#trust me when i say something was moldy and had to be binned | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

indigosunsetao3 · 10 days ago

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Chapter 8

Repairing old wounds and making new ones.

AO3 (Full list of tags/warnings. Please check them.) Masterlist 7.8k Words

Chapters 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

When Celeste’s phone dinged with a notification, she dug it out of her purse and glanced at it. A new message from Johnny was waiting for her, and she shifted the shopping trolley she was pushing to unlock the screen to see what he had to say. After everything that had happened with her den, John had been insistent that she have their numbers should anything else crop up. But also allow them to keep in contact and let her know when they would be working in her house.

Celeste had resisted their continued help. Tried to fend them off saying she would just call someone to do come out and do the work. She didn’t want to feel like she owed them more than she already did and felt it was crossing the line to have your neighbors do work for you. What if it went poorly? Maybe they charged her more than she could manage or did something she didn’t like and there was a falling out. She was already warring with Mrs. Nettles about trash bins, which she had put solar spotlights on just to poke the angry bear, she didn’t want a fight with these men. She had a feeling they would be much better at making her life miserable than a nosey old lady. And Celeste sure as hell would not be leaving this house, it was the last piece of her husband she really had.

John is out for the day so I’m going to work on the floors. They’re the one thing he trusts me to do without him hovering. I won’t be disrupting anything will I? No, all good. I’ll be there in a bit. Stopped in town for a few things. Do I need to pick up anything for the house? Simon’s at the hardware store getting what we need.

Stuffing her phone back in her purse Celeste went back to shopping, taking her time to wander down the aisles. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go home, but it was still a bit awkward around the men in her house. Feeling as if she were just lurking in their presence as they came in and out, hauling moldy carpet, climbing on the roof, yelling at one another when things weren’t going as planned, and laughing behind a closed door as they ribbed one another when they were. She had tried to stay out of the way, reading on the couch or wandering outside but that felt odd too, just watching them work on her place without helping. But every time she asked if there was anything she could do, they would tell her no, to relax or take care of anything else she needed.

After wandering the grocery aisles for a third time, Celeste gave up wasting time and finished shopping. She had a few frozen things to get home with, and the days were getting warmer, so they wouldn’t keep as long in the car. The ride home took a little longer than usual, not drastically, but enough for her to take notice that the early tourists were starting to arrive. It wouldn’t be long before the spring festival to kick off the season was there, which meant more chaos at work.

“Hey you,” Celeste said with a grin as she shouldered open the front door to find Samson sitting on the small table that housed her bowl of keys and the rest of her junk that didn’t have a home.

Diligently, Celeste set her keyring in the bowl so as not to misplace them, her eyes lingering on the shiny new key in her favorite shade of blue. How Simon had figured out blue was her favorite color, she wasn’t sure, but when she came home one day to both doors rekeyed, he silently handed her the master key to put somewhere safe and her key. He also let her know that the guys would be keeping a spare at their place if she was comfortable with it. Just so they could get in and out while working on the place, and for emergencies. Celeste agreed, if only for convenience, and the fact he had thrown away the fake rock where she kept the spare key. He didn’t even look mildly ashamed to admit it either as she huffed at him.

“I’m surprised you aren’t outside, it’s a pretty day,” Celeste continued talking to Samson as she scratched his ears and kicked the door shut, which also no longer stuck on the uneven tile. Simon must have adjusted it when he set about redoing the locks.

“He was,” Johnny called from the top of the stairs, his voice a little breathless from stacking support beams. “Until he decided chasing my bootlaces while I hauled in wood was more interesting.”

“He’ll do that,” Celeste said with a small laugh as she lugged her overstuffed bags of groceries into the kitchen.

Ever since the embarrassment of not having cat food, Celeste had been vigilant in actually going to the store. It had only been a few weeks, but she wasn’t about to have another incident of having to ask the guys for anything else. Having them around had forced her to assess her current situation besides the giant hole in her den ceiling. To actually take a good look at how she was living, and not just in a figurative sense. Her place was a stale tomb. Alice had said it a few times, but Celeste ignored it until strangers came into her house and she really saw what it looked like. It was as if she were a ghost living in her own place. It didn’t look lived in, with dust collecting on everything, nothing on the walls, and barren shelves.

Being forced to reckon with the den meant ripping off the band aid of all the things she had tried to pack away. Which would force her to speedily decorate and clean. Between the men working on the structural damage, she had spent her evenings actively going through all the boxes she had been ignoring. Shifting things out of the room so it wasn’t in the way and taking items to the rooms she wanted them in.

The work had started out exhausting, mentally and physically, having to keep working hours after her actual job and dealing with the emotional whiplash. But it had lit a bit of fire in her once she started seeing all the memories she had packed away months ago. Each night, she felt it become a little less draining. Even when her framed handwritten wedding vows had sent her into a sobbing fit that ended with John quietly handing her a cup of tea and scaring the shit out of her because she didn’t realize he was there.

“Simon is going to bring a receipt for these things he’s picking up, right?” Celeste asked from the doorway a few minutes later as she looked into the den where Johnny was.

“I told him to,” Johnny answered as he looked up from where he was lying on his stomach with his hands in the hole in the floor. “Doesn’t always listen to me though.”

The roof had been a repair that was out of everyone’s hands. The cottage didn’t have standard shingles, they were wood and required specialty ordering and installation. Celeste’s insurance luckily covered a good portion of it, but there was still a huge amount she had to pay out of pocket, which hurt her wallet. She had a bit of savings built up from her husband’s life insurance and other assets, but with her current job and being on a single income, putting money back into that savings was a bit harder when she had to withdraw from it.

And while Celeste couldn’t prove it, the guys were being a bit dodgy when it came to the rest of the purchases for repairs. She didn’t want to feel like she owed anyone favors, let alone money, so when the guys showed up with materials, she was always ready to shove money into their hands. But there was always an excuse. They lost the receipt, this was just left over from their own house so it didn’t cost them anything, or her favorite from Kyle ‘found it on the side of the road.’ The one time she managed to get Johnny to take the bills, they had mysteriously appeared back in her wallet two days later.

“None of you listen,” Celeste sighed as she walked over to a box she had started on the night before, smiling just a bit to herself at the vase of flowers in one of the windows.

“We listen,” Johnny answered as he grunted, tugging at something, “but that doesn’t mean we are going to do it.”

“How bad is the floor?” Celeste dared to ask as she flopped down and crossed her legs to get to work on her own project. This box at least looked like mostly her junk, so there were no risks of jump scares of emotions.

“It’s,” Johnny hesitated, “not great.” He grinned a bit as he looked over at Celeste, who rolled her head back to look up at the ceiling with a loud sigh. “But we can fix it. Just going to shore up the structure before we lay down the rest of the subfloor.”

“Would I have gone through it if I stood on it?”

“Maybe not you, but John for sure,” Johnny stated before waving a hand to gesture for her to come over. “Want me to show you?”

“I’m not sure I want to see, but why not,” Celeste answered before shifting to her hands and knees to shuffle over so she was knelt next to him.

The area Johnny was working on looked bleak and, if she were honest, a bit scary.

She knew it was going to be bad when they had ripped the carpeting out of the whole room, deeming it unsalvageable, even where it hadn’t been wet. Every section they pulled they kept finding more and more mold until they got to the walls. The subfloor was okay the further away it was from the direct damage, the carpet and padding took most of the brunt of the spores that had spread. The area that had been dripped on for weeks they had ripped up the plywood which crumbled in their hands. The insulation underneath was soaked and unusable, and there were burn marks in some of it because of the old wiring.

Now that the supports were fully visible, Celeste could see years of different damage. Spots had been eaten by termites, evidence of mice, and plain rotted out spots. John thought that they could seal the sheetrock that doubled as her kitchen ceiling to kill any other mold that hadn’t sprouted, but he was insistent Celeste keep an eye on the ceiling downstairs. They had rewired any exposed wiring, leaving Celeste in the dark literally overnight a few days ago. Kyle had tried to convince her to stay at their house with the power being cut, but Celeste had insisted on staying home. Even if that meant moving around the house with a flashlight and banging her shins more than once.

“The supports are still in working order in most spots,” Johnny explained as he pointed the beam of his torch for Celeste’s eyes to follow. “But we have a few we need to add some reinforcement,” he pointed to a piece that had cracked in the middle. “I’ll run boards from the good spots to take the load off the bad ones.” He continued before turning his head to look up at Celeste who was leaned over, hands on her knees to peer inside.

“What’s to say the rest of the house doesn’t have these issues?” Celeste asked as she eyed a suspicious looking stain on one of the beams.

“Unless you have other leaks,” Johnny answered as he groped to his side to grab a precut piece of wood, “you should be fine. May have to renovate them at some point just for the age,” he continued as he maneuvered the wood into place. “But it’s a good thing we’ll be here to help,” he winked.

“Well, I don’t ever plan on leaving, so I guess I’ll keep it in the back of my mind,” Celeste answered as she watched Johnny hold the wood in one broad hand before grabbing the nail gun.

“Are you busy with anything?” Johnny asked as he pulled the wire to give himself more slack.

“Ah,” Celeste glanced back at her box of junk before back to Johnny, “not really. Is there something I can help with?”

“Nail this board in for me. Be easier for me to just hold it in place,” Johnny said. When he saw Celeste’s eyes get big and she was about to back out he tacked on, “you just need to press the gun to the board and pull the trigger. Doesn’t matter where, as long as it’s not my hand…or yours.”

“I’ve never,” Celeste started as he held the contraption out to her. It was heavy and she had to grip it with both hands as she looked at it before back to him.

“Right there,” Johnny pointed with one of his fingers as he supported the board. “Just press the gun down as hard as you can and pull the trigger.”

She was still completely unsure, but Celeste nodded once before leaning over to press the nail gun to the board. If she could help in any way to put her place back together, she was going to. It would help ease the guilt and the feeling that she was taking advantage of them. The angle was awkward, and she pressed her hand on the back of the gun to hold it in place before darting her eyes up to Johnny, who was watching her face.

“Good?” She asked, and when he nodded, she gave him a disbelieving look before pulling the trigger.

The blowback of the air pushed the hair out of her face, and the loud pop made her shriek in surprise, to which Johnny laughed. That was why he was looking at her, to see her freak out, because he knew it would happen. She scowled and pulled the gun back, only to find the nail hadn’t gone in all the way, it was still sticking out halfway.

“Damn,” Celeste muttered as she looked at it. She tried to pry it out with her hands, but it was just far enough that she couldn’t. She gave up trying before Johnny plucked it out of the wood without barely straining and tossed it over his shoulder.

“Not a problem. You just weren’t holding it tight enough against the board,” he explained as he gestured for her to try again. “The compression of the air pushed the gun off the wood. Go again now that you know what to expect,” he nodded his head for her to try again.

This time, as Celeste lined the gun up and pressed against the back of the gun, he put one of his hands over hers and pressed down as well. His grip was strong and warm, completely engulfing her hand with his as he held the gun steady and in place. When Celeste pulled the trigger this time, the blowback was just as strong, but it didn’t kick back as hard because she felt Johnny press down even harder to hold the gun in place.

“There you go,” Johnny said approvingly as they lifted the gun away. The nail was in the wood, sunken in a bit from the pressure. “Few more to go,” he stated.

Celeste adjusted to get on her stomach like him, and together, they worked on nailing the boards. Her hands were sore and ached by the time they finished. She had still messed up a few when she attempted to do it herself, but it was satisfying when they finished and looked down at the fresh wood that replaced or reinforced all the old pieces.

“Food’s ready,” came a voice that made Celeste jump, but Johnny merely grinned.

“For someone so large, you are so quiet!” Celeste admonished as she looked up at Simon from her stomach as he loomed in the doorway.

“You get used to it,” Johnny answered as he pushed himself up in a push up position before getting on his knees and standing, offering his hand to Celeste to help her up. “John will want to inspect before we lay down the plywood,” he explained as Simon walked over to look at their work. “So, we can call it a night.”

“Enjoy dinner,” Celeste replied with a grin as Johnny took a step closer to Simon, he always seemed to gravitate toward him no matter the situation.

“I didn’t get food just for him,” Simon replied as he raised an eyebrow, “I know I’m rude, but I’m not that rude.”

“Oh, I,” Celeste felt herself growing hot. “You didn’t have to,” she started, “I actually bought myself groceries today for once.”

“Good, you can feed yourself tomorrow. Now before it gets cold or Samson gets into it, let’s eat. I set the table.” He stepped aside to let Johnny and Celeste out of the room, shutting the door behind him to prevent the curious orange cat from exploring.

----------------------------

Cleared.

The one word Kyle had been itching to hear for weeks. He hated being put on the sidelines, waiting around while the rest of them worked. It felt like a deadweight to the team, and while he knew none of them felt that way, it still bothered him. And being cleared meant he could get back out in the field and not be stuck at home all the time with his thoughts. At least when they were working, Kyle knew exactly where he stood in everyone’s eyes. There was no question as to what he brought to the table and that John valued him. At home, it was a whole different story.

John had gone with Kyle for his official appointment to get back to active work. All the other appointments had been check ins and physical therapy closer to home, but this was all the way in London. It was a long drive, almost six hours, from their place so he had booked a hotel to stay overnight. When Simon gave him an eyebrow raise when he told him he was going, he had used the excuse he needed to meet with a few contacts on the Russian issue. Simon let it drop, but John knew that he could see right through him.

“Picked up some food from the bar,” John stated as he walked into the hotel room to find Kyle already lounged on his queen-sized bed on the far side of the room. “Figured you had a tiring day.”

“Going to need another week to recover,” Kyle joked as he extended and flexed his arm.

He was sore, they had put him through some rough paces. Running, lifting, prolonged extension and raises. They had poked and prodded him, and while he bit his cheek to not let it show, some of the spots were still sensitive to touch. But after a few hours, bloodwork, x-rays and the requested re-test on shooting, at John’s discretion, they said he was fit for duty. Kyle knew if he was going keep up with the rest of the team he was going to have to work quickly to get back into the shape they were.

“You take all the time you need, we’re doing alright,” John answered as he sat down hard on his bed, which squeaked loudly. While running a three man team was less than ideal, just the thought of Kyle being out in the field again made him anxious. He blamed it on what he had to do to keep him alive, ignoring the other glaring reason.

“No, I’m good,” Kyle answered quickly as he sat up and reached his hand out for the take away box. “I’m climbing the walls at home while you’re gone.”

John glanced up at Kyle at that while handing him his food; burger cooked just like he liked, extra mayo, no pickles, and vinegar for his chips. He knew what he meant, knew that he would also climb the walls if he was stuck at home when his men were at work. Though, that small spark he worked on stuffing down lit up at the implication that Kyle missed him while he was gone. That he wanted John around, was worried about him when he was away and couldn’t wait for him to be home or be around him. But then he went and squashed it away, hurting his own feelings with the next question.

“Celeste not keeping you busy?” John asked with a small, forced grin and eyebrow raise. “The flowers were a nice touch.”

“Her den is dismal, she needed something,” Kyle reasoned as he dipped a chip in the small plastic container that held his vinegar. “And her garden is overgrown, killed two birds with one stone.” If John was going to be obtuse then fine. He would let him.

“I think you made Johnny jealous you did it first,” John joked as he toed off his shoes and shifted to lean back on the headboard of his bed to eat. This was easier, talking about Kyle and Celeste, push him toward that pursuit even if it hurt in more ways than one.

“Johnny can get Simon flowers if he needs the attention,” Kyle answered as he mirrored John and leaned back against his own headboard. “He’s got his own tricks up his sleeve anyway. Simon, too, in his own quiet way.”

“Poor girl has no idea what she’s gotten herself into,” John answered with a small chuckle.

He knew his men better than anyone else. He could see how they sat up a little straighter, looked just a bit more interested, and always brought the conversation back around to her. They all said it was out of concern, being friendly, but there was more to it. More to the way Simon silently hovered when she insisted on moving the heavy boxes herself. How Johnny stooped a bit to get down to her level to be able to look her in the eye better. When Kyle would grin just a fraction wider, the one dimple in his cheek popping, as she talked to him.

“Don’t act like you also aren’t interested,” Kyle prodded as he flipped the channel to the football game. “I see how you get flustered,” he joked, pretending he didn’t ache that John didn’t act that way around him. “Not used to someone telling you no, are you?”

“I’m not used to someone being so determined to do everything the hard way,” John countered. “I can deal with stubborn and bullheaded,” he looked pointedly at Kyle, “but she just flat out won’t listen.”

John had told Celeste over and over that he and the guys would take care of the issue in her den. He’d make the arrangements for contractors if they needed it, he knew plenty, and they’d fix what they could themselves. Money they could figure out later, that she needn’t worry about that at the moment. John knew she was on a fixed income compared to the four of them who made money for every contract they took. Not to mention their pensions. But she wouldn’t have it. Just the other day she had called a plumber to fix her leaking sinks and John had to run the guy off when he arrived, slipping him a twenty pound note for his troubles.

“You aren’t her Captain. She doesn’t have to listen,” Kyle reasoned, pausing for mid bite to watch the goalie save the ball. “Damn,” he muttered as he took a bite of his burger.

John let the conversation drop as they both focused on the game, picking up on the fact Kyle wasn’t interested in talking about Celeste any longer. The tension between them was thick these days, but one thing that was still easy for them was football. It had been the thing that bonded them in the beginning, Simon and Johnny not nearly as big of fans, and made things feel normal. Even out in the field, when tensions were high for other reasons, they could fall into sports talk.

When the game wrapped, Chelsea having their arse absolutely handed to them, Kyle cleaned up dinner while John showered. It almost felt that John didn’t want to be alone with Kyle, not without distraction, and he all but bolted from the bed. The easiest solution would have been to book two rooms, but John insisted on just sharing one. For a brief second, Kyle felt his stomach squirm with anticipation when John stood fast on that point, leveling him with a look when he tried to argue. It wasn’t unusual, the four of them would pile into a closet to sleep if needed, but John had an option this time, and he still picked to be with Kyle.

“Liverpool and Burnley play here in a moment,” Kyle said vaguely when John walked out of the bathroom.

“Not much of a game,” John noted as he toweled off his hair, throwing the linen onto one of the stiff backed chairs. “But may as well.”

Settling under the sheets, hiding the grimace on his face from the burn in his shoulder as he pulled off his shirt, Kyle turned his attention to the game. Ignoring the desire to just look at John as he lounged on top of the sheets in nothing but a pair of shorts, hand tucked behind his head as he stared at the screen. Kyle didn’t know if he did it on purpose or not, but it was getting harder and harder to just not scream his frustration. To ask John if he knew what he was doing. If he enjoyed torturing Kyle like this. Booking a single room, walking around barely clothed, making him jealous with the mention of Celeste even if Kyle also had an attraction to her. Being figuratively and literally, just out of reach no matter how close Kyle was to him.

“Fuck, that’s a red card. Don’t know why he’s waiting,” John muttered after a bit as he watched a player get in the ref's face. He looked over to Kyle to see if he agreed, but he had nodded off. Still half sitting up with his head drooped to the side, breathing softly.

Quietly, John grabbed the remote and turned the volume down a few notches before setting it back on the nightstand. His eyes roved over Kyle, taking in the way his eyes fluttered from a dream and the slow way his chest rose and fell. He always looked so much softer, younger, when he slept. The stress of life smoothed away to reveal the gentle person underneath. The one that wasn’t hardened, wasn’t angry or on edge. The person Kyle may have been if John hadn’t intervened that day in Picadilly and recruited him to his task force. He could have served his time, retired with honor, and been a civilian with an easier life, a life with someone like Celeste. Grow old, and be safe from all of this.

But John had been selfish.

He had seen Kyle’s potential and sucked him in, and was leading him right down the same path he took. Of his three men, Kyle was the one that could survive without the job, could have made something else of his life. Johnny and Simon lived and breathed for the military; they needed it like they needed air, just like him. But Kyle was better than them, he could do so much more. But he still chose to stay around, to follow all of them into the next fight. Always ready to charge head first despite the risks. And never one to back down even when certain death was waiting on them, which is what almost made John lose him last time. Why the right side of his chest was peppered with fresh scars and a mangled bullet hole in his shoulder.

John finished the game, glancing at Kyle as he barely woke from his sleep to shift further under the sheets and roll over. It wasn’t too late, but they had been up early to make it for Kyle’s appointment, so when John glanced at the clock reflecting almost ten, he opted to just cut off the television and go to sleep himself. If they wanted to get back tomorrow at a decent time, they’d need to be on the road just after dawn. John was hoping to get the floor in solid at Celeste’s so they could start working on the ceiling.

Kyle rolled over in his sleep, wincing a bit at the noise as it pulled him from his doze. The hotel beds were horrible, they squeaked and groaned, and it seemed to linger, echoing, once he stopped moving. Shifting a bit, thinking that perhaps he had rolled onto a spring that was coiled under him making all the racket, Kyle waited for it to cease. In his half-asleep daze, he reached out with a fisted hand to hit the bed to make it stop, as it just continued on. He was about to sit up and grab his phone to see if he could find the source of the noise when he heard the gasp. That roused him fully, shaking the sleep from his brain as he listened to his surroundings as he gained his bearings. It wasn’t his bed, and it wasn’t his gasp. It was John.

Throwing back the blankets, Kyle sat up and reached for the bedside lamp, squinting at the dim light from the nearly burnt out bulb as it came on. John was on his back, his face contorted as he thrashed in his sleep, arms tangled in the sheets as he fought some invisible enemy. There was sweat on his face, and the way his chest heaved, Kyle knew he had been at this for a while, but it hadn’t woken him up.

Nightmares weren’t new for any of them. There had been times Kyle had been jolted awake from Simon yelling in his sleep or Johnny groaning in pain. He had woken himself up plenty of times and had been shaken awake by John as he fell from the helicopter for the hundredth time. But John somehow always managed to keep his nightmares quiet, away from them. It was rare that he needed someone to pull him from them, and it was always Simon who would step in. Waking someone up from a flashback nightmare was a risk in its own, the brain not always able to differentiate reality from sleep. But Kyle wasn’t going to let John suffer, he was clearly panicked and perhaps even crying with the way he was gasping for air.

“John,” Kyle said, his voice still thick from sleep. “John, wake up,” he tried as he rose up from his bed and crossed the small gap between them. “Hey,” he reached out and tried to grab at his arm, but it flailed under the comforter and out of his reach. Moving to grab his shoulder, Kyle could feel the heat come off of him and the slick sweat that coated his bare skin. “John, wake up,” Kyle said firmly as he shook him a bit harder. It wasn’t working.

Wherever John was, he was deep and lost in it.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Everything was happening too fast for him to be able to do anything. There was blood all around, on the streets, on his pants, his shirt, his hands. And the screaming. The screams were circling him but also right at his feet. Simon was yelling at him to do something, but John couldn’t move, couldn’t get past the weight that was pinning his feet to the sidewalk as he watched. Watched Kyle shiver with pain on the ground as blood oozed seemingly from everywhere, leaking onto the concrete to mix with other’s blood and flesh.

The painful gasps that Kyle took to try and breathe as he fruitlessly ripped at his kit to try and get it off felt like a thousand knives to John’s ears. He needed to help him, to do something, but he was going too slow. He couldn’t get his limbs to work right, and as he fumbled with the Velcro on Kyle’s vest, the man screamed out and tried to pull away from the pain. The panic in his eyes was evident. He knew this wasn’t a wound you walked away from; it was one that he may not live past five minutes from. And his terrified eyes locked on John’s as he grabbed for him, his fingers grasping at his arms sliding in the thick blood that coated them.

“Kyle,” John groaned out.

“I’m here, John,” Kyle tried, thinking he was finally getting him awake. “Just a nightmare, come on,” he tried as he ripped at the sheets to get them away from his neck to free him a bit from the restraint.

He needed to get the bullet out. He was bleeding too badly, and they couldn’t pack it with the bullet lodged in there. Simon was fighting against Kyle as he thrashed in his hysteria of pain to try and make it stop, shaking fingers trying to rip at the gaping wound in his shoulder. Johnny was laying down cover fire as John knelt by Kyle’s side, trying to assess the damage.

He looked at the bulletproof vest that had been obliterated by the bomb shrapnel. His skin was twisted along his stomach, peppered with sharp pieces of metal between the holes in his shirt. No. No. No. He couldn’t lose Kyle. Not like this. Kyle was screaming in pain, his voice growing hoarse from the overuse and exhaustion. He needed to do something.

With a grunt, Simon placed a blood-soaked glove on Kyle’s cheek. He shoved his face to the side, the screams reaching a new octave as the wound in Kyle's shoulder was stretched. Simon didn’t hesitate as he knelt on Kyle’s good arm while the other hand held down his shredded right arm. It was now or never to get that bullet out.

“Do it,” Simon yelled as John plunged his fingers into the jagged wound.

“John!” Kyle snapped as John made a shuddering gasp and then held his breath as if he had just jumped into water. He stopped moving, stopped everything except for his eyes, which were flicking back and forth rapidly behind his eyelids. “Wake up,” Kyle insisted as he bodily lifted his shoulders off the bed a few inches and shoved him back down hard, hoping the sensation of falling would wake him.

It worked.

John inhaled a breath like a drowning man and snapped his eyes open. He didn’t know where he was, but he knew Kyle was there. He could hear him, see him in the light of the room, wherever it was. Then the panic set in. He hadn’t saved him. He failed. Kyle was gone, and this was some fucked up vision of him, an embodiment of his guilt for it. For everything. He could still feel the sticky blood on his arms, but he was too scared to look, afraid if he took his eyes off Kyle, he’d disappear.

“Hey,” Kyle said softly as he saw the wild look in John’s eyes. He was awake, but he wasn’t back. Not fully. “You’re safe,” he continued, using the words his therapist had drilled in him for when he had nightmares of his own. “You’re safe, in bed. No threats.”

“You’re here,” John said, his voice a husky whisper as he looked at Kyle. “I’m sorry for everything,” he breathed, feeling the tears. “I’m sorry I couldn’t,” he swallowed, though his mouth felt like sandpaper. “It’s my fault.”

“John, I’m okay,” Kyle said, trying to put the pieces together as to what his nightmare had been. “Look, see?” Kyle offered as he gestured to his arm. “All in one piece, a banged up piece, but a piece,” he suggested gently as John continued to look at him wide eyed, his pupils a bit blown.

“I watched you bleed,” John continued, his eyes roving over Kyle. His eyes were adjusting to the light and he could see him a bit better, not just a hazy glow. “All over the street, me,” he looked down at himself, fully expecting to see blood, but only saw the crisp white sheets and his own bare chest. “I felt you go limp in my arms,” he took a sharp breath as if trying to keep himself together and not fully break down.

“But I’m okay,” Kyle reasoned as he watched John struggle. It was so rare to see him vulnerable, it was almost enough for Kyle to fall apart. To see the fear, the dread. Despite being a fully grown man Kyle could only see a small child, one that needed someone else to be the strong person for once. “You got me out, we all got out,” he pulled the sheets back a bit more to reveal John’s chest and stomach to help him cool off, his hair gleaming with sweat. “Try sitting up, let me get you water,” he offered.

“No,” John said instantly, still afraid if Kyle moved, if he stopped looking at him, he’d disappear. “Just, stay, don’t leave.”

“I’m just going to get you water,” Kyle started, but when John reached for his arm, he held still. His hands were shaking, and Kyle scooted a bit closer. “See? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. You kept me alive, John. It was just a nightmare.”

“It was too real,” John murmured as he held Kyle’s forearm, fingers feeling a few of the jagged scars from the shrapnel.

“But it wasn’t real. I’m here, alive, breathing,” Kyle said as he locked into John’s eyes to keep him from frantically looking around. It wasn’t sinking in. The look in John’s eyes didn’t fade. If anything he looked more worried, as if Kyle were going to evaporate.

Softly, Kyle peeled John’s fingers off his forearm and dared to put them to his chest. To let him feel his heartbeat, his breathing. It was perhaps a bit intimate to be this close, but it was all Kyle could think of to let John truly see he was alive and okay. He felt the hesitation in John’s hand, but when his sweaty palm connected with Kyle’s skin and he felt the steady beat, John seemed to relax a bit, sinking down into the bed.

“It’s my fault you even got hurt if I had just-“ John tried to reason as he flexed his fingers on his chest as if to hold on.

“John,” Kyle said firmly. “It’s part of the job. You can’t save me from everything, just like I can’t save you or Simon or Johnny. We know what we signed up for,” Kyle answered. “I live with the fear every day, every minute.”

“If I had been quicker,” John tried.

“Then we both would have taken that hit from the bomb, and I probably would have been dead,” Kyle answered and felt a twinge of regret at the flinch that crossed John’s face. “But I’m not. And you’re not.”

“I’m sorry,” John said after a beat of silence, “don’t,” he added as Kyle opened his mouth to continue arguing. To try and absolve him from the guilt that was eating him alive. "Just let me be sorry and…stay with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere, my bed is right there,” Kyle reasoned quietly, gesturing toward his bed, as John’s breathing finally started to even out and his eyes looked less haunted. Yet he didn’t remove his hand from his chest, if anything he tightened his grip.

“That’s too far,” John stated in almost a whisper. He knew he’d regret this in the morning, giving in to what he had been fighting for so long. But he needed something. Need to feel Kyle alive, there with him. Watching him die in his sleep every night was its own torture.

“I,” Kyle started before looking at John’s desperate face. “Okay,” he breathed.

This was hardly the way Kyle was hoping this would go, but he needed to put his feelings aside. His Captain, and fellow soldier, needed him. He was going to help him even if it just rubbed salt in his own wound and broke his heart tomorrow. How many times had he just laid with Johnny to be his ground when he was so wrapped in his head that he couldn’t determine what was real and what was a memory. He could do this for John, especially since he was asking for help this time instead of suffering alone.

John shifted a bit in the bed, doing his best to keep out of his head, when Kyle leaned over and flipped off the light. The dark helped with the awkward feeling, and he told himself that this was no different than when they piled in for a catnap before evac. Except it was just the two of them instead of all four. And Kyle was only in his boxers instead of a full kit as he slipped under the sheets.

“Thank you,” John said after long minutes of lying side by side, barely touching as they stared at the dark ceiling.

“You’d do it for me,” Kyle replied as he fought the urge to fidget with how nervous he was feeling. With Johnny it was easy. He curled up against him and held him tight as he fought through whatever it was he was facing. Then, when Johnny calmed himself enough, they’d talk about it. But John felt like that bomb that had nearly killed him. Any wrong move would set it off and ruin everything.

“I would,” John agreed, “but you have Johnny and Simon.” He ventured, noting that Kyle seemingly avoided going to him these days.

“You have Johnny and Simon, too,” Kyle answered as he turned his head to look at John, even if he couldn’t see him. “And me. If you’d let us.”

“I’m trying,” John breathed out, the darkness making it a bit easier to let his guard down. “It’s different, with me being Captain. I can’t,” he fought for the words but Kyle stopped him.

“Talking has nothing to do with your rank,” Kyle said. “Tell me what you were dreaming about. It gets easier the more you talk.”

“I see it,” John finally said into the dark, pointedly keeping his eyes on the ceiling despite knowing Kyle had turned over to face him, tucking one of his hands under his head to get more comfortable.

“Almost every night. That street, watching us get overrun, you doubling back for the civilians,” he paused. “I see the way you jerk to the side and fall to your knees as the bullet hits home, but you still,” he paused to take a few breaths, seeing everything as he talked. “You still got up to get them out, get them to safety even as you couldn’t even hold up your gun. Arm useless,” he was losing the fight to keep it together. “Then when the bomb,” he gasped, just like he did in his dreams to keep the sob back. “I thought you were gone in that instant. I thought I just watched you die in the flash.”

“But I didn’t,” Kyle reassured as he barely made out John’s profile, his eyes growing accustomed to the dark again. “I was awake that whole time,” he added, never having told John his side of it. “The shot, the explosion, hitting the ground,” he winced at that memory. “I watched you drop everything to run for me, not caring about yourself. How you dragged me behind the barrier, and Simon came over to help. It hurt, I thought I was dying,” he wasn’t going to lie. “But I fought it. Though when you dug that bullet out, I couldn’t fend off passing out,” he smiled, hoping it would translate in his tone. “I thought that was the end until I woke up in hospital. With you in the same spot next to me, in the same clothes you were in on the street. Still dirty and bloodstained. Simon said you hadn’t left.”

“Two days,” John replied. “The nurses were tired of me, tried to get me to change, but I was afraid if I left…I’d come back, and you’d be gone.”

“When I woke up, you left,” Kyle pushed, perhaps using the vulnerability to his advantage to get some sort of answer. “Why?”

“I couldn’t face you,” John answered as he finally turned his head to face Kyle. “Face what I had let happen. Face the disappointment, anger. They didn’t know if you’d recover, if you’d be able to use your arm properly again. It would have been my fault. Digging that bullet out could have done worse damage, mixed with the shrapnel.”

“Digging that bullet out kept me alive, John. I’d rather be alive with you than dead with a bullet,” Kyle answered firmly and finally dared to reach his arm out to wrap around John to pull him closer. He pressed his chest against John’s arm and ran his thumb reassuringly on John’s bicep when he didn’t pull away. “Stop beating yourself up for doing what you needed to do. I’m alive, I’m here, because of you.”

John didn’t answer, the words echoing in his mind as Kyle inched closer to curl against him, shifting enough to rest his head on his shoulder. It felt beyond comforting to feel each sharp angle and soft curve of Kyle pressed to him. To be able to wrap his own arm behind his back to firmly keep him against his side as Kyle adjusted to get more comfortable, sliding his leg over his.

They didn’t say anything more as they lay in the dark, wrapped up in one another. Letting their breathing and subtle shifts of their bodies fill the silence as they eased back into rest. John laid awake for a long while, long after Kyle had dozed, and did his best to memorize the feel of him. To take in what he had been denying himself for so long. And when he was sure Kyle was completely asleep, John pressed his lips to his forehead while he waged a war in his mind on what to do when the sun rose.

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