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Colonel Kurtz was dead.
Willard hit him over and over again, killing him with the same intent of that similar to a butcher. Everyone wanted him to do it, the Colonel especially. Every breath was a staggered one, his lungs compensating for their inability to function, getting worse with each day that passed.
Clean, Chef, and Chief. Lance and Willard were the only two left, slowly drifting down the river to conserve fuel. Lance was covered in dried animal blood, Willard couldn't blame him, hell, he was covered in human blood.
The thought still lay heavy on his mind , even though Kurtz had gone rogue, killing an American had left a bad taste in his mouth.
Willard should be sleeping, it was Lance's turn to steer the boat for the next couple of hours. With only the two of them, the trip down river would be a while.
The boat shook a little, shaking Willard from his thoughts. He looked at Lance, who didn't say anything, Willard got to his feet, used to the constant rocking of the boat after a couple of days.
Willard was looking for a rag, something to get the bloody mess off of him, his muscles aching with every movement.
Willard managed to find one that wasn't covered in grease, thankfully Chef didn't use all the rags when he worked on the engine.
Willard went to the side of the boat, leaning over to dip the rag.
Chiefs face appeared in the water, sharp eyes staring back up at him.
Willard paid no attention to the reflection, taking the rag and scrubbing his face, trying to get the grime off.
If Willard got a nickel every time for when he was covered in someone's blood, he wouldn't be able to count all the coins.
Eventually it just became another type of grime that you washed off, mixed in with the other things of war.
Willard felt a hand on his shoulder, he felt like lightning had stuck him by just a simple touch.
It made him think about when someone had last touched him without the intent to kill him.
Lance looked at Willard, a calm look in his eyes. But behind them was pain, and sorrow from the images he had seen.
Willard saw the same look in the mirror.
“Stop the boat,” Willard ordered.
Lance cocked his head in confusion before pulling over the river bed, coming to a stop.
Lance rejoined Willard again on the deck, sitting down beside him.
Willard wet the cloth again, bringing it closer to Lance's face, slowly cleaning the water buffalo's blood off of the blonde's face.
The stickiness of the blood slowly began to come off of Lance's face, introducing his face back into the light of the sun.
Lance made a noise of approval, the feeling of human touch he was longing for again.
Lance couldn't take it anymore, he reached forward embracing the Captain, holding onto him like a lifeline.
Willard dropped the rag, wrapping his arms around the surfer, similar to the way Chief wrapped his arms around Clean.
Willard held Lance tighter, reminding himself that Lance was okay, that he didn't have a piece of hot lead piercing through his body.
Lance's nose was buried in Willard's neck, his arms wrapped around the Captain's back. Willard gently stroked the back of Lance's neck, grounding him back to reality.
The two stayed like that for the next couple of minutes, before pulling away, Willard pulled the boat back out to the middle of the river, Lance staying close to him, not wanting to leave his side.
Despite all the blood, guts, and crimes committed in war, sometimes they could find peace within each other.
Fin.