Work Text:
“Hey, you”, Gale says. His fingers wrap around John’s bicep through the denim jacket, slowing him down to a stop. “What’s the hurry about?”
John turns and looks at Gale. The moon is out of the thick clouds, and the pale blue light reflects in his glimmering eyes. John can’t help the grin that spreads on his face.
A huff passes Gale’s lips and he frowns, blue eyes searching John’s face. “You walk like you’re on a mission or something. Can barely keep up with you.” He smiles softly and gives John’s arm a squeeze.
“Maybe I am on a mission?” John tilts his head to the side, lifting his hand to brush a golden lock out of Gale’s forehead.
“You’re on leave. To see me.”
“Not that kind of mission.” John leans in. His hand finds its place in the small of Gale’s back, and he pulls him close.
“What kind of mission then?” Gale asks and reaches up to cup John’s jaw in his hand, stroking his thumb across his cheek.
His eyes shine like stars in the night, and John couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. He never stood a chance, not once, when Gale looked at him. Not when they first met in secondary school, not when they met again when John had a brief break from the military and Gale had just started med school.
That was years ago. Now, Gale is almost done with uni. How did he manage to get so lucky? When did it happen? The angry voices, shattering bottles and buzzing cables, of his childhood, replaced one by one with soft touches and smiles and a pair of bright blue eyes. He barely thinks of his scars, not even the one that reaches across his cheek. The memories don’t hurt anymore.
“Still there?”
John smiles at the sound of Gale’s warm voice. “Yeah, just got lost in your eyes for a moment”, he murmurs.
Gale raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t know you were such a sweettalker.”
“Learned that from you, love.” John leans in, pressing his lips to Gale’s temple.
Gale’s fingers slip into his dark locks at the back of his neck, fingers playing softly with his curls. John buries his face in Gale’s hair, breathes him in. He smells like home.
What wouldn’t he give to freeze this moment in time? Gale, as beautiful as ever, lit up by moonlight. Warm and soft against his own body, breath hot against his neck. God, John wishes they were home. Why did he let Gale stop him?
“So that’s the mission”, Gale hums, as John continues to kiss him down across his jaw and neck. He gives a small nod, grins against Gale’s skin. Without second thought, Gale slips his hand under John’s sweater, squeezing his side through the T-shirt underneath.
“I diagnose you…” Gale begins.
John chuckles, deep and warm, and leans back to meet Gale’s gaze. “Oh, you going all doctor-y on me?” He grins widely.
Gale scrunches his nose and puts two fingers on John’s throat, checks his eyes, brushes his lip with his thumb to see the colour of the gums. He hums and shrugs.
“What?” John frowns.
“As I suspected.”
“Uh-huh?”
Gale bites his lip and pulls John closer, hand on his neck. “Desperate lover’s syndrome.”
“Sounds serious.” John bows his head, lips hovering over Gale’s.
“Very much so”, Gale whispers. “Can only be cured–”
A pair of hands, clapping slowly, cuts through the air.
“Oi, look at that. Romeo and Juliette, caught red handed.”
John’s breath catches. His whole body tenses like a steel wire. Gale looks up, takes his hand away. He awkwardly steps to the side, squinting into the darkness. John doesn’t have to look.
“Look who’s crawled back”, the voice says.
Within the blink of an eye, John is twelve years old again. He’s standing in the back of a crowd, listening to the sound of dogs chewing each other to bits in the small cage-like arena in front of him.
“Listen, we don’t want trouble”, Gale says. John shakes his head, puts a hand on his arm to stop him, but Gale has already walked past him. He stands in the empty street, between John and the three men that have emerged from the shadows.
John’s heart plummets.
It’s been years, but Duncan still looks the same, big and tall. That man could easily drag John with him by the arm, no doubt. Just like he did fifteen years ago.
“Who’s this, Johnny? Finally found your gal or what?” Duncan asks, his voice just as awful as John remembers it. “Look at ‘im.” The man laughs. It’s a wicked sound. “Never had to watch his back a day in his life.”
John’s stomach turns; Duncan looks at Gale the same way he looked at Teddy. He never saw any value in the kind collie that he made John take care of. Duncan stole him from a perfectly good home, for what? Training practice.
“‘im and Diesel didn’t quite get along”, Duncan said that day. He pressed a pocket knife up onto John’s chest. “You took care of ‘im, you gotta do it. This is master’s business, alright. He knows ya, won’t suspect a bloody thing.”
John remembers how strange it was, holding a knife that was meant to kill. He had never done that before.
“What do you want?” John rasps, back in the present.
Duncan shrugs. “You know what.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t owe you anything.” John reaches for Gale’s arm to pull him back. “C’mon, let's go.”
Duncan laughs dryly. “The gear, Johnny.”
A shiver runs up his spine. He feels like a teenager again, nothing but a brick in Duncan’s wicked games, just another one of all the troubled kids he sunk his teeth into.
“Drugs?” Gale whispers and looks back at John. His eyebrows are knitted together. John gives the smallest shake of his head, but Gale shrugs John’s hand off his arm.
“Gale, I don’t–” He doesn’t have time to explain, and looks up at Duncan. “I don’t have any fuckin drugs. Haven’t touched your shit in years. I got out, remember?”
“Ran to the army, you mean?” Duncan rests his hands on his hips. “Took the easy way out.”
John feels like he might explode. It was the opposite of easy. His family doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore. His fingers curl into fists and he takes a step forward. Gale is quick to stop him.
Duncan snorts. “Even pretty boy ‘ere knows better than you.”
“If you call him that—”
“I call ‘im whatever the hell I want!” Duncan snaps. “Now where’s my stuff?”
“I don’t have your—”
Duncan takes a few quick steps forward, he closes his arm around Gale’s neck and drags him backwards. Gale stumbles, almost falls, grabbing fruitlessly at Duncan’s arm.
All John can see is Teddy. The white of his fur is drenched red and the knife is in his hand. He whines and John lifts the knife, holding it with both hands above Teddy’s heart.
“John!” Gale gasps, eyes shining in the moonlight. John shakes his head, blinks Teddy away. Duncan has dragged Gale back, one arm around his neck, the other fishing up a butterfly knife from his pocket.
The colour drains from John’s face. “Duncan, don’t—”
“Shut your damn mouth or I’ll gut him like a fish!” He shouts, flicking the knife open and placing it under Gale’s jaw.
John stops breathing. The sharp steel glistens in the night and Gale’s eyes are wider than he’s ever seen them.
It took Duncan five seconds to kill Teddy in front of John. Now, he won’t even need three.
“Duncan”, John says, trying to sound calm. His heart is racing, so quickly he fears it might burst. “I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t have it. But I’ll do whatever you say, alright? Just—”
“Just what? Let him go? You think I should let him go?” Duncan laughs and panic crawls up John’s spine. Duncan’s thugs come closer. John’s gaze flickers between them. What do they want? How did they find him? What is happening?
“He’s got nothing to do with this, please—”
“Nice words don’t suit you Johnny-boy. Where the hell is my fuckin stuff?!” Duncan spits the words out and rattles the knife. It touches Gale’s throat and he gasps, a thin trail of blood trickles down his neck.
“I don’t know!” John yells, voice loud and brittle. “I swear I don’t fucking know!” He gestures, hands up, and the thugs rush forward. They grab him by the arms and John struggles, thrashes, but their grip is like iron.
“John”, Gale breathes. John looks into his eyes. They’re glistening with terror. His jaw is set, shoulders tense. He looks like he might break.
“You were always a terrible liar, soldier-boy”, Duncan sighs.
“I already told you, I don’t know! I don’t!”
Duncan gives Gale a shake, the knife is threateningly close to his throat again. And John loses it. “No! Please!” He looks into Duncan’s eyes. “Don’t hurt him. I swear I don’t know. But I’ll do it, I’ll do it, every bloody thing, alright? Whatever the fuck you want!”
For a moment, John can breathe again. Duncan lowers his hand, and releases his grip around Gale’s neck. A wave of relief washes over him, he closes his eyes and his shoulders drop.
It doesn’t even take Duncan two seconds.
John can barely cry out Gale’s name before the blade has sunken deep into his belly.
All emotion drains from Gale’s face and his lips open in a cut-off gasp.
“NO— no, no no no!” John’s voice cracks, raw and shrill. He lunges like a wild animal, wrenches against the hands holding him back.
His sneakers scrape the tarmac, he falls on his knees. The men drag him back up, bend his arms behind his back. “What did you do?! Sick bastard! Don’t you—”
Duncan raises his eyebrows. He gives Gale a rough shake by the shoulders, and Gale’s whole body sways. “You sure know how to mess up, don’t you, Johnny?”
Gale’s gaze finds John’s. He opens his mouth as if to speak but no words come out. Instead, his head dips down, he looks at the hilt sticking out of his stomach. A whimper escapes him and John’s soul is ripped out of his chest.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” John roars at Duncan, thrashing, every muscle straining. His tendons burn. Veins feel like they might explode. He’s not sure his heart is beating anymore.
“Johnny, please”, Duncan humours.
John’s eyes flash to Gale again and he sees his trembling fingers close in around the hilt of the knife.
“Gale! No!” John groans and tries to jolt free again. Gale doesn’t stop. John has never screamed like this in his life. “No! Don’t! You hear me? Christ, love, don’t—”
Gale pulls the knife out. He holds it in his hand, stares at it as if he’s never seen a thing like it in his life. Blood colours his knitted sweater bright red. A big dark stain, growing bigger and bigger by the second.
He looks up, face white. Duncan snatches the knife from his hand and Gale’s eyes roll back in his head.
“Gale! Gale!” John yells. Gale’s knees buckle and he sinks down on the tarmac. “No! No, fuck, Christ NO!”
The punch comes out of nowhere and hits him in the jaw. His vision goes white. He loses his footing, lands heavily on one knee. All he can hear is an awful ringing. Someone is screaming at him. The air is knocked out of him. Knee to the abdomen. Kick to the ribs. He’s hanging in the arms of the thugs. John tastes blood.
“You hear me?” Duncan hisses, grabs his jaw in a firm grip. “You get that into your head?”
John’s head lolls to the side, he glances past Duncan. “Gale”, he mumbles. The blonde lies still.
“Johnny-boy?” Duncan rattles his jaw. “What is it with you and unhealthy attachments to pets?” John shoots him a hateful stare and spits blood on his hand.
Duncan snorts, lets go of his jaw. He grabs John by the hair and jerks his head back. John's eyes go wide. He remembers this. He knows this. When he wouldn’t kill Teddy, he–
The knife flashes in the dark. Steel digs into his unscarred cheek and slashes his skin open. John cries out. The pain cuts into his bones, white and cold. Blood runs down his jaw.
“There you go. Matching’ scars”, Duncan says and the thugs release him. John falls down on the dirty tarmac in a heap.
“Next time I take your eye.”
John laughs hollowly and shakes his head weakly at the man. “You’re gonna pay for this.”
Duncan huffs and one of the other guys kicks him in the gut. John grunts and curls up, trying to protect himself. Pain explodes throughout his body. He can’t breathe. He tries to get up. They kick him down. Again.
He doesn’t know when they leave. Suddenly, the kicks just stop.
He rolls onto his back, stares at the sky and tries to breathe. Can he move? Hurts too much. He can’t feel his body. Can’t feel his legs. His heart pounds against his ribs. Strange, didn’t it stop?
The street is quiet. It’s darker now, the moon is almost covered by thick clouds. John forces himself to turn. He looks at Gale. He’s blurry. John blinks, can’t see properly. Is he crying?
“My god”, John sobs. The white sweater is dirty and red. What has he done?
“Gale. Gale, c’mon.” John drags himself over to Gale, every move sending shockwaves of pain throughout his body. The tears start rolling down his cheeks.
John has seen more horrors than he should in his life, but this is the worst thing he’s ever laid eyes on. Blood has stained Gale’s hips and groin dark. The jeans look black.
Gale bought them last week, he was so excited to show them on when John arrived.
His lips are grey, eyes glassy and big. His chest rattles with tiny choked breaths.
“Oh god, my god, no, you’re alright, alright”, John mumbles and takes Gale’s face in his hands.
“Jo– John”, Gale breathes, staring right through John’s soul.
“‘m ‘ere, ‘m ‘ere.” He pulls Gale’s shirt up. Blood pulses steadily from a deep cut right below his last rib.
John kissed him there last night.
His vision blurs again. He tries to blink, tries to stop his hands from shaking as he weighs down, putting pressure on the wound. Gale groans. John would’ve preferred if he screamed. The sound that leaves his lips is dark and hollow, unlike anything he’s ever heard from him, from anyone, before.
A new sob shakes John’s body, rattles his every bone. His ribcage has cracked open. He falls apart, with every drop of blood that trickles between his fingers.
“Why’d ya have to pull it out, love?” he croaks. “You’re supposed to leave it in, you know that!” He bows forward, putting one hand on Gale’s cheek, accidentally smearing blood on his pale skin.
“Classic”, Gale huffs. “Shock… or somethin’.”
“What are you…” John looks up. The street is dead quiet. The houses further away are dark, not a single lamp in the windows. No one will hear, it’s past midnight, but he screams anyway. “Help!! Someone!”
Gale whimpers again, tries to hold back, not make a sound. His cheeks are flushed red. John rips his throat apart. “HELP! We need help!”
“Your shirt is… blue?”
John looks down. Gale’s head has lolled to the side. He tries to lift it but he can’t seem to control his own neck. “It’s green”, John mumbles. “Gale, I don’t know what to do. You’re the doctor, you know this. Tell me what to do.”
Gale grins, his lips form in a strange curve and he chuckles clumsily. “There’s thisss th-thinngg.”
John freezes. This is bad. It’s bad. Of course it’s bad Gale was fucking stabbed but oh fuck it’s bad what is he even saying?
Gale giggles. He shouldn’t giggle. “Hypo…velmic shhhhock.”
The blood continues to trickle between John’s fingers, no matter how hard he presses down. What is Gale talking about? What the HELL is he talking about? He cries out for help again, squeezes his eyes shut when the sound of his own voice makes his ears ring.
No one hears them. And John does the only thing he can do, and wraps his arms around Gale. His head spins and every part of his body hurts. He manages to get Gale up in his embrace, but he falls back when he tries to stand up.
Gale’s body slumps lifelessly against his chest. The blood gushes out of him; John feels it soak his own jeans. “Love, you gotta help me”, he chokes. “C’mon, Gale, I can’t carry you if you don’t help.”
Gale huffs. His body sags and he doesn’t listen. “Think my f-friendss… gon’ look a’ my ‘rgns?”
John shakes his head. “Don’t…” A ragged sob erupts from his chest and he grabs Gale tighter. He gets up on his feet this time, but Gale’s body acts like sand in his grip and there’s nothing John can do about it when the blonde sinks down on the tarmac again.
“Fuck you, Gale”, John whimpers. “Fuck, dammit. I can’t– you’ve gotta help. I can’t– I can’t–” He bows his head, cradles him in his arms, rests his forehead against Gale’s. “Help me, love, c’mon, I know you can, just…”
“You’re hurt”, Gale whispers. He weakly lifts his hand to John’s cut up cheek.
“No, no”, John mumbles. “No, you’re hurt. You’re fuckin hurt!”
Gale frowns. “Me?”
John shudders. Can’t breathe. There’s blood all over. Gale is bleeding and there’s nothing he can do and it’s his fault he did this and Gale is gonna die and–
“You crying?” Gale’s quiet voice. “I…”
John can’t take it anymore. “I love you”, he whimpers. “I love you, I love you.” He pulls Gale as close as he physically can. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.”
They were supposed to go home. John had it all planned. Candles and wine, or soda. He bought grapes. Some cheese he can’t pronounce but knows Gale loves.
“Not your fault”, he whispers.
John looks Gale in the eyes. Just in time. Just in time to see his faint smile falter and furrowed brows sag.
“No”, John says, eyes flickering over Gale’s face and neck and chest and body and hands and eyes. “No, nonono, he-hey.” He grabs Gale’s face in his hands. “Hey, Gale, love.”
Nothing.
John shakes him.
Nothing.
“Hey, c’mon, baby, look at me. I’m here. Look at me.”
John strokes the hair out of Gale’s face, tries desperately to find a gaze that isn’t there anymore. “C’mon, don’t leave me, don’t…”
A loud choked wail passes his lips and sucks in a sharp wet breath. Before he knows it, he slaps Gale on the cheek. “Wake up! Wake up, dammit!” John shakes him frantically, hands trembling so badly he can’t feel them anymore.
Gale doesn’t wake up. He doesn’t move. His head lolls to the side. And John falls apart. He howls, cries, chokes on his own sobs. Snot runs from his mouth, spit and blood covers his chin.
John strokes Gale over the head. His mother used to do that to him when he was little, the blonde told him once. With trembling fingers, John carefully closes Gale’s kind eyes.
He bows down, kisses Gale’s forehead and leans his head against his.
What is he supposed to do? His mind is blank. What do you do when the love of your life dies?
Gently, John lays Gale down on the ground, and without a word, he lays down next to him. He nestles his face into Gale’s sweater, presses his body as close as he can.
He refuses to move, not even when the rain comes. Gale is still warm. Still soft.
Maybe, just maybe, if John doesn’t move, he can keep him warm, keep him safe.
Just maybe.
Maybe.