How about a “I won’t let you” or “I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.” For Philippe
Irony
AN: This is kinda a part two of this one but can be read on its own.
Prompt: I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.
Masterlist
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- The last time Y/N spoke was six days ago. There had been moments where they’d let loose a squeak but no words. It wasn’t as if there were any words for them to say about the situation.
- “I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.”
- Y/N had almost laughed at Philippe - sorry, “Gibson” - saying that, as did he. Safe, exposed on a beach at the edge of enemy lines with no way out? Sounds safe as hell. But they ate those words because even now, after experiencing two sinking vessels, they were with him. Alive because of each other and they did feel safe with him.
- Oh how unfortunate it was for that feeling to end, to find themselves at the end of a rifle in the belly of a doomed Trawler. Many rifles in fact.
- Neither “Gibson” or Y/N had a single clue what the others were saying with their funny accents and weird phrasing that only slightly resembled theirr language. The Angry One, Alex, he was leading.
- The only member of the party on Y/N’s side was the first person they’d met, the one who helped bury the soldiers and took a sip from their water canteen. But since Y/N didn’t know what he was saying in their defence, they couldn’t join in with the verbal dispute or even thank him without giving away their position.
- “French. I’m French.”
- Welp.
- Pushing against the ladder, Y/N glanced back at Philippe and he looked back. While the others seemed to be debating their fate some more, he took their hand and gave it a squeeze. His eyes were wild behind his damp curls hanging in his forehead btut he held back his real thoughts to reassure Y/N.
- “You’re safe. It’s ok.”
- How did he have the guts to say that at a time like this? It was beyond Y/N who froze up as the guns were aimed back at them. The others gestured for Y/N to move up the ladder but Philippe managed to get behind them. He was volunteering to go first.
- Y/N watched him slowly back up then refuse to move any further as the guns were pressed to Y/N’s shoulders. It was meant to commincate to the others that he was willing to go in his comrade’s place.
- However there was too much tension for inferences to be recognised.
- “Go on, both of you.”
- Y/N kept holding Philippe’s hand during this, his skin cracking and damp from the water leaking inside the boat. It restricted their movements so much that they couldn’t in fact leave the Trawler. But somehow their hands linked still made them feel safe. How ridiculous.
Ok so for your signs as prompt lists can I have Sagittarius with Gibson and reader. Please?
Mother Knows Best
AN: This one is a little shorter than the others because today I’ve been real busy :S Sorry!
Prompt: Person A can’t sleep, so Person B holds them, quietly sings to them, and runs their fingers through Person A’s hair
Masterlist
- Facing the sea, Gibson and Y/N watched the waves. It wasn’t as peaceful as others found it. It was moving too much. They held one another tightly, their feet planted firm on the floor to keep their backs pressed against the thin metal wall.
- Screaming and shouting from the beach kept them awake more than anything. Those they had left behind, all strangers but through the same experience they were brothers and sisters and war was their parent. Gibson flinched at each sound, his expression one of begging to the Heavens that they would stop soon. Y/N didn’t know what to do. Unless they floated far enough across the Channel, it wouldn’t stop anytime soon.
- “Que puis-je faire?”
- Gibson shook his head. That was a question they had asked one another for many weeks during this time. The answer was always the same.
- They desperately needed rest. It would take a lot more energy to stay in the UK undetected and now was the time for recuperating. Recalling what Gibson’s mother did from a distant memory, Y/N tried to hum. Their throat was too dry to sing. They couldn’t muster a tune, nothing proper or established. It was waving with their hiccups and the sea.
- However, Gibson laughed a little at their jumping pitches and tones. He lowered his chin to catch their eye. His overgrown hair hung in his forehead.
- “Merci, Y/N.”
- Y/N’s hands formed a loose fist in Gibson’s hair. It had been many months since their standard regulation haircut but they liked it curly. They kissed his temple, one strand of hair caught between his skin and their lips - another method of calming from Gibson’s mother.
- “De rien.”
- - The reminder was bittersweet but at least it wasn’t the beach. So they leant their cheek against the top of his head, their humming continuing.
Everything Tag: @tomgcsglasses and @scottishlowden
Hey love! For the Dunkirk Anniversary Prompt, I'd like to request the Capricorn prompt from The Signs as Cliche but Cute, but with all the characters. Sorry if it's too messy, but I'd like to read about them going camping together and what each of them would do when it starts to rain and they can't figure out how to put up the tents :D Only if you want to, of course ;)
Camping Trip
AN: I did it so that the characters are separated by which section of the film’s narrative they’re in.
Prompt: Person A and Person B want to go camping, but it starts pouring and they can’t figure out how to put up the tent
- Alex and Tommy arrived in France, stepping off the ferry that had carried them across the Channel. Meeting Gibson at the port, they headed to their destination close by, only half an hour on a coach.
- Rain hadn’t been on the forecast yet there was a light sprinkling when they arrived. Muddy grounds and puddles forming didn’t exactly suit their tent well. Gibson grew worried about the interior getting damp. Luckily the outside could be constructed first. Unfortunately, the rain poured harder onto the three of them and Tommy had no idea how to follow the instructions for they were Gibson’s - and thus in French.
- “I don’t know what that means! Why are all the poles so alike and labelled so differently?!”
- Five minutes later, Alex abandoned them when he spied his mates over the other side of camp site. Gibson and Tommy followed him after they realised it was a lost cause trying to put up the tent in the rain, sharing with the Regimental Brothers.
- Since it was a large tent with seperate pods for the people intended to sleep, Gibson, Alex, and Tommy stayed in the main body of the tent.
- Mr Dawson isn’t too savvy with tents; he’s more into the sea cadets than the Scouts. Thankfully George learnt a thing or two about camping when he was testing out his skills in the back garden.
- “I used to sleep outside with my dad when I was younger.”
- However, the instructions got somewhat soaked and the words blurred beyond recognition. So the three decided to improvise.
- Peter became the holder of the poles, some in his hands outstretched and some bent and hanging around his neck. Rain water trickled down his neck, soaking his jumper and his back. Meanwhile George was trying to organise them on the floor with Mr Dawson as his right hand man.
- It took an hour but eventually the tent was set up. It was very fragile and no surprise, it collapsed on itself just minutes later. It was still too wet to set up a campfire so they drove off to grab a takeaway.
- Then the three of them decided to sleep in the car that night, sitting up and snoring in their seats after vowing tomorrow to try again.
- Collins is fine with the weather when it’s a light rain. Not so much when it’s bucketing down. He always said they should just go glamping instead. Farrier only insisted that they go for a real experience like with the tent building training during their service.
- It only took a quarter of an hour for Farrier to give up. He ended up huddling under the skin of the tent, the poles in a pile about him. Collins leant on the car bonnet, his rain mac zipped almost all the way over his face.
- That was when he whipped out his pop-up tent, tossing it like a frisbee to land assembled neatly next to Farrier.
- “I won’t say I told you so.”
- They sat inside, curled up in their sleeping bags and hoodies adjacent to each other and eating snacks. Rain smacked against the canvas from outside but had no way of getting in. It was a tight squeeze, especially with all their belongings tucked at one end. At least the bigger tent had a waterproof bag to sit in. They huddled close and drifted off to sleep.
Summary: The battle is far from over and so is the alliance.
AN: This is the final part of the Alliance Series so I hope you guys enjoyed it and enjoy this. I made it a bit longer than usual because it's the big finale and I had a day off work. @hufflepuff-and-feminist and @firaemsen this one's for you two - my key motivators - and @outofworkactress because I can't wait for more "Je t'aime".
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“GO! We have to GO!”
Y/N felt the current dragging at her ankles as she shoved Gibson away from the hull and towards the ladder. Only then did he notice the water was up past their necks and everyone else had abandoned their task long ago.
Struggling against the water current, Y/N forced herself up the ladder with gulps for air. Pushing off of the sinking deck with water sloshing around her legs, Y/N spotted another ship a quarter of a mile away. The soldiers from the trawler were already paddling towards it.
“Gibson!” She called, backstroking her way over, “Gibson! This way!”
Feeling her body getting sucked down by the water current, Y/N swam harder, pawing through the water. Her stomach was in stitches and the cold water stung against her body but the behemoth ship was so close.
A dreaded droning zoomed overhead. The source of the stomach-churning noise flew overhead and dropped bombs on the only hope of staying alive. Taking a deep breath, Y/N ducked under the water for protection and covered her ears. The explosions sent shockwaves rippling through her body.
When the barrage ended, she broke the surface to see the ship still floating. Y/N swam around to find Gibson but he was nowhere in sight. Frantically, she looked for the others but they were already headed for the dark mass in front of the ship. If Gibson was going anywhere, the Keith was – Y/N did a double take at the dark mass that was diffusing towards her. It was then she realised that the Keith was slowly sinking below the surface, just like the trawler.
Ducking under the water, Y/N saw Gibson wasn't anywhere in the vicinity but there was a sailboat. Her first thought was that it was a mirage but then she saw others swimming towards it. Avoiding the oil, she swam as fast as she could towards it. Hopefully Gibson and Tommy would be doing the same.
As she drew up to the side, a set of arms pulled her out of the water. She tried to climb up the side but her legs were too tired. She was met with a man in RAF uniform and a younger boy in a bright red jumper. A little disorientated, Y/N stared at them with a disgruntled expression.
“Sit down,” The RAF pilot led her to the corner of the boat, out of the way, before returning to help lift other soldiers onboard. Scanning the faces of those who were brought aboard, Y/N didn’t see Gibson or Tommy. Fear spiked in her as Alex came aboard, his face coated in oil, but he didn’t notice her. Instead he headed straight for the companionway.
The Heinkel swarmed around the Keith even as it was shot.
“GO! GO! GO!”
The last soldier was bought aboard as the Moonstone. He collapsed on the deck in front of Red Jumper. It was Tommy. Leaping to her feet, Y/N practically jumped on Tommy and lifted him off the deck.
“Tommy, you’re ok! Did you see Gibson?”
Still catching his breath, Tommy shook his head before he was taken into the companionway. Y/N looked about frantically, the muffled request for her to sit down falling on deaf ears. Gibson wasn’t on the boat. Rushing to the side, she peered at the men left in the water.
She thought she saw him. There were so many so she wasn't sure but she couldn't just abandon him.
“Hey! Hey! What are you doing?” The RAF pilot restrained her as she stood on the edge. Y/N forcefully shoved him back and dove into the water. Like before with the torpedoed boat, adrenaline gave life to her stiff movements. She didn’t have a plan other than to get Gibson.
The man she thought was him had swam away but Gibson was there. He was left in the wake of the Moonstone, thrashing in the water, away from the oil but not safe from the cold shock.
Gibson was sinking into the ocean, his face barely breaking the surface, when she made it to his side, her muscles burning like the fuel on the water. Tiredly treading the water, she lifted him back up and onto his back. He coughed up the water and fought not to cling to Y/N. His boots were still weighing him down.
“Float,” Y/N spluttered, “You float in cold water so the shock wears off!” Her assurance was in vain as Gibson struggled to swim.
“Stop!” She nearly choked on a wave, “It’s ok!” Keeping a hand under his back, Y/N glanced around. The Moonstone was too far away and showed no signs of coming back but there were other sailboats in the near distance.
Lifting Gibson by the scruff of his neck to keep him afloat, Y/N propelled herself towards another sailboat. One painted red was already sailing over towards them. With a dunk and a kick for momentum’s sake, Y/N waved at it and prayed that they would stop to pick them up.
The sailboat slowed, granting Y/N her wish, and a ladder was dropped down as it pulled against the duo. Gibson was no longer thrashing, simply waiting with chattering teeth. Hands reached down to help while he was ushered up the ladder first. Only when he was pulled onboard, his ally followed him up. She wasn’t making that mistake again.
Y/N flopped onto the deck with Gibson next to her. Wheezing loudly, she was helped up and ushered onto the side of the boat. A lifejacket was tossed at her and she plonked herself out of the way. Gibson fell next to her, shivering as he leant on her chest. Y/N curled up her left arm around to cradle his head, resting hers atop it.
No one asked for them to move; even though it made the other uncomfortable to see two men so close, they were too tired to complain.
As evening came, Y/N was watching the sun go down, the pink rays ghosting over the white cliffs of Dorset. Her fingers gently played with Gibson’s hair, working the feeling back into them; it soothed them both into a lulled state and made time move faster. In no time at all, they were approaching the harbour at Weymouth.
Stumbling a little, Y/N stepped onto the harbour’s jetty and, after helping Gibson onto the boards, headed for the train. A chit, some tea and a pastry were thrust into their hands with murmurs of congratulations at their survival.
“Well done, lads,” The man held out a blanket to her. She accepted without looking up to him. Tucking them under her arm, Y/N rested her hand on Gibson’s lower back to guide him onto the train. He had his own sustenance and was copying her body language.
Soon, they were sat at their own table and shielded their faces from those walking past with their food. Gibson forced some of the pasty down his throat, not enjoying the taste or the burning but he kept eating until it was gone. Then he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and used his forearms as a pillow. He dozed off to the sound of the train pulling out of the station.
Ignoring Alex's comment about the old blind man, Tommy tucked himself into his seat. He opened his eyes at the sound of someone dropping something on his table. Y/N was slouched next to Alex, a clear set distance between them, with a blanket in her lap and a ceramic mug of tea in her hand.
What she said next was directed at Alex, “You say anything, I cut your nuts off and stuff ‘em down your throat. Got it?”
Alex looked down, “Gibson?”
“Over there, sleeping. He’s alright, no thanks to you.”
“We won’t say anything,” Alex swallowed hard.
Tommy copied him, tensing at this hardened version of his friend, “How’d you get him out?”
“Jumped in. Got him to another boat.”
“Are you ok?” Tommy asked.
“I will be... Hope you get to take a shit sometime, Tommy.” Y/N stood and started to leave then stopped. Pivoting back, she swallowed some tea before speaking again:
“I’m glad you both made it. Good luck.”
Then she was gone. Neither Alex nor Tommy got the chance to ask for her real name. And Alex didn't have the chance to ask Tommy what she meant about taking a shit before he fell asleep.
Gibson flinched at the sunlight glaring through the window, rendering him disorientated. He looked around and took in his surroundings; most of the soldiers were asleep and those who weren’t were staring at their tables. Instead of joining the status quo, he turned to his comrade.
Y/N was still tucked up against the window. The blanket was tucked over her body with a small section scrunched up in her neck to prop her head up. Stretching his legs, Gibson felt her boots topple over under the table.
The sound of the whistle shook Y/N awake, her blanket falling away from her neck. She glanced out the window to see the stereotypical English countryside.
Y/N leant forward and gestured for him to do the same. Both of them rested their chins on their forearms, their noses almost brushing as Y/N whispered:
“You and me… Travailler ensemble. Protéger les uns les autres. Couvrir les uns des autres…”
She paused, trying to remember what she had to say. Then it came to her.
“Maintenant nous sommes en Angleterre… Tu peux rester avec moi. Chez moi.”
Gibson nodded mutely, near tears. Her French was terrible but it was also somewhat endearing. With what she had given up for him and what she was doing, he didn’t know what to do.
Y/N joked for her benefit, “My translation wasn’t that bad, was it?”
Hiding his face in his sleeves, Gibson wiped his eyes away. He was still waiting to wake up from his nap on the beach. There was no way this person was really letting him do this. It was all just a dream then he’d wake up and have to get back on duty.
But he didn’t wake up. Not when the train stopped or when they passed through the station and not on the entire route to an unknown destination. The walk was long, at least half an hour, and they didn’t go without some strange looks from people. A lot of people. Y/N didn’t stop,
The pair finally arrived at the house. It was squashed on one side at the end of a long line of terraces with grey bricks and uneven slates leading to the front door. But Y/N walked around to the side. Gibson treaded lightly on the lawn on tiptoe, butterflies pounding against the lining of his stomach. This was real. He was going to be ok.
Pushing open the back gate, Y/N stepped into the garden. Gibson took in the sight with wide eyes. Asters, delphiniums, hydrangeas and snapdragons lined the fences. A washing line was filled with fresh clothes that swayed in the wind. Roses climbed up the brickwork and to the windows. Lush grass made the tiny garden feel so much bigger and the trees stretched up to the sky with thick green leaves, blocking the unused privy from view. One had a wooden swing gently rocking back and forth. It was like heaven.
A young man in cotton pyjamas was sat in his wheelchair, staring out into the garden with a lopsided smile. Y/N took a deep breath and walked up to him, leaning over the chair before she whispered something. The young man turned to her and let out a high-pitched groan, his smile widening one side and drooping the other. His twitching arms wrapped around her shoulders.
“Michael, what is it?” A voice called out and Gibson shrank back behind the side alley. A tall commercial woman came out of the kitchen door; she was wearing washing up gloves on that juxtaposed her composed appearance.
“Hey, ma,” Y/N’s voice broke. With a wail, the commercial woman flung herself at Y/N. The pair clung to one another, sobbing into the other’s shoulders. Michael joined in, making a discord of noises. Pulling away, now with a large oil smear down her blouse, the commercial woman held Y/N’s face with tears streaming down her face.
“All your hair’s gone!” She ran a hand through Y/N’s curls, teasing out the knots, “But you’re safe! I saw the paper and I didn’t know what to think!”
Y/N saw Gibson hiding behind the house wall and figured she might as well cut to the chase.
“This is Gibson, can he stay for a bit?”
“Sure. Hello Gibson,” Her mother greeted Gibson with open arms. Looking at Y/N over the stranger’s shoulder, Gibson sent an expression of alarm and instantly Y/N stepped in.
“Careful, he’s shell-shocked.”
Her mother quickly released Gibson and moved away with an “oh”. Gibson looked down at the concrete slabs, his hands twitching. Or were they shivering?
“I’ll make you some food,” Ma said quietly, a little patronising, but Gibson didn’t understand anyway. She then went back into the kitchen but not before hugging her daughter again.
“This is Michael,” Y/N helped Gibson over to the man in the wheelchair, “Michael, this is Gibson.”
Michael waved, his hand flailing a little but a definite improvement compared to when Y/N left. Already shaking with nerves, Gibson continued to stare his lap. Ma didn’t seem to mind his behaviour too much. She made him ham and cheese sandwiches with apple slices and a pint of fresh water. Seeing him nearly choke on his food three times, Y/N started to ration his food between helping Michael with his.
Ma was good enough not to ask about anything that’d happened. Instead, she left them to eat alone and went to draw up a bath for them. As soon as they finished their food, Y/N and Gibson went to clean up.
Up the tiny-staircase, Gibson looked around at the photos and odd décor before he entered Y/N’s room. A simple box with a few photos on the vanity, a wardrobe with minimal clothes and a bed that was a bit bigger than the average twin.
“You can stay here,” Y/N pointed to the bed and then to the bathroom that was adjacent to her room. Gibson followed her finger and shut the door behind him but not before she’d handed him a towel, new toothbrush and a freshly washed set of pyjamas that Michael wasn’t using.
As Gibson gingerly placed his things on the lavatory seat, he rubbed the fluffy towel against his face. The soft fabric caressed his cheek, so different to his uniform. Then he brushed his teeth for the first time in weeks. It felt unusually clean, like stepping into an over-disinfected hospital.
The bath was half full of water and coated in a miniscule layer of bubbles. He knelt in front of the bath and waved a hand through the suds. A wave of fear washed over him and he stood up again, going back into the bedroom to see Y/N who was scrubbing her skin red raw with a nail brush. He coughed to get her attention and her rapid scrubbing stopped.
“You ok?” Y/N said quietly. Blinking back tears, Gibson shook his head.
“Uh,” Y/N folded her shirt while she thought of a solution. Opening the draw, she pulled out a flannel and gingerly took Gibson’s hand to lead him back in. Carefully soaking the flannel, Y/N held it up for Gibson to see before gently dabbing his face. For some reason, her other hand came to gently hold the other side of his face.
Closing his eyes, Gibson leant in her palm as she wiped his face free of oil. The warm water was soft against his skin and her fingers was tenderly stroking the hair that curled around his ear, putting him at ease. In no time at all, his face was clean.
“Do you,” She gestured to him then to the bath, “want to get in?” Gibson shivered before pointing to her and the bath.
“You want me to get in with you?” Y/N repeated the gestures. Gibson nodded. Tapping a random tune on the bath tub rim, Y/N nodded with him before disappearing to grab another towel.
Stripping off his clothes apart from his shirt and underwear, Gibson ripped off the dog tags. He didn’t know what to do with them. They weren’t his. He would have to find the family while he was here and give them the tags. Somehow. Maybe Y/N would help him… What even was her first name?
Y/N was now in an oversized t-shirt, probably her father’s. Placing Gibson’s change of clothes next to their towels, she climbed over the side of the bath and stood in it. Taking her outstretched hand, Gibson stepped into the bath with her. They weren’t completely past the awkwardness surrounding their proximity.
Taking a breath for courage’s sake, Y/N squatted down in the water and rubbed some of the suds against her forearms. It was more pleasant than the scrubbing brush. Gibson squatted down next to her, but refused to sit in the shallow water. Together, they rubbed their bodies free of oil and dirt.
Not exactly ready to dunk her head under water, Y/N used a cupped hand to run some water through her hair. Thrice was enough and Gibson got back out to rub himself dry.
“Merci, Y/N,” He said quietly, his accent distorting her name in the sweetest way possible.
“It’s ok,” She squeezed his shoulder and handed him his towel.
“It’s ok,” He repeated, wiping his arms with a nod and a nervous smile. His eyes were drooping shut as he brushed his face with the towel, his lack of energy hitting him gently.
Y/N let Gibson have the bathroom so he could change in peace. At least they still had those boundaries. It was then Y/N remembered that Gibson wasn’t “Gibson’s” real name. Going into the hallway, she ran her gaze across the bookshelves until she found the French-to-English dictionary.
After jogging her memory, Y/N recalled how to change verbs into the right tense. The gears were as taut as her limbs but she got there. Still, she flicked through the French-to-English dictionary to find the right words in order and practised the question before she spoke.
“Comment vous appelez-vous? Votre vrai nom?” She stammered out, peering into the bedroom to see Gibson curled up on the left side of the bed. He was half-tucked under the covers, lying on his front with his arms above his head and propped under the pillow.
Y/N put the book down on the side and lay down next to him. She stroked his hair one more time before closing her eyes. His name could wait one more night.
AN: For those who didn’t know, Aneurin gave Gibson’s real name.
I love this man. Also, the implication that comes with Michael is that the reader posed as her brother who wasn’t well enough to join the army. Bit o’ a Mulan situation on our hands. Side note: I will be posting an alternative ending to Alliance that *cough* stays true to the film’s canon.
Translations:
You and me…Travailler ensemble. Protéger les uns les autres. Couvrir les uns des autres…
You and me ... Work together. Protecting each other. Cover each other ...
Maintenant nous sommes en Angleterre.
Now we are in England.
Tu peux rester avec moi. Chez moi.
You can stay with me. Home.
Summary: It was wishful thinking on Y/N’s and Gibson’s behalf to hope they would remain completely undetected.
AN: I love my angry boi Alex – even after what he did to Gibson and Tommy - but when he said frog I just broke out of the film. I was nudging and side-eyeing my pal @hie-mal for the next five minutes. She slapped my arm. It was great. I love her and now I'm rambling. Also, I made the reader even angrier so that’s gonna be a good combo.
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Trading sleeping on the beach for sleeping in a grounded trawler, Y/N and Gibson curled into the corner of the boat away from the highlanders that had joined their group. It’d been that way for their walk over to the trawler; Y/N had held back and whispered brief translations to Gibson whenever she could but due to her limited French and more limited time without the watchful stares of the others, Gibson was guessing what was happening and shaking his head or staring blankly whenever one of the soldiers spoke to him.
The names of his other allies – Tommy and Alex – were learnt after Y/N had overheard their exchanged pleasantries while she was “sleeping”.
He was jolted from his pathetic attempt at sleep by footsteps on the deck above him. The others were poised and one of the highlanders gestured with his rifle for Tommy to check the door. Giving into peer pressure, Tommy quietly stepped forward. A shadow passed over the ladder and Tommy pounced.
“Nee, nee!”
His bleated begs confused the soldiers. Tommy grabbed him and pulled him down the ladder where he landed ungracefully amongst the trawler’s new found crew.
“Kraut?” interrogated the more suspicious of Gibson’s allies. He knew what that mean. Evidently the man did not as he looked disorientated at his captors. Alex dropped the slang and the man’s face lit up with recognition.
“Dutch! Dutch! Merchant navy. Here to pick you up. To help you,” His broken English informed the soldiers.
Gibson relaxed as everyone else did and Y/N pushed him gently back into their corner. The Seaman was sat up and his interrogation – albeit without the violence – was continued. Y/N learnt that it would be more hours until the boat would float, which Gibson also gathered from Alex’s annoyed expression – tied to his earlier outburst.
BANG! A hollow gunshot sounded followed by the clatter of the bullet. The hull had a hole, letting in a stream of light. There was silence in the trawler as everyone held their breath.
BANG! Another shot punched through the hull, two feet from the first thus it was two feet closer to the soldiers. The Highlanders scrambled to get away from it, squeezing against the others without removing their stare from holes. Gibson looked over to Y/N who was cowering away.
BANG! A third shot appeared directly above the first. The rule of three was applied and the group were at their wit’s end. Two highlanders grabbed their rifles and went for the ladder. Tommy lifted his head and spoke in a hushed voice.
“No! Then they’ll know we’re in here.”
“Why else are they shooting at us?!” One of the highlanders hissed with a tight grip on his rifle.
Tommy nodded at the hole, “Look at the grouping... Target practice.” The group looked as another hole, near the others, appeared. This confirmed Tommy’s theory but it didn’t help their situation.
A few minutes gone, water began to slop into the lowest hole and L/N fought back a whimper. She’d left her lifejacket on the beach. But it wouldn’t help her anyway; all that would happen was that she would float to the ceiling and drown last, stuck inside the trawler.
With a nod at his comrades, a highlander crept towards the holes to plug them. BANG! The man screamed, falling back as he clutched his face; his friends leapt forward and smothered his cries. Water still flowed in through the holes and crawled towards the group.
Alex hissed the obvious, “We have to plug it!”
“After you, mate!” The same highlander as before shifted away from the holes, still clinging to his rifle like it was his final lifeline. Everyone shared the same mindset and as the tide came in more water slipped into the boat.
Another slang mix-up later, the Seaman gasped out that, even if all the holes were plugged, the trawler would need to lose weight if they wanted to float. There was no way of getting rid of the water without drawing attention to the rest of the soldiers.
“Somebody needs to get off,” Alex said.
“Well volunteered,” A highlander replied with heavy sarcasm.
“We don’t need a volunteer. I know someone who ought to get off.” Y/N tensed up and nudged Gibson as Alex pointed at them.
“They’re German spies.”
Tommy gawked at the accusation, “Don’t be daft.”
Alex continued to stare down Gibson, who was looking away with discomfort. Knowing that Gibson didn’t understand what was happening, Y/N settled for staring back at her accuser.
“They’re bloody Jerrys,” Alex looked at the others with a finger still pointed at the two, “You might not’ve noticed that they haven’t said a word, but I have. They don’t speak English - or if they do it’s with an accent thicker than sauerkraut sauce-”
“You’re daft. Tell him,” Tommy looked at the pair. Unsure of what to do, Gibson stood up against the ladder. He looked down helplessly at Y/N.
“Yeah, tell me. Oh wait, I was wrong. They do speak. Don’t think I missed you two whispering to each other and no one else,” Alex started to get in Y/N’s face so instinctively she knelt up and shoved him back. He landed on his backside amidst the highlanders.
“See that?” Alex pointed at her again as he took one of the highlander’s guns. Gibson impulsively pulled Y/N closer to the ladder as Alex pressed the barrel of his new weapon against his chest, hooking his stolen dog tags.
“Tell me… Gibson and... Y/N.” The other highlanders had joined in, their rifles ganging up on Gibson and Y/N with only one other person on their side.
“Tell him, for God’s sake!” Tommy was far past panicking at this point, praying that Alex wasn’t right as his companion’s silence stacked up the doubt. Alex’s rifle was getting dangerously close to Gibson’s face and he was starting to panic; in a quick movement, Y/N slapped it away. Immediately, one of the highlanders smacked her with the butt of his gun and Gibson cracked.
“FRANÇAIS!” He burst, “Je suis français!”
Tommy stared in shock as Y/N sighed, holding her cheek. A thought niggled its way into her mind: Gibson’s cover was blown but hers was not. She could leave him; she could stay on the boat while he left to let it float. Except…
A burst of gun fire ricocheted through the trawler. With everyone’s attention on the fire, Gibson took Y/N’s face into the light and surveyed the damage: a small cut trickling blood.
“It’s ok,” He said but he didn’t sound convinced. He didn’t even know what he was saying.
The gunshots in the back of his mind, Alex turned on them, “A Frog. Bloody Frogs. Cowardly little queue-jumping Frogs. Who’s Gibson, eh? Y/N? More naked dead Englishmen lying out on that sand. Or did you at least have the decency to bury them?”
“They did,” Tommy defended, “I helped them. I thought it was their mate. They were burying him together.”
“Maybe they killed him-”
“They didn’t kill him.”
“How do we know?!”
Y/N glared at Alex so fiercely that some of the highlanders were tempted to back off. She was slowly getting pissed off at their lack of logic.
“They were looking for a way off the damned sand like the rest of us!”
More bullets thudded into the boat, ramping up the tension and ensuring that the boat wasn’t going to get far across the Channel.
A highlander looked desperately at the Seaman, who had been a bystander to the whole situation, “Will she still float?!”
“Float, yes. With less weight, yes,” The Seaman confirmed again.
“And we know who’s getting off-”
“You can’t do that. We’re on the same side,” Tommy begged. Ignoring his comrade, Alex nudged Gibson with the rifle; hearing his breathing speed up, Y/N stepped in the way.
“Go on, up you go,” He dragged the gun up Y/N’s chest, nearly blowing her cover too, “Both of you.”
“As soon as they poke their head out they’ll slaughter ‘em.”
“Better him than me,” Alex scoffed.
“It’s not fair,” Tommy said softly.
“Survival’s not fair!”
“No, it’s shit,” A highlander spat, “It’s fear and greed. Fate squeezed through the bowels of men. Shit.”
“He saved our lives. They both did!”
“And they’re about to do it again – Go on.” Y/N and Gibson were officially cornered as Tommy was pushed aside towards the Seaman.
“No! Just stop!” He pleaded.
Getting more annoyed with Tommy’s relentless defending, “We need someone to get off so the rest of us can live. You want to volunteer?”
For the first time, Tommy backed down as he came under fire, “No. I’m going home.” Y/N’s will broke. Yeah, he was a bit pathetic without a rifle but Tommy was her friend.
“We’re not going anywhere,” She said, her voice scratchy from lack of use but low enough to pass as a bloke. In an attempt to cover up any suspicion, she licked the blood stream that had made its way to her mouth before spitting it back out. She’d seen men do it plenty of times.
Alex’s head shot around, “You’re English?”
“Yes.”
Alex re-adjusted the grip on his rifle, “Don’t change nothing. You knew he was a Frog and you helped him. Go on!”
“No.”
“I will fucking shoot you.
“Go on then,” said Y/N with a stronger glare.
Alex paused, his finger brushing against the trigger. Preparing to grab the gun, Gibson slowly moved but Y/N, behind her back, took his hand and hoped he would understand that she was prolonging their time on the ship – and thus the chance of survival. In an attempt to aid translation but also for comfort, she squeezed it. He shakily squeezed back.
“None of you can do it,” She spoke a little louder over the water sloshing outside.
“I will shoot you if you don’t get up that ladder!” Alex matched her volume.
“But then what?” Y/N thought before continuing, “You think the Germans won’t think to check the boat for you if they hear two gun shots in it?”
Mulling over their long-term existence, the Highlanders look doubtful but keep their stance. So Y/N continued, releasing Gibson’s hand.
“Water’s fucking heavy in case you didn’t notice. We aren’t going to make the difference. Even if we all got off, the boat’d still sink.”
Alex saw the weakening will of his side, “I will-”
“I know, shoot us,” Y/N interrupted, more annoyed, “You keep saying. But which of you is gonna volunteer to drag our corpses off to make this float? ‘Cause I don’t know about you but I don’t think we’ll be up for climbing out when we’re dead.”
“I’ll shoot you in the foot,” Alex replied after a pause, lowering his rifle to the floor.
“Still gonna need our feet to get up the ladder,” L/N snarked, taking another sly step forward.
Meeting her annoyance, Alex pressed the rifle back into her chest, “Aren’t you a smart one?” He prodded her again, this time on the cut on her cheek.
Gibson grabbed her shoulder, “Arrêtez! Ne la pousse pas!”
“Shut up, Frog!”
“Laisse la tranquille! Elle m’aide!” Gibson cried again, only to be silenced by Y/N holding her hand up to him.
“It’s ok,” She assured him with a quick glance over her shoulder.
“Ok,” He repeated, still unconvinced. Y/N looked back at her accusers but Alex’s appearance of annoyance had shifted into one of disbelief.
“You’re a girl.”
With calm anger, Y/N said in a semi-believable tone of disbelief, “What?”
“Froggy here said “elle”. You’re a girl.”
“Fuck,” Y/N let slip and Alex’s expression hardened.
“So what? You his girlfriend?” He prodded her again with his rifle on both sides of the chest in an obscene gesture. Y/N slapped the gun away again and raised her fist at the soldier who’d hit her before to block any more attacks. Instead, the highlander looked nervous and was fidgeting with his rifle.
“Alex, mate,” He said nervously, “I don’t know how I feel about sending a girl out there.”
Alex wasn’t listening, “You blackmail him into keeping your dirty little secret so you don’t rat him out?”
“Think you’re forgetting that our priority is we’re in a sinking ship and you have a gun on us,” Y/N kept her voice low then made a grab for the rifle. Alex tackled her and attempted to pry his rifle back as he sat on Y/N’s stomach, her head almost completely underwater. To the rescue, Tommy jumped at Alex to pull him off Y/N. Gibson, in turn, wrestled with the highlanders, tugging them away from his friends. The scuffle landed against the hull of the ship. In time with their collision to the floor, the ship levelled out in the water.
“FLOAT! WE FLOAT!” The Seaman cried, leaping out of his corner.
“START THE BLOODY ENGINE!” cried a highlander, still trying to get to Y/N. The Seaman was already crawling out of the hatch. The engine roared into life and instantly drew attention.
Machine-gun fire spread across the hull of the boat. Y/N ducked under the water, grabbing Alex by the shirt to pull him under next to her. Sea water bit at her cut and air burned her lungs as the bullets pierced the hull nearby. Releasing the gun, Y/N covered her ears with her eyes screwed up.
The water level rose faster with the new holes in the hull. Pushing Alex away, Y/N popped her head over the surface once the shooting had stopped, gasping for air. The rest of the soldiers were looking around at the holes.
She felt a tug on her shoulder and saw Gibson was floating next to her, spluttering in the rising water. His hand was still touching her shoulder so she took it again to help him stand. Ignoring his anger from moments ago, Alex crawled over to the stairs and climbed out into the well, his head poking out to talk to the Seaman.
“You ok?” Y/N asked Gibson then spat out some water she’d accidentally swallowed.
“Ok,” Gibson spoke over the sound of rushing water.
“Tommy?”
“I’m good!” He called from the other end of the boat. More gunfire hit the cabin above their heads; the soldiers ducked back under the water which was up to their waists by this point.
“Yeah, we’re fine, thanks!” The closest highlander yelled sarcastically.
“Fuck off, you hit me with your gun!” Alex took this opportunity to crawl back down, slipping at the bottom of the ladder.
“PLUG THE HOLES! PLUG THE HOLES!”
Scrabbling for the rags she’d spotted earlier, Y/N pressed them into the holes. The water was too strong though, destroying their futile attempts to keep the boat afloat. The lack of light made it impossible to find anything else to solve their problem.
In one final go at saving their boat, all the soldiers pressed their fingers and palms against the hull. Water continued to seep through. It sloshed from above and down the trapdoor, nearly blocking their only way out. They weren’t going to make it.
AN: Yeah, I meant what I said when I referenced the final section being split unnecessarily into two parts. And it’s gonna take a while to write it because it’s gonna be even more unnecessarily long. Sorry @firaemsen and @hufflepuff-and-feminist
Translations:
Arrêtez la tranquille!! Ne la pousse pas!
Stop ! Don’t push her!
Laisse la tranquille! Elle m’aide!
Leave her alone! She’s helping me!
Summary: A French soldier will do anything to get home. He soon finds someone who will help him do so - over the mutual problem of their identity.
AN: I might make a second part of this – because it’s quite short - but I don’t know *spoilers ahead* if I’d change it so that Gibson lived. Let me know!
Masterlist Next Part
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The soldier looked at the tags on the corpse: Gibson. That was his new identity. He would get out of France and off this beach as Gibson. He would just have to stay quiet. That wasn’t hard.
Feeling numb to what he was doing, "Gibson" continued to strip down the soldier and pull on his attire. It would be easy enough to blend in now. The bundle of clothes he’d shed with his French persona sat in the lap of the corpse. He found a small canteen, still with water sloshing about in it. Swilling out his mouth and gulping the water down, Gibson stared out at the masses on the beach.
He froze as he heard grunting from behind the sand dune. Then he heard the sound of someone pissing. Thank god, it was just someone using the facilities. As he pulled up the trousers and did up the belt, Gibson caught sight of the cause of his apprehension.
A soldier was squatting, obviously going to the toilet, with their rifle laid out beside them. But why would he be squatting if he was urinating - oh…
“Oi!” Gibson froze as the soldier accosted him, “What the fuck are you looking at?”
Gibson gawked, his mouth ajar as he failed to respond. The soldier hoisted up her pants and advanced on him with a fierce glare and an even fiercer blush. She held her trousers up with one hand and pointed with the other as she stood atop the sand dune.
“You say a word of this to anyone, I have shoot off your nuts and stuff them down your throat.”
Gibson blinked, unable to distinguish what she was talking about. But by her tone, she was angry and probably threatening him.
“Well? Do you have anything to say? Anything at… all.”
She stopped as she caught sight of the soldier half buried in the sand. Her stare switched to the man who had caught her. His uniform was half on him and half on the body. The bundle
“You’re French… Vous êtes Français?”
Gibson nodded slowly as he realised he too was caught out. The soldier picked up his dog tags and read them then held out hers: Y/N.
“Gibson, parlez vous Anglais?”
“Non,” Gibson shook his head, his damp curls moving over his forehead into a fringe as he did so.
“Of course, you don’t,” Y/N sighed, “OK, j’ai un... plan.” Her accent dropped with the final word, unable to think of the French equivalent. But Gibson seemed to understand.
“Vous... me....,” Y/N looked up as she fumbled over her words, biting her lip and counting off her fingers, struggling to find the right pattern. But Gibson found it somewhat endearing she was trying so hard, even with the terrible accent.
Finally, she spoke again, “Travailler ensemble. Protéger les uns les autres. Couvrir les uns des autres.”
Gibson nodded with understanding at the broken French. Y/N looked cheered that she was getting her message across with having to resort to charades.
“Puis nous arrivons à l’Angleterre,” Y/N finished, “Ok?”
“Ok,” Gibson said. Y/N winced at his thick accent.
“Vous… shhhh,” She mimed zipping her lips and pointed at him. Then she winced again at her terrible gestures, “Sorry.”
“Ok,” Gibson said slowly before copying her, zipping his own lips. He picked up the canteen and held it out to her – a peace offering. Accepting the half-empty canteen, Y/N carefully sipped with her cupped hand ready to catch the droplets. She gratefully gulped down the water before handing it back to Gibson who made an attempt to smile.
Y/N moved back around the sand dune and knelt before the body. Carefully, she continued to bury the soldier, scooping up sand in her hands and smoothing it over with the dunes. Meanwhile Gibson finished pulling on his new clothes, now tying the laces on his new boots. Y/N was almost completely done with the burial when Gibson swatted her.
She glanced up to see another soldier close by, squatting in the sand, and staring back at them.
Translations:
Vous êtes Français?
You are French?
Parlez vous Anglais?
Do you speak English?
Vous… et me… Travailler ensemble. Protéger les uns les autres. Couvrir les uns des autres.
You… and me… Work together. Protecting each other. Cover each other.
Puis nous arrivons à l’Angleterre.
Then we come to England.
AN: I’m not gonna lie. I thought about doing the ol’ hetero hands-meet-cute over burying the dead body. What a nice thing to tell the parents when you first meet them.
AN: Here we go, the angst ending no one asked for but got anyway. This one is significantly shorter than the other ending, a lot less pleasant and focuses on a split second decision that parallels with one Gibson made in part 2 with worse outcomes. I cried because my boy deserves better. But this concludes Alliance.
Tagging: @hufflepuff-and-feminist, @firaemsen and @outofworkactress and @fandomsinthegalaxies
Nicer Ending Masterlist Gif Credit
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“GO! We have to GO!”
Y/N felt the current dragging at her ankles as she shoved Gibson away from the hull and towards the ladder. Only then did he notice the water was up past their necks and everyone else had abandoned their task long ago.
Struggling against the water current, Y/N forced herself up the ladder with gulps for breath. Pushing off of the sinking deck, she spotted another ship a quarter of a mile away. The soldiers from the trawler were already paddling towards it.
“Gibson!” She called, backstroking her way over, “Gibson! This way!”
Feeling her body getting sucked down by the water current, Y/N swam harder, pawing through the water. Her stomach was in stitches and the cold water stung against her body but the behemoth ship was so close.
A dreaded droning zoomed overhead. The source of the stomach-churning noise flew overhead and dropped bombs on the only hope of staying alive. Taking a deep breath, Y/N ducked under the water for protection and covered her ears. The explosions sent shockwaves rippling through her body.
When the barrage ended, she broke the surface to see the ship still floating. L/N swam around to find Gibson but he was nowhere in sight. Frantically, she looked for the others but they were already headed for the dark mass in front of the ship. If Gibson was going anywhere, the Keith was – Y/N did a double take at the dark mass that was diffusing towards her. It was then she realised that the Keith was slowly sinking below the surface, just like the trawler.
Ducking under the water, Y/N looked to see if Gibson was anywhere in the vicinity but instead there was a sailboat. Her first thought was that it was a mirage but then she saw others swimming towards it. Avoiding the oil, she swam as fast as she could towards it. Hopefully Gibson and Tommy would be doing the same.
As she drew up to the side, a set of arms pulled her out of the water. She tried to climb up the side but her legs were too tired. She was met with a man in RAF uniform and a younger boy in a bright red jumper. A little disorientated, Y/N stared at them with a disgruntled expression.
“Sit down,” The RAF pilot led her to the corner of the boat, out of the way, before returning to help lift other soldiers onboard. Scanning the faces of those who were brought aboard, Y/N didn’t see Gibson or Tommy. Fear spiked in her as Alex came aboard, his face coated in oil, but he didn’t notice her. Instead he headed straight for the companionway.
The Heinkel swarmed around the Keith even as it was shot.
“GO! GO! GO!”
The last soldier was bought aboard as the Moonstone. He collapsed on the deck in front of Red Jumper. It was Tommy. Leaping to her feet, Y/N practically jumped on Tommy and lifted him off the deck.
“Tommy, you’re ok! Did you see Gibson?”
Still catching his breath, Tommy shook his head before he was taken into the companionway. Y/N looked about frantically, the muffled request for her to sit down falling on deaf ears. Gibson wasn’t on the boat. Rushing to the side, she peered at the men left in the water.
“Hey! Hey! What are you doing?” The man in the RAF uniform restrained her and she hesitated. There was a man nearby but she couldn’t discern his features. It wasn’t Gibson, she couldn’t be sure, could she?
“Sit down, son.” A hand pressed her into the deck of the boat among the rest of the soldiers. Her expression matched the rest of theirs as the dread set in. Any thoughts she had of him surviving diminished into nothing.
Ignoring Alex’s comment about the old blind man, Tommy tucked himself into the seat. He opened his eyes at the sound of someone dropping something on his table. Y/N was slouched next to Alex, a clear set distance between them, with a blanket in her lap and a ceramic mug of tea in front of her. Both young men looked up and down the aisle expectantly. But no one else sat with them.
They slowly looked back to Y/N and their suspicions were confirmed with her look of resigned despair. Tears were building in her eyes but she stubbornly held them back.
“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” She asked, her voice breaking at the end as she looked up from her cup, silently pleading. Alex swallowed, the guilt of his actions suddenly hitting him. She’d saved his life at the expense of her friend’s. Him, the man who’d tried to send her to her death and accused her of cold-blooded murder.
Brushing away his own tears, Alex shook his head. Tommy did the same before tucking his legs back up on his side and closing his eyes again. Y/N barely got out a “thank you” before turning her head and burying it in the blanket on the table, too tired to move and too proud to let them see her cry.
But they could see it. Her shoulders were shaking and her sniffs weren’t as quiet as she wanted them to be. Alex tried to comfort her with a hand on her shoulder but she flinched and shifted it off. Unable to think of anything to do, Tommy and Alex tried to go to sleep.
Y/N was still the same in the morning. She said nothing, just looking up and down at the other soldiers. Part of her still forlornly hoped that Gibson would walk down the aisle and tell her that it was ok with his thick accent. The part changed the aisle to the station as she finally moved out of the way for Alex to get off and then it changed to the street as she walked home.
Her mother cried, Michael crowed but she couldn’t do anything at their reunion but think about how she left Gibson to die. Gibson… that’s what killed her. Her biggest “what if” was a man she didn’t know the real name of. She would never find out who he really was. She would never go to France and find his parents to tell them about what he did. He was just a face now.
Dirty and still in her uniform, Y/N curled up on her bed and stared at the wall. She got what she wanted – she was home – but it wasn’t enough.
