prodigal son

the 21 year old boy with hate in his heart that screams at monsters because he doesn't know how to fear them

[strikerpilot]

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[gipsypilot]

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[strikerpilot]

Chuck was spooked, that much was obvious. He didn't sign up for this kind of thing, and he sure as hell didn't know how to deal with it. His natural instinct was to run, just get out and remove himself from the situation, but he couldn't. So he smoothed his thumbs over Raleigh's cheeks instead, staring in a wide-eyed panic, and it was all he could do to stammer out a "No worries". 

"I'm here, Raleigh. Not going anywhere, I'm right here." He pursed his lips into a frown. "Just....breathe, okay?"

[strikerpilot]

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[gipsypilot]

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[strikerpilot]

He practically shot up when he realised something was legitimately wrong. This hadn't happened before, at least not around him, and he stared down at Raleigh in a wide-eyed sort of panic, trying to decide where to put his hands, if anywhere. He settled with placing them on either side of Raleigh's face. 

"I'm here, Raleigh," he half-whispered, brows furrowed. "What's wrong? What's--" he paused, stuck on words, "Your arm? Nightmare? Calm down, 'm right here."

[gipsypilot]

Chuck Hansen, despite his cocky smirks and piss poor attitude, looked like an angel when he slept. Which is probably poor wording considering the guy almost died, but it’s not like Raleigh would openly tell him that.

Okay, he would, but Chuck would punch him.

Sighing, Raleigh shifted onto his back, Chuck following right after him and wrapping himself around his body. The kid followed heat, and apparently Raleigh was akin to a furnace Chuck said once. But he wasn’t going to complain, he found it cute and endearing, even if his right arm was starting to go numb under Chuck’s weight.

The funny part about insomnia— okay, maybe not a funny, but Raleigh’s mind was in a haze and he kept slipping between consciousness — was that he couldn’t sleep even if he was dead tired. So he was left with the option of staying up and watching late night movies, or he could just lie down with Chuck and provide him comfort. And he chose the latter because he couldn’t resist a chance to be with Chuck more, and also because Chuck insisted. Or forced, mostly.

Raleigh was more than happy to oblige; until his left arm started to buzz and a nightmare started to play before his eyes — Chuck’s room had turned into Gipsy’s conn pod and Knifehead was right there and Yancy was looking at him and there was nothing but fear and panic—

He clutched his left arm as a shot of electricity coursed through it, screaming, and his head unfortunately knocking against Chuck’s. He would have apolgized if he wasn’t so focused on evening his breathing and snapping back to reality.

[strikerpilot]

Chuck was a heavy sleeper, unlike his companion who'd wake at the slightest disturbance- provided, of course, he ever went to sleep. He'd gotten used to Raleigh's insomnia. Sometimes Raleigh would nod off for a few hours, but he'd wake up feeling just as tired and deny he ever slept at all. Chuck had to explain to him that the body forced itself to sleep after a certain amount of time no matter what. 

It was all psychosomatic. Chuck had tried and failed to get Raleigh to see a therapist, and he'd ultimately laid the idea to rest. It infuriated him, truth be told. 

He didn't like Raleigh watching him as he slept, but he also didn't like losing sleep, so. 

He usually made it through the night. 

But when he felt a sharp crack against his skull in the early hours of morning- couldn't have been past 3AM- he stiffened, cursed, and lashed out. It took him a minute before he realised he wasn't being attacked, and he hissed, "Raleigh, what the fuck?"

[gipsypilot]

  Still got that poster of Gipsy in your room?

[strikerpilot]

—-It seemed redundant with her pilot in my bed. 

[gipsypilot]

[blinks, has to let that process in his head before he grins widely]

You really are a jaeger fly.

[strikerpilot]

[glowers] Do you think I was joking?

[strikerpilot]

If you refer to me as “Jaeger fly” one more time, Ray, I will beat your scummy arse into the anteverse. 

[gipsypilot]

Still got that poster of Gipsy in your room?

[strikerpilot]

---It seemed redundant with her pilot in my bed. 

[strikerpilot]

If you refer to me as "Jaeger fly" one more time, Ray, I will beat your scummy arse into the anteverse. 

[strikerpilot]

Mmn. [raises a brow at the smile, frowning]

Stay over tonight, yeah?

[gipsypilot]

[laughs, Chuck is too funny] 

You’re actually asking this time?

[strikerpilot]

Shut up, Ray. 

[strikerpilot]

[stares at him, fidgeting with his hands, expression unreadable] Stop grinning like a shot fox, you smarmy bastard. Wouldn’t be, y’know- [makes a vague gesture, presumably to imply ‘dating you’] -if I hated you. ‘M not some kind of masochist. 

You probably are. 

[gipsypilot]

[smile just gets even wider at that, if that’s even possible]

I like you too, Chuck.

[strikerpilot]

Mmn. [raises a brow at the smile, frowning]

Stay over tonight, yeah?

[strikerpilot]

  [tries his hardest to keep from stammering] —Well that was bloody forward. Why would I say that? 

[gipsypilot]

[grins widely]  Nah, I don’t expect you to. But you could just say you like me instead of beating around the bush and thoroughly make fun of me.

[strikerpilot]

[stares at him, fidgeting with his hands, expression unreadable] Stop grinning like a shot fox, you smarmy bastard. Wouldn't be, y'know- [makes a vague gesture, presumably to imply 'dating you'] -if I hated you. 'M not some kind of masochist. 

You probably are. 

[strikerpilot]

What three words? 

[gipsypilot]

I love you.

[strikerpilot]

[tries his hardest to keep from stammering] --Well that was bloody forward. Why would I say that? 

[strikerpilot]

What three words? 

[captainamuricahs]

so why fight it

[gipsypilot]

  [laughs] I’m tired of it too, but if you don’t learn from it, then there really was no point and it might as well repeat. 

[tries to lower his hands back onto Chuck’s face, but finds that Chuck has a good grip on him] And can you even say that you said yes? You more or less told me to ‘get fucked’.

[strikerpilot]

[narrows his eyes, cutting him an almost defensive glare] Bet I learned a deal more from it than you did- But I don't want to talk about the War. 

[releases one of his hands] "Get fucked" still applies. 

[gipsypilot]

  [looks down at him, trying to keep a straight face but you can see in his eyes that he’s enjoying this] It turns out I made a mistake if I chose someone who can’t fully enjoy World War II movies.

[strikerpilot]

[keeps his hold on Raleigh's hands, giving the best shrug he can from his position] 'M tired of war. 

And you didn't "choose" shit, Raleigh. Your arse is lucky I said yes.

[gipsypilot]

  [calmly places his hands over Chuck’s face]

I’m sorry, Chuck. I don’t think this is gonna work out.

[strikerpilot]

[sets his book down on his stomach, pulling Raleigh's hands away with his own, utterly amused] 

It was your idea, you smarmy bastard. 

[gipsypilot]

  [shots fired, clutches his chest and grabs Chuck’s arm as if to save himself from falling into despair]

Are you telling me you don’t want to watch Saving Private Ryan either.

[strikerpilot]

[lowers his book to stare up at Raleigh, lips twisted in a shit-eating grin] That's exactly what 'm telling you, mate. 

You've got boring, predictable taste, y'know that? 

[strikerpilot]

Sorry to disappoint. [dryly, stepping out of the way so Raleigh can come, bolting the door behind him]

[gipsypilot]

[settles himself on the couch] I’ll settle with you. [gives Chuck a teasing smile] Wanna watch a movie? I hear A Few Good Men is on tonight.

[strikerpilot]

[scoops a book up off the table on his way to the couch, not sitting so much as carelessly half-laying over Raleigh's lap] I bloody hate military films. 'Specially old military films.