withtheoldbreed | 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]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

I meant being here for a year. [But Scott's answer and the fact that yeah, that probably should have been Gene's question gets a small, almost self depreciating smile from the marine.]

Oh. [Scott returns the smile quickly, then shrugs.] I guess, I mean. Some people have been here a really long time. For some of them, this is a better home than they had, you know?

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