The Road to Freedom (2/3)
Summary: Miles knew he was a fool for thinking the war in Europe would be easily won, and what starts out as a simple reconnaissance mission turns complicated when Miles finds himself stuck in The Netherlands with an injured British soldier on his hands. WW2/Soldier AU. Gaviles.
WC: 1,879 || Total WC: 6,886
Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3
In which Ave is clearly not a doctor and neither is Miles.
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Chapter 2: Alone and Surrounded
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He didn’t how far he’d managed to make it into the trees. All he knew was that the sounds of battle had long since faded and that the adrenaline that had enabled him to carry a man’s dead weight away from danger was slowly fading, leaving him shaking, his legs slowly threatening to buckle and send the two men sprawling across the forest floor.
He came to a halt, almost tripping over his own feet, under a thick canopy of trees and turned as best he could to survey his surroundings; his eyes wide as he looked for any sign of the trouble they’d escaped from having followed.
No sign came. No dark figures descended from the showers to attack. No shouts in a guttural, unfamiliar language. Just silence.
Miles breathed out shakily, a nervous chuckle caught in his throat before his shoulder twinged unhappily and he stumbled forward at the pressure, moving his arms awkwardly to try and remove the injured soldier slung there.
And he wished he could’ve said that he was careful, and that he managed to maneuver the other man in a way that didn’t hurt either of them but, his limbs shaking as the adrenaline rapidly wore off and his thoughts a jumble of fear and confusion, he made the mistake of thinking that the soldier was conscious enough to support his own weight. So, as he bent forward, slowly easing the other man down and to his feet Miles wasn’t prepared for him to slump forward completely and - in an attempt to grab him - he found himself sprawled across the floor at the foot of a tree with an unconscious Brit across his chest.
“Please don’t be dead,” he breathed shakily, scooting back as he took in the unhealthy pallor of the unconscious soldier’s face and the slight blue tinge to his lips. “Please oh please please please don’t be dead.” He shrugged off the gun slung across his free shoulder and gently rolled the soldier onto his back and placed trembling fingers to the side of his neck, waiting for a gentle thump in response.
A wave of relief washed over him as he felt the weak, thready pulse under his fingertips and he felt himself sag under the weight of it all, hands splayed flat on the ground and breathing deeply through his nose to try and keep the sudden dizziness at bay. Once it had died down he turned his head to the side to take a closer look at the soldier he’d rescued.
He looked about his age Miles guessed as his eyes scanned the slackened, dirt-smeared features of the other man. Perhaps a little bit older, if the lines of worry creasing around his eyes were anything to go by, and Miles found himself wondering how he’d react to the situation when he awoke and how serious he would be; the common complaint from everyone he knew who’d been stationed in Britain or had worked closely with British soldiers was their stiff upper lip, and if Miles had to admit it to himself he’d welcome a calm and serious voice in the middle of all of the current chaos.
That’s if the soldier even woke up soon. Miles’ heart sank as his eyes fixed on the angry dent in the soldier’s moss green helmet, his hands coming up to gently run a finger across the indentation whilst a frown made its way across his lips. He gently worked his fingers underneath the helmet’s strap, carefully watching the soldier’s face for any signs of discomfort and, upon seeing none, lightly unfastened the straps and eased the helmet off to reveal a head of messy brown hair with an almost noticeable lump at the back from the blow that had most likely knocked him senseless. Miles placed the damaged headgear onto the ground, his eyes spotting a glimpse of black from around the soldier’s neck.
He reached forward and slowly pulled a leather cord from underneath the soldier’s uniform to reveal a small set of discs, one in green and octagonal shaped and the other orange and circular, each stamped with a set of identifying details.
“Nice to meet you Mr. Free,” Miles muttered, running the pad of his thumb over the name on one of the discs. ‘G. D. Free.’ “I just wish it was under better circumstances.” He tried to smile reassuringly, not quite sure if he was trying to reassure himself or coax the British man back into consciousness, and then rose one hand to his face, poised to push his glasses back up his nose from where they’d slipped down and his other hand tucking the discs back under the other man’s uniform, when a glint of crimson caught his eye and he turned sharply.
There was a noticeable rip in the fabric of the British soldier’s trousers above the knee. The material, smeared liberally with dirt and grass stains, was rapidly becoming soaked in blood.
“Oooooh no,” Miles sprung forward instantly, hands hovering over the bloodied material; almost too afraid to inspect the area at risk of causing more harm than good. “No no no, c’mon! Don’t do this to me!” He whispered desperately, ripping a strip off the bottom of his army jacket and tying it as tight as he could around the thigh of the injured man.
The British male let out a choked cry, an abnormally loud sound to Miles’ ears and the American instinctively whipped his head up from where he was tying the makeshift bandage to shush him. He froze.
The British soldier’s eyes were open, confusion and pain were clouded in their hazel depths, and fixed solely on Miles.
“Hey,” Miles greeted softly, finishing the knot in the fabric tied around the other man’s thigh. It looked like a gunshot wound, but Miles assumed that it hadn’t hit the femoral artery or he would’ve bled out already. The soldier grunted and gave him an incomprehensible look which had Miles feeling nervous under the sudden scrutiny, an involuntary chuckle bubbling to the back of his throat. The soldier’s hand grasped his wrist tightly and he jumped.
“Dan?” The Brit croaked, his voice cracking midway through the name and his eyes desperate. Miles shook his head and carefully removed the soldier’s grip from his wrist.
“I’m Miles,” he replied, and at seeing the British man’s eyes start to slip out of focus he hurriedly continued; his voice a little bit louder than before. “My name’s Miles, what’s your name?” The soldier’s head lolled to one side and Miles leant closer. The soldier’s eyes focused on him once more. “Awwwww c’mon don’t do this to me. I found your identity disc, G. D. Free right? What does the ‘G’ stand for? ”
“Huh?” The Brit frowned, raising a hand to rub his forehead and Miles noted how sluggishly he was moving.
“What’s your name?” Miles asked again, slowly and clearly. The soldier, his eyes clearer than before but still pained, stared at him for so long that Miles didn’t think he’d understood, until he answered.
“Gav’n,” he slurred in reply, his forehead creasing slightly. “M’name’s Gavin.” He held up his right hand and after a moment Miles realised he was expecting a handshake.
“It’s great to meet you Gavin,” Miles replied, laughing slightly as he returned the handshake. Gavin huffed. “Well, the circumstances are arguably not the best but it’s always great to meet a fellow ally! You’re the first Brit I’ve properly met out here and I’m really glad we’re here to help you guys out!”
Gavin stared at him with a look of immense concentration on his face. “Y’re Am’r’cn?” He asked, shifting to try and sit up. He sucked in a pained breath as he jolted his leg and Miles moved quickly to help pull him up so that his back was against the tree trunk. At the end of it all he was breathing heavily and his face was paler. Miles bit his lip.
“Maybe you should’ve waited to do that.”
Gavin grumbled something, his gaze going from Miles’ face to the trees behind him. His jaw dropped slightly in shock. “Where is everyone?” He asked in a tight, clear voice with a strong English accent.
“I, er, I am everyone.” Gavin stared at him, mouth opening and closing a couple of times as he tried to articulate a reply. Miles held up his arms in defense. “I’m sorry! We hadn’t heard from you guys in days so we came to take a look and the Germans ambushed us! I had barely enough time to grab you and run!”
Gavin’s lips narrowed into a straight line and he looked at Miles with an odd expression on his face. “You saved my life.” He stated, no hint of a question as he spoke and Miles stared back.
For a moment there was silence. Then somewhere in the distance a bird cawed and Miles swallowed heavily, uncomfortable under the gaze of the Englishman. “Yeah...I guess I did.”
Gavin’s face broke into a grin, a wide infectious smile that added a twinkle to his eyes and Miles couldn’t help but return it. The Brit reached over slowly and clapped a hand onto Miles’ shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Anytime man, anytime.”
Gavin gave his shoulder a grateful squeeze and then retracted his hand, rubbing it over the light stubble on his chin. His expression slipped into one of hesitation as he spoke. “I...” He exhaled shakily. “Did you guys find anyone else?”
Miles shook his head apologetically. “We got ambushed before we could properly check.” Gavin’s expression didn’t outwardly change, but Miles caught a flicker of something in his eyes. “I’m guessing the same thing happened to you.”
“They were waiting for us at the bridge,” Gavin muttered, shifting slightly and gritting his teeth in pain. “We tried to retreat into here, get under the cover of the trees y’know? Find the rest of our forces and double back when we were stronger and ready but...”
“I’m sorry.” Miles said and Gavin shrugged. Reaching over to his gun Miles slung it over one shoulder and slowly got to his feet, sending sweeping glances around at the dark and misty trees around them. “Anyway, we can’t stay here forever.”
“Of course not,” Gavin piped, reaching for his discarded helmet. He eyed the dent with an annoyed look and promptly tried to place it back onto his head. Miles chuckled.
“Gavin, get a new one when we get back to our guys.”
Gavin shook his head, a coy smirk on his face. “Nah, someone’ll get rid of the dent for me. ‘Waste not want not’ as they say Miles.” He readjusted the helmet on his head, grimacing slightly, and held out his hand. “It is Miles right? You’re going to have to help me move about, I don’t think I can on this bloody le-”
“Wer da?!”
Both allied soldiers froze at the shout - issued from nearby but from a figure neither man could see - before Miles crouched back down close to Gavin. The two men shared a glance that told the other they knew that whatever came next would determine if they would get out of the forest alive.
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