The Sun Shines Down on Both of Us [Chapter Eight]
Title: The Sun Shines Down on Both of Us [Chapter Eight]
Author: Corleoned (Me, obviously >.>)
Pairings: John/ George
Rating: R
Timeframe: In the last months of the First World War, starting early August 1918 in France, and progressing to the end of the war.
Summary: Newly promoted Captain George Harrison, an aged eighteen interrogation officer previously posted in The Ottoman Empire and India in the East, has been sent to The Western Front for the final push. A series of events following him in the last few months of the war.
Warnings: Angst, pain, murder.
A/N: I apologize for any discrepancies timewise and historically. They obviously were not meant. Also, I have nothing but respect for the soldiers who lost their lives on both sides of the war, and I hope my writing reflects that. Additionally, I had no beta for the prologue/ this chapter, so all mistakes are mine. Sorry in advance >.>
Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles, just fluff. (I do however, claim George Harrison x3)
(Historical Notes: None really.)
Prologue: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/885281.html#cutid1
Chapter One: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/885605.html#cutid1
Chapter Two: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/887477.html#cutid1
Chapter Three: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/889578.html#cutid1
Chapter Four: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/900394.html#cutid1
Chapter Five: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/902648.html#cutid1
Chapter Six: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/904438.html#cutid1
Chapter Seven: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/905676.html
The Climax.
“Truly the universe is full of ghosts, not sheeted churchyard spectres, but the inextinguishable elements of individual life, which having once been, can never die, though they blend and change, and change again for ever.” H. Rider Haggard
George awoke the next morning feeling more alive then he had for years. He ran a hand down John's strong frame and smiled. He was still here. Quickly, George busied himself throwing on his uniform and picking at the best parts of the food they had, arranging them in a semi-edible form and sliding the plate next to John's sleeping form.
Happily, he walked out and greeted his men, all seemingly recovered from the worst of the aftershock effects of the last battle as they acknowledged his presence. George kicked a stray limb out of his path, not wanting something so trivial to dampen his day.
'Starkley, we've got some of that cheese and biscuits hanging about? Need it for the prisoner,' he said casually, face reflecting nothing as he sniffed at the air. Burning skin, but that wasn't uncommon. Must be a stand-down. Lucky them.
The men looked at one another before looking nervously back at George, as though he'd said something ridiculous.
'What?' George snapped, suddenly angry at everything. Was it impossible to keep a routine in this damn mud pit, with fucking lice, rats and limbs? George was happy that he hadn't been stricken. He stroked his own hair self-consciously. John liked his long hair, while many didn't.
Starkley stood slowly, and clasped his helmet in his hands, as if delivering a eulogy.
'The-the prisoner was taken away this morning, Harrison, sir. Alerted him and took him to the platform myself.'
George stared at Starkley incredulously. He couldn't be, he was lying.
'What are you talking about? He stayed in, he's in-' George stopped himself, abruptly turning around as his men started to mumble nervously amongst themselves. George tried not to run back to the bunker with desperation, making his back stiff with an almost farcical attempt at military professionalism. Starkley following closely behind, his eyes taking in everything but his mouth saying nothing.
-----------------
'Lenzen, Lenzen, LENZEN,' George shrieked, starting to hyperventilate as planes overhead drowned out his cries, his voice becoming more and more strained as he hoarsely screamed the last call.
He wasn't there.
The food lay, an empty offering next to the empty bed that had held them hours before. Everything they represented, empty.
Then George was shaking, sobbing, crawling into the cot and rocking himself slowly.
Just as John had done.
George reached out and touched him in the darkness.
'He's here, what are you talking about?' George snapped at Starkley, running his hands over John's face and tracing his profile with a finger. He was ethereal. John smiled, and he melted into him.
'I'll leave you, then.' Starkley said gently, quietly, and closed the door to the bunker.
-------------------------------
John was being marched along a platform. He hadn't left a note for the boy. He knew in the long run, it'd make it harder. He had to face his crimes like a man. He was a loser, and that's why he'd be shot.
With an arm on either side of him, John was slowly guided towards the train, the policemen trying not to alarm passengers as they pushed John towards the military train, a gun covertly pressed against his spine.
john wasn't thinking of anything but him. He stumbled down the platform in a daze, smiling dopily as he thought of the beautiful boy. He was a man in so many ways, but really, still a kinder....
John shook himself to, snorting at his own dreaminess. George had all these plans for them, undoubtedly. More fluff if they had stayed together, more things that would've never worked out. No matter where they went, they'd be seen as some sort of perverts, except maybe Berlin. John smiled slyly. There was enough perversion in Berlin to make the sickest fucker look like the pope.
Still, it was hard not to be pulled into George's world, a world of acceptance, a world of peace, a world of love...
Not that any place like that fucking existed. John wasn't going to allow himself to be pulled in. Not this time, not fucking this time...
John didn't think twice as he turned and ran, elbowing both men squarely in the ribs as he took off sprinting down the platform. Screams erupted as he did so and gunshots rang out as he pushed people aside.
He wasn't thinking. Life wasn't real. They couldn't shoot him. None of this was real, none of it. Except George. He was what was real. He was going to be John Lennon, and find a place to be with George Harrison. He'd live in George's dream. That's all the reality he needed.
John wasn't going to lose that reality again.
John couldn't hear, John couldn't see, he just moved, seemingly frozen in time. He couldn't feel when the bullet pierced his shoulder, and when another one took out his ankle.
The policemen caught up to John and hauled him to his knees, John crying in pain and unable to move any further as one of the policemen kicked him in the ribs. John flopped his neck back like a rag doll, sitting and staring emptily and hopelessly at the world spread out in front of him. He was only a few steps from the platform back to the front, and he saw the train pull slowly and methodically out of the station. He could've been back to him in an hour or so. He could've stolen a uniform, he could've loved him within a day...
All useless as he saw the blood pool at his feet, and he realized reality would never happen.
'You ready to cooperate?' One of the men asked lifelessly, a droning figure, faceless, emotionless. John couldn't see him either. All he could see as he looked into the distance was Him.
'Fuck no.'
The man lowered the gun to John's temple.
'I'll shoot.'
John looked at the man and smiled gently, almost lovingly. Slowly he reached a hand up and put a hand on the officer's.
'Thank you,' he whispered gratefully.
He wasn't sure who pulled the trigger.
---------------------------
George spoke to him then.
"You promised you'd never leave me."
John smiled sardonically and kissed him gently on the temple.
"Promises are cheap, kid."
Author: Corleoned (Me, obviously >.>)
Pairings: John/ George
Rating: R
Timeframe: In the last months of the First World War, starting early August 1918 in France, and progressing to the end of the war.
Summary: Newly promoted Captain George Harrison, an aged eighteen interrogation officer previously posted in The Ottoman Empire and India in the East, has been sent to The Western Front for the final push. A series of events following him in the last few months of the war.
Warnings: Angst, pain, murder.
A/N: I apologize for any discrepancies timewise and historically. They obviously were not meant. Also, I have nothing but respect for the soldiers who lost their lives on both sides of the war, and I hope my writing reflects that. Additionally, I had no beta for the prologue/ this chapter, so all mistakes are mine. Sorry in advance >.>
Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles, just fluff. (I do however, claim George Harrison x3)
(Historical Notes: None really.)
Prologue: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/885281.html#cutid1
Chapter One: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/885605.html#cutid1
Chapter Two: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/887477.html#cutid1
Chapter Three: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/889578.html#cutid1
Chapter Four: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/900394.html#cutid1
Chapter Five: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/902648.html#cutid1
Chapter Six: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/904438.html#cutid1
Chapter Seven: community.livejournal.com/beatlesslash/905676.html
The Climax.
“Truly the universe is full of ghosts, not sheeted churchyard spectres, but the inextinguishable elements of individual life, which having once been, can never die, though they blend and change, and change again for ever.” H. Rider Haggard
George awoke the next morning feeling more alive then he had for years. He ran a hand down John's strong frame and smiled. He was still here. Quickly, George busied himself throwing on his uniform and picking at the best parts of the food they had, arranging them in a semi-edible form and sliding the plate next to John's sleeping form.
Happily, he walked out and greeted his men, all seemingly recovered from the worst of the aftershock effects of the last battle as they acknowledged his presence. George kicked a stray limb out of his path, not wanting something so trivial to dampen his day.
'Starkley, we've got some of that cheese and biscuits hanging about? Need it for the prisoner,' he said casually, face reflecting nothing as he sniffed at the air. Burning skin, but that wasn't uncommon. Must be a stand-down. Lucky them.
The men looked at one another before looking nervously back at George, as though he'd said something ridiculous.
'What?' George snapped, suddenly angry at everything. Was it impossible to keep a routine in this damn mud pit, with fucking lice, rats and limbs? George was happy that he hadn't been stricken. He stroked his own hair self-consciously. John liked his long hair, while many didn't.
Starkley stood slowly, and clasped his helmet in his hands, as if delivering a eulogy.
'The-the prisoner was taken away this morning, Harrison, sir. Alerted him and took him to the platform myself.'
George stared at Starkley incredulously. He couldn't be, he was lying.
'What are you talking about? He stayed in, he's in-' George stopped himself, abruptly turning around as his men started to mumble nervously amongst themselves. George tried not to run back to the bunker with desperation, making his back stiff with an almost farcical attempt at military professionalism. Starkley following closely behind, his eyes taking in everything but his mouth saying nothing.
-----------------
'Lenzen, Lenzen, LENZEN,' George shrieked, starting to hyperventilate as planes overhead drowned out his cries, his voice becoming more and more strained as he hoarsely screamed the last call.
He wasn't there.
The food lay, an empty offering next to the empty bed that had held them hours before. Everything they represented, empty.
Then George was shaking, sobbing, crawling into the cot and rocking himself slowly.
Just as John had done.
George reached out and touched him in the darkness.
'He's here, what are you talking about?' George snapped at Starkley, running his hands over John's face and tracing his profile with a finger. He was ethereal. John smiled, and he melted into him.
'I'll leave you, then.' Starkley said gently, quietly, and closed the door to the bunker.
-------------------------------
John was being marched along a platform. He hadn't left a note for the boy. He knew in the long run, it'd make it harder. He had to face his crimes like a man. He was a loser, and that's why he'd be shot.
With an arm on either side of him, John was slowly guided towards the train, the policemen trying not to alarm passengers as they pushed John towards the military train, a gun covertly pressed against his spine.
john wasn't thinking of anything but him. He stumbled down the platform in a daze, smiling dopily as he thought of the beautiful boy. He was a man in so many ways, but really, still a kinder....
John shook himself to, snorting at his own dreaminess. George had all these plans for them, undoubtedly. More fluff if they had stayed together, more things that would've never worked out. No matter where they went, they'd be seen as some sort of perverts, except maybe Berlin. John smiled slyly. There was enough perversion in Berlin to make the sickest fucker look like the pope.
Still, it was hard not to be pulled into George's world, a world of acceptance, a world of peace, a world of love...
Not that any place like that fucking existed. John wasn't going to allow himself to be pulled in. Not this time, not fucking this time...
John didn't think twice as he turned and ran, elbowing both men squarely in the ribs as he took off sprinting down the platform. Screams erupted as he did so and gunshots rang out as he pushed people aside.
He wasn't thinking. Life wasn't real. They couldn't shoot him. None of this was real, none of it. Except George. He was what was real. He was going to be John Lennon, and find a place to be with George Harrison. He'd live in George's dream. That's all the reality he needed.
John wasn't going to lose that reality again.
John couldn't hear, John couldn't see, he just moved, seemingly frozen in time. He couldn't feel when the bullet pierced his shoulder, and when another one took out his ankle.
The policemen caught up to John and hauled him to his knees, John crying in pain and unable to move any further as one of the policemen kicked him in the ribs. John flopped his neck back like a rag doll, sitting and staring emptily and hopelessly at the world spread out in front of him. He was only a few steps from the platform back to the front, and he saw the train pull slowly and methodically out of the station. He could've been back to him in an hour or so. He could've stolen a uniform, he could've loved him within a day...
All useless as he saw the blood pool at his feet, and he realized reality would never happen.
'You ready to cooperate?' One of the men asked lifelessly, a droning figure, faceless, emotionless. John couldn't see him either. All he could see as he looked into the distance was Him.
'Fuck no.'
The man lowered the gun to John's temple.
'I'll shoot.'
John looked at the man and smiled gently, almost lovingly. Slowly he reached a hand up and put a hand on the officer's.
'Thank you,' he whispered gratefully.
He wasn't sure who pulled the trigger.
---------------------------
George spoke to him then.
"You promised you'd never leave me."
John smiled sardonically and kissed him gently on the temple.
"Promises are cheap, kid."