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The windshield smashed before he’d even realized they’d flipped. Wind howling through the shattered glass as rain torpedoed the underbelly of his dads truck. A crack of thunder ripped through the air as the cold water whipped him in sheets.
He couldn’t see and his cheekbone ached from smacking the dashboard. The beat up truck barely had working seatbelts let alone reliable airbags. He brushed the pads of his fingers over his cheek, prodding the rapidly swelling welt under his eye. Jake, freshly twelve, barely registered that he was upside down. The weight of his body sank into the seat belt stretched accross him, a safety measure his mother insisted he wear even if his dad never did.
Dad never wears his, Jake thought, realizing slowly what that could mean. He reached for the drivers seat, straining against gravity to feel for his father.
“Dad?” He choked out against a frog in his throat.
There was no answer other than a boom of ominious thunder.
“Please, dad?” He reached further across the vehicle, thrashing his arm now, begging to feel the scratchy cloth of his dads canvas jacket under his hand.
There was nothing.
Nothing but a soaked cloth seat and a seatbelt that his dad never wore.
As if answering a question Jake couldn’t bear to ask, a flash of lightning illuminated the vehicle for a split second.
The windshield was shatterd as if a cannon ball had gone through it. The sole of a boot just visible a few inches beyond, it wearer pinned to the ground by the hood of the truck. Jake begged to boot to twitch, his father was a big man, invincible Jake had believed until now.
But it didn’t move.
It stayed still as Jake screamed for help. Still, as he gave up and cut himself free from the belt with the knife his dad gave him for his birthday.
“A man needs a good knife.” His dad had told him even as his mom shot daggers over the gift as he unwrapped it.
“What on Earth does a boy need a knife for?” She had argued, only relenting when Jakes excitement overwhelmed her caution.
I need it for this mom, Jake mentally answered her question. Delaying the reality of his situation as much as he could.
Just get out, get to the road.
Just get out, get to the road, get help.
Dad needs help .
His mind spun and he barely felt his shoulders hit the roof of the truck as he fell from the seat. Crawling over glass he pulled himself from the overturned death trap.
Dad needs help.
His head hurt like a balloon was expanding in his brain.
Help dad.
He couldn’t stand so he dragged himself back to the road. Stopping just close enough that passing cars might see him on the side. Gravel pressed into his uninjerd cheek. Mud soaking his front, matting his blond hair down.
Help.
Was all he thought as he saw headlights round the corner.
Dad.
Was the last thing he thought before the world went dark again.
Jake wasn’t concious again for a few days. The doctors had diagnosed a concussion, fractured cheekbone, and two broken ribs. Hardly anything compared to the damage his father endured.
His mom never him know the details.
And he never looked to find them.
But when the funeral was a closed casket Jake struggled not to picture the way the glass must have cut him. How horrific the sight must have been.
He knew it was terrible, a tragedy that a lot of kids his age wouldn’t be able to stomach but even so, he never had nightmares. He mourned and cried but he didn’t withdraw, didn’t hide from the world or lash out in anger. His mom worried he wouldn’t want to get in a car again. Her support group had warned her of that. But Jake was okay.
At least until the next storm.
His mom found him in the closet. Head between his knees clutching a blanket around himself. Panicked and sobbing he could hardly breathe. As if the seatbelt still crushed him into the seat he felt stuck to the floor. Petrified as a roll of thunder boomed through the house. Lightning struck and he wrenched his eyes shut, only able to see shatterd glass and a the sole of a boot whether they were open or closed.
His mom sat with him until the storm passed. Silently comforting him but hopelessly unable to understand. She moved the exhausted young boy back to bed as she had when he was still a toddler. But he never slept soundly after. Even when he couldn’t find the energy to lift a finger he still couldn’t shut his eyes.
That became his routine. Storms subtle or strong, he’d hide away praying it would pass quickly and failing to ignore the memory of the crash.
~~~
Thunder rattled the hard deck earning shouts and laughs from the patrons. Hangman was nervous. That shift in behaviour was obvious to all of them. Phoenix eyed the sunken man in the booth who only seconds ago had been beating all of them in a game of pool. Strutting around the table like he owned it, hell he was acting like he owned the whole bar.
No one was dressed properly for this surpirise storm. People seeking refuge from the storm crowded into the building dressed in shorts and a t shirt at the most. In his civies, only Rooster had on some semblance of ‘layers’ with his obnoxiously patterned shirt. But even he had on cutoffs and eyes the sky with betrayal over his beer. With Hangman suddenly out of the game Payback was winning and Bob was still losing, insisting that his strategy would have worked if the table wasn’t so uneven. Knowing that Penny had paid quite a lot for a good quality peice Phoenix snickered into her drink.
“Where’s Hangman?” Coyote pushed his way into the circle.
“Where are our drinks?” She countered having sent Coyote to the bar with a long order for herself and the other pilots.
“Oh-shit, uh..” he passed her back the cash she’d given him. Dropping his voice he leaned in, “Seriously, where’s Jake?”
The use of his actual name enlightened Phoenix to the seriousness of the situation. She stood up a little straighter,
“Booths.” She jerked her head to towards them, “he okay? He ran off pretty suddenly.”
Coyote exhaled through his nose, scanning for Hangman amongst the packed tables. Catching him in his sight he answered looking over her shoulder,
“He’s been better. Thanks.” He ran off towards the blonde. And Phoenix watched as he approached him with a surprising amount of caution.
Silently Hangman greeted him with a strained smile. The two sat close, Coyote rubbing his back. Hangman moved to put his head in his hands.
“What’s happening over there?” A voice dripping with something close to suspicion and not far from jealously asked from behind her. Turning she saw Rooster staring shamelessly at the two men in the booth.
“I dunno,” she answered, “I think Hangman’s a little out of it though.”
“Hmm.” Rooster hummed.
“Are you okay?” She asked, eyeing the way Roosters brow furrowed hen he saw Coyote move to embrace Hangman.
“Yeah.” He answered curtly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Phoenix shrugged, then gestured to the men in the booth, “You think their together?”
Rooster visibly bristled at this, irritated he answered strangely, “Hangman’s not dating anyone right now.”
Phoenix laughed, “Have you tried—”
“Fuck no.” Rooster cut her off, “he’s—well he’s absolutely insufferable.”
“Ah-right.”
“And I mean—flies like an asshole, just think how annoying it would be to date him just—an idiot really.”
“Totally.” She said sarcastically.
Clocking her sarcasm but not it’s reason Rooster eyed her suspiciously.
“What?”
“Nothing!” Phoenix put her hands up in defence.
“What did I say?”
“Nothing, I swear.”
Rooster scoffed. Muttering a curse he sipped his beer, eyeing Coyote and Hangman over the lip of the bottle. In truth the sight made his chest tighten. Even in the weeks since the mission Hangman had been the same bastard he was before. Cocky, confidence not totally unfounded but certainly higher than it should be. Their brief reprieve from rivalry hadn’t done anything to cool the tension between the men. However Rooster had definitely found a change in the tension it’s self. He’d caught himself staring, more than once, and fantasizing daydreaming on occasion. It didn’t help that Hangman insisted on calling himself Roosters saviour, his hero. And to be honest, that’s when it started. The handshake after the mission. He’d never felt a heat swell in his chest the same way before, no girlfriend or boyfriend had made his stomach twist that way. Rooster felt a blush in his cheeks whenever he spoke to him now, he knew he must look like a fool to Phoenix. Insisting that he’d never give Hangman a chance. She could practically read his mind. But she’d make him admit it first.
~~~
The storm was getting worse and Coyote was struggling to keep Hangman calm. He was near inconsolable. However the music drowned out the noise and Hangman himself was seemingly an expert at disguising his pain. Face buried in his arms he looked like a drunk man to most but Coyote was close enough to feel the sobs racking through his body. Every few minutes Hangman would gather enough breath to mutter an apology for ruining the night but Coyote refused to hear it. Throughout their friendship Coyote had cracked through Hangman’s defences. They were closer than the other pilots seemed to realize, often still insisting on shit talking Hangman in front of Coyote which crushed the latter man. It hurt, being completely unable to explain who Hangman really was lest reveal secrets he was so intent on keeping. Even knowing that Coyote was there for him, through thick and thin, Hangman hated to burden the man with his issues. Coyote, of course, believed this ridiculous and was happy to carry it.
“I need to leave.” Hangman whispered, prompting Coyote to start planning a way out. The crowd was thick with people hiding from the storm. Getting him out of the bar with his dignity intact was gonna be difficult.
“Just somewhere less…” He explained further.
Okay that’s doable, Coyote thought.
The idea came to him slowly. The drinks made his thinking sluggish but a plan formed regardless. Even though it wasn’t one Hangman would likely approve of if he was in state to complain.
Penny wasn’t likely to let him anywhere near the storage room. Him or Hangman, but Bradshaw was practically her stepson nowadays. If he could get Rooster to make a plea on their behalf, this just might work.
“I’ll be right back man.” Coyote assured him before running off to find the legacy pilot.
He tracked him down by the back windows. Silently watching the rain come down with an empty bottle in his hand.
“Hey Rooster,” He called, prompting an angry look from the man.
Shit, maybe this won’t work, Coyote thought, wondering if he should backpedal before it was to late.
“Rooster…listen. Hangman needs some help right now. Could you—“
“Is he okay?” Rooster interupted, suddenly invested and visibly worried.
“He’s…yes-but like not really..it’s kind of like…” Coyote waved his hands around in a fruitless attempt to explain PTSD without saying PTSD. “He doesn’t like storms okay? Like really can’t do thunderstorms.”
Rooster strained to look past the crowd and find Hangman. Coyote got his attention with a hand on his shoulder.
“He needs to get somewhere quieter.”
“I could take him back to the base.” Rooster offered.
“No!” Coyote caught himself yelling, “Sorry—driving will make it worse. Trust me on this please.”
Rooster nodded, obviously trying desperately to understand.
“The Hard Decks got a storage room? For the kegs and stuff.” Coyote suggested.
Rooster agreed readily and was bounding off to find Penny within seconds.
Eager, Coyote thought.
When he returned with keys and a go ahead from the owner he found Coyote with Hangman back at the booth. They struggled to get him up, but eventually formed a six legged beast that effectively disguised the panicked pilot as just another drunken navy man.
Coyote pretended not to notice the gentle hesitation in Roosters face. The concern that was so evident it might blow their cover. His hand danced over Hangman’s waist unsure of where he could rest it. Roosters hip clipped multiple people as they dragged Hangman to cover but he didn’t seem to notice. He stared at Hangman, or rather, he tried not to stare; failing miserably.
As they pushed the door of the small storage room open Coyote lunged forward to clear space in the corner.
“Just let him sit here.” He stood swinging his gaze around, “Stay with him, don’t like, talk. He’ll be okay. Just let him, let him, process?” He phrased it like a question, unsure of what words could describe the situation.
Rooster let him down gently in the corner, back pressed to the wall and knees pulled to his chest. His breathing was raspy, it’s sounded painful to pull a breath. Tears were still falling but the sobs had softened. Rooster grabbed Coyotes arm.
“Coyote. What the fuck?” He hissed. “You said he was okay? This— this—“ he pointed, “this is not okay.”
“Man, I’m not gonna tell his business.”
Rooster didn’t let go of his arm and it didn’t take long for Coyote to crumble.
“Car accident when he was a kid, bad one.” Coyote glanced to the shivering man in the corner, “real bad one.” He emphasized.
Roosters heart broke. Sick from the empathy that flooded him, he sat down as close as he could to Hangman without touching him. A silent ‘ I’m here’ hung between them. He ran through the ways people had tried to comfort him after his dad had died. How his mom stood strong, mostly, how Maverick would flip from joyous recollections to teary stories within minutes. He hated to think of Hangman feeling the same way he felt for years.
Neither man noticed Coyote leave to find a blanket, or at least a coat, for Hangman until the minutes started to tick by.
Neither man noticed Hangman move to press himself to Roosters side until their sides fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Hangman’s head rested on Roosters shoulder, knees knocking together as he let the weight of his body lean entirely into Roosters. The warmth chased away the freezing memory of rain and mud that permeated his bones. Rooster brushed the pads of his fingers over Hangman’s chin. Noting how the tears still fell silently through his light eyelashes. He cursed himself for finding him so beautiful even in this painful moment.
Coyote returned with a large coat.
“Lost and found.” He whispered quietly, helping to drape the fabric around Hangman’s shoulders. “He’s gonna need a few hours until he can come out I think.” Coyote warned Rooster of the commitment.
It seemed ridiculous to Rooster that he’d even question whether he was willing to sit with Hangman for that time.
~~~
If asked later Rooster would have said the time flew by. That he barely felt the concrete bruising his ass and the cold wall numbing his back. All lies of course. But worth it.
They didn’t talk. Just waited out the storm, silently pressed into one another’s sides. To Coyotes surprise, Hangman fell asleep. Slept through the worst part of the storm on Roosters shoulder. The quiet vulnerability went unspoken between them when he woke up. But trust the next storm was spent similarly locked together.