2019-11-08 - Don't Flinch

The hangar is dark, so dark that the perimeter seems to disappear into shadow. There's been a field table unfolded in the center of a lone pool of light, a young blonde man sitting on a metal chair is bent over it and leaning on an elbow, hand threaded into the bright gold locks of his high and tight haircut. His eyes look tired as he bounces a pen against a clip board, paused in the midst of filling out a field report as if in reticence to fill out the little check boxes and the details section. He sighs heavily, the weight of something clearly weighing on him as he leans back and his arm swings away revealing the little Velcro'ed name tag OAKES on his chest.

Easton is mid step when the beam of light in the center of the hangar catches his eye. As usual in uniform his steps are quick and with purpose. He slows though, suddenly unsure of where he was headed which is unusual. He approaches the lone man at the table, and leans around to check the name and rank emblems on his uniform before barking, "Private Oakes, what are you doing here?" It's too embarrassing to ask what Easton's doing here, or even where here is, so he sticks to the offensive for now.

Judd jerks out of his doldrum, immediately springing to his feet and at attention which sends the chair skittering back with the snapping force from the back of his knees. "Sir." He doesn't salute because they're indoors, but his spine is ramrod straight and his eyes are focused just beyond Easton's shoulder instead of making eye contact. "I was instructed to fill out this field report, sir." A terribly uncommon practice for a PFC, which perhaps is why he's struggling with it. Normally the highest ranking officer on any patrol is the one responsible for the paperwork.

His eyes dare to tick sideways, and it's as if he just now realizes who he's talking to. His face immediately breaks into a smile, as if recognizing Easton from the breakfast they shared together. "Oh hey man. You want a beer?" The Oakes brother asks, shoulders slumping down out of his rigid stance and he flops back down into the chair without being released to Ease. In the distance there is the rumble of a surface to air strike, the resounding boom of a Tango Down making the light above them vibrate and waver.

The popping up at attention makes Eaton smirk and nod, "At ease, Oakes." He looks around when Judd informs him of what he's doing. "And who instructed you to do that?" Easton's furrowed brow clearly communicates the confusion as to why a PFC would be doing this. Easton can't fathom asking any of his lower ranking men to fill out a field report, not the least of which because of how poorly it would be written.

When Judd seems to recognize him, it clicks in that they know each other. From back home, right? He can't quite put his finger on that thought but then he's getting distracted. He checks his watch, out of habit, normally need to account for every minute and keep to a strict schedule. A schedule that is eluding him for right now, but a beer sounds good. "Actually? Yes. Yes I do want a beer." The shaking of the hanger doesn't phase Easton, he doesn't react at all.

"Awesome man, awesome." Judd reaches down to a styrofoam cooler at the base of his chair - was that there before? - and he pulls out a couple of unbranded beer cans, the sort that comes from Army Supply but they never truly admit that these things are available to the troops in the field, like chocolate bars they hand out to the village children to bribe them for information. He clunks one on the table for Easton and nods to an empty chair across from him - wasn't there only one? - "Say, man. How's Bennie? We were Away, so I missed our monthly web call."

The beer is accepted and opened in one smooth movement. Easton takes a big swig of the beer and smiles at the memory of that very specific taste. It's not good per say but extremely evocative of a specific time and memory. So much so that it makes him stop for a second, a memory of when he 'was' in the military? He /is/ in the military. He shakes that off and says, "She's great. She misses you." And something about how true that statement is sends another ripple across his mind. He stresses, "She really /fucking/ misses you." He's not sure why he's so emphatic about that but it rings true and very deep in him. He knows that Bennie misses Judd in a way that she doesn't miss him, but he can't put his finger on why that is. "You should call her."

"Yeah, man. I totally miss her too. I swear she tried to climb into my ruck and come to the desert with me." Judd gives a dry single hiccup of laugh that sounds a bit sad as he cracks open his own beer and takes a foamy slurp off the top. "She was a real mess. We Oakes. We don't deal with loss well, do we?" He shakes his head and looks off into the distance. "Gonna have to keep an eye on that one. Mom said she got a hold of some painkillers? Something to do with a sore throat. I dunno. Oh hey. You wanna play a game, Cap?"

Easton nods and sips his beer, a growing sense of unease at the back of his mind that just won't materialize into a cohesive thought. Beer will probably help. He nods and says, "You'd think you'd be better at it, all the practice." Easton cracks the 'joke', a dark ribbing amongst soldiers that he wouldn't think twice about but something about it rings meaner than he expected. It only gets worse when Judd mentions his mom and Easton's immediate clear thought is: Your mom is dead. He tries to shake that to follow what Judd's saying, "Painkillers? Bennie's a little quick on the Adderall, but I don't think I've seen her pop more than an aspirin."

But again before he can think too much about that, he's getting distracted. "What kinda game you got in mind?"

Judd's smile turns a little sardonic. "Hell of a thing, isn't it? When someone you trust turns on you. Then it's a slippery slope from there. You take one, to forget about the bruises. Then you take another when you even think the first is starting to wear off. You think I don't know you laid hands on my sister, you fuck? She tells me everything. Including. Where she hides her stash."

Easton blinks when Judd starts talking about someone you trust turning on you. And then he starts describing something that Easton should have noticed, but hasn't. But something about the truth of what he did to Bennie snaps his mind into place. "Shit." He remembers that now, he knows that he did hurt her. And not just in his usual couldn't keep his dick in his pants or couldn't remember to pay attention to someone type way. No, in the very real and physical almost killed her type way. He looks warily at Judd and shakes his head, "It wasn't like that. I didn't mean to hurt her." He wants so badly for that to be true, but he can still remember the feeling. He knows it's a lie.

"Yeah. You see? That's the thing. They always say it wasn't like that. They didn't mean to." Judd's hand goes to his side, "They didn't want to." The Private First Class draws his weapon and lays it on the table, but instead of a traditional sidearm, the gun sitting on the table beneath the casual drape of his hand is a vintage Winchester six shot revolver. "Then they send flowers. Beg forgiveness. Say they'll never do that shit again. Please, baby, please take me back. But what kind of fucking man takes a hand to a woman and can still call himself a fucking man? So I tell you what, Easton. I'm going to give you a chance to be a big goddamn hero. To earn your manhood back." He picks the gun up, and with a practiced ease, flicks the cylinder out and slides in a single bullet, giving it a good spin before he clicks it back into place.

"Take this gun. Put it to your goddamn temple. Pull the trigger and survive? I'll tell you where she keeps her painkillers. You can be the one to save her life, instead of be the one that causes her to take it."

When Judd pulls out a weapon, Easton doesn't even think, his hand automatically goes for his sidearm to likewise draw on the PFC. The trouble is that it's not there. WTF? He blinks in confusion as his hand pulls up air and then he notices the gun that Judd has. That's not a service pistol. That's an antique. He shakes his head and says, "It's not that fucking easy Judd. You don't know what kind of shit I was dealing with." He tries to think clearly about the timeline about how this conversation fits in with what he knows but it's all foggy. There's a reason. Oh fuck, was it just the drinking? Is he cracked? Did he come back as one of those Marines who can't turn it off only to destroy everything in his life? He tries to push aside those thoughts but now that the gun is out and on the table all he can do is stare at it.

"Judd. What the fuck good is it going to do for her to lose me too? She already lost you. And your mom. And your dad." He tries to focus on those truths as they slip through his mental grasp. But the whole time he's saying that, trying to focus on it, he keeps his gaze fixed on the gun on the table.

"You're going to have to prove it, big boy. You have the stones to show you're not just another loser beating up on his old lady because he can't get it up anymore or she burned dinner? You have to the count of ten, asshole, then I'm going to do it for you and take the secret of her stash to my goddamn grave." Judd relaxes back into his chair, arms folding over his chest. "One...two..."

"I don't remember Bennie describing you as a fucking asshole." Easton spits the words but still can't quite figure out his situation. It's too natural a setting. And frankly being forced to pay a price for what he's done seems too fitting, like of course this is the next step in the story. He picks up the gun and looks it over, considering it. He pops out the cylinder and check it again, giving it a spin. He concentrates on it, letting himself feel every click, and especially feel exactly where that weighted chamber falls. And then without preamble, place the gun to his head and clicks the trigger. Once: Nothing. Twice: Nothing. He puts the gun down from his temple and says, "Now tell me where she's hiding it. And where is she getting it?"

"When it comes to my sister? I'd tear your fucking throat out with my teeth to protect her." But there is something about Judd as he leans forward, something not quite right, like the edges of him are shifting. Unable to keep the form of the young blonde guy with the familial resemblance to the woman that Easton is dating. His grin is a little too perfect. His teeth a little too sharp as he leans forward in eager anticipation when Easton picks up that gun.

Click.

Click.

Judd's expression darkens, and in one quick move snatches up the gun. "Fuck. You." The words are punctuated in a staccato of choppy syllables as he puts the muzzle of the gun to his own temple. This time when the trigger is pulled, there is the sharp clickBANG of the pin striking the ammunition, sending it zipping down the barrel in a fraction of a second and into the soft depression of bone. The hollow point explodes upon contact, blowing a wide gaping hole into the side of the young man's head and distorting his face sending spray of blood and gore.

For a moment, he stays upright, looking at Easton with completely blank eyes. It's the same image of Judd in the trailer, sitting peacefully at the breakfast table, with his profile completely obliterated.

Slowly the PFC slumps forward, face first onto the clipboard holding the mostly blank field report form. As the blood starts to pool and soak into the paper, a few words stand out: ...incident surrounding the death of...

Just as Easton's about to realize what is going on, the smile starting to clarify exactly what his gut is trying to tell him, Judd has the gun. He moves to block the barrel, expecting Judd to point it at him. But then he can only watch in horror as Judd places the gun to his head and pulls the trigger. The blood splatters across his shocked face and he stands there dumbly as Judd stares at him. He remembers now the Dream from the trailer where he 'met' Judd. He remembers now that this too is likely a Dream like that. Easton watches as Judd faceplants into the desk, his eyes automatically scanning the report as the blood covers it up. He stands, frozen to the spot though, watching the blood pool.

And then he blinks and he's standing in the apartment, in his own kitchen staring down at some bills on the counter. Bills that are covered in blood? No.. it's not blood, it's whiskey. He spilled his drink. He slowly starts to collect them up, wiping them off and cleaning up the spill. Silently he pours himself another drink with unfocused eyes. He takes the glass and the bottle to the bathroom and turns on the shower. Even after confirming for a third time that there is no blood splattered across his face Easton finishes the glass and steps into the shower to 'wash it off'. He doesn't undress first, just steps in and stands there, letting the water run over him.

The door to the bathroom swings open with a gentle creak.

"Well. That was fucked up."

Easton looks up sharply at the voice, but the bathroom is empty. Did he say that? Is he losing it?