Chapter Text
Blood ran on his hands.
There was a time when he would’ve proudly held the American flag in honor, willing to die for cause and country until he witnessed the horrors firsthand. It was easy when confronting the enemy lines – unaware of the names attached to the soldiers he’d fought – but it’d cost him plenty. Shooting was one thing though it did nothing to quell the bitterness over nearly losing the one person he could stand to be around.
Jimbo Kern’s discharge didn’t happen until after the war ended. Promoted into captain, he’d been left in charge of his own company – answering only to his commander – and led them to victory.
The war was over.
In the year 1975, Jimbo Kern had packed his bags and he was back in Texas, his old Chevy rumbling as it pulled into the parking lot of a bar. A drink would work in his favor right now. He headed inside, opting for a stool on the furthest end of the bar and ordering a glass of scotch. Jimbo downed it – a smokey sensation running its way down his throat – deeply exhaling as he let his mind wander for a second.
It’d seemed like a lifetime ago when he’d met a scrappy and cheeky young lad at boot camp, and the two had clicked instantly. Jimbo vowed to see him make it, confronting the world together as if they were bread and butter – like they had known each other their entire lives – until the war struck his closest companion in combat.
A bloodbath.
It still felt like it’d been yesterday when it happened.
“Soldiers, fall in!” Their commander ordered, leading the troop forward and entering the enemy lines. “At your mark–”
Gunshot rained on both ends as Jimbo held his rifle, firing down on the Vietnamese soldiers he’d come to call adversary. A far greater foe.
BANG.
Out of his peripheral vision, he could see the aimed rifle of one of his fellow troop soldiers though nothing echoed – empty clicks – and Jimbo’s own heart dropped, wondering if this might be the end. If this would be where they last saw each other. Right until he saw the grenade and for a second, false hope surged at him.
(In the end, the grenade blew prematurely and Jimbo continued having night terrors over the far too limp, bloodied body of his only companion. Barely clinging to life, only to be discharged weeks later, deemed unfit for combat).
Jimbo had been the one to pull him out of the line of fire, making a break for it back to the company. The rest of the troop refused to believe the soldier would make it through.
Until he had.
Even with the costs.
They’d taken to writing to each other, back and forth, for weeks – months – until one day when the letters stopped coming. Jimbo never knew his address and was left to assume the worst, having no choice but to continue living his life. Though some part of him wondered if he could find him one day.
The door swung open.
Jimbo paid it no mind, taking another swallow of his scotch. It itched his tongue but proved effective against the dreams plaguing him each night, both from the war and what had been of his childhood.
“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks,” a voice rang beside him.
The world seemed to spin on its axis as Jimbo’s glass nearly fell from his hands, head snapping in the direction of the newest patron.
It couldn’t be.
Could it?
He was greeted with the locks of brown curls and familiar blue-green irises (one a milkier hue than the other). Jimbo’s heart seemed like it would come bursting out of his chest, staring mutely at the shorter gentleman, clad in a dark tank top and a lighter jacket.
“... Ned?”
(He hated just how strangled his voice sounded, unable to believe he was there and in person – almost like Jimbo had been dreaming but no, this wasn’t another figment of his own mind. His Ned, Jimbo thought, not daring himself to voice it out loud).
The patron’s – Ned, Jimbo’s mind supplied him – eyes widened. A beat of silence stretched for a few seconds, almost an entire minute.
“Wh- Jimbo? Is that really you?” Ned asked, fingers clasped around an unlit cigarette. “Well I’ll be… what’re you doing here?”
“I live here,” Jimbo answered. He’d broken into a sudden fit of laughter before a hand clapped down on Ned’s shoulder, grinning. “It’s been so long.”
“... yes. It really has been.” Ned’s voice was quiet, glancing away from Jimbo.
“Why did you stop writing?”
“I left. I’ve moved here,” Ned replied, almost chokingly but then a soft sigh escaped the war veteran. “There was nothing left for me back in the UK.”
“I thought I’d- I thought something had happened to you.”
(I thought I’d never see you again).
Ned’s brow furrowed and he went quiet for a moment, gaze flickering to the ground before speaking, “I didn’t think you’d notice.”
“Of course I’d notice,” Jimbo shot back. “What makes you think I’d just forget about you like that?”
“War changes people.”
“You know something, Ned Gerblanksy, I’d like nothing more than to- ah shit, look… I didn’t abandon you then and I sure as hell ain’t doing it now,” Jimbo growled out, pausing when he saw the way Ned’s eyes widened. “What happened to you back then, I don’t care about none of that. So if you want, I’d like nothing more than to reconcile, okay?”
“Okay,” Ned replied, cheeks lightly flushed pink. “I’d like that too.”
“That’s the spirit.” Jimbo grinned.
One thing led to another and they’d talked for a good while. Though the night began reaching its end, leaving the two laughing over a shared joke.
“Well, what happens now?”
“I’ve got a place some miles from here,” Jimbo explained, setting down his second glass of scotch. “No harm done if you don’t, but maybe you can come by tonight.”
Ned blinked in surprise before nodding.
“Yeah, okay,” he answered, lips quirked into a smile.
Neither of them knew what awaited in the future, but they were conscious of one thing: they would never be apart again.