Fic: Babe Heffron Left Only With His Thoughts
Title: Babe Heffron Left Only With His Thoughts
Characters/Pairings: Mostly just Edward “Babe” Heffron, about Julian post-death
Warnings: Bit of language really
Rating: PG13(?)
Disclaimer: Based off Babe and his emotions towards what had happened to his friend Julian. No disrespect meant at all.
Summary: Babe is lying in the foxhole with Spina, consumed by his guilt, sorrow, and anger. His thoughts and feelings in that moment.
A/N: Just some little bit I felt like writing, while watching Bastogne. I felt so bad for Babe. If you see anything wrong, grammatically wise or anything, please feel free to let me know.
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Babe lay there against Spina, staring into the dug into earth. The covered foxhole was cold and damp, yet he didn’t shiver, his body numb. His mind was blank, even though it was swirling with pictures and voices all at the same time. He wanted to yell, scream, cry, anything, but he couldn’t. For some goddamn reason, all he could do was stare.
He could stare and think, and it was torture.
He had lost his best friend, a boy by the name of John Julian, earlier that day. The moments of him on the ground, as Babe yelled to him, hand outstretched, were reeling and swirling in his head. No matter what warmth he was feeling from the larger man beside him, he felt cold, inside an out.
The blood that poured from his neck, his pleading eyes to just get him the fuck out of there, he could see it clear as day, as if it were happening in front of him all over again. Babe wanted so badly to help him, to get rid of the deathly pain he was in, but… but he just couldn’t do it. All those bullets. All those damn bullets. He tried, but he honestly thought they would be able to go back and get him, so he left him there.
Alone.
Dying.
Still reaching out for someone.
Anyone.
And he was still there, Babe could feel it. But he knew he wasn’t still alive.
They been talking to each other, not even more than a mere couple of hours ago, about just everyday things. Life, the damn weather, what they would do when they got back home… Now it was just Babe, alone, to suffer with these thoughts and memories. He couldn’t return to that foxhole, where he had spent so much time with one of the few people he could really talk to, the one man he really bonded with. His best friend.
Both of his eyebrows furrowed together, in confusion, hate, and anguish.
Why couldn’t he have died?
He himself lived life pretty well, right? … Julian was younger than him, and was even still a virgin.
Why did someone have to take his life, and leave Babe with all this damn sadness. All these goddamn thoughts, chewing him up and spitting him out.
He left out a huff of breath, the cold air turning into steam as it left his nostrils. Spina looked to him, and from the corner of his eye, Babe saw him open his mouth, only to close it again. He was in a sense, glad he didn’t say anything. But, he couldn’t help but want to talk to someone. He needed to say something. Babe continued to stare into the earth, and didn’t even look up at the sound of feet crunching in the snow around and then infront of the hole, or even the flap opening.
Doc Roe hopped in, smiling to him. “Got you.”
Babe couldn’t even look up.
Characters/Pairings: Mostly just Edward “Babe” Heffron, about Julian post-death
Warnings: Bit of language really
Rating: PG13(?)
Disclaimer: Based off Babe and his emotions towards what had happened to his friend Julian. No disrespect meant at all.
Summary: Babe is lying in the foxhole with Spina, consumed by his guilt, sorrow, and anger. His thoughts and feelings in that moment.
A/N: Just some little bit I felt like writing, while watching Bastogne. I felt so bad for Babe. If you see anything wrong, grammatically wise or anything, please feel free to let me know.
.
.
.
Babe lay there against Spina, staring into the dug into earth. The covered foxhole was cold and damp, yet he didn’t shiver, his body numb. His mind was blank, even though it was swirling with pictures and voices all at the same time. He wanted to yell, scream, cry, anything, but he couldn’t. For some goddamn reason, all he could do was stare.
He could stare and think, and it was torture.
He had lost his best friend, a boy by the name of John Julian, earlier that day. The moments of him on the ground, as Babe yelled to him, hand outstretched, were reeling and swirling in his head. No matter what warmth he was feeling from the larger man beside him, he felt cold, inside an out.
The blood that poured from his neck, his pleading eyes to just get him the fuck out of there, he could see it clear as day, as if it were happening in front of him all over again. Babe wanted so badly to help him, to get rid of the deathly pain he was in, but… but he just couldn’t do it. All those bullets. All those damn bullets. He tried, but he honestly thought they would be able to go back and get him, so he left him there.
Alone.
Dying.
Still reaching out for someone.
Anyone.
And he was still there, Babe could feel it. But he knew he wasn’t still alive.
They been talking to each other, not even more than a mere couple of hours ago, about just everyday things. Life, the damn weather, what they would do when they got back home… Now it was just Babe, alone, to suffer with these thoughts and memories. He couldn’t return to that foxhole, where he had spent so much time with one of the few people he could really talk to, the one man he really bonded with. His best friend.
Both of his eyebrows furrowed together, in confusion, hate, and anguish.
Why couldn’t he have died?
He himself lived life pretty well, right? … Julian was younger than him, and was even still a virgin.
Why did someone have to take his life, and leave Babe with all this damn sadness. All these goddamn thoughts, chewing him up and spitting him out.
He left out a huff of breath, the cold air turning into steam as it left his nostrils. Spina looked to him, and from the corner of his eye, Babe saw him open his mouth, only to close it again. He was in a sense, glad he didn’t say anything. But, he couldn’t help but want to talk to someone. He needed to say something. Babe continued to stare into the earth, and didn’t even look up at the sound of feet crunching in the snow around and then infront of the hole, or even the flap opening.
Doc Roe hopped in, smiling to him. “Got you.”
Babe couldn’t even look up.