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Chapter Text

Sledge first notices it on Peleliu; the way Snafu clings to his gun as he sleeps, even when they’ve bunkered down for the night and have savored every last bit of their canned meal as if it were their last. What Sledge wouldn’t give to be back home at this moment, safe in his warm bed, his dog nestled at his feet. He feels a wave of guilt wash over him. Men have fought and died for this cause, the same cause that made him enlist in the first place. As soon as his feet had hit the foreign sand of this hell cursed island, he knew there was no turning back. He knew the moment he saw the dismembered body parts of fellow soldiers and heard the screams of the husbands and sons of now mourning families, he would never be the same Eugene that he was before the war. The thought startles him, how a few seconds could change a man’s life forever.

He thinks back to their arrival on Peleliu, when Snafu had offered him a cigarette. He declined and watched as Snafu emptied his stomach onto the floor of their troop transport before continuing to light his smoke. He heard from Oswald that he had been on Gloucester before. Eugene’s own stomach churns with the thought that maybe Snafu also wishes he were home instead of having to go through the hellfire of war again. Maybe Snafu felt the same way he does now, as if he had already accepted his fate and will only be returning home in a wooden casket to be buried eight feet under. Eugene wishes he accepted the cigarette because now more than ever, he wishes he had something to take his mind off of the pity and remorse he feels for himself and for the man sleeping three feet away.

He glances at Snafu, who is trying to get the best sleep he can in the mere four hours he has. His gun is tucked under his arm, safe and snug. His face is smeared with dirt and blood, but Eugene can only see the youth of his face behind the morbid mask. If it wasn’t for the pure adrenaline still coursing through his veins, he would have chanced a laugh at the sight. Snafu almost looks like a child, his gun protected by his body as if it were a stuffed bear given to him by his own mother. It’s almost as if a few hours ago he wasn’t digging out gold teeth from a corpse’s mouth with his bare hands and blade. Eugene shivers at the memory. That wasn’t the Snafu before the war. It couldn’t have been.

War changes men. War changes men. He thinks and he thinks and he thinks, until his thoughts are interrupted by a loud sigh.

“Shut up,” Snafu groans as he shifts to sit up. Eugene didn’t realize that he had been thinking out loud. He watches as Snafu grips his gun to his chest with one hand, running the other through his mop of curly black hair. Snafu grabs his helmet that is settled somewhere near his feet and places it over the unruly mess. He glances up at Eugene, his eyes unbelievably dark. The youth Sledge had seen a few minutes ago is completely erased. His eyes are no longer soft. Instead, his gaze bores into Eugene’s. He feels his heart rate quicken as he stares back into the pale blue, unblinking and unmoving. The air suddenly becomes harder to breathe and Eugene thinks he should probably look away. But he can’t. Snafu leans in closer, eyes still locked onto Eugenes’. His palms are sweating and his throat is dry and he realizes that Snafu is too close.

“War ain’t changed me,” Snafu speaks softly, but there’s a brute force lingering behind his voice. Eugene doesn’t know how to respond. He can’t respond. The air has been sucked out of his lungs and he fears that anything he says will only come out as an inaudible noise. He simply nods once, his face red underneath the shadow of his own helmet. Snafu is still too close. His eyes keep shifting to look at Eugenes’ one at a time, as if he is looking for something that he lost. Eugene thinks that he finally finds what he’s looking for when Snafu leans back against the wall of their hole.

“You got four hours, boot,” Snafu says tersely. A wave of relief washes over Gene as he begins to breathe normally again. They’re no longer breathing the same air. “Make ‘em count.” Snafu’s smile is only half there, one side of his upper lip higher than the other. It’s a smirk that makes Eugene’s heart stutter.

He lays down in their hole, exhaustion finally catching up to him. His head rests against a pile of mud. Wetness is seeping in through his clothes. He knows he’s not going to sleep well. Just before he closes his eyes, he sees Snafu clutch his gun to his chest as if it were his lifeline.

War changes men, Sledge thinks before sleep takes over.

Pavuvu was still hell, but this time without the explosions and flying bullets and gut wrenching anxiety of not knowing whether they’d still be alive when the sun came up the next morning, cascading over the mud sloped hills, lighting everything up that wasn’t already on fire. Sledge has started to find comfort in Snafu, and Snafu has started to find comfort in him. It’s been a month since they had to spend their nights crammed into their foxhole with barely enough room to breathe or even think. It’s been a month since Sledge went back for Snafu, after a bomb had gone off too close to his feet and sent him flying onto his back. It’s been a month since Eugene earned his nickname. He likes the way it sounds when Snafu says it. Sledge likes to think they’re closer now. Snafu sticks to his side. The men in their company have grown accustomed to it. Where they find one, they know they’ll find the other. They talk a lot. Sometimes, Sledge thinks Snafu doesn’t listen, but he always surprises him when he brings up personal details from their conversations.

The company is sitting down for hot chow, talking about their lives back home. Burgin has a little sister he’s eager to see again. Leyden has a girl waiting for him, commenting on how he hopes she hasn’t run off with the boy next door.

“Sledgehammer got himself someone special back home, too,” Snafu chimes. Sledge eyes him in mid-chew. “Yeah, got the softest hair and the sweetest kiss, right Sledge?” The men are looking at Eugene now, eyebrows raised and looking for an explanation. Snafu smiles as he continues. “Ears might be too big and his breath might smell bad, but what did you say? ‘Loyalty comes before everything’.”

Burgin and Leyden exchange confused glances. Sledge holds back a laugh before responding.

“If I were you, Snaf, I would be careful. He’s got one hell of a bark, but his bite’s a lot worse.” It finally registers and the men around the table erupt in laughter. Snafu smirks as he glances down at the small lump of rice on his plate, pushing it back and forth with his fork.

“Shit, Sledge!” Leyden exclaims, slapping Eugene’s arm with the back of his hand. “You gonna run off and marry that dog, too?” The company continues to talk over their meal, the subjects staying lighthearted. Snafu was right, though. Eugene can’t wait to see Deacon again.

It’s late afternoon when Sledge and Snafu are on the beach, basking in the hot rays of the Pacific sun. Sledge is laying on his back, using his waded up shirt as a pillow. His eyes are closed and for the first time in a long time, he feels safe. Snafu is laying on his stomach inches away from him, his elbows propping him up. He’s pinching finger-fulls of sand and dropping them onto the back of Eugene’s hand that is resting near his side. The air around them is still, other than a small breeze shifting through the palms of the tree line. Sledge peers down and watches Snafu build a mound of white grain over his tanned skin. Snafu looks focused on what he’s doing. Sledge has never seen him look so at peace. The moment is quiet and intimate, one that Sledge never thought he would share with the man at his side. Maybe this was the Snafu before everything happened. Before the gunfire and the bombs and the screams of the enemy burning alive.

“What was it like?” Sledge asks, his voice rising over the quiet rush of the tide. Snafu doesn’t look up from his project. He continues to drop grains of sand, burying Sledge’s hand until he can no longer see it.

“What was what like?”

Sledge lets out a sigh before continuing. “Gloucester.”

Snafus’ features visibly tense. Eugene regrets asking as he watches his brows knit together. Snafu pushes himself up onto his knees and reaches over into his pack. After a few seconds of rummaging, his hands come back with a carton of smokes and a lighter. Snafu turns so that he’s seated with his back facing Eugene, his knees coming up to his chest, his arms draping over them. Once his cigarette is lit, Eugene sees him shrug his shoulders. Sledge sits up next to him, mirroring his position. Snafu offers him a cigarette. This time, he doesn’t decline.

“Don’t know what you want me to say,” Snafu finally responds. “Almost took a bullet to the head.”

Sledge looks him over. Snafu’s eyebrows are furrowed and Eugene can’t tell whether it’s because of the brightness from the sun or because he’s lost in his own memory. They both find time in the silence to inhale the smoke from their cigarettes. Sledge is still not used to the nicotine, his head buzzes in the heat. He doesn’t push Snafu any further. In the few seconds of stillness, Sledge sees a smile tug at his lips. This time it’s different. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“’Cept it hit the runner behind me,” he continues. “If it had hit me, that God of yours would’a been showin’ me too much mercy.” Snafu scoffs at the thought.

Sledge knows that Snafu isn’t much of a believer. Eugene remembers a time on Peleliu when Snafu had asked him what he was reading. He showed him his pocket bible, the edges torn and covered with mud. He earned nothing but an eye roll and a laugh in return. Sledge didn’t let that stop him from keeping his faith. With the amount of trauma and bullshit they’ve all gone through, and the amount that was yet to come, there was no way it was all done in vain. Sledge was a firm believer. His mother once told him that everything happens for a reason. No matter the amount of pain and heartache that he has to endure, God has a plan for him. Sledge stuck to his plan.

Eugene exhales his smoke and reaches a hand to place it on Snafu’s back, just between his shoulder blades. He waits for Snafu to move, thinking that maybe this sort of contact is too intimate too soon. Snafu doesn’t move, he just continues to smoke his cigarette in silence, gazing across the vast ocean. It’s eating them both alive with its mocking freedom. Snafu's skin radiates heat underneath Eugene’s hand. They spend an hour there, sitting next each other on the sand, watching the sun dip lower and lower until the blue sky transforms into hues of purple and red. This is the closest they’ll come to normalcy ever again, Eugene knows this. So does Snafu.

They were completely and utterly fucked. They would need a miracle to pull through this one. They won over Peleliu, but Okinawa was a completely different war of its own. Tensions were high, the entire company sleep deprived and starving, staring death in its face with every step they take. Eugene could hardly hear the commotion over the pounding rain and the distant mortar explosions. He sits with his back against a large rock. Right now, it’s the only thing separating him between life and bullet through his chest.

“Fuck you, Shelton!” It’s muffled by the downpour, but loud enough to draw Eugene’s attention away from the grasp on his gun. He sees Hamm and Snafu standing inches apart, sizing each other up and readying themselves for a fight.

“Wouldn’ you like to,” Snafu sneers, voice thick with malice. Hamm shoves him hard, almost sending him toppling backwards, but Snafu catches his balance and his eyes bore holes into Hamm. If looks could kill, the boy would’ve dropped dead long ago.

Eugene jumps up from his seat, watching as Snafu tries hard to keep himself from lunging at Hamm. Shelton simply rolls his shoulders back, making himself seem as tall as he can.

“What’s the matter, Snafu? Daddy take all the fight outta you before the war?” Eugene doesn’t like this. His stomach is in knots and he’s fighting the urge to puke. Snafu rarely mentions his family or his life before the war. Sledge can only imagine his too small of a house and his whiskey loving father with the pent up anger from his wife’s death. Snafu got a letter from home once. He crumpled it up and put his lighter to it. He watched it burn to ash at his feet before glancing up at Eugene and telling him ‘if you ever need to blame somethin’ on someone, blame me, I’m real good at acceptance and shit.’ A few minutes later, he was back to cracking jokes with the rest of the company, smile and all.

“Well Hamm with two m’s.” Snafu’s tone is condescending, mocking him for his name. “If your parents knew how big of a pussy you are, maybe they’d rather you died 'nstead if your brother.”

Eugene flinches at the voice. He admits that it was too harsh. It was too low of blow, even for Snafu. He’s not sure who to be angry with now. He’s not sure which side he should join. There shouldn’t even be sides. It should have just been them against the Japs. Sledge snaps out of his thoughts when he sees Hamm pull out his hand gun, the barrel pointing directly between Snafus’ eyes. The blood rushes in his ears and it feels as though his feet weigh a million tons, trapped and being swallowed alive by the Okinawan mud. Hamm’s stare is filled with nothing but hatred. Eugene can understand why.

“Hamm..” This time it’s Burgie’s voice. It’s quiet and barely audible over the rain. Hamm doesn’t react to his name. He stays where he is, eyes not moving, gun not moving. Sledge’s heart is in his throat and he can barely breathe.

Snafu looks calm as ever. His eyes are half lidded and he has that stupid smirk spread across his face. He seems unperturbed with a gun pointed at his head and a man filled with rage at the other end of the trigger. Eugene expects him to leave, to find his place back in their hole. Instead, Snafu takes a slow step forward, leaning in until the cool metal of the gun is pressed against his forehead. He’s still smiling. Eugene can’t feel his own legs, as worry twists in his gut. He’s not sure who’s more insane. Hamm for pulling the gun, or Snafu for asking to be killed.

Burgin is moving forward with ease. Eugene thinks it’s because the island has already claimed him, why would it need another? Burgies’ arms are extended as he inches closer and closer to Hamm, his own eyes filled with panic. Like Eugene thought before, they are completely and utterly fucked.

“Go ahead,” Snafu says, quietly enough that Eugene ends up reading his lips. It was something only meant for Hamm to hear. “Pull the goddamn trigger.” It’s louder this time, Eugene swears he can hear that New Orleans drawl over the loudness of the thunder. “Pull the trigger!” Snafu is shouting now, his smirk has disappeared and a look of desperation has taken its place.

Another moment passes and Burgin is on them. His hands rest gently on Hamms’ forearms. Eugene can’t tell whether it’s the rain or tears that are running down Hamm’s face, but either way, he slowly lowers his arms until the gun is pointed towards the ground. Eugene sees Burgie whisper something into Hamm’s ear and watches him nod as he places the hand gun back into its holster. Burgie turns to look at Snafu. Shelton’s face looks utterly defeated, until his façade of a smirk is back, owning his lips as if they were prisoners.

“Go cool off, Snaf,” Burgin orders. His tone isn’t as kind as it was before. He leads Hamm back to his hole, making sure he doesn’t turn around to finish what was started. Snafu scoffs and turns on his heels. His eyes finally lock onto Eugenes’. He flashes a smile in his direction, this time seeming genuine. Eugene can still feel his heart hammering against the inside of his ribs.

“What’s the matter, Sledgehammer?” Snafu asks as he passes him on his way back to their hole. Sledge slowly comes to, his feet finally coming free of the mud. By the time he’s built up the courage to join him, Snafu is already bunkered down, his fingers wrapped tightly around his gun and clutching it to his chest. Sledge thinks that maybe it’s his last line of defense. The cool metal of a firearm is the only thing he has left to comfort him.

As if it were some sort of miracle, the rain dies down, turning into a mist in the hot air.

Sledge lowers himself into the mud a few feet away. Snafu fumbles over his pockets before coming back with a carton of smokes. He clicks his lighter and breathes in, the small flame lighting his face with a faint, red glow. He reaches across the small space between them and holds up his pack, offering one to Eugene. He doesn’t refuse and picks one out, trying hard to stop his hand from shaking. Snafu leans a bit closer, flicking his lighter on. Gene lets him light his cigarette, the humid air becoming thicker and thicker as it slowly engulfs them. He takes a deep breath in, then exhales, the smoke staying in a stagnant cloud in front of him. He’s the first to break the silence. 

“You weren’t afraid.” His voice is small, but still manages to carry some gravity behind its words. Snafu lets out an airy laugh, smoke pouring from his mouth and around his nostrils, joining the cloud that Eugene just made.

“No point in livin’ if you live in fear.”

Eugene thinks this over. Maybe Snafu learned this a long time ago, before he even joined the marines. Before one too many bullets barely missed their target. He glances over at Snafu, his cigarette hanging at the edge of his lips. His face is relaxed. It’s almost as if he is a completely different person than he was a few moments ago, no signs of worry or desperation to be found. For a moment, Eugene thinks that he’s nothing but a ghost. He’s nothing but an apparition his mind made up to cope with the blood soaked bodies that are littered around them. Eugene wants nothing more than to reach across and touch him. He wants to make sure that he will find something concrete behind his fingertips, something that is tangible, something that can ground him.

Snafu slightly leans to his left, his shoulder gently brushing against Eugene’s. Gene finds comfort in the fact that the touch is solid.

“’S kind of a fucked up way of living,” Eugene adds, his eyes locked onto Snafu, watching him intensely as his throat bobs after swallowing nothing but dry air. Fear is what’s keeping them alive.

“Yeah.” It’s nothing but a whisper this time.

Bullets fly by, passing his head by mere inches. In the distance, he hears the screams of fallen soldiers. Is it Hamm’s voice? Is it Burgie’s voice? At this point, it doesn’t matter. He has to keep moving, but his legs aren’t cooperating. They feel numb, like he’s dragging fifty pounds of unnecessary baggage. Eugene can’t breathe. He’s heaving and his lungs are burning with every step he takes.

He sees a Jap sprint over the hill in front of him, open firing at anything with a pulse but not really aiming anywhere in particular. Eugene fires back, hitting him in the chest, then in the head. Blood sprays everywhere. It’s pure chaos and Eugene loses track of which way is up and which way is down. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Snafu, gun in hand and jaw locked tight. Snafu isn’t screaming until he’s the first to reach the top of the hill. The slope is muddy and slippery, almost impossible to climb, yet Snafu found a way. Eugene looks up at him, as if he were a god-like figure ushering them to safety.

Another gunshot rings through the air. Eugene watches Snafu tumble back down the hill, body limp and unmoving as he slides through the mud, finally resting at Eugene’s feet.

Genes’ ears are still ringing and he physically can’t move. Snafu is lying at his feet, gasping for air, his body covered in mud. He finally springs into action, flipping him over to assess the damage. There’s a hole in his abdomen which is now freely pouring blood. The red stands out stark against the blackened dirt clinging to his uniform. He’s wheezing and searching for air, for any kind of relief. Eugene feels tears forming at the edge of his eyes. He places his own burnt, mud-covered hand over the open wound. He places the other underneath Snafu’s head. His fingers caress the soft curls at the nape of his neck, pulling gently until his unattached gaze finally reaches his own.

Snafus’ eyes are set wide, nothing but fear and pain glinting behind his blue irises. Eugene blinks once, then twice, then his tears are finally set loose, leaving trails of pale skin beneath the dirt caked onto his face. Snafu’s breathing is way off. Eugene doesn’t know how to help him other than to try and comfort him during the last few breaths he has left.

“Shhh. It’s ok, Merriell,” he tries. His voice falters when he speaks his name. His real name. “You’re gonna be alright.” At this point, Eugene isn’t sure if he’s trying to comfort Snafu or himself. Either way, Merriell seems to relax into the strong grip behind his head.

“Gene?” He sputters back. Red stains his lips and the whiteness of his teeth. Eugene sees the panic in his eyes and his stomach knots at the sight.

“You’re gonna be fine.”

It’s with his last stuttered breath that Eugene finds himself freely crying. He’s holding his lifeless body in his arms. Only a few seconds ago, those pale blue eyes were filled with rage and determination. They were filled with the flaws of humanity, yet they were still alive. Now, they’re unseeing and empty, looking up at nothing but the stars painted across the black sky. Eugene lets out a noise that has been building up in the back of his throat, desperately clawing to come out, begging for his pain to be heard.

“Gene!”

Eugene jolts awake. He sits up, completely disoriented. He feels sweat trickle down the back of his neck as he heaves for air. The first thing his eyes lock onto are those same eyes that were nothing but glass a few moments ago. Yet, there they were. Bright and focused. Snafu is too close again. Eugene can smell the scent of stale cigarettes lingering on his breath.

He doesn’t have to ask for comfort. Snafu’s hand is already gently placed on the side of his face, his fingers softly running through the hair near his ear. They’re still in their hole, Eugene knows that much, the mud from the ground seeping around his fingers. All he can do is shut his eyes and relax into the grip. It’s real, and it’s the only thing that allows himself to slow his breathing. It’s the only thing that brings him back to reality.

His eyes are still closed when he feels Snafu’s breath on his lips. He shouldn’t want this. He shouldn’t need this. He tells himself over and over. But he does want it. He needs it. He opens his eyes and sees that Snafu is no longer looking at him. Instead, his eyes are focused on the soft curve of Eugenes’ lips. He feels a shiver run up his spine, as if the ground had been struck by lightning and the electricity has found its way up into his bones.

Sledge takes a deep breath in through his nose before lunging forward. It’s messy and rushed. Their teeth click together, his lips greedily pressing against Snafu’s. He expects him to pull away. He expects a moment of brief solitude. But Snafu doesn’t move. Instead, his hand joins the other, placing it on the opposite side of Eugene’s face. He deepens the kiss, desperation and hunger tugging him closer. The palms of Snafus’ hands are course and calloused, months of anxiety and fighting etched into his skin. Eugene swells at the feeling. He’s human. He’s alive. He’s there. Eugenes’ hands roam to grasp onto the collar of Snafu’s uniform. It’s frantic and he finds himself never wanting to let go.

The blackness of the night swallows them whole, and for a moment, he feels as if they were alone. As if there weren’t soldiers tucked away in their own foxholes ten feet away. Snafu’s breath is harsh against his face. Eugene realizes that he can no longer breathe, but he can’t bring himself to pull away. He doesn’t want to face the consequences that are soon to follow.

Surprisingly, he’s not the first to move away. Snafu’s lips are no longer on his and Eugene feels a pit of emptiness form in his stomach. He slowly opens his eyes, looking back into those starving irises that he has come to associate with feelings of security. A flare shoots into the night sky, lighting their hole with a tint of red. Snafu’s mouth is slightly open, words forming on his lips but not quite making it out of his throat. The circles under his eyes are dark. Eugene expects him to look afraid. He expects to see regret among his sleep deprived features. Instead, Snafu has that same familiar smirk spread across his lips. It’s almost animalistic, as if he owns him. Eugene fights the urge to lean in again, to close the gap and feel the warmth of Snafu’s mouth against his.

“No more,” Snafu whispers. “Not here.” Shelton turns away and reaches for his gun. He lowers himself to the ground, wrapping his arm around the silver barrel.

There it is again. The image of a child clutching onto his only tangible form of safety. “Wake me up in four.” Snafu’s voice is nothing but a sigh. A sigh of relief and a sigh of accomplishment. Snafu closes his eyes as he sinks deeper into the mud. Eugene is left to sit alone, his hands grabbing at the dirt beneath him.

It’s over. Japan finally surrendered. It’s not how Eugene pictured it. It’s quiet, as if a light has turned off somewhere. The word travels through mouth, reaching Sledge’s company in a soft murmur. “Can you believe it? Japan surrendered. What will you do now?” Sledge thinks and he thinks. Everything he imagines is met with an image of nothing but the pitch blackness of the night sky he sits under. His life back home is a life of darkness. No more Deacon to greet him at the door, his tail wagging with his body along with it. There’s no more purpose for him. There’s no more Eugene; at least the Eugene that existed before the war. Sledge thinks and he thinks. How could he let a few years change his life forever? How could he let the blood and the explosions and the sickness of war change him? Sledge blames himself as he thinks and he thinks. How could he let the only thing he finds comfort in turn into the man he’s sitting next to? The man he fought to stay alive for. The man he has grown to trust, telling him things that should only be meant for his own mind to deliberate.

Almost as suddenly as it started, they’re back on Pavuvu, their own personal hell. It’s as if they are stuck between a state of panic and a state of serenity. Sledge and Snafu sit in their racks, separated by only a foot. They know the war is over, but they can’t help but to feel as though they’ll be pulled out of their limbo with a gun shoved to their chest, telling them that their company is moving out in the next hour.

Sledge lies awake the entire night. He doesn’t know if he should feel relieved or afraid. He hears Snafu shuffle under the covers inches away from his own rack. Eugene can’t sleep and he knows that Snafu can’t either. He hears the sound of bare feet hitting the ground before he feels his mattress dip and his sheets shift. Snafu’s body is against his, his side leaning against Sledge’s back. It’s warm. It’s safe. It’s real. Sledge finds comfort in knowing that Snafu won’t disappear, just like the war had. Just like his purpose for living had.

“Whatter you thinkin’ about, Sledgehammer?” Snafu’s soft whisper brings back some life behind Sledges’ tired eyes. Eugene exhales deeply, turning onto his side so that his face is only an inch away from Snafu’s wandering gaze. He takes a moment to breathe in Snafu’s air. He decides that this is his home now.

“You ever think about the other war?” Sledge asks. He earns nothing but a confused glance from the other man. “The war in Europe? They killed millions of innocent people. Lined them up in two lines, left and right. They killed the ones who were on the left, and showed mercy to the ones on the right.” Snafu shifts to turn on his back, looking up at the dirt-covered ceiling of their tent.

“The way I see it,” Snafu responds, his voice still quiet so the other men sleeping a few yards away in their own tents wouldn’t hear. “We did more than enough of our own share. What happened, happened. Maybe we deserved what we got, and maybe they deserved what they got.”

Blood rushes to Eugene’s head as he sits up in his rack, looking down at Snafu who is still comfortably lying on his back. His heart rate increases again. Snafu is prone to making that happen, except this time, Sledge is pissed. How could he think that? How could he think that anybody deserved that? Being separated from their families, not knowing if they’d ever see them again. Being led to their deaths, one by one as if they were pigs, not humans, waiting to be slaughtered.

“You think they deserved it?” Sledge asks, his voice rising far above a whisper. Snafu sits up next to him.

“That’s not what I meant, Gene, and you know it.” Eugene swings his legs off his bed, standing to face Snafu who is still half-under his covers. A few heartbeats pass before Snafu is standing on the opposite side of the bed from Eugene.

“What did you mean then?” Sledge is accusing Snafu now, his anger taking control. The look he receives says it all. Snafu’s brows are pinched together, his eyes unbelievably wide, as if he’s on the brink of crying. As if he is on the brink of unraveling, unveiling all of his deepest and darkest emotions. Sledge waited a long time for the day that Snafu would finally break. He doesn’t break, though. His expression stays the same until Eugene realizes exactly what he meant.

“Maybe not everyone deserved it.” Snafu finally responds, his voice much smaller than Eugene’s. He didn’t have to say if for Eugene to understand. Everyone didn’t deserve what happened to them except Snafu. Snafu knows they didn’t, but he surely did. He realizes that Merriell thinks that all the shit and suffering he’s gone through was well merited on his end.

That night, Snafu drops to his knees for Eugene. Eugene accepts it as an apology.

Chapter Text

Seven months and two weeks. Eugene has been keeping track of the days. There’s not much else to do in Mobile, Alabama. His days consist of wandering in his garden, listening to his mother talk about her homemade recipes, and sometimes, in the brief moments of solitude he can find, he sits on his porch and smokes his pipe. It’s the monotony of his regimen that keeps his mind far from the brink of insanity.

It’s been seven months and two weeks. Eugene doesn’t sleep much anymore. Every time he tries, he wakes up an hour later, soaked in sweat with his bed sheets tangled around his limbs. His life is suffocating, his parents worrying about him almost every minute of the day. His mother gets the worst of it. Eugene’s father keeps trying to ease her mind, saying that sometimes it takes a while to get back into the swing of everyday life after seeing the things that men like Eugene have seen. He doesn’t talk as much as he used to. He always used to find comfort in his dog, but he’s long gone now, just like Snafu.

It’s been seven months and two weeks since Eugene woke up alone. The train seat in front of him was empty. No more broken smile, no more curly hair, no more blue eyes, no more wise-cracking jokes. It’s been seven months and two weeks since Snafu had left him. Eugene spends most of his time wondering if what he thought while he was back on Okinawa was actually correct. Was the man he had gotten close to even real? Did Eugene’s twisted mind imagine him? He mulls it over, constantly coming to the conclusion that his mind couldn’t dream of creating something so beautiful.

Now, it’s been seven months and three weeks, and Gene finds himself staring at a small house just on the outskirts of New Orleans. The white paint is chipping off of the wood siding and the only window on the lower floor is cracked. Eugene smiles, because this is the house he had pictured when they were ankle deep in mud, fearing for their lives as bullets ripped passed their heads. It takes him a few moments to collect his courage before taking the last few steps forward. He knocks.

A few seconds go by and the anxiety finally sets in. Eugene feels his heart pound on the inside of his chest and his tongue becomes heavy in his mouth. He takes a step or two back, considering the mistake he’s made and preparing to run. He doesn’t get far before the door opens.

He looks the same as Eugene remembered, except without the mud smeared onto his face and the dirt dusting his curls. His months back in America have treated him well. He almost looks younger now, his eyes are bright and his hair looks soft. As for his smile, Eugene can’t tell. Snafu is staring back at him, confusion and a hint of fear etched into his lips. Snafu takes a step out of his doorway, his bare feet hitting the grass beneath him. The silence is gnawing at Eugenes’ ears, begging him to say something rather than just simply stare at the man who had deserted him so many months ago. But he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to do and he feels his throat starting to close up.

“Whatter you doin’ here, Sledge?”

The silence shatters like glass and so does Eugene’s frantic heart. Snafu sounds weary of his presence, not at all like how Gene had pictured it. He feels the familiar pit of anger swell in the bottom of his stomach. He has so much he wants to say and he feels like he has so little time to say it.

“That’s it?” Eugene asks. He no longer feels the strings of longing tugging away at his chest. “That’s all you have to say?” Snafu shrugs and the mere three feet between them feels as though it could have been a mile.

“’S been almost a year, Gene.” Eugene scoffs at Snafu. He damn well knows how long its been.

“Yeah. Been almost a year since you left without saying goodbye.” The pit of anger turns into a broiling flame as he watches Snafus’ lips curl into a smile. Eugenes’ hands tighten into fists at his side. “The hell you smilin’ about?”

“Nothin’, just didn’t think you’d take it so hard,” Snafu replies, sounding fairly amused.

“You didn’t think?” Sledge’s voice is harsh and he’s filled to the brim with frustration. His fists are shaking and he’s trying so hard not to throw one. “You didn’t think. Of course you didn’t fucking think.” Snafu’s smile keeps getting wider.

“Careful, Sledge, don’t think mommy and daddy would condone that kinda language.”

Eugene can’t hold back anymore, so he simply doesn’t. It’s quick and unexpected. His fist connects with Snafu’s face, sending the man stumbling backwards. He doesn’t fall though, of course he doesn’t. Snafu gathers himself and stands up straight. He gives Gene that same look he gave Hamm back on Okinawa. Sledge thinks he should probably just drop dead now. Snafu’s smile is completely absent and his eyes are darkened with rage. It only takes a second before Snafu barrels into Eugene, wrapping his arms around his waist and sending both of them toppling to the grass.

They struggle for a while; one second, Eugene has him pinned and the next, Snafu is on top of him. Eugene scraps underneath the weight of his body, trying to get the upper hand, but he can’t. He feels Snafus’ fingers grip at his throat and Eugene begins to regret every decision he’s made that has led them to this exact point. He can’t breathe and the fear in his mind keeps telling him that Snafu won’t let go. Gene’s knee makes contact with his stomach, earning a grunt from the man who has him pinned on his back. The grip around his neck loosens and he takes in a gasp of air before sending his fist into Snafu’s face once more.

Shelton falls to the grass next to where Eugene is wheezing for air. He sits up, massaging his throat with one hand. Snafu sits up next to him. They are both exhausted and out of breath. Eugene watches as Snafu puts his hand to his mouth, his fingers coming back covered in blood. He takes one look at it, and to Eugene’s surprise, Snafu starts laughing, his split lip sending blood dribbling down his chin.

“Shit, Sledge,” Snafu breathes out between laughs. Eugene sits in the grass, confusion and disbelief running through his mind. “I wasn’t gonna kill you. If I wanted to do that, I woulda done it when you was knee deep in your own shit. When you was least expectin’ it.”

Sledge finds himself laughing along. They share the same memory; when Private De L’Eau had gone off to take care of his business and ended up being ambushed by a Japanese soldier. He had soiled his pants in his attempt to get away. All the other men had joined in at making fun of him. It felt like a lifetime ago, in the middle of their morbid distant memories, they had to find humor somehow. Especially back then, before the insanity of war had taken ahold of them.

They sit on the grass laughing until their sides start hurting. Snafu invites him in. Eugene ends up dabbing a wet clothe to Snafu’s bleeding lip.

It’s day four of Eugene being there, taking up the tiny space of Snafu’s living room. The couch he sleeps on is too short and the fabric covering it itches his skin, but it still beats sleeping in the cold wetness of the foxholes he used to dig. It’s the fourth night in a row that he has woken up to Snafu’s gentle touch. He didn’t realize that he makes that much noise, especially when he wakes up from nightmares filled with explosions and Snafus’ dead eyes, his blood covering Eugenes’ shaking hands.  

Snafu always looks tired, especially now, when the time has neared three in the morning. Eugene imagines that the dark bags under his eyes are the same as his own. He doesn’t sleep well either and Sledge feels a familiar pang of guilt.

It’s on the fourth night that Snafu offers him words of comfort. “It’s alright, Sledge.”

Snafu reaches for his hand and gently takes it in his own. He leads him up the stairs, the old wood creaking beneath their feet, almost deafening in the silence of the night. Eugene doesn’t pull away or argue, he’s too tired. He has never seen the upstairs portion of his house before; it’s smaller than the rest.

Snafu leads him into the second room down the hall. The space is dark, the only source of light is a meager lamp nestled in the corner, resting on a wooden nightstand. It’s still shut off from when Snafu had woken up in a hurry to Eugenes’ panicked cries. Sledge eyes the bed that’s resting against the far wall. Like the rest of the house, it’s very small. It reminds him of the racks they used to share on Pavuvu. Back then, their only comfort was the familiar feeling of their body heat stifling the air underneath their sheets. Sledge would not have had it any other way.

Snafu pulls one of his pillows over, trying to make the most room that his bed can offer. Eugene watches his movements, slow and tired. It’s in the early hours of the day, where morning is not yet morning and night is no longer night, when Sledge realizes that the man before him is not just a simple shell; he’s filled to the brim with life, drowning in something else he can’t quite put his finger on. He is pulled from his thoughts when his gaze catches the sight of something glinting in the dull moonlight that pours in through the blinds of a single window. There’s a gun underneath Snafu’s pillow. Sledge eyes it as his mind begins to race. Snafu looks up to see him, his gaze travelling the length of Eugene’s.

The sight reminds Eugene of the war, and how Snafu would sleep with his gun, gripping it close to his chest. His last line of defense. His only feeling of safety, coming from the weapon he has used one too many times, the weapon that has taken one too many lives. Snafu breaks the uncomfortable silence. It’s something he’s good at.

“It’s a bad neighborhood, Gene. Gotta protect my sorry ass somehow.”

Sledge simply nods, swallowing hard, his eyes shifting between Snafu and the slight firearm sticking out from beneath his pillow. Snafu senses his discomfort and takes the gun. He puts it in the nightstand drawer that’s holding the lamp and lays down on the hard bed, patting the mattress to let Sledge know that he’s willing to share.

For the first time in a long time, both of them sleep through the night. Sledge finds himself sleeping next to him from then on.

It’s in the warm month of July when Sledge wakes up in a cold sweat to a loud bang outside the bedroom window. He swears as he feels the decrepit frame of the house shake. He’s disoriented for a few seconds before finally realizing where he is. He’s been staying with Snafu for the past three months. Everything about the house has suddenly started to feel like home, except for the fact that Snafu’s body is missing from the other side of the bed. Eugene ruffles through the sheets, thinking that maybe he was just hiding, that he’d reappear if he looked hard enough.

After a few moments filled with nothing but emptiness, Sledge looks up and glances around the darkened room. The nightstand drawer is open and Eugene’s heart drops to his stomach when he realizes that it’s empty. There’s no gun not be found. Sledge jumps out of bed. Another bang goes off. He slowly makes his way through the short hallway of the upper level, eyes wide and searching for a sign.

“Snaf?” His voice is just above a whisper.

Eugene sees a faint light streaming from between cracks of the bathroom door. He approaches it wearily, putting his ear up to the wood, listening for anything. He’s met with nothing but silence. He takes in a deep breath before twisting the metal knob and steps in.

Snafu has wedged himself between the bathtub and the toilet, his back pressing against the wall. His knees are to his chest and his arms are wrapped protectively around them. Eugene sees the gun in Snafus’ fingers, but the hold he has on it is soft. It’s just dangling there, the barrel pointing down towards the floor. He knows that Snafu wouldn’t use it, it was just an object that served as a blanket of security. Still, the sight pains him to see. His eyes are glossed over, completely unseeing. It reminds Eugene of his nightmares; the ones where Snafu coughs up blood and struggles to breathe before finally lying limp in his arms.

Another loud boom echoes through the thin walls and Sledge sees him visibly flinch. His jaw is clenched tight and he looks impossibly small in the space. His entire body is shaking now.

“Merriell?” He tries. Sledge’s voice is unbelievably soft despite the panic that’s building in his chest. He still gets no response.

Eugene slowly closes the gap between them and lowers himself down to his knees in front of Snafu. He hears him mumbling something under his breath, but Sledge can’t quite make out what he’s saying. There’s another loud bang, this time sounding closer. Snafu lets out a small gasp and his hands jolt to cover his ears. His eyes clench shut, his brows furrowed in fear. The gun hasn’t left his hand; he’s holding the handle against his head as he attempts to shut out the distant sound of the fireworks. His grip around it is much tighter now.

“Mer?” Sledge reaches forward, gently placing his hands on top of Snafus’. The touch seems to register almost immediately. Sledge can see his body slowly becoming less and less rigid, the shaking beginning to subside. He’s still not opening his eyes though, but the creases around the corners have visibly softened. His breathing is no longer forced and ragged. Sledge waits a moment before gradually leading Snafus’ hands down from their position over his ears. 

Eugene softly takes the hand that’s holding the gun into his and gently removes it from Snafu’s grasp. He doesn’t receive any kind of reply. Sledge lays it on the floor near his knees, making sure that the opening is facing away from where they’re seated on the cold tile floor. When he goes to look back up, Snafus’ eyes are open and fixed on him. They’re wide with fear as Sledge watches his gaze drop down to see the gun.

“I didn’t…” It sounds more like a question. Sledge realizes what he’s asking.

He shakes his head firmly before reassuring him with a soft “No.”

No, Snafu never pointed it at him. He never threatened him with it. He never tried to hurt him. That wouldn’t be the Merriell that he has come to know. Snafu just nods, relief washing over him. They sit facing each other, basking in the silence before another bang goes off. Merriell flinches as his hands roam up to grasp at his hair. Eugene places his hand on the side of his face, his thumb grazing over his cheek. He hates that this is the only way he can comfort him, it’s the only way he can alleviate some of the pain. They stay on the floor until the fireworks have ended.

“I wasn’t here.” Snafu sounds unbelievably exhausted, voice still laced with fear, as if he were expecting to be dragged back to the hell that had disguised itself as a tropical island in the Pacific. Eugene sighs, a sad smile tugging at his lips as a form of possible comfort. Snafu doesn’t have to explain himself.

“I know, Mer, I know.”

That night, Sledge runs his fingers through Snafu’s curls, inhaling his scent and falling asleep to the even breathing of the man he is starting to fall for.

Eugene can’t do blood anymore. The same way Snafu can’t do loud noises. They figure this out while Eugene is cutting the potatoes for their small, not abundant dinner. Snafu is sitting at the table, glass of bourbon in his hand, going on about his day at work. He has yet to shower. His hair is slick with grease and sweat, and his curls have no more volume. He’s in mid-sentence when he glances up at Gene who has be too quiet for too long. Shelton looks at his hand, which is now freely bleeding onto the countertop. His fingers are shaking. His brown eyes are glassed over and he’s not moving. Shelton’s heart skips a beat as he puts his empty glass down onto the table, his eyes never moving from Eugene. He gets up from his seat and slowly makes his way over to where Sledge is standing.

“Gene?” He asks quietly, afraid that any sort of noise he makes will break him, that Eugene will shatter into a million pieces at any moment. Eugene doesn’t make a sound. Instead, he stares at his blood covered hand as if he were stuck in a trance. As if he were dreaming with his eyes open. Shelton doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to fix him. Then he remembers that Eugene simply being there for him when he went away was enough to pull him back over from falling off the edge.

He grabs the cloth hanging from the sink and slowly moves to place it over Eugene’s bleeding palm. He barely makes contact before Gene pulls his hand away as if he were just burnt by hot coal. The movement is so harsh that it sends him stumbling backwards, his back hitting the wall behind him. His eyes are wide and panicked, his jaw clenched tight as he stands with his back pressed against the wall, as if maybe it might give way and Eugene can make a run for it.

“Gene?” Shelton asks again. He can’t stand to see him like this. So helpless and lost and in so much pain. He wants nothing more than to take it away for good. “’S ok Gene.”

He feels the familiar prick of panic roam up his spine as he sees Eugenes' wide eyes latch onto his. For a moment, he sees something familiar. He sees those same eyes that he looked into during their first night on Peleliu, their first night bunkered down together, three feet apart with no room to breathe or even think. Shelton sees the glint of innocence among the pain and fear, just what he had looked for on Peleliu. Gene’s not ruined, he’s not gone forever.

Snafu slowly closes the space between them, worry etched into every crevice of his face. Gene’s breathing is harsh and rushed and coming out too fast. Snafu gently reaches his hand up to place it behind Gene’s neck. Eugene clenches his eyes shut, as if he were waiting for a punch to the face. It doesn’t come. Instead of the painful strike from the bottom of a Japanese gun, he feels tender fingers gently run through the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s grounding and comforting and all at once he realizes who is doing it. The same man that he sleeps with every night. The same man that wakes him from his nightmares and pulls him out of the depths of his deepest hell. The same man that once said that war doesn’t change men.

Eugene focuses on the touch and visibly eases into it. He tries to slow his breathing first. Once it’s somewhat under control and his body is no longer shaking, he opens his eyes. Shelton is still there. His eyes are comforting and understanding, and Eugene thinks that no one would understand better than Merriell. This is why they work so well together. This is why they survived years of gunfire aimed at their heads.

“Gene?” Shelton asks yet again. The question comes out sounding as if he were expecting someone else to answer. Eugene nods, unable to form words just yet, but it was enough to tell Snaf that yes, he is here, he is back. Snafu drops his gaze to look at Eugene’s bloodied hand. He gently reaches out to touch it and takes it into his. He presses the clothe to the wound, earning a hiss from Gene. Shelton gives him a look of pity, except it’s more just to say he’s sorry. Snafu silently leads him back to the kitchen table, gently guiding Gene to sit on the chair. He pulls his own seat up next to him.

“One helluva cut,” Shelton breathes out, pulling the blood dotted clothe away from Eugene’s hand. He looks it once over, bringing his hand eye level and titling it to view it from different angles. “Won’t need stitches.”

That night, it’s Merriell who runs his fingers gently through Eugene’s hair, whispering old stories from his past. He tells him about Mardi Gras and the endless sea of colors that stretch over a grid of streets. He tells him about his sisters and the times they spent climbing the old oak trees in the backyard of their childhood home.

Eugene falls asleep with Merriell’s body against his. Just like he thought while they were still on Pavuvu, sharing a tiny rack and no promises for the future; this is his home now.

It’s around two in the morning when Sledge jolts awake. The images of bloodstained hands and burnt bodies, the smell of rotting flesh and smoke, the sounds of gunfire and mortar explosions, all slowly fading away as reality begins to seep in. He glances around the darkened room, eyeing the familiar dresser standing at the foot of the bed. The room has a particular scent, one that he has come to associate with Snafu. One that he has come to associate with safety. Sledge knows where he is, and he knows that he’s home, so he does what he always does and extends his arm out across the bed, reaching to feel something concrete. He grabs nothing but the thin sheet that covers his body. Slight panic runs through his mind as he remembers the night of Merriell’s episode.

Sledge gets out of bed and walks down the stairs, the wood rough beneath his bare feet. As soon as he reaches the bottom, he turns and faces the living room. The lamp in the corner is on, lighting the room with a soft, yellowish glow. Snafu is sitting on the couch with his elbows on knees and his head in hands, his palms pressing against eyes. The dim lighting makes him look like nothing but a shadow.

"Snaf?"

Merriell lifts his head quickly, wiping away the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hands. "Hey, Sledge." He sounds tired, his southern drawl a bit heavier than normal. He clears his throat before continuing. “Couldn’ sleep?"

Sledge shakes his head and responds with a solemn “No”.

But then his eyes finally trail down towards the cheap coffee table standing in front of Snafu and he sees it. It’s almost too dark to tell, but it’s silver body glints in the dim lighting and Eugene knows it’s the gun. Snafu follows his gaze, locking onto the firearm for a split second before quickly looking back at Eugene's face just to see if he can read any kind of emotion. Just to see if he can get any kind of sign as to what he's thinking.

Gene takes one step farther into the room, his gaze not moving from the object on the table. It finally clicks and it clicks and it clicks so fucking hard that he can't breathe. He can't goddamn breathe and he can't believe how blind he's been that he didn’t realize until now.

"Mer?" Sledge says his name like it's a betrayal. It’s as if he really means to say 'not you, you wouldn't do this to me… to us.' He's still not looking up, he’s still not making eye contact because he's so fucking scared to look at Merriell.  He’s scared to see those round eyes, so naïve yet so utterly destroyed.

Snafu doesn't respond to Sledge’s silent plea. He sees Gene's face and he knows he broke him. He broke him for good this time, because he figured it out. Sledge knows, and Snafu didn't even have to tell him. He pieced everything together and suddenly, Snafu feels so exposed.

Sledge takes in a deep breath and slowly builds up the courage to finally look up. As soon as his eyes meet Shelton’s, he really fucking wishes he didn’t. His eyes are wide and glassy, the blue standing out stark against the redness. They are the eyes of a man who has seen far too much for just one lifetime. He looks scared and unbelievably young, almost like a child. Sometimes, it’s hard for Sledge to come to terms with the fact that they still are. They were children when they killed their first jap and now, they are children who were forced to grow up with such heavy burdens strapped to their backs.

Sledge finally speaks, softly breaking the silence. "The gun's not for protectin you, is it?" Except it doesn’t come out like a question. It comes out as a statement. A quiet yet knowing statement, and it almost kills him to say it.

Snafu doesn't take his eyes off of Eugene. He knows the damage is done and there's no way to fix it now. They tried so hard to fix the mess that he made before when he left Sledge on the train without waking him up. It worked once, but he convinced himself that it won’t work twice.

Snafu waits a second. Then two. Then he shakes his head slowly. It's barely there but there enough to make itself known. The movement sends the tears from his eyes to trial slowly down his cheeks. It’s his turn to look away now, down to his hands that are fidgeting nervously with each other.

"No" and it's almost a whisper. Gene has to lean in a bit to hear it.

"Why?" Eugene feels the betrayal sink deeper and deeper into his stomach. Snafu shrugs his shoulders, gaze still fixed on his hands. There's the child again. The gesture looks so out of place in the gravity of their conversation.

"J'st in case." Snafu’s voice falters. It takes him a while to continue, but just when Sledge is about to step in and say something, Snafu speaks. "Makes me feel like I’ve got a way out."

Sledge nods, trying so hard to understand but he can't because Snafu has him and they have each other and they're dealing. Together. He feels his own eyes begin to well with tears. It’s in that exact moment that Eugene finds himself walking towards the man on the couch, sitting down on the coffee table in front of him. He positions himself so that he is between Snafu and the gun. He slowly reaches out and gently grabs both of Merriells’ hands in his, wanting nothing more than to fully embrace him and tell him that everything is going to be fine. Everything is going to be alright.

"Am I.. am I not-"

"No, Gene," Snafu cuts him off before he finishes his thought. He gently pulls his hands away from Gene’s because he knows what he's going to say next. Gene is going to blame himself. He's going to think that he's the reason for this, and his too big of a heart thinks it hasn't done enough, that it could have done better. But it couldn't have. Gene has always been there for him; when he wakes up with sweat soaked sheets, heart pounding against his ribs, scared to death that he somehow never made if off that goddamn island in the Pacific. He was always there.

"Don't blame yourself.” It’s as if Snafu is pleading, begging for him not to take any more weight onto his shoulders. "Had it since before the war.” He’s trying to alleviate the blame, trying to make sure that Eugene knows he was fucked up long before they even met. "Was my pa's."

"He gave it to you?"

Snafu lets out an airy laugh, the edges of his lips raising into a half-hearted smile. "Nah. Stole it from his cabinet. Nearly broke my nose when he found it missin." His smile turns real as he remembers, as if there is some actual humor behind his story. "Then I pulled it on 'im. Looked so damn scared I thought he'd shit his pants." 

Sledge can’t help but to smile at the thought. His Snafu was just as wild before the war, just as fearless, and just as starving for affection. Merriell is kind and sympathetic and so eager to help others, but cross him once and you’ll regret the day you were born. Sledge knows how to handle it, he knows what to do to comfort him, he knows when he needs his space and he knows when he needs physical contact. That’s why they work so well together. Neither one of them ever needs to ask for anything because the other always knows.

It’s the early hours of the morning when they finally get up. Neither of them had slept that night. Instead, they spent the hours laying in each other’s arms, talking about things that had no real meaning. They found comfort in each others’ voices and the distant memories they were brave enough to share.

Snafu is the first to sit up, taking time run his hands over his face and through his disheveled hair. Sledge notices that his shoulders don’t look as heavy anymore, as if the events from last night have lifted a weight from his back. As if his secret is no longer burdening him. Snafu turns to look over his shoulder, his eyes locking onto Eugenes’. Silence fills the air around them, but this time, it’s peaceful. It’s something he has desired for a long time.

“C’mon,” Snafu whispers. “I wanna show you somethin’.”

Sledge finds himself following Snafu down the stairs and through the front door of their home. Snafu takes the gun with him. Eugene has learned not to question him. After years of covering each other from rogue bullets, and waking up to each other’s gentle touch and soft voice, Sledge trusts him with his life. He would follow him blindly into anything, until the world no longer existed.

The sky is still dark, the beginning colors of crimson and gold starting to appear from just above the horizon. They walk barefoot in the grass, side by side, neither of them saying a word. Sledge takes everything in; the scent of the warm fresh air, the sound of distant birds singing from the tree tops, the sight of the moon still glowing in the morning sky. They walk like that for what seems to be hours. Eugene wishes it would never end, that they would never reach their destination and this is how they would live out the rest of their lives; shoulders brushing against one another, together, basking in the vibrant colors of the southern sunrise.

Snafu leads him through a thicket of plants, stopping when he reaches the bottom of a slight hill. Extending out in front of them is a small lake. The water looks like glass until Eugene focuses hard enough to see ripples forming on the surface. He watches as Merriell takes a few steps forward, until his feet are fully submerged, the water lapping at the hem of his pants. He takes the gun from where it’s tucked into his waistband and looks at it glint in the morning light.

“Mer?” Eugene asks, his voice soft yet filled with concern.

Merriell turns his head to glance at him. His expression is calm and Eugene feels as though he could never love anyone more than he loves the man standing in front of him. Merriell’s smile slowly eats away at his heart. It’s a smile that Eugene has never seen before; one that is filled to the brim with comfort and peace and life.

Merriell turns away from him and faces the vast lake. He takes in a deep breath and he throws the gun as far as he can. Eugene watches as the firearm hits the far end of the lake, making a splash before disappearing underneath the surface. Snafu is quiet.

Eugene joins him in taking those few steps forward, the cold water stinging his feet. He glances up at Snafu who is still looking out across the landscape in front of them. His smile is still there.

“Now what?” Sledge asks. It’s similar to what the private had asked them back in the Pacific, after telling them that the war has ended. Merriell lets out a laugh before looking back at Eugene.

“Now’s when we start livin’, Gene.” And it’s the most genuine and reassuring thing that Eugene has ever heard.

Merriells’ hands gently grab the back of his neck, pulling him forward until their lips meet. It’s not desperate or frantic, the thought of them making it through the night is concrete now. Neither one of them is going to leave anytime soon.

Eugene thinks that it’s okay to fall in love with broken people, because when you're finally able to put the pieces back together to make them whole again, it's worth everything in the end.