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"First day on the job and he's already dead. Kid didnt last very long," A contam soldier snickered before turning to his corporal, "You owe me a pack!" A bomb went off near them, raining dirt onto them.
Warwick quickly scanned the area and landed his eyes on a foxhole. Not the best place to hide from bombs, but its better than nothing. "In a minute, mate," Warwick pulled the contam down from his spot on the wall and tossed him into the hole before throwing himself into it.
Carrie tried to crawl out, shouting profanities and insults at his superior, "You coward! Let me go, I can get a shot on them!" Warwick had to pull the gun out of Carrie's hands and restrain him to get the smaller man to stop trying to swing a punch at him.
"You'd get one of them if youre lucky," Warwick argued, "We're waiting it out in here. Thats an order, private." Carrie grumbled quietly. Feeling the ground shake as bombs hit, neither men knew when it would stop. The number of deafening explosions would match the amount of breathes between the two.
Carrie closed his eye and remembered when he was little. When he had both eyes intact, had hair and normal teeth, his skin wasn't grey and innocence was still behind a foolish young face, back when he was human.
He remembered living in a small house, his father working his ass off everyday to provide and his mother working her ass off to clean and cook and take care of Carrie and his grandfather. They had a dog, a Jack Russel Terrier, Carrie named him Buster. Best friends with the dog. He'd often sneak some of his food to the small dog that hid under the table during dinner.
He remembered running across a creek, trying to catch fish with his bare hands because his friends dared him to. The water splashing as a little dark figure quickly swam away from Carrie's little hands, Buster helping the best he could. They almost caught it a few times, only for its slippery body to slip out.
He also remembered when Buster tried to catch butterflies. He always thought it was funny when Buster jumped up and fell on his back, just to get up and do it again.
His grandfather wasn't the most animal person, often saying Buster needs to stay outside and argue back when Carrie refused. But when Carrie was helping his mother sweep the floor or stir a pot for soup, his grandfather often patted him on the back and said, "Yer a good lad."
His home life growing up wasn't much, but compared to the bunks, it was paradise.
There are times when he wished he'd go back home. Back to looking human. Having two eyes. Normal nails and normal human skin. He wondered what his family would think if they ever saw him again. Would his grandfather still call him a good lad? Would his father point a gun and shout at him to leave? Would Buster want to play again? Would his mother recognize him?
"-- Carrie?"
Carrie jolted, opening his eye and turning his attention to Warwick.
Back at war.
Back as this thing.
"I think the bombs are done," Warwick continued, "We need to pick up the bodies."
Carrie scowled, "Im not a janitor!" Carrie lifted his fist as high as he could. "You are today. C'mon, we got work to do." Warwick shot back. Warwick crawled out and moved before Carrie could accidently, or purposefully, kick him. When Carrie crawled out, he saw bodies everywhere. He sighed and sat against a wall.
Warwick crossed him arms, "Carrie--" "I know, we need to bring the bodies back. Let me have a smoke first." Carrie extended his hand. The corporal reached into his pocket and gave a pack of cigarettes to him. The smaller man opened it, "Huh. Full pack. You don't disappoint." Carrie pulled a cigarette out as Warwick sat next to him, "I bet a full pack, didn't I?" Carrie smirked the best his facial structure would allow.
He reach into his pocket, pulling out a lighter and striking it. Only for a small spark to disappear just as quickly as it appeared. Carrie scowled as he kept striking, "Stupid fuckin' piece of shit!" He was about to throw the lighter until he heard a click beside him and saw Warwick was offering his lighter. He glanced up at the corporal, his frames reflecting the smoke filled sunlight. Carrie brought the lighter closer, silently thanking Warwick.
The two sat in silence, aside the occasional gunshot and shout from trenches away from their's. Carrie's temper almost getting the better of him again when the smoke wouldnt stay in his mouth.
Its no secret he hated his dental work. He was always vocal about it. Got in the way and sometimes got caught on the blanket on his bunk or when he tried to pull his shirt on.
The smaller man sighed, little smoke pushing out. He glanced at his corporal who was rubbing the side of his snout, something must've hit him cause there was a lot of blood, "Rock?" Carrie asked. The corporal glanced at him, "Dunno. Didn't see. Maybe I just hit my face on a something." Warwick explained the best he could. Carrie hummed and continued smoking.
Or at least attempted to.
Carrie scowled, rubbing his temples, "You wastin the cigs?" Carrie glared at Warwick, "Not trying to, dickhead! These damn teeth never close!" Carrie snarled, earning a chuckle from the corporal.
Carrie waved him off, turning his head to Mophead's body far down the trail. He could barely tell, but he thinks they got blown in half. He knows thats gonna hurt later.
"You want help?" Warwick asked, Carrie spun his head, "With what?" "Your smoking situation." Carrie laughed, tapping the end of the cigarette, letting ash fall. "And how are you gonna help with that?" Warwick leaned his head back a little, "Ever heard of 'shotgunnin'?"
Carrie froze.
Shotgunning. Why would Warwick wanna do that with him of all people? He glanced back up at his corporal, seeing Warwick staring back. The thought of being so close to Warwick... well, it didnt disturb him. But he certainly was suspicious, squinting at the older man. He quickly asked, "Wha'cha want in return?" Warwick shook his head, "Nothin'." "Bullshit. Everyone wants something!" Carrie threw a hand in the air. Warwick shrugged lightly, "Well I dont. Least not this time." Carrie stared at his lens. Either trying to find a lie in them or try to see Warwick's eyes through them? He didn't really know. Never found either though.
Carrie averted his eye to the dirt. Truth be told, he realized he was more fond of Warwick than anyone in the bunkers. He didn't know why, just liked being around and talking to or at him. Maybe it was because they were bunkmates. He liked the tiny bit of touch Warwick gave him. Light elbow jab to his side, warm hand on his shoulder, pat on the back. Made him feel a funny.
Carrie sighed and offered his cigarette, "Fine. But bite my face, and I'll rip out your tongue. Got it?" Warwick chuckled as he took the cigarette, "Wouldn't dream of it."
Carrie adjusted his position to sit closer to the large man. He watched as Warwick sucked in the smoke. Sucked in slow, and held in for a minute. The private rolled his eye and turned his head to the black smoke over them, wondering just how many bombs they used on them. Probably all that had.
The thin man felt Warwick's arm wrap around his shoulder, his big hand pushing Carrie's head back to him. He quickly opened his jaws. Warwick slowly blew smoke between his teeth. Carrie stared at the corporal's lenses, feeling his heart beating much harder than earlier. Warwick's hand lightly rubbed Carrie's cheek bone. His own hand touched his fingers. Warm. Always warm. Something he had grown to love.
Carrie searched in Warwick's lenses again. Just barely, within the dark of them, he could see Warwick's eyes. So hard to see, but wonderful when found.
He felt the older man's hand trail down to his chin, and closed it shut. "Need a closed mouth to keep the smoke in, Carrie." Warwick said softly. Carrie blinked, letting go a breathe he didnt realize he was holding, regrettably blowing out most of the smoke.
Warwick drew another, opened Carrie's jaws, and blew smoke into it again. Warwick's thumb carefully dragged against one of Carrie's molars, "Awestruck, are we? I promise you, my eyes arent that special. Probably very red," Carrie kept his mouth closed for as long as possible before responding, "Yeah, youre right. They aint that special." But they weren't nothing either.
There was something strangely... intimate about seeing Warwick's eyes. He wanted to see them again. His eye cast to the cigarette. It was already almost done when they started. Carrie's hand over Warwick's tightened lightly, cherishing the warmth, not wanting it to leave just yet.
Warwick breathed in one last smoke and blew it into Carrie's mouth as he smother the bud into the dirt. The thin man's hand flinched as he felt Warwick's hand slip out of his grasp. He scowled, cold hitting the side of his face quickly.
"We better get back to work." Warwick said as he stood. Carrie cast his eyes to the dirt. He put a hand on his chest, his heart beat wasn't slowing down. He pushed himself off the ground nonetheless.
Carrie started his janitor work with Mophead. Grabbing their legs first, torso last.
"Ya know," Warwick's voice startled him a little. Carrie turned his head and saw Warwick holding a different soldier that had their face ruined, "I wouldnt mind doing that again. Not one bit." The private stared at the corporal as he walked by. Deciding not to say anything, Carrie just walked.
The memory of what happened never left Carrie's mind. Everytime he thought of it, he felt his stomach flutter. Or turn. He wasn't sure. Even when Warwick jabbed his side, Carrie's heart beat faster.
At night when he cant sleep, he steals a glance at Warwick's sleep frame. His breathe would get heavier and his face grew hot.
Carrie thought of Warwick's words afterwards. The feeling of his hand on Carrie's cheek. The smoking entering his mouth. Warwick's eyes staring back at him. He wouldnt mind doing it again either.