair, pulling him impossibly closer. How ironic of Richie to be kissing the boy in the church where he was just praying for God to get this boy out of his head. He knows how complicated things are gonna be when they pull apart, but in the moment he thinks that there can’t be anything wrong with something that feels so right.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Dear Dean (Chapter 2)

Re-post

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Jamie Blum)

WC: 3.4k

Summary: After taking Saint Lo, by sheer dumb luck, Lieutenant Dean Winchester from the 29th Infantry Division, Baker Company, received a truckload of replacements for his platoon that was falling apart. Little did he know, that one recruit would change his life forever.

Chapter Warnings: There’s none, except angst and the fear of what lies ahead.

SERIES MASTERLIST

22nd July, 1944

Letters from home arrived early in the morning and everyone tore them open, reading them out loud while they were sitting at breakfast and weirdly enough, Dean got a letter too. He thought first that it was Sam’s but no, it was from home. Dean ripped it open, not minding that he tore out a little of the letter as well. He was clumsy with his fingers lately, having trouble to keep them from trembling in the most inconvenient of times.

Dear Dean,

I hope this letter reaches you well, like all the other letters I’ve sent you before. I wish that you would write back, but I understand that time must be a real big issue. I miss you and wanted to say that I’m immensely proud of what you’re doing. I hope Sam’s doing great, too. I thought that I should send you a photograph I found while I cleared out my mom’s attic. Remember how you, Sam and me snuck out to go to the fair? This is the picture of then. That night you kissed me. It was my first kiss, too. I miss you guys so much. My mom’s still taking care of your home. Growing flowers and tending to the porch. She too, believes that the both of you will come back. You were always more than the neighbor boy to me. You were more than a brother or a friend. Dean, I love you, and I still do. Come back in one piece, alright?

Love Always,

Anna Milton

Dean threw away the letter pretty soon after he read it. He wouldn’t reply, like the others that he left on a trail from Omaha to here. Dean knew that if he would write back and tell her that he’d never saw anything else than a friend in her, he’d break her heart and sometimes, if you have nothing nice to say in a letter, you shouldn’t be writing one at all. However he kept the photograph. It was a picture of he, Sam, and Anna in the middle. All of them smiling. All of them still hopeful. He folded it and tucked it into his helmet. Now he had picture in there, too.

June, 1944

Just when it felt like it was all too much, like the loneliness would swallow her whole, Jamie received a letter in the mail addressed to Mr. Jamie Blum. She eagerly ripped through the envelope, not caring about the paper cuts that easily sliced through the skin on her fingers. She held the paper in her hands, small droplets of blood sprinkling the words on the page.

Greeting:

Having submitted yourself to a local board composed of your neighbors for the purpose of determining your availability for training and service in the armed forces of the United States, you are hereby notified that you have been selected for training and service in the Army. You will, therefore, report….

She’d been drafted. Jameson put her name in after all.

Jamie stared at the white paper, and the words began to melt together. She didn’t know if she should cry, or rejoice. So, instead, she walked up the stairs, and into the bathroom. She pulled out her brothers razor blade. Jamie stared at her reflection, her eyes were hollow, and her cheek bones protrudes from lack of sleep. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them she ran the blade across her scalp, in one fluid motion, wincing at the tug of protest that her long hair gave. It fell to the ground like new fallen snow, lackadaisical, and languid. It danced past her empty eyes and collected at her bare feet on the bathroom floor.

She ducked her naked head under the sink, letting the cool water run over her irritated scalp. Jamie was going to do this and nothing would stop her. She gripped the edge of the sink and looked at herself in the mirror, she looked alien without hair, but she smiled at her own reflection, water droplets rolling down her face. She looked a little like Jameson, she thought, as she reached out a hand to touch her reflection in the mirror.

Jamie would leave the house, without looking back, like her brothers before her. Anywhere was better than being alone. Always waiting for letters or worse, for someone to tell her that her brothers all had fallen. She needed to stand on the same ground as them. She needed to feel alive again. So she gathered up what she could find of her brothers that fit, and packed her duffle bag, tossing it over her shoulder. She locked the door behind her, fully prepared to never see her childhood home again.

**

Jamie arrived in England a week later for Basic Training. She was careful about her appearance and was really grateful that she didn’t have large boobs. She didn’t have to actually bind them tightly. She waited for the others to shower and slipped in when they were dressing. It worked surprisingly well, maybe because she was so small, and she could really go anywhere almost undetected. Most of the men in her training class were young themselves, and missing home. They didn’t seem to pay close attention to anyone else, let alone her. She adapted the ways of the men around her. She told crude jokes, and ate with her mouth open. They talked about the dolls at home, and she told them that she couldn’t be tied down by just one. Her secret was safe.

Turned out, she was a hell of a shot. Having three brothers worked to her advantage. Jamie knew how to spit, clean a weapon, and she could drink just about any man under the table. She completed only four days of training when they announced that she was shipping off to France. Apparently there was a shortage everywhere. Soldiers moved in and out of camp restlessly, like little ants.

**

22nd July, 1944

On the way to her assignment, she sat in the back of a truck. It was bumping, and uncomfortable. She grunted at every rock the truck rolled over. When they arrive in Saint Lo, and she finally could stand up again, and straighten her back, she felt a stinging pain traveling down her spine, but she wouldn’t let it bring her down.

Even in a war zone, she could admit that France was beautiful. She could see the seaside, and taste the ocean air. Almost like back at Trenton. The other men didn’t seem to notice the sea air, or the clear sky. They gathered their things and were already in step.

Biting on her lip, Jamie secured her webbing, swung her haversack across her back and hung her musette bag around her body, determined to be at the front of the pack. She wouldn’t fall behind. She fetched her rifle from the floor of the truck bed, and jumped off the halting truck, into the bright sun.

They lined up the new arrivals in the front of their respective platoons and were inspected by the platoon leaders. Jamie stood at attention like she was taught, her chest out, next to her training class. Her heartbeat rang in her ears with a woosh, as her eyes landed on the man in front of her. He was tall, about six foot, if she was guessing. His shoulders were broad, and she could see the reflection of their terrified faces in his mossy green eyes.

“Name’s Lieutenant Dean Winchester.” The man announced and Jamie flinched at the deep rolling sound of his voice at first, but at the same time, the bass of it was strangely calming and smooth, as if it was coated with warm and sweet honey.

She pressed her lips together, and tried to ignore the bead of sweat that was on her upper lip.

Lieutenant Winchester stood up straight, puffing up his broad shoulders to intimidate them and for some, it worked, but not with her. She knew these kind of men, all bark, but no bite.  She tightened her jaw, trying not to laugh at her platoon leader’s alpha behavior.

Dean turned on his heels, his eyes narrowing at the small replacement in front of him. Christ, he can’t be older than eighteen? They make them smaller and smaller. “What your name, private?”

“Blum, Sir.” It came shouting out of him like a pistol. He’d been drilled to do it, Dean knew.

“Private Blum, huh?” A lopsided grin started to spread on Dean’s face. “Alright, private Blum. From now on, in my platoon, you’ll be Bambi.” And then he looked up from him to the other replacements. “I like to give nicknames to my privates. You’ll all get one if you’re lucky.” He took a good look at their faces in the line before he stalled before private Blum. “You’re fucking small, Bambi. Tell me, what can you contribute to my platoon?”

“Sir, I’m a mean shooter.” Bambi shouted like he’d been drilled in basic.

“Shooter, huh? Good. I can use that. What else, private?” Dean knew that he shouldn’t be so harsh on the first day but hell, he’s got a platoon to lead and a freaking war to win. Then he adds, “Come on! Humor me.”

“I..uh..”

“That’s what I thought –” Dean snickered but got cut off by the small private with doe eyes.

“I know a little German, Lieutenant. You’re right, I’m small but I’m stronger than I look. I’m pretty good, you just watch.” The privates eyes locked with Deans in a challenge. Almost as if he was saying, challenge me.

Dean nodded at that. He knew that he should maybe shout at him, telling him not to talk to his superior like that, but he was too tired for this shit. He still had a briefing to attend and so he stepped back before he turned to Sergeant Harvelle. “Take over, sergeant.”

And then he walked away, leaving Harvelle to deal with instructions.

There was something about Bambi that made his blood freeze. He couldn’t figure out what it was, but it was something that made him want to protect that little son of a bitch who thought he was a smartass. But Dean also knew that private Blum would probably be trouble, he just couldn’t put a finger on how yet.

The look Bambi gave Dean was all too familiar. It was a look he normally saw on Sam. Sammy could look at him with doe eyes, under long lashes, and he would melt. Now there was someone in his company - no, in his freaking platoon - that gave him the same fucking look and it didn’t really bode well with Dean.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Sam and so Dean decided to fill his remaining 10 minutes before briefing with writing him a letter.

Dear Sam,

I haven’t had a lot of time to write to you lately. I’m sorry for that. Things have been wild, man. I thought you’d be here with us in Saint Lo, but I got words that you stayed behind at Omaha to help clear things out. Sammy, just take good care, alright? Don’t make me abandon my platoon and come save your ass!

I thought Omaha was bad, but shit just got worse from there on out. I lost a kid. A goddamn kid, Sam! Not much older than you are. He tried to tell me a joke and stepped on a landmine. I should have seen it but I was so goddamn distracted by him and now, there’s not even enough of him left to send home to his parents, and I know that it’s on me. It’s all on me. You asked me once how many I need to save, and I answered with “all of them”, do you remember? I think I failed, Sammy. I failed real bad.

I’ve lost half of my platoon before we could take over Saint Lo, Sammy. And hey, we did it without ammo. I hope you’re proud of me. Captain Mills is weird lately, though. He always keeps talking about me taking over. I don’t even know why he does that.. So my job right now is to cheer him the fuck up at keep him alive because, Sam, I don’t wanna lead. I can’t. I will fail, I know that much. I’ll let my platoon down, the whole Baker Company. I’m so fucking screwed if something should happen to Mills.

We’ve got a shitload of new recruits today. More lives that I need to take care of. They arrived this morning and one of them already rubs me the wrong way. And he’s also the reason why I sat myself down to write to you. He reminds me of you. He has the same set of eyes and already tried to undermine me. I should have stripped him the fuck down, but I couldn’t, Sammy. I couldn’t, because I saw you in him. You have the same eyes and fucking hell, remember the screening of Bambi at camp? He’s got Bambi eyes. Big, doe-like and I swear he gave me that dirty diaper look you’ve always been giving me since I can remember.

I’m sorry about the rant, brother. It’s just… I don’t know who I should talk to about this. I hoped you skipped half of the letter because there’s nothing but ranting.

Shit, Sammy, I fucking miss you. I hope you’re ok and this letter will reach you. Take care, alright?

Lieutenant Dean Winchester

Jamie’s fingers twitched at her side. Bambi, huh? Fuck this. Not even here for a minute and the Lieutenant was already pissing on her parade. If Jamie didn’t think that she’d made a mistake by coming, she sure as hell knew now, but there was no going back anymore.

Sergeant Harvelle directed them to their billets before they would go out for a hot meal. The people in the platoon were in good spirits and some of them even joked that they wanted to stay here for the roof over their head and the regular hot meals. It made Jamie think about what they went through to consider this a piece of heaven.

Jamie fetched her tray and lined up and waited on her serving of food. She balanced the tray to the table where her platoon was sitting and sat at the beginning of the bench, next to Sergeant Harvelle and across from Corporal Tran. She poked around in something that looks awful lot like Mac’n’Cheese, but she couldn’t be sure until she would taste it on her tongue, when Tran asked her a question.

“So, you’re Bambi, huh?” He said it with a casual smile on his face, having heard about her interaction with Lieutenant Winchester.

Jamie swallowed what turned out to really be Mac’n’Cheese, only too watery and salty for her taste, but she couldn’t complain now, could she, before she spoke. “Apparently, that’s me.”

“Hey,” Tran said, pointing his fork in her direction, “Better than being called Dopey or Sneezy.”

She grinned at the thought of Lieutenant Winchester naming people in his platoon after the seven dwarfs. “Why, who’s Dopey?”

Tran points to the private at the end of the table. “Private Sands is Dopey, and next to him,” Tran looks back at her, “we have Private Redfield as Sneezy.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Sneezed his freaking way through the fields after Omaha, man.” Tran and Harvelle laughed when they thought back at the way Private Redfields nose and eyes were puffy red and swollen from hayfever.

“And you, Sergeant, Corporal?” She looks at them, wondering what their nicknames were. It would only be fair if everyone has got one, Jamie thought.

“We don’t. Winchester’s only giving them on the go. So, I guess, congrats to you, Bambi!” Harvelle stuffed his mouth with a big fork of food and then Tran leaned in a little, looking around before he whispered so that only Jamie and sergeant Harvelle could hear him.

“We call the Lieutenant Grumpy.” Tran winked and Jamie snorted before throwing her head back into heartfelt laughter. Harvelle and Tran joined in.

“What’s so funny?” Lieutenant Winchester was standing at the foot of the table, a little behind him, was Lieutenant Novak. They both held a tray in their hands and there was a heavy frown on Lieutenant Winchester’s face.

“Nothing, Sir.” Harvelle said hastily and began to shout down the line to scooch together and Jamie did the same, scooching close to Harvelle, to make room for the two Lieutenants.

Lieutenant Winchester sat down his eyebrows still knotted together in the middle of his forehead, as if he didn’t trust that they were laughing about nothing. Lieutenant Novak on the other hand, had his lips spread into a warm smile and he spoke and first she didn’t know that he meant her, but then he asked again. “Private? Hey, Bambi.”

“Yes, Sir!” It came out a little too enthusiastic and she could see at the corner of her eye that Lieutenant Dean Winchester was holding back a laugh.

“I asked you why you are here. What’s your story?” Lieutenant Novak said, his voice warm and kind. Why couldn’t she be in his platoon?

Jamie exhaled loudly, and then she speaks. “I..uh… my brother’s are all in the army. I didn’t want to be left behind.”

She could see that Lieutenant Winchesters face went from grumpy to understanding and she hoped he was warming up to her.

“How many brothers do you have?” It was Tran who asked and he had sympathy painted on his face.

Jamie stopped eating and laid her fork down. “Three. They’re all scattered around here somewhere.” She could feel that everyone in her close proximity were listening to her because they stopped eating, too. She tapped her fork, not liking being the center of attention after all the time she spent in Basic trying to blend in.

“And parents? Must be tough having all their kids out in the field.” Harvelle asked hesitantly, as if he didn’t want to overstep but he was curious and Jamie understood.

“I don’t have any. We’ve only had each other as far as I can remember.” Jamie bit back the tears that stung in her eyes. There was no way that she wanted to cry there in front of everyone. She was a man, dammit.

Harvelle nodded and returned to his food and the others followed. They all kept eating in silence, and she could only hear Lieutenants Winchester and Novak talking to each other in low voices.

When Lieutenant Winchester finished his plate, he looks around his platoon. “Who’s on sentry?” They’d been rotating sentry with the other companies and he knew that Baker always have one or two sentry shifts at night, but he tended to forget who and when.

“We are, Sir!” The shout came from the other end of the table and Lieutenant Dean Winchester craned his neck.

“Dopey and Sneezy? What a team, huh? What time?”

“Oh-three-hundred, Sir!”

Lieutenant Winchester nodded in the direction of Private Sands and Redford. “Alright you two, you are switching with me and Bambi. Take a nap. Rest. I want you all well rested at Oh-six-hundred.”

Jamie looked at Lieutenant Winchester in disbelief. She just arrived for fuck’s sake. She didn’t even know the perimeter. Didn’t even know how what to do. While her mind was working with the endless tasks and what there is to do on sentry duty, Lieutenant Dean looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

“You got a problem with that, Bambi?”

“No, Sir.” She replied, a little less enthusiastic.

Lieutenant Dean stood up from the bench and balanced his tray in one hand. “Good. Report to the meeting point at Oh-two-fifty.”

And before Jamie could even nod, he was already gone with Lieutenant Novak trailing behind.

“Shit, Bambi. What did you do to piss him off?” Tran looked at her stunned. “He never changed sentry rota with a new replacement before.”

Jamie just shrugged in disbelieve. “I don’t fucking know.”

“Look, he’s grumpy and might be harsh, but he’s looking out for his people, alright? We’ve had rough days behind us and he probably just wanted us to get a good nights worth of sleep and it happened that two of us still had to be on sentry so he took it over and I guess, you were just sitting the closet to him.” Harvelle cleaned his plate with his fork, the metal clinking together and it gave Jamie goosebumps.

“Yeah, probably.” Jamie said meekly and with the others, she put the tray back and walked out of the hall. She paused and looked up to the dimming sky, thinking and hoping that her brothers had it better than she did.

Chapter 3