withtheoldbreed | d-day ✯ spam

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d-day ✯ spam

[Open Spam for the Deck]

[It happens quickly. One minute, Gene's sitting in the rocky Peleliu hills, hearing Burgie's voice over and over in his head - Sniper got the Skipper, Ack Ack's dead - watching someone pull the wool blanket over the Skipper's head, and the next, he's here. Standing on the deck of a ship, looking out at a seemingly endless horizon of stars. He remembers the conversation, the promise that this could be fixed, a wrong could be righted, and he remembers agreeing, but he blinks, and suddenly, the hills, the crackle of gunfire, the solemn footsteps, his buddies are all gone.

He's alone. For the first time in well over a year, he's alone, and that hits him like a ton of bricks.

It's cold, is the next thing he realizes. At least, it's colder than the hundred and fifteen degree temperatures he's been forced to cope with for the last month, and he shivers involuntarily. He's still holding his helmet in one hand, his rifle in the other. His pack and sidearm and filthy fatigue green dungarees he's been wearing since they landed on that fucking beach have all come along too, along with the dirt and dried blood. Sometimes, it feels like he'd do anything for a shower, even a cold one with salt water.

He's filthy, exhausted, and he's staring out at an ocean of stars. Everything hurts - the scrapes and sores on his face, arms, feet, his feet in general, but his chest, too, even if that's a different kind of pain entirely - but for a moment, he's utterly distracted, staring. What is this? What kind of ship had he volunteered for?

For the hundredth time since he got on the LVT, Eugene Sledge wonders what the hell he was thinking when he volunteered for any of this.]

[ooc: multiples & fuzzy time are all welcomed. c8]

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[He doesn't see Gene until he stumbles on the infirmary. Scott was just about to leave, might have bumped into Dillon's look-alike if he'd been a few minutes faster. As it is, he's close when the - army? navy? he has no clue, still - when the other young man enters the infirmary, and for a second, his heart rate ratchets. How could Dillon get this hurt, who could have done it, how could Scott not have known--

And a second after that, the smell of death floods his nose and he can't breathe. He's staring at Gene, but all he sees is black, some cramped corner of Peter's - of Venom's room, and all he can smell is his own death, like he smelled as his legs gave out from under him, as Isaac and Erica tore into him--

He blinks, twice, thrice, and reaches out.]

Did you - just get here?

[He's not Dillon. Scott can smell the difference, under all that - under everything else.]

[Gene doesn't flinch away when Scott reaches for him, but he does see the moment of surprise and maybe horror there, and he feels... weird. He's not surprised to see Scott or that he's reaching out to help him or anything, but apparently he looks worse than he thought he did.]

Yeah. [He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, wetting the rough, split skin there a little self consciously. There are little scrapes and nicks all over his face, and he knows he's got some sores on his feet and arms and legs, but he's not really hurt. He'll be fine. He doesn't really need a corpsman or a stay in the hospital.]

Someone said I should get checked out.

Sounds like someone smart. [He offers a little smile, and gestures Gene forward.] Um, I'm Scott. I can get a doctor, but--

[When he didn't see anyone with an immediate glance over his shoulder, he gestured for the clinic instead.] I can 'probably start patching you up, if you want.

[Gene nods and follows Scott, sifting the weight of his rifle on his shoulder and looking around the infirmary with a sort of wary curiosity. It looks a hell of a lot different from any doctor's office he's ever seen. Like something out of a comic book.]

I'm alright, really. Maybe just need some sulfa and bandages. [Because God only knows what kind of germs are on Peleliu.

And after a beat, he thinks to add:]

I don't have malaria. [Not that that was as big a problem on Peleliu as it was on Guadalcanal or Gloucester, but it still feels like something worth mentioning.]

Are you a corpsman?

Oh. That's - good?

[He definitely would not have thought to check for malaria, maybe he should actually get Dr. Cox over here once the worst is cleaned up. He gestures vaguely for one of the backless, wheeled chairs in the room that Deaton sometimes uses.]

You can sit on that - sorry, it's, uh, an animal clinic. But treating cuts is pretty much the same on everyone, yeah?

[He goes for the medicine cabinets, pulling out bandages and gauze and rubbing alcohol.]

Uh, I have no idea what sulfa is, but this'll probably do the trick. [He glances over his shoulder at the other man.] And dude, no offense, but you don't really look already. Where were you?

Peleliu. [He takes his helmet off and hesitates before setting it down on a counter, somewhere kind of out of the way. After another beat of hesitation - because it's drilled in you to never just leave your weapon somewhere - he puts the rifle down too and then takes a seat. Gene doesn't seem especially bothered to hear it's an animal clinic, because treating cuts is pretty much the same no matter what kind of animal you are.

Gene hesitates again before rolling back his left sleeve, revealing a pretty gross looking open sore on his wrist and then leans down to start unlacing his boots for what feels like the first time in two weeks, maybe three. Since the landing was over, it's been easier to do things like dump sweat out of your boondockers without worrying about getting caught off guard and killed, but not by much.]

I'm with the First Marine Division. [And realizing he hasn't introduced himself:] Private Eugene Sledge.

Edited 2014-11-17 18:30 (UTC)

Where's that?

[Scott glances at the rifle - it looks kinda like something out of a game, but it's like something Bucky might have, too. He doesn't keep his attention on it for long, instead focusing on gathering everything onto a small wheeled tray. He pauses as he turns to bring it over to Gene, scanning for every wound he can spot.]

I'm Scott. Um. Veterinary assistant? [He smiles a little, at the joke, but it fades as he gives Gene an earnest look.]

Are you in pain?

The Pacific. [There's definitely some bitterness in him as he says it, but he knows by now about the time difference, so he's not really surprised, either. Just bitter. And tired.

It's not really Scott's fault, though, so Gene just keeps unlacing his boondockers and carefully pulls one off, than the other, wincing as his half rotted off socks peel away from his skin, revealing raw and painful looking sores on the top and bottoms of his feet. They probably smell a little ripe, too, but they're not badly infected or really harmful, just gross.

Is he in pain? Yeah, but he's used to it, and it's nothing serious, so he doesn't really know how to answer that correctly.]

I'm alright, Doc. [The nickname slips out before he really even registers that it's coming, because it's not like Scott couldn't be some guy treating him on Peleliu, or on some hospital boat or back on Pavuvu. Some of the Corpsmen are pretty young, even compared to Gene.]

[He looks a little apologetic at the bitter tone; he doesn't like feeling dumb, but right now he's too distracted to dwell on it.

He does stop breathing through his nose entirely when the socks come off, though. His nose is too sensitive. The nickname catches him off guard, though, and Scott blinks in surprise.]

Oh, I'm not - I'm not a doctor.

[He wishes Jack was here, though. He shakes that away, and reaches for the hand with the bad looking gash. At first, he hesitates - the last time he did this, he was depowered and it hurt a hell of a lot more than normal. But he's back to normal - as normal as possible - and while he cleans with one hand, he absorbs what pain he can with the other.]

[Gene half shrugs. You're patching him up, you're as good as one. He's made do with less, and will probably have to again, once he's done here.

(How is he supposed to go back?)

He lets Scott take his hand, and at first, he almost doesn't realize what's going on. His gaze has tracked to the rest of the clinic, taking in the unfamiliar equipment, but then it kind of hits him that he can feel Scott cleaning the wound, but it doesn't hurt. He turns, more than a little surprised, because it's not like he felt the guy jab him with morphine or anything.]

How- [His question gets cut off as sees the black lines of something running up Scott's arm, seemingly from under his skin. And then he just stares, because what the fuck is going on?] What are you doing?

Uh--

[Scott pauses in reaching for a roll of gauze, but his other hand is still holding Gene's, still absorbing. It doesn't hurt as badly as it did on the other ship. It's like it used to be, an endurable, steady ache: like stubbing a bunch of different toes in a row, sharp and fading.]

It's okay, [he finally says, grabbing the gauze so he can start wrapping it around Gene's hand.]

It's just, um. Something I can do. Make the pain go away.

[It doesn't go away, but there's no point in making people worry about that.]

Is it all right?

[There's a moment where he almost jerks his hand away, either out of fear or just confusion, but... It doesn't hurt. Scott's being gentle with him, and God knows he's so tired of everything hurting, and he really does need these damn things cleaned up, and a shower, and a hot meal, and a nap.

So Gene holds still and lets out a breath, nodding, trying to just relax. He glances from Scott to the other guy's arm again, and then at his own wrist with the angry red sore.]

How?

[Scott smiles at the nod, but the question makes him choke on a laugh. He keeps his focus on wrapping Gene's hand, taping the bandage down when he's finished.]

Um - promise not to freak out?

[It's a ridiculous question, and his expression says he knows it.]

[Well, at least he knows. Gene's answering look is confused and vaguely... annoyed? Wary? Totally unsurprised?

Any of those, really. He's seen so much in such a short period of time, he thinks he can handle just about anything right now.]

[Scott ducks his head, and finally lets go of Gene's hand.]

I'm a werewolf. What else is hurting you the most? Or - was, I guess. I can get any cuts cleaned out, at least.

[Yep, just. Laying that out and moving on real quick.]

[Too quick, because Gene just keeps staring at him in surprise for a long moment, flexing his fingers and turning his wrist slowly like he's testing the bandage.]

My feet, [He answers a little numbly, like he's still trying to process what just came out of the other guy's mouth. Just... what?]

You're a what?

[Scott grabs a few more supplies and kneels down in front of Gene, laying everything out and carefully picking up one of his feet to examine, then clean.]

A werewolf? [He looks up again, and slowly his eyes turn red. He lets them stay a moment, then fade back to brown. He doesn't bother with the rest of the...facial reconstruction that usually goes on.]

You know, when the moon is full and all.

[There's rubbed raw, infected looking skin on the top of his feet and on the soles, but fortunately the damage looks largely superficial, not something that's going to require fixing bone or muscle. Gene holds still at first, but when Scott repeats it and glances up to show him his eyes, he jerks his foot back, staring wide eyed at the younger man.

He's not shaking, and he doesn't look terrified, but there's definitely that steady thrum of unease. If he didn't know what Scott could do or see that, he probably would have just thought he was crazy, but it's kind of hard to fully dismiss this as a joke, or some weird misunderstanding.]

Are you a warden or an inmate? [Maybe it's not a fair question to ask considering Scott's been nothing but helpful and gentle with him, but he doesn't know what to expect, and what he knows about werewolf lore isn't exactly encouraging.]

[It's kinda gross, and Scott is definitely breathing through his mouth, but he's managing. It doesn't look terrible, in fact it actually looks like something he can do. Not for the first time - and not for the last - he misses Jack. He should have thanked him for showing him this stuff. He's just starting to clean some of that raw skin when Gene jerks back; Scott lets him go, looking up again and waiting it out.

He can hear the change in Gene's heartbeat. Either he'll accept it, or....well. Scott tries not to think of Clementine.]

Warden.

[He can't blame him, really. He'd probably have just assumed he was an inmate, before he was bitten.]

It's not like the stories. I mean, I assume the stories you know are the same...I don't turn into a wolf, and I have it under control. I'm not gonna hurt you.

[A couple more seconds pass by where Gene doesn't say anything, but he doesn't get up to leave, either, or grab his rifle, or go for his side arm or his KA-BAR. He just stares at Scott, weighing what he said with what he's seen, and finally he just... accepts it.

He's too worn out to do anything else. It's accept it, or go full on Asiatic, so he accepts it. Seems easier in the long run.]

Okay. [He relaxes a little again. Slowly, but it happens, and he lets Scott get to work on cleaning his feet up.]

Sorry.

[Scott shrugs, and starts applying the rubbing alcohol again.]

It's okay. You're not the first person to freak out. I didn't know werewolves were real until I was bit. Then I found out a whole lot of other stuff is real, too. It's hard.

But...thanks for not flipping.

[Gene nods a little again, feeling awkward and more than a little overwhelmed.]

How long've you been one? [That kind of seems like the safest question to ask here, outside of just changing the topic of conversation entirely. It's starting to hit him that maybe this is all just some very realistic nightmare, or hallucination, or who knows what. Not being in steady, more or less constant pain helps it feel more surreal, too.]

I guess...A year, or maybe two. I can't believe how long I've been here, sometimes.

[He works quickly, cleaning and applying topical creams to work against infection before wrapping the cuts.]

[A year, or maybe two. Christ. Gene suddenly looks all the more exhausted, because he kind of can't imagine being gone for so long. And then going back.]

Is that normal?

Is...what normal? [He glances up sheepishly, then looks back down at his work.]

The whole werewolf thing? No, there's...I mean, there's a lot of weird supernatural stuff where I'm from, but it's like. Kind of a secret.

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