#nice to have something for the catch22 gale leo twin au tho

[chirpybirdy]

morrreee plus a bonus 10 min sprint i did for uh luck:

Collapse, Nuance. Bucky watched in the darkened windows as Gale and Leonard helped him stagger to the jeep. The twins kept him upright—despite how he kept twisting to the side—and they ignored him comparing himself to various unwieldy livestock and them to cowboys as they wrangled him up off the sidewalk again. “Alright, John, up you go.” The distance between the ground and the step into the jeep seemed insurmountable. “Heave him in?” Leo asked. “Heave him in.” Gale replied just as casually. The twins lifted Bucky just as casually and Bucky hadn’t felt that light since the first time he ever flew. “Wh-thg!” He said, prevented from hitting the car mats by virtue of being too big and prevented from comfortably landing on the back seat by curse of being too big. The twins got into the front seats, John easily telling them apart because he knew how boring Gale found driving, and they were off. “Should we go-“ “You’re forgetting the nuance of the situation.” Buck and Leo looked at each other. “No twin-speak.” John demanded, waving his hand between their faces so they couldn’t look at each other.

Giant. “You know how being in that hole makes me feel all day?” “Quiet hours, Snaf.” “Enemy ain’t in your ear, Sledgehammer.” “Well I ain’t so sure about that.” Snafu rubbed his fingers on the dried blood and mud on Eugene’s ear and kept at it even when Sledge bumped at his arm and told him to quit. They weren’t on watch right now, not ordered anyway, and far enough back with enough solid rock for protection that they didn’t need to be in their holes. Just for a while. Lord knows, it would be a while—long and too damn long. “Jesus. How does it feel.” “Giant.” “Liar.”

Torn. Burgie was impressed. “Wow. Where did you learn to sew like that, Sledgehammer?” Snafu was quick to take credit. “He practices on all my shit, Burgie. I’m real good to have around on account of all the details I supervise. Not many marines get the chance to learn all of this real useful shit.” “My father is a doctor, Burgie. He taught me. Or, he told me it was okay to learn, anyway.” Sledge held out his hand. It did not tremble. “Fix what is torn.”

Wrong. The two of them had had this argument before, and both agreed to disagree. But, like most arguments over basic facts of life, John managed to get it going again just by existing. “It’s not wrong.” Gale said again. Still patient, but Gale was always patient. Always patient because he was always mad. Gale Cleven of the infinite patience. Who was so fucking mad all the fucking time that John would bet that he had already raged quietly by himself while making coffee this morning. Who was so fucking patient that by the time the brew was finished, he had forgiven Bucky for his infinite transgressions and decided to wake him with a warm, almost-sugary cup of love. And then John had set him off again. “I know. All the boys in seminary school do it.” “Not studying for the priesthood, Bucky.” John drank his coffee and tried to be the kind of man who would savor the extra sweetness. Who would appreciate that his bunkmate let him have his sugar ration every morning. The kind of man who wouldn’t be saving the fact that he noticed at all for whatever off-color joke he could come up with at the bar. Someone who would treat their secret as precious, not dirty. But he wasn’t, and Gale wasn’t mad about it anymore. John sat and drank his coffee and tried to ignore Gale still standing in front of him. Gale who was not mad. “I’m not studying to go to hell, either.” “Ah, gotta study for that?” Gale asked, pushing his fingers through John’s bed-head. Sometimes, whenever he could get away with it, this was the extent of John’s hair getting brushed. “They let anyone in these days.” John was a comedian. Gale found him funny, anyway, and laughed at all of his jokes—even the ones he hated. “C’mon, John. Only big man in the sky you have to worry about is you.” “Oh, see, that’s the kind of hell I do need to study for. Thanks, Buck.” He finished his coffee and Gale walked away with the empty mug before John could fully process that he had finished it. See? He was angry. “What do you care, anyway? Maybe H-E-double toothpicks isn’t that bad.” Gale gave him the stink-eye. John smirked at him. “I like your toothpicks.” Gale looked over his shoulder. “Straight from the devil himself.” John’s heart stuttered for half a stupid second. Gale noticed. Gale noticed and put the slight in the massive crate he hauled around to store all the ways John ‘Bucky’ Egan pissed him off. “You should have been a priest. I think your congregation would love you.” Clink, clink, clink. Gale was getting angry. What would Gale do without him? How many men were forgiven and forgotten by Gale Cleven because John was brave enough to take one for the team and remind him from the very start of the day to the end to keep his rage in check. “Are you gonna drink tonight, Father Cleven?” Gale’s hand doesn’t tighten on their sink, but Bucky is watching the tendon and sees it jump. John wants to ask the real question all the time: how hard do you have to work not to hate me? What makes you think it will ever be worth it?

got to do a bunch of 5min sprinting prompts for hbo war :D

Bone. The bone in the chicken soup is that of a chicken. No one could confuse it for a cat. No one could confuse it for anything else. Just a simple, casually dangerous snap of chicken bone in the chicken broth. Bucky was a good cook, and getting better, but sometimes a man’s natural strength and inattentive eye led to mistakes like this. “What you frowning at, Buck?” “There’s a bone in my soup.” “What? Stone in your shoe? I’m all the over here.” Gale looked up at his lover, his friend. “All the way across this table.” John grinned. Gale dropped his eyes back down to his spoon. “I said there’s a bone.” “A stone? C’mon, Buck. I didn’t need to trick your wife into making stone soup.” “You are my wife,” Gale accused. “What?” “You heard me the first time, John.” “And the second time.” John licked his lip. “What did you say the third time?” Gale disposed of the offending peice of chicken with the sharp snag of bone on the plate underneath the bowl. Then, he continued eating and no further comments or replies were made.

Samhain. Marge dressed the children. Gale cleaned out the car. Snafu loudly confirmed ovah and ovah and ovah that he garunteed he would have the children back safe and sound before it got truly dark out. Nevertheless, Marge and Gale had made sure that their costumes were brightly colored (altho Baby Names Website had dearly wished to be a marine just like Snafu, Bucky had finally convinced the kid to wear his fleece instead).

Ripe Apples. They were not ripe apples. “C’mon, they’re perfect.” “No, Buck. That’s what the raisins are for.” “Not even one? To taste?” “You wanna taste that?” John looked at the wrinkled, but still servicable… Certainly not rotten apple dwarfed by his large hand. “Well, in alcohol, sure. Why not?” Gale sighed and swiped the apple back. “These are food.” “Important nutrients in these apples!” “That’s right, Benny.” Benny grinned, perhaps happiest that Buck’s health advice didn’t involve pets this time. John sneered at him the second Demarco turned his back, but Gale was the only one who saw (evidenced by the chastising tap on his chest) so what did it matter.

Graveyards. Eugene never knew how they agreed to meet in a graveyard. Well, he did. Snafu had, with his usual anger, declared they would only meet up again in the afterlife—if Eugene was willing to throw down his little harp and angel wings. And Eugene had confronted him asking, which graveyard, asshole? And the fight had turned into laying down some real plans. “Why did you leave without waking me up?” Eugene accused as soon as he closed in on snafu—keeping his voice low because it was a graveyard and that demanded some decorum. Decorum not represented by his friend who was reclining on top of someone’s coffin in a mauselum with only gates instead of walls. Snafu stuck out his tongue and told him ‘cuz he slept like the dead.