#hurt Gale Cleven

[stars-remain2]

Last Lines Tag

No one tagged but me (I’m new and quiet and not very prolific) but I wanted to share anyway 🥰

He starts to close Gale’s foot locker when his own lucky deuce catches his eye. He holds it tenderly in his hands, remembering the day he gave it to Gale on the morning of that fateful first Bremen mission, praying it would protect him. There’s a slight blood stain on it from the injuries Gale sustained. Gale earned the Purple Heart and the Distinguished Flying Cross for his actions that day.

He puts the lucky deuce in his pocket.

Bucky closes Gale’s locker reverently. He isn’t ready for their story to be over yet. They haven’t even gotten the chance to write a chapter.

Harry Crosby stops him to tell him that they intend to ship Gale’s locker home to his father. Bucky would rather die than let Gale’s father get his hands on Gale’s possessions. “I expect my buddy back Croz. He’s just MIA.”

He can feel the concerned gazes of both Crosby and Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal as he walks away. He’s playing the part of grieving best friend when in his heart he feels like a war widow.

He steps outside to find that it’s started raining. Typical England weather and fitting to his mood. He can’t tell if the moisture on his cheeks are raindrops or tears.

No pressure tagging @joeyalohadream @hogans-heroes @avonne-writes @blixabargelds @happy-days19 @trekkiehood

[haroldhearsawho]

~The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway

[winter-came]

"...I've dropped a lot of those things...probably done a lot of killing..." "...they're only gonna know this me..."

[heretoobsessstuff]

Hellooo sooo 👀 the fic i posted a snippet for a few days ago is finally here haha. Behold the sappiest corniest hurt/comfort fic you’ve ever read. It’s also posted on ao3 here if you prefer to read it there!

Title: What else can I be? All apologies

Summary: Gale’s repressed guilt of leaving John behind manifests as a nightmare. John comforts him

“Go on, I’m right behind you,” John said quietly. Gale nodded once and turned to walk towards the wall, eyes fixed ahead. John was right behind him. Gale’s heart was pounding, and his hands shook as he held them tightly in fists by his side. The distance between him and the wall seemed to drag on forever. Why wasn’t he reaching the wall?

Panic set in and took over his whole body. His chest, throat, and legs felt numb. Something bad was about to happen; he could feel it in his gut. His body knew it. Something was about to happen.

“Don’t shoot—don’t shoot!” John yelled. His voice shook Gale’s entire body. Gale turned around and saw John wrestling with the German guard, holding his gun on both sides, pushing him back with impressive strength.

“Go, Buck, get out of there!” John yelled again, his voice rough from exertion. Buck felt like his body was no longer in his control. He took one last look at John and jumped over the wall, leaving him behind.

The moment he was over the wall, he heard it—the gunshot. Loud and sharp. His ears rang with the sound. He slid down the wall, his body hitting the ground with a thud. He held his breath, feeling like hours had passed before he finally mustered the courage to get up on his knees. His hands gripped the edge of the wall for support as he pulled himself up to look back, and once he did, he couldn’t look away.

There, on the wet, muddy ground, lay John. Lifeless.

Gale didn’t know how it happened, but before he knew it, he was hovering over John. It felt like he was watching himself from a distance as he dropped to his knees and grabbed John’s shoulders, running his hands frantically over his arms and chest, trying to find where he had been hit. Trying to fix this somehow.

“John, John, can you hear me? Open your eyes for me, please!” he begged, desperate when he finally saw it—a hole the size of a penny right in John’s chest, in his heart. Blood oozed steadily. He took off his scarf and pressed it against the wound, pushing hard. John’s eyes flew open at the pressure with a loud yelp. The scarf was immediately soaked.

“It’s alright, John. It’s alright, just—just hold on for me. Just hold on,” Gale begged again, his voice shaking and wobbling with each word. He looked up from John and looked around frantically. He couldn’t see anyone. No German guard, no American prisoner. Bile rose in his throat as he yelled, “Crank? Brady? Somebody help me, please!”

Tears leaked from his eyes, falling onto John’s face. John looked at him dazedly, his breath coming out in little whimpers. His hand came up to bat at Gale’s weakly.

“Hurts,” he grunted.

Gale gripped the scarf tighter. There was blood everywhere—John’s blood, painting Gale’s hands, arms, and clothes red, smelling sharp and coppery.

“I know, I know. I just need to—just need to press. It’s going to be alright,” Gale said, his voice hitching on a sob. His hands shook so hard he couldn’t grip the scarf properly anymore. He looked around frantically again, hoping, praying for someone—anyone—to come, to fix this. He couldn’t lose John like this.

But there was no one coming. Deep down, Gale knew it. There was no sign of Crank or Murph or Brady or Demarco. They were all gone, leaving him alone to watch John die.

“You left me behind,” John gasped out, his voice barely audible. Gale felt his heart drop to his stomach, cold settling deep in his bones. He could say nothing as he watched John grip the hand that was holding the scarf against his chest. His blue eyes looked dark with pain and betrayal. Gale remained silent, his tongue feeling heavy and numb in his mouth.

“You left me to die,” John croaked, breathing harshly as his hand gave Gale’s one last squeeze before it fell limp, his head falling back onto the dirt. Gale watched in horror as John’s last breath left his lungs in a choked exhale. He was gone.

John was gone. Lost somewhere Gale could never reach. He was gone and he hated Gale for it. Gale had betrayed him. Had let him get shot. Had left him alone to die. His grip on the wound wasn’t strong enough. He hadn’t held onto John tightly enough and now he was dead. Look at what you’ve done. His brain screamed at him. You were a coward. You have lost him forever. The light in his eyes is gone forever and he died with nothing but hatred for you. Nothing you could ever do will bring him back.

****

Gale woke up with a gasp. The sheets had woven around him like a cocoon. He gripped them tightly and thrashed around to fling them off of himself. He reached to his right blindly. Expecting to find a warm body fast asleep. To find John there. It was empty. Sheets long abandoned and cold.

The feeling of all consuming grief was immediate. It gripped him by the throat and closed his airway. Gale felt outside of himself. The room was floating around him and the edges of his vision threatened to turn black the more he gasped for air. His brain was struggling to pinpoint where exactly he was. A hotel room or behind the wall?

He couldn't remember anything. He couldn’t remember where he was anymore. His heart was too fast, pounding against his ribcage. He clawed at his chest, willing to control his breathing. The cold devastation of being left alone, abandoned by their men was wrapped around his lungs like a vice. You left John behind and he died in your arms.

He couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. He grasped his shirt as he breathed in short strangled exhales. His heart was too fast, almost like it was jumping out of his chest. Maybe he was the one who was shot in the chest. Maybe he was dying. The thought was chilling. He was dying. Drowning in John’s blood. This was it. That’s how he would die. Cold and alone and hated by the only person he had ever loved-

“Gale? Can you hear me?”

The strong voice cut through the haze. A hand reached towards him and pulled him out of the abyss he was drowning in. Distantly he could feel something or someone grip his shoulders. Shaking him. He could hear himself gasping for air but his body refused to cooperate.

“Gale? I need you to breathe darling. Can you do that for me?”

He was trying. He wanted to tell the voice that. But it was difficult and his lungs felt like they were on fire. The voice was familiar and warm and soothing. It sounded like John.

You idiot! His brain screamed. John is dead. Maybe I’m dying too. He thought again. That’s why I can hear him.

“You’re not dying. You’re alright. We’re home. We’re safe. Just breathe.” John’s voice said. Gale felt a hand on the back of his neck. Felt it running over the little hairs at the base of his neck that were damp with sweat. He choked on an inhale. The other hand grabbed Gale’s where it was clutching his chest. Thumb running over his hand in slow strokes. The touch was grounding. Home safe he repeated to himself. He felt air enter his lungs as he struggled to slow his breathing.

“That’s it. Good job, darling. Just breathe”

Somehow against all odds, John was here. Calling him “darling”, holding him and comforting him even after Gale left him behind. Even after he went to hide behind the wall like a coward and left John to wrestle with the armed kraut. John was the one who was itching to escape, instead Gale stole his opportunity to run ahead of him, leaving him there. Gale was overcome with a guilt so strong and sudden he felt bile raising in his throat. His face twisting as he was hit with a strong wave of nausea.

“You gonna be sick?”

John asked, reading Gale’s expressions like an open book. He nodded miserably as John moved him around so his legs hung over the bed, hand still gripping Gale’s.

“Okay. It's alright. You’re okay. Just hold on to me”

Gale could barely make out the words being said to him over the ringing of his ears. He tried to swallow down the nausea as he felt hands under his knees and around his back. Lifting him off the bed with ease. Carrying him towards the bathroom.

“There. It’s alright. I got you.”

Gale’s knees buckled immediately as he was gently lowered to the ground. John pressed against his back firmly to steady him as Gale reached out to grasp the toilet bowl. He fell forward as he heaved. Tears were pricked his eyes as he coughed harshly and heaved again.

“You’re alright. Just need to breathe. Slowly. Just breathe. In and out. You’re alright.”

You’re alright John’s voice kept telling him. It was comforting. Gale let out a shuddering breath as he felt a hand rubbing his back soothingly. In and out. Gale tried to focus on the voice. On the gentle touch on his face and hair. He felt a weight pressed against his spine, holding him in place. In and out. More air filled his lungs. He reached out blindly towards the voice and felt his hand being grabbed in a warm grip.

That’s when he felt it. His hand pressed against warm skin. He could feel it against his palm. Thump thump. Strong, quick, John’s heart beat against him.

He let out a small gasp, hand shaking where it rested against John's chest, feeling his heartbeat. He kept his eyes closed, willing himself to breathe. It felt like hours had passed when his nausea finally receded and he started to calm down.His brain worked slowly through the haze, becoming aware of his surroundings little by little. He moved slowly to let himself sit on the floor, back resting against the toilet seat with John’s grip steadying him. Pieces of the past few days started to come back to him in slow bursts of memory. He remembered now. He had gone to sleep that night and John had slept next to him. He had been okay. Alive. Just hours ago. He was here, talking to him now.

“John?”

He whispered, wanting to make sure he was there. That he was real.

“I’m right here, Gale. Can you look at me?”

Gale shook his head petulantly. He didn’t want to look at John and see the disappointment, the hurt, the betrayal in his eyes again. He felt John huff out a nervous breath as he rubbed up and down Gale’s arm.

“Alright darling. Take your time okay? I’m right here when you’re ready”

John tried to sound reassuring but Gale knew him better than that. John sounded scared. Worried. Gale didn’t want John to feel scared ever again. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the harsh bathroom light as the room swam into view. He blinked bearily as his gaze fell onto the man in front of him. John was crouching on the floor, eyes looking sad and glassy with unshed tears. His curls looked wild and messy, sticking up on the top of his head as if he had been tugging on them. He was sporting a deep frown as he looked on with a concern Gale didn’t think he deserved. He still managed to school his features into a small smile as he locked eyes with Gale.

“There you are. You back with me?”

John asked softly. Pushing Gale messy hair out of his face and forehead. Gale couldn’t look away from him as he lifted Gale’s hand from his chest to press a chaste kiss against his knuckles.

Gale nodded. Biting his lip when he felt the beginning of a lump already forming in his throat.

“Okay. You’re okay. Let's just sit for a minute.”

John said, reaching behind Gale to grab a tissue and wipe Gale’s mouth gently. Before Gale knew it a cold glass of water was being pressed against his lips and he took a sip instinctively. The cool water felt nice against his dry mouth so he took another sip. His hands shook too much as he attempted to take the glass from John but he just batted his hand away. Murmuring a slow “I got it” as he held the glass against his lips.

You don’t deserve this Gale’s brain supplied harshly. The lump in his throat threatened to choke him as he reached out to press his hands against John’s chest again. He needed to feel him. Needed to feel the steady rise and fall of his breaths and the thumping of his heart again. Needed him alive and breathing.

“John”

Gale felt like John’s name was the only thing he could say right now. His voice sounded rough and faraway to his own ears. John gave him a worried look as he covered his hand with his own.

“I’m right here”

He assured him. Gale just looked on. Palm still firmly pressed against John’s chest. He almost died and I let him. He felt like he was going to lose it any second.

“Gale?”

He had been Gale tonight. Not Buck. Not John’s Buck. He couldn’t remember the last time John had called him Buck. The realisation hit him like a freight train. Maybe John did hate him. Maybe he wanted his name back.

“I’m sorry”

Gale choked out. His voice sounded rough and hoarse. His eyes finally spilling over as he lost the last remainder of self control he was desperately trying to keep. Tears were streaming down his face and into his cheeks and neck before he could do anything to stop it. He knew he had opened the gates now and once he started he couldn’t stop. John’s gaze softened in sadness, his hands coming up to wipe Gale’s tears away gently. Gale was talking before he could say anything.

“I let the kraut shoot you. Right here. Right in the chest. I ran and hid behind the wall like a fucking coward”

It was as if a dam had broken inside of Gale. It was like months of repressed guilt and fear that John secretly hated him finally caught up to him. A loud sob erupted from deep within his chest, more following immediately as his face crumpled. Maybe later he would feel embarrassed about all of it. Waking up from a nightmare and asking John to carry him to the bathroom just to dry heave and end up weeping like a child on the bathroom floor. But right then he couldn’t find it in him to feel anything other than desperation. Desperate for John to forgive him.

“I was all alone and I watched you bleed to death and I didn’t do a fucking thing. You hated me for it ”

He felt pathetic. You were the one who left him there, the snarky voice in his head said. Now he’s the one who has to comfort you for it.

“Hey, listen to me, Gale. None of that is real. None of that happened. You remember that. I’m here and I’m alright. It was all a bad dream”

John gripped Gale’s shaking shoulders, thumbs rubbing on his skin in small soothing patterns but the words couldn’t make it through the thick fog in his brain. He grabbed John’s face in his hands. Shaking terribly as he cried.

“I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry John.”

He needed to tell John. Needed him to hear it. To see how sorry he was. John’s mouth was turned downward with sadness. He opened his mouth but Gale was speaking before he could say anything.

“I still left you behind. That part was fucking real.I will never forgive myself for it”

Gale could see the moment understanding washed across John’s face. They had been over this before. Gale had woken up from this same nightmare so many times and had told John he was sorry every single time. John had always comforted him. Told him there was nothing to be sorry for. Assured him that they were both here and they had made it. It had always numbed Gale’s pain temporarily. But Gale knew, it was like putting bandaid on a puncture wound. The relief never stayed. It always ate him alive. Lived in the dark corners of his mind constantly, waiting for the right time to strike but this time was different. Gale felt inconsolable. He felt like he needed to beg for John’s forgiveness. John held Gale’s hands on his face tightly. Tears clinging to the corners of his own eyes.

“Gale, listen to me. You didn’t leave me behind. It was my choice to stay behind and I would do that a hundred times over. I swear to God Gale there’s nothing you have ever done in your life that you need to apologise to me for.”

Gale squeezed his eyes shut but it did little to stop the tears. He pulled his hands out of John’s grip to press the heels to his eyes. Guilt and panic was making it hard for him to breathe. To think. He needed to do something. Needed to say something before he lost his mind.

“No, no I need to- I need”

Language was escaping him and Gale couldn’t stop crying. His breathing was coming out ragged and forced. He felt like the abyss was back to swallow him whole. John took hold of his wrists. Pulling them away from his eyes and holding him firmly.

“What do you need?”

John asked. Sounding desperate. Gale bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Tasting the saltiness of his own tears.

“I need you to forgive me. Tell me you forgive me. Please”

“Gale-“

“I can’t live with this anymore, John. It’s killing me.”

It felt like a relief to say it. To admit it to John that this was eating him alive. For a second John looked like he wanted to argue and keep telling him there was nothing to forgive like he had all those times ago. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped. Gale felt more and more desperate by the second. He was looking at Gale as if he could see right through him. As if he could flip through his brain and read his thoughts like a book. Gale had never loved him more for it.

“Please. I need you to-.”

John let out a shaky breath at the plea. Leaning forward to grip Gale’s shoulders tightly and pulling him close. Forcing him to listen.

“Okay Gale. Fuck I forgive you okay? Look at me.”

Gale did.

“Do you hear me? I forgive you. I forgive you”

Gale saw a lone tear travel down John’s cheek and fall into his hands. He closed his eyes against the sheer sense of relief at hearing those words. John forgave him. He felt the pressure and the grief and the feeling of impending doom weighing his shoulders down suddenly gone and lifted. He felt himself go limp as he fell forward with exhaustion. John didn’t waste time pulling him into his arms and wrapping around his body tightly.

“Thank you” Gale murmured into his skin. Over and over again. His body felt shaky and spent. He buried his face in John’s neck. It smelled like John. It smelled like home. John rubbed up and down his back and his arms. He kissed his jaw and his hair and forehead and neck and everywhere he could reach.

Gale wanted to continue. He wanted to tell John he’ll never get over that wall. That he’ll never feel not guilty about it. But he didn’t find it in himself to speak. John said he forgave him and Gale believed him. Always had and always would. He rested his cheek against John’s shoulder. Feeling himself calming slowly the longer John held him. He sighed out a deep exhale and let John hold up his weight. His body feeling drained but coming back to himself. John was still holding him tightly. Almost like Gale would fall apart if he let him go. Gale’s hazy brain registered that he had probably really scared John pulling a stunt like that. It had been a while since he had a nightmare that bad. He needed to say something. Let John know he was okay now.

“I’m okay”

He croaked. He sounded unconvincing even to himself. He felt John nod against his head and started rocking them both from side to side. The motion was surprisingly soothing. Gale closed his eyes.

“Gonna take you back to bed. Is that okay?”

John asked. Barely waiting for a response. Gale felt too shaky to even attempt to stand on his own. Not trusting his legs to carry him. He sighed out a quiet “okay” and he was lifted off of the floor swiftly, hands under his arms like he weighed nothing. John wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders, walking him to bed. He felt weak, emotionally and physically drained but filled with a profound sense of relief.

“You should sleep, you’re exhausted ” John said softly, helping Gale settle back onto the bed. He pulled the covers up around him and sat down beside him. Gale felt shivers running through his body as he reached out a trembling hand to grasp John’s wrist. He could feel his fingers shaking against the warm skin.

“You okay? What do you need?”

John asked. Reaching out to run his fingers through his hair. Gale managed a small smile

“Just you”

John’s lips turned upwards into a fond smile Gale always loved. He immediately felt relieved to see it.

“You have me” John replied, wasting no time to get into the bed himself and pull Gale to his chest. One hand cradling his head and another wrapped around his back. He reached to wrap his arms around John’s waist. Fingers snaking up under his shirt to rub against his skin. John felt tense. Gale wanted the tension gone and the worried frown to disappear from his face forever. He leaned up to leave a soft kiss on his throat and felt John let out a quiet breath, face buried into his hair as he breathed in.

“God, you scared me. Took me a while to get you out of it this time ”

Gale wanted to apologise but was speaking again before he could say anything.

“You’re shaking. Are you cold?”

He didn’t wait for a reply before he reached out to grab the blanket Gale had kicked off the bed and draped it over both of them. Gale sighed in content as the warmth of it embraced him.

“‘M good now”

Gale said. His face fit perfectly under the column of John’s throat. The sheets felt damp from Gale’s sweat and tears. He swallowed thickly. He wants to tell John he’s sorry again. I’m Sorry for being so broken. For needing your comfort constantly, even though what you went through was worse than me. I’m sorry you had to wake up to me screaming and throwing up so many times this week. I’m sorry you got shot down thinking I was dead. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were captured. I’m sorry-

”I'm sorry I worried you” he said instead.

He felt John huff in annoyance.

“Stop saying sorry”

Gale huffed a small laugh. Feeling lighter than he had all night. He felt John smile into his hair and then, as if he could read Gale’s mind, he said

“I love you, you know that right? Love you more than anything. You’re what kept me alive. Through everything. You were the only thing I wanted to make it back home for.”

Gale felt his eyes burning with tears again so he closed them and just held John tighter. He didn’t need to say anything. He knew John understood him.

“We’re alright. We’re safe. Everything’s okay, Buck. I’m here. Try to get some sleep now, darling”

Gale hummed. John had called him Buck. He sighed in relief, letting sleep take him as he dozed to the sound of John’s heart beating. Alive.

[california-112]

"Why didn't you tell me?"

[hogans-heroes]

From the h/c prompt list: “You really don’t realize just how many people love you, do you?” for Bucky and Buck,,, please,,,

The cold afternoon light filtered through the dusty barrack windows, making patterns over the floor, the bunks, and the blanket draped across Gale and Bucky’s tangled forms. Several of the guys were in their beds or sitting at the table but all was quiet—a muted acceptance of their situation mixed with the melancholy that sometimes draped heavy enough to stop words from forming. It would have been peaceful, as much as could be, if Gale’s chest wasn’t caving in like he had been kicked with steel-toed boots. But no guard had touched him, it was just Bucky, curled into Gale’s side with his head on Gale’s chest and hands tucked under his own chin.

Bucky hadn’t spoken a single word all day. He hadn’t left his bunk either, hadn’t met anyone’s eyes, and though this had been happening more often it never got easier for Gale to witness. His vibrant Bucky, just…shutting down.

His chest was now rising and falling against the side of Gale’s ribs, occasionally struck with dry coughing fits, and brow furrowed in what Gale knew was a sign of the splitting headaches he never used to get before they were shot down. Bucky’s wounds were long healed, but Gale was sure the scars left behind were symbolic of internal damage he couldn’t see, in more ways than one.

The worst was Bucky’s eyes, dulled with a blank sadness as the days of pacing and curling into himself had led to days of this, his motionless form on the bed. Silent. Barely there.

Gale gently crooked his fingers where they were buried in the curls at the back of Bucky’s head, tucked under the knit cap he always wore. Bucky didn’t react though Gale knew he was awake, so Gale continued the ministrations for his own need as much as what he hoped was Bucky’s comfort. Bucky’s curls were long and soft and his body was warm against Gale, overwhelming him with equal waves of peace and heartache.

Gale sniffed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small unopened package of sweet biscuits. Crank had gotten them in his Red Cross package yesterday and had quietly slipped them to Gale with a nod of his chin in Bucky's direction. Everyone knew Gale was the only one who could get Bucky to eat anything at this point, and the thought both comforted and pained him. He opened the package and took out a biscuit, holding it in front of Bucky's nose, but Bucky didn't respond. After a moment Gale moved the food away, taking a bite of it himself, then moving it back to Bucky as he chewed. He nudged the biscuit to Bucky’s lips, silently begging, and finally Bucky’s mouth opened. Gale fed him and watched him eat, until one of Bucky’s hands emerged from the blanket and took the offering.

Gale watched him eat his way through the biscuits, taking more bites when Bucky pressed one to Gale’s lips, hand shaking slightly and resting on Gale's chest between their bites.

Relief uncoiled in Gale’s stomach, and he stroked Bucky’s back in praise, pulling up the extra blanket that Alex had bartered for a few sketches with the guys from another barrack.

"These are from Crank," Gale whispered. "His mom's been sending extra since he told her you liked them." Bucky stilled and Gale pressed the package closer, knowing Bucky was feeling guilty about eating them, but he had to tell him, had to make him know how much the others cared.

You really don't realize just how many people love you, do you?

The thought burrowed in Gale's heart, spreading an ache, and Gale inhaled and wrapped his arms around Bucky's head and waist. Clutching the too-skinny and battered form as close as he could, Gale begged any higher power to just let him get Bucky under his skin, inside himself where he could protect him. Bucky's shallow breaths warmed his throat and Gale clenched his jaw, hot tears welling up to burn his eyes and choke him.

The sound of footsteps made Gale blink to clear his vision, and he turned his head to see DeMarco padding over. The side of their bunk came up to his chest and Benny leaned on it, putting a hand on Gale's head and sliding an arm around Bucky, smoothing up his back and thumbing the bottom of his ear where it peaked out of the cap. He turned his concerned eyes on Gale and Gale tried to pour his gratitude into a look, not bothering to hide the building tears. Benny smiled sadly and squeezed Gale’s shoulder, his other hand never leaving Bucky.

Bucky didn’t made a sound, but after a moment he slid the package of biscuits across Gale's chest toward Benny, making another smile bloom on the other pilot's face. He took a biscuit and ate it, eyes lighting up at the taste. Bucky's hands weren't shaking quite as much now, and Benny stood with them for a bit, stroking both boys while they finished the pack of biscuits together. He patted them before quietly leaving, and Gale once again reached into his pocket to pull out the most recent letter from Marge.

Marge had been asking about Bucky. Her letters were full of concern and care for both of them, and this time she had excitedly written that one of the dogs in the neighborhood had puppies and she thought Bucky would love them, wanted to know if Bucky wanted her to save him one. Gale opened the letter with one hand, the other still tight around Bucky's waist, and held it out for Bucky to read. Bucky’s head shifted. He grasped the other side of the letter, thumb pressing reverently to the curling letters as he read.

Gale swallowed, pressed his face into Bucky’s cap, and breathed.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - Event Finals Part 2

Event Finals Part 1 Masterpost Read on AO3

Author's Note: We're approaching the end of this little AU (another part or two to come after this one, and possibly some cute one-shots or something if I feel like it). I legitimately don't know what I'm supposed to do now that the Olympics are over. Life will feel so empty without cheering for a new athlete in a random sport every day.

---

Quiet. 

Something an Olympic stadium should never be unless the lights are out, the arena closed, the athletes gone, no one but security to roam its empty seats. There is something unnatural about a sold out stadium standing still. 

Quiet. 

The absence of sound. No cheering. No singing. No clapping. No nothing. 

So why is it that quiet can be so damn loud?

Sometimes a stadium falls quiet as it bears witness to history in the making. Everything in slow motion. An audience holding its collective breath, waiting for some long-shot dream to come true. A record to be broken. An upset to turn from wildest dream to reality. A comeback to turn to victory. An audience goes quiet, waiting to see if the impossible becomes possible. 

A good quiet. The kind that draws people in, demands your attention because something incredible has happened.

But then there’s bad quiet. The kind that has the whole arena holding its breath because they’re worried that if they let it go, the worst will come true. A shocking loss suffered. A comeback failed. A career ended. History falling short. A life in the balance. 

That’s the kind of quiet that shuts everyone up, leaves them stunned and nervous and unsure what to do. It demands your attention because something terrible has happened. 

Quiet. 

The sound of the stadium at Worlds just over a year ago, when Bucky got chucked right off the high bar and into the ground, crumpling, unable to rise. 

Quiet. 

The sound of rustling and concerned whispering as medics rush to the apparatus. The sound of an audience willing the athlete to rise and feeling deeper and deeper sorrow when he doesn’t. The sound of an unconscious gymnast, usually so full of life, being loaded onto a stretcher and taken away. The sound of oh my god, and what just happened? and what happens now?

Quiet. 

The sound of an audience who doesn’t know what to do. The sound of remaining athletes who have been rattled to their core and now somehow have to just keep going because that’s sports. The sound of a teammate who can’t believe what he just saw, rushing after his best friend as he’s wheeled away, world titles be damned. 

Quiet. 

The sound of someone asleep, not waking up, still and broken in a hospital bed. The sound of a life saved, but a career lost. The unfairness of the world. The sound of pain that bears no words. The sound of fear that chokes the breath from your lungs. The sound of worry, when worry is all that’s left to do. 

Quiet. 

That’s the sound of Bercy arena on the morning of August 4, 2024. 

Is it possible for things to move too fast and too slow at the same time? Time splitting in different directions, tearing reality at its seams until you can no longer believe what you’re seeing. Because it’s wrong. 

Gale watches Bucky salute, and he can see on his face even way up in the stands that it’s wrong. It’s all wrong. He watches Bucky drop, like he simply can't hold his own weight any longer. And when the gymnast lays himself down fully on the ground, one fist clenched over his chest as his other arm covers his eyes, Gale shoots to his feet in the stands. Slow motion, fast forward, all at once. 

I’ll be alright, Bucky insisted last night. Gale chose to believe him even though he knew Bucky was downplaying the discomfort. Even if he didn’t believe him, though, he knows it wouldn’t have made a difference. John would have done it anyway. 

Right?

Or did Gale make a mistake? Trying not to overstep. Trying not to be overbearing. What did it cost?

Benny’s hand reaches out to grab onto Gale’s wrist, in alarm or comfort neither of them know. Croz stands beside Gale, while Brady and Alex lean forward in their seats. Alex grips the seat back in front of him while Brady covers his mouth with his hand. Cameras zoom in on their little group, capturing their reactions for the entire world to see.

Everyone watching gets to see the way Gale puts a hand over his mouth and runs the other through his hair, his eyes wide and wild like he’s seconds from jumping over every row of seats to get to the floor. Everyone watching gets to see the way Croz and Benny both put a hand on one of Gale’s arms, like they’re holding him back or holding him together. Everyone watching gets to see the way they stare down at the apparatus below in shock. 

Bucky, laying on his back on the floor beneath the still rings. An arm over his eyes to block the light. A hand clenched in pain. A grimace on his face. His bad leg bent so his knee is in the air and the outline of his brace is visible through the fabric of his pants. The whole world gets to see that, too. 

Bucky, who just gave the best still rings performance of his life. Who just wowed the whole world with a skill no one ever thought he’d be able to do. Who very likely just secured another gold medal. 

Except, instead of submitting his score, the judges are still staring at him, too. 

It’s quiet. 

The world stops, except for Curt, the first to find his way back from the break in reality. He yells John’s name again and jumps up onto the rings podium. He drops to his knees next to Bucky’s head, and their coach is close behind, kneeling by Bucky’s leg. 

Gale strains to see what’s happening, but he can’t from up here. All he can see is the two men hovering over Bucky’s body, the damn cameras trying to zoom in too close. Give him some damn space, he thinks. He wants to push every single one of them away. He wants to stand in front of Bucky and block everyone’s view of him, stop the stations from capitalizing on this gut-wrenching moment. 

On the floor, Curt sees flashbacks of the past in his mind. One moment, Bucky on the high bar. The next, in a slump on the floor, his leg a mangled mess. Unmoving. The quiet stadium. Everyone holding their breath. Curt running. Slow motion. To Bucky’s side. Bucky unconscious, eyes closed, face contorted in pain. Bucky. 

Quiet. 

The same exact kind of quiet. 

The thing is, Bucky didn’t fall. Not today, not in Bercy arena, not off still rings. Today he landed perfectly. He smiled. He saluted. He waved to the crowd. He had even the judges staring at him, impressed with his strength and skill. He did everything he needed to do. And then he just… dropped. 

At first, Curt thought it was exhaustion. A collapse in relief at the end of his last routine in Paris. After three all arounds and two events on a leg that may or may not have been ready. Nothing but a ‘I’m done. Thank god.’

But he didn’t get back up. He stayed there, on his back, staring into the blinding lights above. Unmoving. The cameras are crowding in on him, suffocating. The eyes of the entire arena are on him. Quiet. 

I’m fine, Curt. Just one more event. 

Just one more. Just one more. Just one more. 

This goddamn sport. 

Why do none of them ever listen?

Curt feels sick as he runs to Bucky’s side, history repeating, the world blurring, his ears filled with underwater noise. He kneels at Bucky’s head, their coach dropping down by his knee, which is still bent upwards. Not mangled. Not twisted. Just… what? 

“What happened?” Curt asks in a rush, resting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky pulls his arm away from his face but squeezes his eyes shut. He takes a shallow breath. “My knee,” he grunts, motioning vaguely to his leg. “Don’t know. I landed fine. I-I dunno.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair before he glances first at Curt, then at their coach. He’s out of breath, but Curt doesn’t know if it’s from the routine or the pain. Or both. “Hurt yesterday,” Bucky goes on. “Maybe I shouldn’t have…”

Shouldn’t have what? Shouldn’t have done his final event? Shouldn’t have come back so soon? Shouldn’t have done four floor routines when the doctors said floor was the last thing he should be doing?

Curt shakes his head, because Bucky was always going to do all of those things. There’s no use in wondering. “Should’ve listened to the dog,” he tries to joke instead. 

Bucky cracks a smile but it quickly turns to a grimace. 

Their coach prods gently at the joint, checking for anything abnormal. “Some swelling for sure. Probably just a sprain,” he says calmly. All three of them know that that could mean anything, though, with the injury Bucky had. It could be nothing. Or it could cost everything. “Do you think you can get up?”

Bucky blinks and takes a deep breath. He looks at Curt. At their coach. His eyes drift away. Towards the rings dangling high above him, lined with chalk marks from his grips. Towards the other athletes watching in concern. Towards the stands, filled with spectators whose eyes are on him. He can’t see Gale. His heart jumps in his chest, but he forces himself to breathe. He knows Gale is there. But the sound and the lights and the pain is making his head pound and he can’t hold it up long enough to search. 

He looks at the cameras circling him like a flock of birds circles roadkill, locked in on their prey: this staggering turn of events. He tries not to think too much about them and the fact that this clip of him will be circulated on national television and across social media. His failure. His pain. Perhaps his downfall. All over again. 

Was it worth it?

Gymnasts get hurt. It’s not a matter of if. It’s when. It’s how bad. It’s can you rise again. Should Bucky have listened to the people who told him no? To the people who begged him to slow down?

Or should he have seized this moment for everything it was worth? He thought his career was over once before. In the end, how many times can you beat the odds before the odds come back to shove you down again?

The world loves a comeback story. And they also love to see it go up in flames. They call him unbreakable. What will they call him if he’s just ruined it all?

He got more out of Paris than he ever expected. He came back to the sport with a vengeance, and he grabbed for his titles with an iron grip dripping in blood, sweat, and tears. They say he could be, could become, the greatest male gymnast of all time. He made history here. 

Was it enough?

“John? Can you get up? Or do we need a stretcher?” The voice of his coach carves through the shroud in his mind, reminding him of where he is. The noise around him, even in deafening silence, crashes back into him. 

“I dunno,” he says, cringing at the way his words slur together. Experimentally, he straightens his leg a bit and grimaces at the pain, but it’s nothing compared to what he felt at Worlds. 

“Come on,” Curt says. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Bucky nods and lets Curt help him sit up, biting the inside of his cheek against the discomfort. Then he loops his arm around Curt’s shoulder, and their coach moves to his other side. Together, they haul him up, and Bucky takes a little hop to get his weight onto his good leg, the toes of his left foot resting lightly on the ground. He can feel his brace digging into his skin beneath the competition pants. His knee is throbbing with every desperate heartbeat. 

The stadium fills with sound again. 

With a deep breath, Bucky gives a pained smile as the arena erupts into cheers, whistles, and applause, relieved to see him on his feet. The USA chant picks back up, and Bucky lifts a hand from Curt’s shoulder to wave at the crowd. The sound follows him the whole way as, ever so slowly, the three of them make their way down off the rings podium. Their team doctor rushes over to them with a wheelchair, and she helps Curt ease Bucky down into it.

“You’re never gonna stop givin’ me heart attacks, huh?” Curt jokes.

Bucky inhales sharply as he adjusts his bad leg on the footrest of the wheelchair, but he laughs. “Don’t count on it.”

The moment his score finally posts, every single person watching knows before he does as he sits, idly tracing a finger around his knee and trying not to think about anything too much. 

He jumps in surprise when Curt claps him on both shoulders, telling him to look at the score. And he all but falls out of the chair when he sees it, Curt having to hold him steady as they both laugh and scream “What the fuck! Holy shit!”

In a sport of tenths, he won the gold by well over a full point. It’s his best ever score on rings. 

His smile starts to fade just the littlest bit when he watches the silver and bronze medalists climb up onto the wide open spring floor, raising high the flags of their countries. Celebrating their victories. It’s a right of passage for any Olympic medalist, taking that victory lap, playing a superhero just for a few minutes. 

Bucky tries to shove himself out of his wheelchair, but Curt pushes him back down. “You can’t walk, dude.”

“I’m fine,” Bucky insists, trying to get up again. 

“John.”

The third time, Curt steps back and lets Bucky do as he pleases. He makes it two limping steps before he can’t hold his weight, and their coach, ever the spotter, has to lunge forward to catch him before he falls. 

He realizes that his coach is holding an American flag, which is now half wrapped around Bucky. “You didn’t think I was gonna make you sit out, did you?”

He motions to Curt, who takes the chair and hoists it up onto the floor. Then together, they pull Bucky up with it and help him get seated again. Curt hands him the American flag, and they grin at each other before Curt takes off across the floor, pushing Bucky in front of him. The flag waves high and proud as the world watches.

–

Bucky will admit, when he envisioned his last medal ceremony in Paris, he didn’t imagine himself being pushed to the podium in a wheelchair. But here he is. 

He enters Bercy for the very last time with the other two medalists. He’s now wearing the team USA tracksuit over top of his competition shirt and shorts, the competition pants having been removed to take a better look at his knee. They still don’t know what the damage is, because Bucky refused to be properly checked out until after the medal ceremony. Scratch that, until after Curt’s vault final. It’s starting to swell, though, and the doctor wrapped it with obscene amounts of tape, pleading with him to “not do anything else stupid.”

Bucky doesn’t really know what she expects him to do between now and two hours from now, but he supposes she’s probably right to be concerned. They make him go out in the wheelchair, one of the event volunteers pushing him. He tries to make small talk with her before the athletes are guided out the door into the arena. But she speaks French, and the only things he really knows how to say in French he learned from Gale. And that mostly consists of flirting and dirty talk. 

She rolls her eyes at his botched pronunciation when he so much as tries to tell her “thank you,” but she smiles kindly and pats his shoulder. And then she wheels him out into the arena for all the world to see the duality of his success and pending downfall. 

He feels ecstatic at the same time that he feels self-conscious. Proud but also worried. Accomplished, and yet sad. He ignores the pain in his leg. 

At least he’s not on a stretcher. 

At least he’s conscious. 

At least he’s here, and not in a hospital. 

At least at least at least…

At least he got a medal out of it this time.

Yes. 

A gold medal. Another gold medal.

Everything else can damn well wait. 

Bucky might be in a chair, but the grin plastered to his face, the way he waves to the crowd as he’s wheeled out, the brightness of his eyes, so, so alive, make it seem like he’s on top of the world. He certainly doesn’t mind the way the audience cheers a little extra loudly for him. When the athletes stop behind the podium, in a line with Bucky in the middle, he pushes himself carefully to his feet. The volunteer gives him a questioning look, but he waves her off, and she nods and steps away. He stands with most of his weight on his good knee, head held high. He refuses to make himself small in this moment. He refuses to sit below the others at a time when he should be rising up.

When the announcer calls his name for the final time, introducing him as the gold medalist and Olympic Champion, he hops towards the podium and gives it a wary glance. Before he can work out how best to get himself up there, though, the silver and bronze medalists – a Japanese gymnast and a Ukrainian gymnast, respectively – step forward and take his weight on either side. Together, they lift him up onto the top step and make sure he’s steady.

“Thank you,” he says to them as he shakes each of their hands. They pat him on the back and smile at him so brightly that he’s momentarily amazed at the kindness that can be found in the world. He makes sure to clap louder than anyone in the whole stadium when their names are called. 

He really does almost cry this time when the National Anthem plays through the stadium, the American flag raising high. He quietly sings the words, and he hears the people of his country singing aloud, too. He stands on the podium, medal around his neck, pain be damned. 

John Egan, Olympic Champion. Five time Olympic medalist. Four in Paris alone. Two golds, two silvers. 

How’s that for a goddamn comeback?

—

Bucky’s singular text to Gale between his medal ceremony and Curt’s vault reads: Do you think you can still do gymnastics after a knee replacement? Asking for a friend. 

The reply comes back, maybe you can be a Paralympian. 

It doesn’t make him feel better, but it does make him laugh as he sits on the sidelines, watching the gymnasts warm up on vault. “Don’t do that for the final!” He jokes after Curt falls on his ass on the landing, even though he knows it was on purpose to save his knees from the impact during warm-ups. 

Curt gives him the finger. On live television. 

Presumably, Gale shared Bucky’s text with Croz in concern. Because when Bucky’s phone buzzes again, it’s Croz telling him to Stop being dramatic.

Curt easily secures his third medal of the Games, winning gold on vault like Bucky knew he would. He’s the best men’s vaulter in the world right now, with the highest start value of any gymnast here. 

“You got this babe!” Bucky yells out as Curt prepares to run down the track. And when he sticks the landing without so much as a hop, Bucky throws himself out of the chair and nearly falls on his face, having to grab onto his coach for support. 

“You did that! You fucking did that!” He exclaims as Curt hops down, buzzing from the adrenaline. 

They both fucking did it. 

—

When a reporter interviews Bucky and Curt again after event finals, Bucky’s still in the damn chair. They both have gold medals around their necks, though. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he insists, when the reporter comments on it. The truth is, he doesn’t really know yet. He’s really hoping his coach is right and it’s just a minor sprain, but he’s refused a proper medical examination until he’s done here at Bercy. He was told that they don’t have crutches on hand, but he thinks they just don’t trust him with crutches. 

Which is ridiculous. 

“You’re a mess,” Curt laughs. “You can barely keep yourself in the chair and you think you can be trusted with crutches?”

The reporter asks them both what’s next after this, the dreaded question of any Olympic athlete. 

How about rest? How about a week off? How about some ice?

Bucky could really go for ice right now. A hug from his boyfriend, maybe. A muffin. 

He tells the reporter as much. But then they both hint at 2028, Curt gunning for at least one more go before he’s just a “washed up Olympian.” Bucky agrees that, as long as he can keep himself in one piece, the world hasn’t seen the last of this dynamic duo. He may or may not wink at the camera. 

“Gale Cleven’s been in the stands for all of your events,” the reporter observes. “The aforementioned boyfriend, I take it? You two haven’t been very subtle.”

Bucky laughs and tries not to blush. “What can I say,” he shrugs. “I didn’t expect to fall in love at the Olympics.”

“But you did?”

“I did.”

—

Gale doesn’t even see the interview until late that afternoon, when Marge, sitting beside him, screams and shoves her phone in his face. “He fell in love?”

Gale grabs the phone from her hands and stares down at it. Marge reaches over and rewinds so he can hear it again. 

“I didn’t expect to fall in love…”

He rewinds it again. And again. One more time. Hell, he was still right there in the stands during that interview and he didn’t even know. His brain is short-circuiting, the same way it did the very first time he met John Egan on a plane two weeks ago. 

He doesn’t know if his heart is soaring at the confirmation: it’s not just him. John feels it too. 

Or if it’s pounding because he doesn’t understand why Bucky told the world before he told him. Did he mean it? Did it just pop out?

“Gale? You okay?” Marge asks. He realizes the video has stopped and he’s still just gripping the phone tight in his hands, frozen. It’s paused on Bucky and Curt grinning at the camera, holding their medals up. The replay button blocks part of Bucky’s face. 

Gale blinks and looks up at Marge. 

She smiles at him, and he nervously smiles back. He runs a hand through his hair. “I- do you think he meant it?”

Marge literally facepalms. “Gale, honey.” She rolls her eyes and shoves him in the shoulder. “Yes!” The he’s loved you since the moment he saw you goes unspoken. 

Just then, Gale’s phone buzzes. Still holding Marge’s phone, he checks his own, and nearly chucks Marge’s away when he sees it’s a text from John. Marge has to grab his wrist and gently remove her phone from his grip. 

Looks like a sprain. I’ve been released from Hell.

Then, The med center. They let me leave the med center. If that wasn’t clear.

Can I see you later? Gale asks. 

If you want.

He squints at his phone and bites his bottom lip, unsure what that means. But he says he’ll stop by John’s room that evening.

He sneaks a muffin from the dining hall on his way and buys pre-made sandwiches from the market in the Village. Other than confirming that this plan was acceptable, Bucky didn’t respond to any more of Gale’s messages all afternoon, and Gale tries not to let it put too much of a weight on his chest. It was a hard day, that’s all. It’s natural that Bucky would be upset. It’s expected. 

He probably just doesn’t feel like talking. 

So what if he didn’t reply when Gale sent him a picture of the cute Brazil pin he got on his way back into the Village? So what if he doesn’t send so much as a smiley face when Gale tells him Whiskey is proud of him? So what?

When Gale knocks on the door, it takes a minute for it to open. There’s a clanging noise, the word “fuck,” and then Bucky is standing on the other side of the doorway, a crutch under one arm and a brace on his knee. Even though he’s done competing now. Gale tries not to stare at it.

“Hey,” he says. He can’t help but smile every time he sees Bucky, his hair unkempt and a goofy grin on his face.

Except, the grin isn’t there. Bucky looks tired, defeated. He’s dressed in USA sweats and a t-shirt, and that typical mischievous light is gone from his blue eyes. 

“You okay?” Gale asks. The smile falls from his face. “That’s a bad question. Sorry.”

Bucky blinks and shakes his head, like he’s trying to refocus himself. He seems to notice Gale standing there for the first time. “Sorry. Yeah. Yeah, I mean. No, I’m not great. But…” He does smile now, and he gives a little self-deprecating laugh. “I have four Olympic medals now. So.”

“You do.” The corner of Gale’s mouth pulls up again. “Olympic Champion John Egan. The greatest gymnast in the world.”

Bucky laughs again. “I could get used to that title. Come on. No reason to stand in the doorway.” He reaches out to grab the bag of food in Gale’s hand, but loses his balance on the crutch and has to press his hand to Gale’s solid chest instead. He sighs and lets his forehead fall against Gale’s shoulder. “Maybe you better just carry the food in.”

Gale presses his free hand to Bucky’s, still resting on his chest. “I have a better idea.”

Carefully, he steps all the way through the door and closes it behind him. Then he sets the food on the floor, ignoring Bucky’s perplexed look. “Give me that.” He motions to the crutch.

“What are you doing?” Bucky raises an eyebrow and watches Gale skeptically, but he hands over the crutch, leaving him standing with all his weight on one foot. Gale makes quick work of it though, leaning the crutch gently against the wall, and then Bucky isn’t standing anymore. Gale literally sweeps him off his feet in one fluid motion, one arm under Bucky’s legs and the other supporting his back and shoulders, carrying him bridal style.

“Okay?” Gale asks.

Bucky gazes up at him, surprised, and licks his lower lip as his eyes trail from Gale’s face down to his chest, then to Gale’s arm beneath his knees. “Who knew you were so strong.”

Gale rolls his eyes, and he carries Bucky down the hall. “Wanna eat in your room or in the common area?”

Bucky raises a hand to cup Gale’s cheek, making him look down again. Wanting those eyes on nothing but him. “There’s other things we could do in the bedroom,” he suggests, gently biting his lower lip with a small smile. He raises his eyebrows in question.

Gale’s cheeks flush, which makes Bucky smile even bigger, but he sighs and shakes his head. “No. You need food. And rest.”

Bucky pouts. “Or, have you considered, I need feel-better sex.”

“Food,” Gale insists. “Now pick a room. You’re heavy as hell.”

“Wow you really know how to make a guy feel special,” Bucky mutters.

“John.”

“Bedroom.”

Gale nods and walks through the open door of Bucky’s room. He carefully steps over a second crutch laying on the floor beside the bed, assuming the clanging noise he heard earlier was Bucky dropping it when he tried to get out of bed to answer the door. He also kicks an abandoned heating pad out of the way, making a note to rotate Bucky through ice and heat again after they eat. Once he lowers Bucky onto the mattress, he fluffs the pillow and settles it behind Bucky’s back so he can sit up against the wall.

“Feel alright?” he asks.

Bucky nods, but he grimaces as he adjusts his leg. He points across the room. “Can you get Curt’s pillow and put it under my knee?” Gale nods and grabs the pillow, situating it beneath Bucky’s leg until the gymnast tells him it’s comfortable. 

There’s a knock on the open door, and Gale looks up to see Curt leaning against the doorframe. He has the bag of food in one hand and the abandoned crutch in the other. 

“Okay, this makes so much more sense,” he says, motioning to Gale with the crutch.

“Than what?” Bucky asks.

“I don’t know. Than you spontaneously turning into a bag of takeout.”

Gale stifles a laugh as he straightens up to face Curt and awkwardly shoves a hand in his pocket. Curt leans the crutch against the wall at the end of Bucky’s bed and thrusts the bag of food towards Gale.

“I’m heading out with the boys,” he says when Gale takes it. “USA House. You two wanna come?”

Bucky shakes his head before Gale can even think about it. “Looks like we’re eating in tonight.”

“We can go,” Gale tells him earnestly.

But Bucky shakes his head again, and Gale can’t read the expression on his face. “It’s alright. I’d rather stay here.”

Gale and Curt share a concerned look, but they both nod. “Okay,” Curt says. Then he glances at Gale and winks. “Be careful with him. Nothing too acrobatic.”

Gale’s face burns and he stammers a bit, but Curt points at Bucky before he can figure out what to say. “You’re the GOAT. Don’t forget it.”

“You’re a legend,” Bucky responds.

“A literal Greek god.”

“Fuckin’ Hercules.”

Curt grins. “Goddamn Olympic champions.”

“Love ya, babe.” Bucky dramatically blows him a kiss. 

Curt pretends to catch it, and then he’s gone.

Bucky shifts himself over so he’s on the side of the bed pressed against the wall, as close to the wall as he can get. “Really?” Gale says, motioning to the pillow that is no longer beneath Bucky’s knee. “I just got you set up.”

Bucky ignores him and pats the now empty space beside him. Gale sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. Then he gets Bucky’s leg elevated again and sits beside him, as requested. They don’t quite fit, so one of Gale’s legs has to hang off the edge, their shoulders pressed together. 

“I got you a muffin,” he says, opening the bag and pulling out a small, napkin-wrapped package. He sets it on Bucky’s thigh. “Since you have an addiction.”

“God I love you,” Bucky murmurs, glancing from the muffin to Gale. His eyes go wide when he realizes what he said. When Gale opens his mouth to respond, though, Bucky grabs the muffin and unwraps it. “Not the desert I was hoping to start tonight with. But I’ll take it.” He doesn’t miss the way Gale frowns and blushes at the same time, but he shoves down the feeling of guilt rising in his chest and offers the muffin to Gale. “Bite?”

When the muffin is gone, Bucky licks the chocolate off the corner of Gale’s mouth, then presses their lips together. He sighs into the way Gale reciprocates, and he reaches his hand up to grab at his soft blonde hair. “You taste like chocolate,” he mumbles against his mouth. 

Gale pulls away with a breathy laugh, darting his tongue out to lick at the last little bit of chocolate stuck to his lips. “How’d you get it on your nose?” He asks. He uses his thumb to wipe it away, watching the way Bucky’s eyes flutter closed at the gentle touch. 

Bucky tries to kiss him again, but Gale turns his head so Bucky gets his cheek instead. 

“A muffin doesn’t count as dinner,” he says. He reaches into the bag again and pulls out two wrapped subs, offering one to Bucky.

“Don’t need dinner,” Bucky insists, shaking his head. He nuzzles against Gale’s temple before dipping down to nip at his ear. “Need you.”

“Need protein,” Gale argues, shifting away. “Now chicken salad or Italian?”

It doesn’t much matter. Despite Gale’s insistence, Bucky only eats half of his Italian sub before setting it in his lap and staring at Gale with wide, pleading eyes. When Gale turns his head to look at him, eyebrow raised, Bucky smirks before leaning in to kiss him. First gentle, then a little rough when Gale reciprocates and melts into it. He wraps his hand around the back of Gale’s head and bites gently at his lower lip, then leaves a trail of kisses down his jaw to his neck. He pulls back the neckline of Gale’s shirt and sucks a light bruise into the delicate skin over his collarbone, where it will just barely be hidden by his clothes. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Gale mutters, even as he tilts his head to give Bucky better access.

“And there’s no evolutionary reason for me to exist? That’s rude, Buck.”

“No,” Gale grunts. Bucky nips below his ear. “You… are perfect.”

“Parfait?”

Gale nods. “Parfait.”

He can feel Bucky smiling against his neck, and he turns his head so their noses bump when Bucky tries to look up at him again. Bucky hands over the last of his sandwich so Gale can shove it back in the bag, which he throws to the floor. Then their mouths find one another, and Gale moans softly when Bucky takes his lower lip between his teeth, biting it gently before his tongue runs across it. His hand comes back up to pull at Gale’s hair the way he likes. But Gale pulls away when he realizes the way Bucky has to twist his back to get to him in this position, where they’re sitting next to each other, backs to the wall. Reality dawns on him. 

“Your knee,” he protests.

“Is sprained, Buck,” Bucky groans. “I can handle an innocent make-out session.”

“You never want to stop at innocent,” Gale argues. He’s right. And Bucky doesn’t plan to stop at innocent now. 

“Please?”

Gale can’t read the expression on Bucky’s face, and he doesn’t like that. Usually, he can read John like a book – his excitement, his anger, his curiosity, his cockiness. Now he’s smiling and pouting at once, looking at Gale with puppy-dog eyes. But there’s something desperate about it, something off. Something pleading, like he’s worried it’s the last time they’ll ever do this. 

It’s been a long day, Gale reminds himself. And he kisses Bucky anyways. 

He shifts so he’s in front of Bucky, basically sitting on his right thigh with his knee between his legs. He takes care not to jostle the sprained left knee as he leans in, pressing one hand to Bucky’s chest and the other to the wall beside his head, closing him in.

“Well hello, angel,” Bucky chuckles. His face shifts immediately, like relief washing over him. With a satisfied smirk, he pulls his shirt over his head in one swift motion, and then helps Gale do the same. He takes pleasure in the way Gale’s eyes roam over his upper body, like he can’t get enough of seeing Bucky’s arms, his chest, his abs. Like he’s seeing it all for the first time even though it’s far from it at this point.

“Parfait,” Gale breathes again, his cheeks pink and his lips parted, eyes already dark. It floods Bucky with all kinds of want and need. 

He cups the back of Gale’s head and pulls him in for another rough kiss. His other hand makes its home on Gale’s waist, holding him steady. He pulls at Gale’s hair, making the blonde moan softly, and there’s no denying how turned on Bucky is by that sound. He pushes his hips forward even though there’s nothing there to press into. Gale notices and lets his hand drift down, down, down. Bucky takes a deep, pleasured breath when he feels Gale’s hand on him, but it’s gone as quickly as it was there. Gale bites gently at Bucky’s lip before pulling away. He shifts downward to suck at Bucky’s neck and collarbone instead, his hand stroking up Bucky’s side until it reaches his chest. With deft fingers, Gale pinches Bucky’s nipple, making him gasp in surprise. Gale smiles against his neck.

He tries to move further down, so he can take the nipple between his lips, but he has to shift backwards to do so and bumps Bucky’s knee in the process. Bucky grimaces, inhaling sharply. “Shit, I’m sorry,” Gale says. He straightens up immediately, shifting away from Bucky’s bad leg, and he nearly topples off the small bed in the process. Bucky throws a hand out to steady him, resting it on his shoulder.

“It’s fine, Gale.” 

Gale looks all sorts of guilty and concerned, and Bucky can’t stand it. “Maybe we shouldn’t-”

Bucky cups Gale’s jaw with a steady hand. “It’s fine,” he says again. “Please. I want you, Buck. I need you. Please.”

There’s a hint of begging somewhere at the bottom of Bucky’s tone, and Gale sighs. He wants it, too. He wants to keep going, too. He glances at Bucky’s knee again, but then he nods. “Come here,” he says.

Gently, he pulls Bucky away from the wall and helps him turn so his legs are hanging over the side of the bed. Gale kneels on the floor between them. “Feel okay?”

Bucky nods as he adjusts, scooting closer to the edge. Then without warning, eager to pick up where they left off, he wraps his fingers in Gale’s hair again. He leans down and pulls Gale up to kiss him once, then he guides Gale back to his chest. He moans when Gale takes his nipple between soft lips, licking and sucking at it gently. He holds Gale to him, asking silently for more as he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. 

Eventually, Gale shifts his attention to the other side, giving it the same treatment, before kissing his way down Bucky’s abs to the waistband of his sweatpants. He peeks up at Bucky, icy blue eyes peering through blonde eyelashes. “Do you want…”

Bucky nods urgently. “Yes.” And he shifts to help Gale pull the waistband down. “God, you’re beautiful,” he nearly growls as he watches Gale. And then Gale’s mouth is on him, and he’s too overwhelmed with pleasure to say anything else. 

One blowjob and one handjob later, and Gale is back on the bed again. They both have their pants pulled back up, Gale having cleaned them both up afterwards, but their shirts remain lost on the floor. Gale sits at the head of the bed, leaning back against the wall even though it makes his back sore. Bucky, beside him, is slumped down further so his head can lay against Gale’s chest, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. Ice rests on top of it. He tries to focus on nothing other than the comforting sound of Gale’s steady heartbeat and the feeling of Gale’s fingers playing mindlessly with his hair.

“Thank you,” Bucky says quietly. “For tonight. For everything.”

Gale hums softly but otherwise stays quiet for a while. He takes a breath and starts to say, “John, I-”

“I’m going home,” Bucky blurts out then. “Day after tomorrow. Early.”

Gale stops cold and looks down at Bucky, catching his eye. “Oh.”

Bucky averts his gaze again, exhaling a warm breath that tickles Gale’s chest. “The doctor, uh… well. They think it’s a sprain,” he explains, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice. “But they don’t know how bad. It could just be mild. It could be a partial tear. I have to get an MRI.”

“So you have to leave?” Gale asks, confused and disappointed. They’d been talking about going to closing ceremonies together. 

Bucky nods. “I just… Gale.” He sits up, and his face turns dark. A flicker of fear flashes across it, followed by sadness. He opens his mouth to say more, but the words get caught in his throat. He can’t decide if he wants to look at Gale when he says it or if it would be easier not to. He grabs Gale’s hand and runs a thumb across his knuckles. He looks at that instead. “They don’t know if my leg will ever be strong enough to be competitive again.”

Gale blinks and looks down at Bucky’s hand holding his. Some things about Bucky’s behavior today are making more sense. The sudden avoidance after he left the med center. The desperation when he asked Gale to keep kissing him. Like it was the last time.

“Oh.”

Bucky nods and bites his lip.

“But they don’t know,” Gale points out. “It might just be a minor sprain. It’s not a death sentence, John.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I know. I’m getting kicked outta here anyways, though.” He motions to the room around them. The U.S. athletes have to leave the village soon after their events are over. Gale and Benny have been staying in a hotel the last few days with many of the other athletes reluctant to cut short their time in Paris.

“I was gonna get a hotel,” Bucky goes on. “But I- I need to go home, Buck.”

Gale nods, his brow scrunched as he tries to work through what Bucky is telling him. “I understand,” he says, even though he isn’t quite sure if he does. 

“So can we just,” Bucky sighs. Then he tries his best to smile at Gale and cups his cheek, guiding him to look him in the eye again. “Can we just be happy together tonight? I just wanna be with you right now.”

Gale closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. But he smiles back at Bucky, and he nods, and he says okay.

–

The next night, they say goodbye. “We live close together,” Gale rationalizes. Only a couple hours at worst, both in the DC area. “Maybe we can see each other when I get back and get Whiskey settled?”

Bucky nods and offers a weak smile. Not like that broad grin when Gale first sat beside him on the plane. Not like John Egan at all. He kisses Gale, pressing all the meaning he possibly can into it. It’s full of love and full of sorrow at the same time. 

It’s full of goodbye. 

Neither of them say I love you.

Gale texts him several times, checking in. Asking if he landed safely. When he sees a story in the news about Bucky, Olympic gold medalist, being welcomed home by all the kids that train at the same gym as him, he texts again to say how sweet the article was. He texts asking if Bucky is okay. If he needs anything. If he had his MRI. He asks about the verdict. 

For days, he doesn’t get a single reply.

[alienoresimagines]

Bucky: We should get you to a doctor for a check up immediately. What if it happens again, and there isn’t anyone around to help you? What if it’s congenital? Oh my God! Was it me? Did I hurt you?

Buck: …You realize any other person that made their partner pass out on bed would simply feel really proud of themselves, right?

[euph0riacc]

JOHN EGAN/ GALE CLEVEN

hurt/comfort: ongoing fic

“You’re scaring the men.” Buck says to him one night, when his face is pressed against the back of his neck, far too close for it to be casual.

“I’m scaring myself,” John admits, into the cool night air. It’s easier when it’s like this. When he can pretend that he’s talking to himself instead of the man who’s safety he’s built his life around. But even that is gone, was shattered when his foot made contact with brittle ribs. Just another way that this war has changed him.

John used to be a man who wanted to protect, above all else. Now he just wants to hurt.

**

OR: what if John really did lose his mind, even if only for a moment. Would it change anything?

The long awaited Suicide Stalag Fic! I’ve got most of the fic written out now so it should be updating every few days! Let me know what y’all think. It’s intense.

[avonne-writes]

I noticed bucky has a scar above his lip that you can only see when he decides to shave his mustache down, I feel like that would be gales favorite spot to kiss him. or any of his scars from the war really, as if that alone could heal all the wounds that they both carry inside from it all 🥺

(Someone please send me a photo where I can see it 🥺)

Yes, you’re right, they both like to kiss each other's scars to comfort the other. It’s always a gesture that means "I love you. I'm here. I want to help you heal. I will hold you if you need." ❤️

[kafka-ohdear]

#gay men looking like a renaissance painting.

[stars-remain2]

Thank you all so much for your kind words and encouragement. I posted a new chapter to what I thought was just a vignette on AO3. Here’s to more writing and more Gale whump in 2025!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56024404/chapters/158456125#workskin

@peageetibbs-ab & @joeyalohadream Thank you again ❤️

[butdaddyilovehim99]

this scene hurts from this angle

bucky may have a tough face on but he is BEGGING buck to take the ‘lucky deuce’ bucky can’t be up there with his men so he needs to have this little bit of himself up there

buck looking back into bucky’s eyes, trying to evaluate the situation, in my opinion, this is when he realizes bucky hasn’t told him what it’s like to fly a real mission

gale only takes the bill for the sake of john, to give him a peace of mind

[air-exec]

MOTA AU where Gale starts losing his memory (illness? Accident? Who knows!)

so he starts keeping a journal where he keeps track of all of the things he loves about John, in an attempt to make something tangible to remind himself of the love of his life if/when he no longer recognizes him.

[heretoobsessstuff]

WIP

Have some gale whump I’ve been working on :)

*

Gale woke slowly, his senses returning in fragments. The air around him felt damp, a sterile smell clung to it like a faint, chemical residue. There were voices—hushed, distant—floating around him, but they felt far away, as though he were submerged in water. The second he came to it, pain echoed in his body instantly. His mind was clouded, sluggish, and every shift of muscle, every twitch of a limb, sent a fresh wave of agony through him. His ribs were bound, something tight and constricting around them, and his leg—he could feel the weight of a splint pressing against his flesh. He tried to take a deep breath, but it was like pulling air through a needle’s eye, too tight, too difficult. The air was thin and hard to reach. I’m suffocating.

The only thing that flashed amidst the painful haze, like an epiphany, was John. He needed John.

He tried to move his arms but they were too heavy and sluggish, as if they didn’t belong to him. His lips parted, dry and cracked. His voice came out weak, barely a whisper. “John…”

The sound barely registered and he doubted anyone heard him. The hushed whispers around him continued and he felt icy panic filling his gut. His mouth was filled with a strange, cottony weight that made it impossible to speak. He tried again, a little louder this time, his throat scraped painfully. “John…”

He gathered every bit of strength he had and opened his eyes, but everything around him was blurry, nothing more than shadows and flashes. He couldn't make out faces, couldn't remember what the hell had happened to him or where he was—except for the weight of the pain that threatened to swallow him whole. But John—Where was John? He needed to find him.

“John…” He repeated his name like a prayer. A tether.

He had to hear it, that familiar voice, that familiar timbre, had to know John was there with him. John would find a way to make it okay. He would make it better. Gale needed him—needed him to breathe. He needed John to help him pull the air into his lungs.

“John…” The word rasped out again, his eyes burnt, he felt hands on him, touching him. People talking to him but he didn’t know who they were or what they were saying. He wanted them to leave him alone. John, please. He tried to say, his ears ringing too loud. Help me.

*

I was tagged by @happy-days19 thank u darling im sorry im posting a day later but listen im finally cooking up some good gale whump 🤭 and im rlly excited to share this snippet hehe

its not Thursday or Wednesday 😭 but im gonna tag @valstarsandgalaxies @rangerelizabeth @onyxsboxes @majorbuckyegan if u wanted to share what u were working on we’d love to see it! Sorry if you’ve done it already ❤️

[pinksiames]

The Promise of Heaven

EXTREME TRIGGER WARNING BELOW CUT!!!!

Bremen wasn’t supposed to go like this. 

He was supposed to complete the mission and go home to Bucky, where they’d go out to the bar, Bucky would drink and flirt, but would end up plastered to Gale’s back at the end of it all. Even if it was in secrecy, stowed away from the prying eyes of their fellow men. That’s how it was supposed to be. 

“Töte den Amerikaner! Töte ihn! Machen Sie es weh!” Gale couldn’t understand what they were saying. Too many people yelling at him, calling him all sorts of names in a language he couldn’t even begin to decipher.

“Hey, we mean no trouble now.” He attempted to explain. He slowly backed himself up, hands up in the air until something hard and scratchy wrapped itself around his thin neck, pulling painfully tight. Rope. Fucking rope. They were going to hang him for his crimes. 

His feet left the ground without another moment's notice, kicking and flailing.

Bennys voice echoed in the back of his brain, but couldn’t make out what he was saying with the blood rushing through his ears. Choked and whimpered sounds measly escaping his chest as he struggled to suck in air, his face growing red and eyelids rapidly blinking away tears. His hands weakly grabbed at the rope, trying to gain some relief, to take some pressure off, but the longer he hung the harder it was to muster what little strength he had. 

He could feel his body giving out, his legs going limp and his eyes fluttering closed. This was how he was going to go out. Never speaking another word to Bucky, tell him how he actually felt. Grief stricken panic was the only thing he could focus on. Not the fact that he’d be dead soon but the fact that he knew Bucky would do something reckless when he heard the news, of what those German farmers did to his buck. How they struck him up on a tree as a warning to any allied forces making their way through. 

So lost in his own thoughts He hadn’t realized his body was hitting the ground ‘till whatever breath he had left in him was knocked out, the world going black in subtle fades.

 When he woke he was in a cell, blue walls and a metal bench that was a sorry excuse for a bed. His head was pounding but more importantly his throat was on fire. Reaching a shaky hand up he lightly traced where the rope had been, hissing at the burn. He couldn’t help the few tears that made their way down his cheeks, he was that close. The light was right there. Yeah he was close to death when he was up in the sky but he couldn’t feel it. This he could. The ripping and scratching still lingering on his skin. He couldn’t shake the violent urge to cry, how he lost control and heaved. His body hunched over as he took his face into his hands. 

“Fuck…fuck me..” he whispered, taking in sharp, painful breaths, trying to calm himself down. 

Gales never was a man of god. Never had the urge to go to church or pray, but it had to be a miracle that he was still alive. The burning ache around his neck was the reminder for that. That it was a miracle that could be taken away at any given chance. 

Taking a few more deep inhales he straightened himself out, not wanting to give the sick son’s of bitches the satisfaction of seeing him breakdown. 

“Cleven. Out, now.” A deep, German thick accent rang in his ears, not realizing his cell door had been opened. Getting up on clumsy feet he followed the man, or boy, down the hall of his temporary confinement. He was met with another metal door, just this one looked well taken care of, as if it hadn’t been plagued by the dirty touch of POW’s. 

“Inside.” Was the only other thing the soldier said before stationing himself next the the frame, gun pointed down at a 45 degree angle. Ready to shoot. Gale signed, once again straightening out his back as he pushed through. 

“Ah, Mr cleven. It’s an honor to meet you.” Words dripping with false honey. False promise. He needed a toothpick. 

———————-

The transfer from the interrogation center to the camp was decently smooth for a prisoner round up. Gale managed to meet back up with Benny at one of the train yards, a wave of relief washing over him when his eyes spotted the man. 

“God Gale I thought they killed you at the farm, wouldn’t let me get a good look at you before dragging your body off into some random truck.” Arms wrapping themselves around Gale’s shoulders. His body tensed up the closer calloused hands reached the base of his neck, his chest growing heavy. He should be feeling comfort, but the tightness around his throat grew stronger as if the rope was still snug against his neck. He did his best to hide his struggle, how his fingers tingled with nervous energy, swallowing down the need to push the man off of him. 

“They can’t get rid of me yet.” He muttered, pulling back from the man before giving his shoulders a few taps, the gap growing between them as he took a couple of steps back. His skin felt hot and icy at DeMarcos touch, like a branding iron had struck him. If he focused hard enough he could practically smell the stench of smoldering flesh. 

He and Benny spent their train ride talking to some of the other airmen, listening to different tales of how they all narrowly escaped deaths grip, laughing and making light of their situation. Gale didn’t say anything, bringing his baby blue scarf further up his throat, delicate fingers fiddling with the fabric. 

“Now my buddy here Gale,” A Hand grabbing onto his shoulder again. “Nearly got hung in a little farming town a bit away from Osnabruck, luckily by the grace of god they ended up letting him go but for a good second there I thought I lost my copilot.” A wave of unease and discomfort washed over their little group, eyes shifting over to Gale. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and disappear into himself. He tucked his head back into his coat, pushing up the collar to hide his face. He wished Benny would just stop talking. 

Almost like Benny read his mind he didn’t speak another word for the train ride, the two keeping their heads down as they finally made it to Stalag lll. They helped the stragglers off, not needing any good men to die humiliatingly because they couldn’t get out of the cart. The Camp wasn’t that spectacle, but it was better than most of the others they had seen. It was split into two sections, the front being where the guards were held up in, and the back where they were put. Twenty one cabins lined up parallel with each other besides some staggering ones. They slowly shuffled past the barbed wire fence, Gale trying to make out any familiar faces but ended up shit out of luck. 

There were guards posted everywhere, two per watch tower and plenty scattered among the ground. At least two per five prisoners. Trying to make a break for it or planning an escape would be fruitless. Men on the inside hollered at one another, pulling each other into hugs once past the gates, catching up as if they were visiting old friends. Not suffering in the Poland weather. 

He and Benny quickly settled themselves into their cabin, claiming their respective bunks. The exhaustion of traveling all day showed its face immediately, both men crashing as soon as their heads hit the paper thin pillow. 

———————-

He was running, past trees and hurdles of dirt. He needed to find a way out. The trees grew denser, the cool light of the moon dulling out. His feet couldn’t keep up with his movement, tripping over a root poking out of the soft soil. Almost like on queue that same harsh rope tangled itself around his throat, being strung back up in the air. 

“Kill him! Kill him! Make it hurt!” Voices echoing in his pounding skull, his fingertips grew cold. He felt cold all over, his limbs flaying and thrashing, soundless screams carrying through the empty farmland. 

He was dying. Every cell in his being destroying themselves as an attempted escape. Red, hot liquid poured its way out of his nostrils and eye sockets. Frantically looking around, trying to find a comforting face. A face that could tell him it would be alright, that he wasn't going to die.

“Buck! Buck! Gale!” Cries coming from up above him. Like the heavens were teasing him with falsehoods of salvation. The strangled gargles grew louder as he fought, choking up blood as his body finally went limp. 

“Buck!” He nearly jumped out of his skin, an embarrassing cry passing pink lips as he jolted up. He spun his head on a swivel, a trembling hand reaching for his neck. Unsteady fingers reached up to wipe his face, quickly realizing his cheeks were soaked. 

“Hey, hey, you're alright, you’re with me ok?” DeMarcos voice reassured him, “Nobodies coming after you.” Even hands resting on his shoulders again, grounding him back to reality. 

“Fuck… how long were we out?” He asked, voice slightly lost on him. He must’ve been crying out in his sleep. 

“About the whole day. It took everything out of us I can tell you that. You more than me. Damn near scared me to death when I woke up and you were sobbing.” Benny sighed, a look of sympathy and worry scribbled all over his co-pilots face. Gale couldn’t help the feeling of guilt fester in his gut. He was supposed to be strong, brave. To put on a front to ease his men’s worries and anxieties. But here he was, crying like a wuss in bed because of some farmers that had to take sick pride in hanging up an American. 

“We got some word from the Red Cross that they're bringing in more men tomorrow. Men from the 100th.” Gales heart sank. Their men were dropping like flies since he got in from Greenland. Nothing like a war to kill the best of your country. 

“Thanks Benny.” He mumbled, not having the strength to say anything else. 

The day went by decently quick, Gale kept himself huddled inside away from the others, restlessly tapping his playing cards on the table. He tried racking his brain over who could be joining them. Was it Crosby? Rosie? Brady? John? God he hoped it wasn’t Bucky, he was too hot tempered to survive in a place like this, too mouthy for his own good. He’d end up getting himself killed. 

“Cleven.” The booming voice dragging him out of his thoughts. His head shot up, a German guard with a shit eating grin standing in the doorway. Gun holstered by his waist, hand on the grip. Gale knew he wasn’t going to like what was being brought to his attention. 

“Can I help you?” He spoke, his eyes not leaving the Germans. He wasn’t going to let the man overpower him by simple fucking eye contact. 

“Come.” Was all he said, turning on his heels and making his way out of the cabin. Gale quickly rose to his feet, setting his cards down before following. They made their way down the rows of cabins, all the same shitty color of brown, all holding the reason why they were there in the first place. They kept walking, going further and further into the camp, passing buildings that had yet to be filled. Gales gut screamed at him to run, to take off back to safety with his fellow soldiers, wherever the guard was taking him wasn’t going to be good. 

“Do you mind telling me why we’re-“ heavy, fast footsteps quickened behind him, giving Gale no time to react before a pair of hands were in front of him, pulling something close to his throat. Rope. It was rope. 

He thought his fight or flight would kick into gear, to fend of his attackers better than he did on that farm, but when he went to move, to grab, to do something he couldn’t. He froze. The barrel of that same pistol was now pressed against his forehead, the hammer clicking into place. 

“You scream. You die.” Simple commands. They pulled him into the space between two empty buildings, his eyes watering and his breathing stifling as the grip the material had on him grew tighter. Shoving him onto the ground, they made quick work of pushing him onto his knees, his face pressed into the dirt and gravel. 

“Please.. please you don’t have to do this.” He pleaded, he couldn’t suppress how fearful he sounded, like a dog whimpering and whining right before being put down. Clawing at the ground before the bullet makes its way through its skull. 

They said nothing, the grip on the rope grew tighter, it becoming more and more laboring to breathe, black spots popping up in his vision. Hands traveled under his coat, feeling the lean muscle lines through his shirt. They felt dirty, as if contaminated by some unknown disease he wouldn’t be able to rid himself of. The hands kept moving, dipping past the cotton of his under shirt, pressing into hot skin. 

He felt like he was going to be sick, his stomach churning under the weight of heavy hands, touching and prodding into the softness of his body, stripping him of his innocence, his purity. Violating him in the same motions John used to worship him, the same motions John would use to love him. Now those memories were poisoned. He can only see the faceless German guard sliding in and out of him instead of his Bucky, large hands leaving bruises on his hips instead of kisses. He was dirty. His body had been ruined. And John won’t love him anymore for it. 

The burn of the rope was haunted by the farmers, the people who wanted to see him suffer for his crimes, haunted by the touch of the guards hands, using it as leverage to keep him quiet. They knew what had happened to him. Knew exactly what they did to him. And used it to their advantage. 

He didn’t understand much German but they kept calling him Hübsch. Pretty. He was too pretty to keep their hands to themselves, too pretty to let him go to waste. Too pretty to not feel how tight he clenched around them. 

He needed something better than a goddamn toothpick. 

————————

“What took you so long?” 

Gale had a feeling deep down inside that it was Bucky who was joining them, the others had made their way into camp earlier in the day, with hush mentions of Bucky being separated. There were 50/50 chances of two things happening. Either Bucky died during or after the crash, or he’d end up in a POW camp. He was selfish enough to hope for the latter, to have his Bucky behind the barbed wire fence with him. He couldn’t stand the thought of Bucky being buried in the ground, another nameless face that would be uncovered after the war had finished. 

But the other part of him didn’t want Bucky to see what had happened to him in such a short time. How he pleaded for his life, for his skin to be preserved. How he had been soiled. He had rather the guard put him down like a sick dog than face his best friend. 

His heart ached seeing his John so badly beaten, his left eye bruised and bloodied. Face overall in general torn apart. But he still had that bright smile just for Gale. He could see the twinkle in those dark blue eyes when they landed on Buck. Gale just hoped he had that same shimmer of hope. 

“When I heard what happened during Bremen.. I cut my weekend pass short. Thinking you were gone and doing nothing in London was going to drive me crazy.” Gale could hear the slight wobble in John’s voice, knowing that in just the past few days of being gone. Of having everyone thinking he was dead caused so much pain. 

“They can’t get rid of me that easily.” He chuckled lightly, an echo of the conversation he had when he saw DeMarco again. a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Having Bucky here made it a bit easier to forget. Forget that he became a victim. Until he remembered. 

He physically tensed up when John wrapped his arm around his shoulders, his heart pounding against his rib cage as he pulled away. 

“Sorry.. I’m still just a little shaken up a bit. They were kinda rough with me coming in.” They strung me up like a sheet of laundry set out to dry. 

“Oh.. alright. It can’t be much worse than what they gave me. Messed up my face, at least they left you looking as pretty as ever.” A calloused hand gently tapping his cheek. He felt like he was going to cry. The hot, sharp pain of bile rising up in his throat didn’t make it any easier. 

He hated John. Hated how he could make light of any situation. How he carried his heart on his sleeve. Made it so easy to read him. Showing just how much he adored Gale both in and out of secrecy. It made it so much harder to come clean, to wipe himself of guilt. 

They ruined me. You’ll never want to touch me again. I’m sorry I failed you John. I’m dirty, and I’m scared if I touch you I’ll get you dirty too. 

So he didn’t. Didn’t tell him what happened when he first landed in Poland. What happened the second day he was put in camp. He kept it bottled up. Putting up face when met with difficult circumstances. Keeping himself calm and collected when he felt familiar eyes bore into his backside. Because no one could know Gale was cracking. No one could know he was suffering for their actions. Like a hunter stalking its prey. Waiting for its opening. Waiting for when it's most vulnerable. And then it did. 

It was two weeks into Bucky being at camp he really got himself into trouble. With the same guard, who’s name he learned was Gerwin, Gale spent that time avoiding him like the plague. 

Gale heard the commotion before he saw it, peaking his head out the window of the library and seeing the brawl that was about to happen. He shot up out of his chair and took off running like a bat out of hell, his eyes wide with fear seeing Bucky on the ground, rolling over onto his side holding his stomach. 

“You have no right to lay your hands on my men like this!” He hissed, dropping down to his knees and checking over what damage that lay at stake against Bucky's body. 

“You need to watch your dog better. He’s lucky if I don’t shoot him right now. I still may need some convincing not to.” Words spoken in broken English. But the point got across to Gale, the pistol being pointed right at John’s skull. 

The surge of adrenaline spiked through Gale's body, getting back up on his feet and stepping in front of the cocked weapon. He wasn’t going to let John die of his own stupidity. Not when he had a less lethal second option. 

“He hasn’t fully healed from the last beating he got, just, let me take whatever you had planned for him. I’m better off physically than him.” 

Don’t sour him like you did me. I’m already a shell of who I used to be. I don’t have anything to lose. But please don’t hurt him. 

The gunman’s piercing gaze held gales, as if contemplating whether he should take Gale up on his proposition. His face was unfaltering until that same shit eating smirk crossed his lips. Putting the hammer back into place he holstered his gun. Gale let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. His hands were trembling, his pulse beating in his wrists. But as long as John was alright that’s all that mattered. 

He helped the larger man up to his feet, biting back the urge to drop him when those same strong arms wrapped around his shoulders again, his grip on John’s waist tightened as he made their way back to their cabin. 

“What were you thinking?! You could’ve gotten yourself killed Bucky!” The previous fear now being replaced with anger, his blood beginning to boil. He was sure steam could be seen coming out of his ears. 

“I didn’t like what he was saying, that's all. Had to show him a piece of my mind.” He laughed, quickly regretting his decision, a hand covering his stomach. 

“Well that piece of mind almost got you a bullet to the brain. Now I gotta clean up your mess.” Gale muttered, grabbing the makeshift first aid kit they had been given. 

“Hey I didn’t ask you to step in for me alright? I could’ve handled it myself. And if I end up dead in the process then oh well.” John argued. 

“Don’t you even say that. You're too important to be saying shit like that Bucky. I just-“ Sucking in a deep breath. “I don’t know what I would do without you John. You're the only thing keeping me grounded here after-“ He stopped. He promised himself he wouldn’t tell John what they did. And like hell he was going to fall back on it. 

“What?” John immediately perked up, grunting at the pain as he sat himself straight. “After what? What did they do to you?” He asked, eyes flicking over Gales face, darting down to the blue scarf wrapped around Gales throat. 

“Buck, what did they do to you?” His hand reaching to touch gales but the younger man pulled his face back too fast. 

Gale kept his gaze down, his fingers busy fiddling with the fabric of the blanket. He wanted to tell John. He wanted him to know so badly. But it would do more damage than good, John was too reckless to know that sort of information this close to his attacker. 

“Cleven. Let’s go.” Gerwin all but shouted. Dread settling into his bones like an aggressive cancer, consuming everything in its wake. That familiar glint in the Germans eyes was all he needed to see to know exactly what they were going to do. But it was worth it right? To keep his Bucky safe? Of course it was worth it. It was John Egan. A man Gale would give up his own life for. A man he so desperately wanted to show that he loved him without fear of losing their lives. If it meant he’d never feel clean, never be able to handle his loving touch. If it meant it kept Bucky safe he’d do it. 

————————

These “meet ups” with Gerwin and his fellow soldiers continued throughout the months. The more unstable and angry John got, the more he lashed out. The more he lashed out the more Gale had to pay for his actions. It was like everyone knew what was happening except for John. Everyone could see it taking its toll on Gale. How his already slim body was losing mass, the bags underneath his eyes grew heavier with each waking day. He couldn’t keep food down, always offering his portions to John. 

“Buck you have to eat. Your skin and bone.” The same conversation happening every night. 

“ ‘m not hungry.” Gale grumbled, his head resting on his arm as he kept spinning his spoon around in his hand. 

The winter months weren’t making it any easier, he wasn’t maintaining body heat, shivering and shaking anytime he had to step outside. And when he did he’d freeze with fear seeing Gerwin and his group patrolling outside, eyes blown wide and glossed over. It would take Demarco a good couple of minutes to calm him down and bring him back inside. 

“Please buck, if I have to spoon feed you I will.” John pressed, leaning over the table and snatching the utensil out from gales fingers. 

“Damn it John, I'm not hungry!” He hollered, the room going silent. Gale wasn’t an angry person. He wasn’t like his father who would scream and shout on the regular basis, breaking everything in their house that he could get his hands on. 

He looked around, everyone that was staring quickly went back to mind their own business. Taking in a deep sigh he rested his head in his palms for a few seconds before wiping his face. 

“Well I’m not gonna sit here and watch you starve yourself.” John hissed, getting up from the table and storming off outside. 

“Fuck, Bucky!” Gale called out, getting up on his feet and chasing the man out. The snow on the ground crunching under his feet, his steps growing faster as soon as he spotted John.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you Gale.” His own name sounded foreign on John’s lips. “You don’t eat, you don’t tell us what those sons of bitches guards do to you. You look like death. By god Gale you can’t go ten minutes standing outside without shaking like a leaf.” Almost on queue Gale felt the shivers running through his body, tucking his hands into his coat and wrapping his scarf around his head. When did he feel so tired? 

He stood there silently, trying to come up with some kind of answer, something to give Bucky a breath of relief but he couldn’t. 

“Bucky I..” he squeezed his eyes shut, a wave of nausea and dizziness wrapped its claws around his skull, his body feeling light and his chest heavy. He took a weak step back, trying to gain his composure. 

“Buck? Hey, you're not looking too good. I’m not, I’m not mad ok? Let’s get you back inside.” He sighed, his eyebrows furrowing together at how red gale's face looked. Un gloving a hand he pressed the back of his palm against Gales forehead, cool skin touching burning hot flesh. 

“Jesus Christ Buck you're running a fever.” He said, quickly shoving the smaller back into the cabin. As soon as Gale got on his bunk he collapsed, puking all over his front before promptly passing out. 

“Oh shit..” johns heart was in his throat. He made easy work of wiping off his face before starting to shed gales layers, planning on giving the male his own jacket and items to keep warm while he cleaned his clothes off. Grabbing what he could he put a wet towel over his forehead, a thin layer of sweat already covering his cheeks. He took off the scarf wrapped around his head, blonde hair poking up in every which direction. John couldn’t help the little chuckle that came out, how boyish Buck looked like that. And then his hands landed on that baby blue handkerchief that Gale kept snug around his throat. 

John hesitated, it was the only thing he kept on him at all times, never letting anyone see him without it. But looking closer he could make out a faint purple hue leaking past the cover, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

He expected a lot of things, bruising, cuts, the general roughing up you get in a camp. But not this. Scar tissue on top of scar tissue. As if someone kept purposely aggravating the wound that looked months old. Raised texture of what looked like a severe case of rope burn wrapped its way around the width of gale's neck, always suspended in a cycle of never being able to heal. The bruising crept down past Gales' shirt, making John’s stomach drop. This is what they were doing to him. 

He swallowed down the lump that was bobbing in his throat, carefully pushing gales coat off of his shoulders, then lifting up the front of his shirt. John swore his heart stopped, gales ribs visibly showing, his hip bones poking out. He was thin. Sickly thin. And almost every inch of flesh was marked, by teeth, by hands, by scratches. It was all over. 

“Oh buck..” John choked back a sob. His buck, his Gale was hurting. His buck was hurting and nobody did anything about it. But what could you do? You can’t make an Animal eat if it doesn’t want to. He couldn’t just go up to whoever was doing this and beat the shit out of them. And then it dawned on him. 

The night's Gale was collected by Gerwin. Always happened on days where John lashed out at anyone and everyone. Getting into fights with his fellow men or the guards. And how every time they didn’t say a single thing to John. Only giving Gale a side glance before grabbing him later on. 

This was his fault.

 He grasped Gale by his limp hand, salty tears falling down John’s face as he looked over Gale's beaten body. He traced over the dips in his waist and hips, cringing at the dark purple hand marks that laid wake there. 

“Did you guys know?” His voice easily carried through the room. No answer. That’s all Bucky needed. 

“You all knew and didn’t think to say anything?! You just let him suffer?” Rage filling his finger tips. 

Brady was the first one to speak up. 

“You're no better than us John. You didn’t even know what was going on.” He snapped. “If we say something to Gale he’d brush it off. If we said something to the commander he couldn’t do anything about it. If we tried fighting Gerwin we’d end up dead. Gales already suffered enough because of your actions Bucky and none of us wanted to add on.” The room went silent once again. 

John wanted to vomit. 

———————-

Gale was in and out of consciousness for days, the brain fog laid itself on thick. Barely lucid most of the time. He laid in bed 24/7 fighting off the fever that just kept coming back, and Bucky was with him every step of the way, cleaning him up when he got sick, but making sure he was still eating and drinking enough water. He never left his side, having the others bring in what they both needed. He didn’t care if he got sick from being around him too much. He needed the reassurance of seeing Gale alive and away from Gerwin. 

It wasn’t until the fourth day Gale finally started to feel better. Better enough to talk, to eat his own food even if Bucky insisted on still hand feeding him. 

Gale was on his bunk bed, tucked into a ball facing the room with as many blankets piled on him as everyone could deal without. 

“So what’s the final score major.” Gale asked, a lazy hand dangling off the edge of the bed. 

“Well obviously the Yankees won, it was 1-6. The red Sox’s didn’t have a chance.” He smirked. John positioned himself at the table, leaning back in his chair as he rambled on about a fake Yankees game he made up in his head. “Although I think Jim Turner's curve ball could’ve been better.” 

Gale nodded along, it was a nice distraction from the impending conversation they were bound to have. They sat in a comfortable silence after the game wrapped up, but Gale knew something was eating John up. He couldn’t tell by the way he bit at his lip, the way his leg bounced up and down nervously. 

“It’s not your fault.” Was all Gale said, soft eyes meeting John’s.

Bucky thought he would cry right then and there, the guilt racking at him, the thought of Gale hating him for what he had to do to keep John safe. To hear it from gale didn’t feel real. 

He reached out his lazy arm, palm facing upwards for John to grab. John shot up from his seat, taking two large steps towards Gale's bunk and grasping onto his hand, gripping it like Gale could disappear at any given moment. Bringing his hand up John gave silent kisses to each knuckle, each touch as tenderly as the next. 

“I will make sure nothing like that ever happens to you again. You're too precious to me.” He whispered, loud enough for Gale and only Gale to hear. 

“I love you Bucky.” 

“I love you too Buck.” 

I FINALLY SAT MY ASS DOWN AND WROTE THIS TO COMPLETION

hurt gale has been on my brain for literal weeks and im so happy i can share this with yall, itll also be cross posted on ao3