Rambo First Blood said something. It was a commentary on how America treats it's veterans of war, discards them as if one can simply "turn off" the impact of shell shock and all the brutality of falling head first into hell on earth.
Rambo First Blood Pt. 2 and Rambo 3 were big budget action movies set to capitalize on a character that is now largely expendable and used as a weapon.
Rambo (Rambo 4) and Rambo Last Blood (Rambo 5) fully accept and gleefully rejoice in what the character John Rambo has become: Exploitation. Grindhouse. Murder fantasies based on revenge in being a victim of a system that is inherently broken. This is not to say by any means that I do not enjoy these films. Quite the opposite, my favorite films are within the genre of revenge and exploitation. Irresponsible style over substance, one track mindedness, and heart ripping gore so brutal and vivid one would br forgiven for thinking there must have been a sale on vacuous containers full of fake blood.
Context: John has told Gabrielle about the reader's situation, and she's not happy.
Uploading this because I have not had time to write anything decent, so have a fic I never actually thought about uploading😅
Masterlist
The tension in the air is thick, nearly suffocating as we sit there in silence, my confusion and curiosity mounting as Gabrielle continues to drive, seemingly upset by something. It's been a good ten minutes of this now: neither of us talking, not even looking at each other. I have no idea what changed, but something is up.
Eventually, I feel my curiosity come to a head.
"Gabrielle, what's wrong? You've been cold ever since you picked me up." I finally ask, looking over at her.
She glances at me, eyes betraying her worry and concern, as well as some hurt, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. After a moment, she replies.
"Are we close, (Y/n)? Do you trust me?"
Her questions stump me, my head cocking in confusion.
"Yeah, of course we are. I'd trust you with my life." I respond, thinking the answer is obvious - she does have my full trust, despite the secrets I've kept from her.
"And we'd tell each other anything? Right?" She continues, swallowing.
"Yeah, of course." I agree, more hesitantly this time, catching on now.
"Then why didn't you tell me you were sleeping on the streets?"
And there it is. The one topic I had hoped would never be discussed between us.
Sighing, I look down at my lap, my fingers starting to fumble with one another, picking at the chapped skin, my body tense now.
"It's not a big deal." I murmur, knowing she won't let it go if I don't answer.
"Not a big deal?! (Y/n)l, you've been sleeping in the freezing cold every night for months! And you can't have been eating very well either! It's a very big deal!" Gabrielle exclaims, grip tight on the steering wheel.
"It's not that bad! I'm fine!" I try to protest, only to be cut off by her.
"No, (Y/n), you're not fine! You never told me your foster parents kicked you out! I thought everything was ok!" She argues, taking a breath, "Why didn't you tell me? I'm your friend, aren't I?"
"Yeah, you are. You're the best friend I could ever have hoped for, and so I didn't want to tell you, so that I wouldn't worry you. I'm fine, honestly. It's not so bad when you get used to it." I reason with her, looking over at her.
"(Y/n), I could have helped you sooner! You're my friend, and that has to mean something!" She sighs again, looking down momentarily, "I just wish you told me."
"I'm sorry, Gabrielle. I didn't want to worry you." I apologise sincerely, keeping my eyes trained on her.
"I guess. Have you got all your stuff with you?" She asks me, glancing back at my rucksack, which I have at my feet.
"Yeah, why?" I lift an eyebrow.
"Good, because you're gonna come live with us."
I double take.
"Pardon?"
"You're gonna stay with us, (Y/n). Mum and Uncle John are ok with it." Gabrielle frowns a little, "Actually, it was Uncle John who suggested it. I think he wants you to work for him, too. With the horses."
Blinking, I sit back, left speechless by the offer, the kindness shown by my friend unbelievable to me.
"You...he...you actually…" I stammer, struggling to find the words.
"Yeah. He told me about your situation." She shakes her head, "I can't believe you told him and not me."
"I didn't actually mean to." I laugh nervously, still reeling from her previous words.
"Still." She smiles at me, laughing a little.
We drive for another ten minutes, during which time I thank her profusely for the help, eternally grateful to her and her family for offering to take me in, and potentially offer me a job on top. The ranch is cast in relative darkness as we arrive, the only light flowing out from the doors of the house in the middle, where two figures are visible, sat on the veranda. As we near, they stand, coming to greet us as Gabrielle parks the car.
Grabbing my stuff, I bite my lip, nervous now, hesitating before I open the door, taking a deep breath to steady my suddenly racing heart. Naturally, Gabrielle notices my hesitance, reaching out to place a hand on my arm momentarily, goosebumps spreading across my skin where she touches me, climbing out of the car after a moment, leaving me to do the same. Gingerly, I swing open the door and get out, lifting my rucksack onto my shoulder, lingering behind my friend as she goes to her family, watching with a familiar sense of envy as she embraces both Maria and John. Chewing my lip, I adjust my grip on my bag and step into the light, unsure of what to say or do, staying quiet as they greet each other, suddenly finding myself held in a hard stare as John looks over at me.
Swallowing, I try to form a smile, only for it to fall flat as my nerves get the better of me, his practiced gaze not doing anything to ease this until his own lips quirk up into a gentle grin. I have to fight back my look of surprise, having very rarely seen him smile, and having never had it directed at me, trying to regain some composure as Gabrielle suddenly gestures for me to come closer. Hesitantly, I do so, hopelessly aware now of my dishevelled, dirty appearance, the weeks of sleeping rough having had an effect on me that I'd rather they couldn't see.
"(Y/n), you should've told us sooner! You're Gabrielle's friend, we could've helped!" Maria says to me, beaming at me as she comes nearer, pulling me into an unexpected embrace; the woman has always been fond of me, but this is a first.
"I'm sorry, Maria, I just didn't want to cause any unnecessary worry or problems." I apologise, returning the hug briefly, knowing how my heart throbs from finally recovering some form of affection, "I feel terrible taking your offer, even now."
"But why? You know you're always welcome here." She continues, leading me up onto the veranda, where we stop to face John.
"I know. It just feels like way too much to ask for, and I don't deserve the kindness you're offering me." I reply, looking down at my feet in embarrassment.
"Psh, of course you do." Maria waves me off, "Come on, let's get you something to eat. You've met John before, haven't you?"
Nodding, I send the older man a small smile.
"Briefly." I extend my hand, "Thank you for helping me out, sir."
After a moment, John takes my hand in his, his rough skin rubbing over my own chapped palms, dark eyes boring into mine.
"Call me John. And don't worry about it. I'm no stranger to your situation." He shakes my hand, his grip tight around mine, a smile playing at his lips, "Welcome to the family."
Even at 73 years old, Sylvester Stallone stills shows that John Rambo is a f**kin animal in Last Blood, could have been a little bit longer and had little more action but this was still a pretty good next installment "NOTHING IS OVER, NOTHING, YOU JUST DON'T TURN IT OFF!"
