Chapter Text
Into the nothing
Faded and weary
I won't leave and let you fall behind
Live for the dying
Heaven hear me
I know we can make it out alive-Breaking Benjamin
December 1944, Some fucking forest in Belgium
Ian lay in the snow, thinking of the fireworks back home. Thinking how he, Lip, and Carl used to spend as much time as possible firing them off, making their own. How Fiona had probably been right about fireworks being the death of him one day. She had just been wrong about the kind though. It was almost funny, he thought, as the artillery made the trees light up around him. He smiled even. Laughed.
“Ian! Sarge?! Jesus Gallagher get up!”
Rough hands grabbed the back of O.D.’s and started dragging him towards a foxhole.
“Are ya hurt?”
Ian blinked as Mickey looked at him, piercing blue eyes wide with worry. “What?”
“Are you hurt?! Gallagher talk to me are you hurt?”
“No…No Mick I’m alright.”
The medic breathed out a sigh of relief, keeping one arm over Ian’s neck and head. Sheltering him. Like it would make a difference. They crouched until the mortar shells stopped. Huddled together in hell. Then the cries came out.
“Medic!”
“Doc!”
“Medic!”
Mickey squeezed Ian’s neck and scrambled out of the foxhole. Ian swallowed and grabbed his gun. He had a job to do too. Namely, see how many had died this time. He ran through the camp, shouting.
“Stay in your holes! Stay down! Stay in your goddamned holes!”
He didn’t know if he could make it through the next barrage. Didn’t know if he would lock up again. But he didn’t have a choice. He got the men to stay down, dragging Williams into a foxhole, leaving his leg behind in the snow. Red on the white. Williams kept screaming and all Ian could do was cover him with his coat and cry out.
“Medic!”
And then once more Mickey was there, eerily calm. Keeping Ian grounded as Williams’ screams were lost again in the sound of mortar shells. He didn’t laugh this time.