Chapter Text
July 18th, 1944
The sound of boots on dirt roads is all that Lieutenant Dean Winchester can hear. The sun was burning bright, the air was warm, dewy tinted with salt from the sea. That morning Dean felt good. Maybe for the first time in days, things didn’t seem so extreme, so dire. And maybe it was weird that the rhythmic sound of boots calmed his heart.
Right, left, right, left, right, left.
Laughter echoed behind him in formation as one of his men rattle off a joke. The sound was quiet, like a whisper. He didn’t listen.
Dean squinted into the sun and then he heard one of his men break formation and jog ahead of him. “Lieutenant Winchester, I’ve got a joke for you.” Private Milligan walked backwards, breaking into a lazy jog. He was out of step and the rhythm of the company was not right anymore.
“Milligan, get back in line!” Dean ordered, his jaw tight.
The kid was no older than nineteen, a kid by all standards. He was younger than Dean’s younger brother, so somehow he looked like a little boy in his oversized helmet, with his rifle slung over his shoulder. “Come on, Lieutenant! Just one joke. Just one smile, not everything has to be so goddamn serious all the time.”
Deans eyebrows furrowed, meeting in the middle of his already wrinkled forehead. It was a good day and they were hopeful and Dean’d be damned if he tipped that hope away from this kid. “Fine, but it better be damned good, Milligan.”
“You got it, Sir.” Private Milligan grinned wide.
Right, left, right, left, right, left.
“So, a soldier walks into this club in a city in the outskirts of France, and there’s a girl, right? Pretty little thing. She comes up to this soldier. Saunters over, and he’s thinking… Hell, I’ve never seen hips like those.”
There are moments when time slows down. The first snow fall on a cold morning in Lawrence, a shared look with a pretty girl across a crowded bar, the smile on Sam’s face when Dean made a dumb joke. Those moments were nothing like this one.
Right, left, right, left, right, left.
Private Milligan jogged backwards ahead of the whole platoon and he gestures wildly with his arms, as if he’s telling the joke on a freaking stage and they were his audience. His teeth fully exposed and shining in the bright morning sunlight. He was still smiling when his back foot landed on the mine buried under the dirt. It was small, and rudimentary. It didn’t appear to be military grade, but yet…
Dean saw it before he heard it. Milligan’s foot landed with a soft thud on the dirt road. It was like he landed on a geyser, dirt and rock spraying up around him. It was almost spectacular, the wave of dirt swirled around him, reminding Dean of the tornado that almost took their house when he was eight.
Something hit his chest, hard, knocking him off his feet. On the fall he watched the crystal clear blue sky, littered with flying dirt like a Summer rain falling around him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel like he was at home again, with Sam. He felt something wet and warm on his face. His eyes fluttered open. It wasn’t rain that rolled down his cheek, it was deep red and sticky, like his mother’s cherry pie filling.
Dean pulled himself to his feet, forcing himself forward. There was a ringing in his ears, distinct and sharp, from his closeness to the blast. His eyes scanned his surroundings, looking for the kid. The kid he let out of step. The kid who just wanted to make him laugh.
“Goddammit! Cover! Cover! Everyone off the road! Off the road! Go go go!” He screamed himself hoarse because he couldn’t hear his own voice. He wanted to call out for a medic but then he realized that there wasn’t even enough of Milligan left to save.
Dean crouched down in the dirt and noticed the lone boot. It was Milligans. Shit!The kid was his responsibility, and now all he had was a spare foot in a fucking boot to send home to his family. The folded flag wouldn’t be enough to explain that he wasn’t coming home. He wasn’t coming home because he wanted to make his Lieutenant laugh. He wasn’t coming home because his Lieutenant was too distracted to realize that there was no laughter in war. There was no hope.
***
July 21st, 1944
Dean knocked at the door of the makeshift office of his CO before he straightened up and calling out, “Winchester, permission to enter, Sir.”
“Permission granted.” The voice of Captain Mills was rough and maybe a little hoarse. No wonder, there were lots of shouting going on before they finally managed to take over Saint Lo and liberated the city of Germans. If it weren’t for the whiskey Dean had stashed away, he was sure he’d sound about the same.
The battle was a hard one. They were cut off from the other companies for a whole fucking day and the Germans moved in on them. Well, technically Dean’s company moved in through the front line of the Germans defense without them even knowing it. He didn’t know how it could happen, but he hoped that it wouldn’t happen again. It helped that a company of the 3rd Battalion did manage to break through to Able company. They were able to supply the trapped soldiers with food, but unfortunately, they were still low on ammunition, but at least moral did take a leap there - up until the tanks came toward them. They worked with the ammunition they still had on them and fluked their way out of the misery.
Dean had lost a third of his platoon and half of the men who are left, were wounded. A couple of them would be able to return, but the rest would get an express ticket back to England. He was surprised that he was still standing after it all. Maybe someone up there really, really liked him. He couldn’t lie, he had some close encounters with death. Especially the grenade that was thrown to his feet but, by some dumb luck, never exploded. Dean already saw his life passing him by in the back of his mind and, strangely, the only thing he hoped for was that there would be enough of him left to put in the ground. And, of course, he thought about Sam. How Sam was doing. He was out there somewhere, too, even though Dean never knew where. Sam was with the 3rd Battalion and they wrote to each other when they could. He hoped, above anything else, that Sam was doing alright.
The heavy door creaked open, ripping Dean back to the present, and he stepped in, whirling up dusts of sand. Captain Mills hunched over reports of the other platoons at his makeshift desk, that consists of old tires and a wooden plank, when he looks up to Dean. “Lieutenant, please, tell me you have good news.” The look on his face was hopeful and Dean almost felt bad that he won’t be able to live up to the expectations of his CO. Dean liked Captain Mills, the man did a good job. He didn’t want to disappoint him, but in war, he was learning, disappointment was the name of the game.
Dean strolled toward the table. He wished that he could cheer the Captain up. He forced a charming smile, it was the best he could do. “Sorry to burst your bubble, sir.”
“Ah, shit.” Captain Mills exhaled and rubbed at his eyes with his fingers that were smeared with dried blood and coated in dirt. He left a streak on his cheek. Dean wanted to point it out, but decided against it.
“Sir, we need replacements. I have less than half of my men left standing, and our sharpshooter is out.” Dean dropped the piece of paper onto Captain Mills’ table. Lord knows that he could use some technicians as well, but he also knew that at that point, he could consider himself lucky if he got privates who knew their elbows from their assholes. Word was that Basic was cut short, because they were losing too many men.
“Yeah, doesn’t look any better for Novak, Balthazar and Gabriel’s platoons either. You get what you get, Lieutenant.” Captain Mills clutched Dean’s report in his fingers and looked up to him with tired eyes.
Dean knew that. He got what he got, and he would be lucky if he got anything at all in that goddamn place.
“Thanks, Winchester.” Captain Mills said again, standing from his chair. He walked around the table to put a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re my 2IC, do you think you’ll be ready?”
Dean wet his lips. They felt too dry all of a sudden. He frowned as he looked at his Captain, wondering whether the question was a joke. “Come on, you don’t mean that, Sir.”
“I actually don’t, but I think that my luck’s going to run out soon, Lieutenant.” Captain Mills said with a heavy sigh. He looked exhausted, heavy bags drooping under his eyes, despite him being only 31.
“You wanted Hitler’s head on a stick, Sir, and I expect you do hold it up for us.” Dean tried to make him smile, and it worked.
Captain Mills shook his head, a small grin spreading on his face. “Oh, the faith you have in me, Winchester.”
Dean shrugged with an easy smile on his lips, before Mills said that he’s dismissed.
Dean stepped out into the hot day and walked back to the building where the Baker company were staying until they could move out again. Move forward. There was always a new battle. A new city to liberate. A new stronghold to assault. New casualties, new deaths. His trigger finger twitched at his side, as he focused on the steady one two pace of his boots on the dirt.
He didn’t want to admit to Captain Mills that he was scared to lead. Leading a platoon was one thing, but leading the whole Baker Company was a whole different animal. Dean couldn’t care less about paperwork, and he didn’t know why Mills didn’t appoint Cas to be his 2IC. Cas would be a fabulous leader. He was fearless and he loved what he did. Dean was only good in following orders and cheering people up. Although, he could be a pain in the ass too, especially to new recruits, but that’s a whole other story. He guessed that there was only one way to his heart and to earn his trust and they’d have to work hard to get there.
At that moment, Dean tried not to think about it. Mills would lead them to Germany and Dean would try to keep himself and Mills alive plus all the other men whose life had been trusted to him. Dean shook the thought of Mills out of his head, because, right then, he wanted to think about the roof over his head. Wanted to think about the hot meal that he’d be getting tonight. He’d been out there for so long, he didn’t even know how real food tasted anymore and his mouth started to water just thinking of it. It was the little things, like Winchester Surprise and letters from Sammy that got him through the day. That helped him suffer through the bland rations and blistering Summer sun.
January, 1940
Jamie Blum lived alone with her three brothers in the rural town of Trenton in North Carolina. Life had never treated them well, but the four of them learned how to get by, if only by each other.
Their mother died when she gave birth to the twins, Jamie and her brother Jameson. Their father was an alcoholic, always had been from the way her brothers talked, and they were probably right. She didn’t need to be a genius to notice the alcohol influence in their names. Jim, Jack, Jameson, and Jamie. Well, their father named her Jamie, because he couldn’t be bothered to search for a girls name for her.
Their father slipped into depression after the death of his wife. Her oldest brother, Jim, found him in the garage one day, and told the others not to come in because there was not a lot left of their father’s face to be recognized. The day their father ate the bullet was the beginning of the end for the Blum children.
Jim and Jack dropped out of school straight after, taking on two to three jobs to keep the house and the twins in school. They insisted school was the only job for Jamie and Jameson. Do good at school, make them proud. Make Mom proud.
A year before the twins finished High School, they came home to a stuffed duffle bag next to Jim’s feet. “I enlisted.” He muttered, avoiding the eyes of his siblings.
Jamie would never forget holding him tight and crying into his chest. She tried everything to stop him. She insisted that she’d be able to help when she finished school. That he didn’t have to do it. It wasn’t the only way. “It’s only one year longer, Jim, please!”
Jim was having none of it. He held her face in his big hands, and looked her directly in the eye. He told her to keep on studying. His voice shook and it took everything in him to keep his hands steady as he swung his duffle over his broad shoulder. He prayed that his siblings would have better lives than he ever did. He wanted them to at least have a shot at it.
He left that evening, traveling cross country to get to the training camp. He promised to send his wages. It’d be more than he could earn there, he said before adding, that he calculated the numbers in his head, and if his figures were right, they could keep the house for a couple of years.
Jamie didn’t want to interrupt, even though it hurt, she didn’t want to say that there was no worth in keeping a house that he wouldn’t be coming home to. There was no sense in living in an empty box, but she didn’t say anything. Instead she wept into his chest. She had a gut wrenching feeling that she would never see him again, so she held on tight, her fingers curled in his shirt for as long as he’d let her hold on.
***
August, 1940
Jack had been antsy after Jim left. Even though Jim thought his leaving would relieve some of the pressure, it just continued to build inside of the second oldest Blum sibling. Jack was the head of the house. He had the role of father, mother, and eldest brother. So, when he heard the news about the upcoming draft, he decided that he wasn’t going to wait for it. It was the honorable thing to do, for country, and for his family. It was during the summer break from school when Jack, too, left Jamie and Jameson.
Jack, too, said that he’d send his wages home, and Jamie wondered that what the point of it all was? What was the point of having extra money when there was no one to hold her when she felt weak? When there was only half of her family left to return to after a long day? Who would Jameson look up to with both of her older brothers gone? She didn’t say all of the things that made her head spin, though. Instead she held tight to Jack and cried.
She never felt like much of a crier, but with every brother that walked out the door, with a duffle bag over his shoulder, another piece of her chipped away. She was dust in the wind, every blow sending away another piece of her. The pieces were so far away she couldn’t grab them in her hands, and she watched as they slipped through her fingers.
Her brother released her grip, and without second glance, Jack walked to the bus stop with his bag heavy on his shoulders.
***
September, 1940
Jamie and her brother were only 19 when Jameson decided that he, too, wanted to register for the draft. They sat at the kitchen table, across from each other, about to eat a meal that Jamie had worked on for the last hour. She tried all she could for any sense of normalcy since her oldest brothers left.
Although the twins were only a breath apart, they felt like miles when Jameson met her eyes, identical to his own. “I can’t stay here, Jamie.” Jamesons voice was low, barely a whisper. He picked at his food, absentmindedly, and all Jamie could think was, does he not like it? It felt stupid, but she was in shock. He swallowed down the lump that built up in his throat, and it was as if Jamie could feel it too. She swallowed.
She didn’t feel hungry anymore, and she stared at her brother, watching as his eyes well up. She tried to stab her fork into her dinner, but her vision was blurry and she didn’t even know if she managed to put something on it. She wanted to eat. Food was scarce, and they always finished their plates, no matter what. She tried to think about her empty stomach and that she needed food to survive, but couldn’t. Not while she felt like someone was clutching her insides in their hand. Not while they were squeezing hard.
“If you go, I go.” She thought she was talking to herself, but the words came out louder than she wanted them to, and she was sure that Jameson heard them, too.
Jameson frowned at her, knotting his eyebrows in the center of his forehead. “Jamie, you’re a girl.”
It was out and she couldn’t take it back, so she just looks at Jameson as she felt a teardrop running down her cheek. “And?”
“Girls can’t fight. Come on, Jamie.” At least his face lit up a bit at the thought.
Jamie took a fork full of mashed potatoes and proceeded to talk. “I’m sorry, have you met me?” The tears are still running down their cheeks, but there was also something else in the air. She wouldn’t say hope. That was too strong a word. They kept talking. Talking to forget the imminent.
“Well, I know you can, in theory, Jamie… but–” Jameson took a break to fork half of a sausage into his awaiting mouth, but Jamie cut him off.
“Come on James, we’re twins. Jamie is a boys name, too. You can register for me.” Her voice rattled off, her fork shaking in her fingers. “Go in on different days. I don’t want to stay here and wait on news of my brothers!”
Of course Jameson could never deny Jamie anything. She knew the way around her brothers, and could always sweet talk them into anything. Her stubbornness, paired with doe eyes could be a deadly combination to men. She knew that much.
So she batted her eyelashes, and poked out her bottom lip like she did when they were children. Jameson was her other half. She loved the other boys, but they didn’t give her peace like Jameson did. As babies, nothing could calm them down like each other. She couldn’t live in the house without him. She wouldn’t.
“And who knows, maybe I won’t get drafted at all? Maybe we both won’t?” She tried to ease the tension. She tried to believe her own words, too.
Her thoughts ran wild with the idea. She could see herself, next to Jameson in matching uniforms, truly looking like twins. No one would miss them in Trenton. The money for their house went to their aunt. She moved when their mom died, and since the house belonged to her parents, she was paying rent for them. Unless their aunt made a trip down from Detroit, no one would notice they were missing. Jamie thought that it was highly unlikely that she’d pop in for a visit. The Blum children hadn’t seen their aunt in more than 10 years.
Jameson didn’t say he wouldn’t enlist, and he didn’t say he wouldn’t add her name to the drawing, but they didn’t speak about it anymore that chilly fall evening. Their faces fell back to their potatoes, and they ate in silence.
***
January, 1944
Jamie came back from her evening class, to find Jameson waiting for her. He should have been at his job. She rushed home so she could surprise him with dinner. He surprised her instead.
She unlocked the front door, to find him sitting at the dinner table, a crumbled letter in his hand. Jamie didn’t notice that she was holding her breath, until Jameson started to talk. She didn’t want to listen. She knew the signs. All of a sudden, there was a pain in her stomach again, and she braced herself against the heavy armchair, her nails digging into its fabric, holding herself steady.
Jameson took a deep breath before he exhaled loudly, followed by a sniff as he brushed at his wet cheeks. “It’s time, Jamie. I’m going in.”
He stood up, and pulled his duffle out from under the kitchen table. He’d packed it when she was at school. Her head spun and there was a strange feeling in her gut that almost tore her apart.
Jameson left that evening, taking a piece of Jamie with him. She didn’t hug him. She didn’t cry. She didn’t beg him to stay. She watched him toss his duffle over his shoulder and walk out the front door. She watched the last piece of herself get picked up in the wind and taken away, and for the first time in her life, Jamie was all alone.
The house was too big for one person, and Jamie found herself curled in Jameson’s bed, wearing his shirts. She couldn’t focus on school, and spent a lot of time looking out the window, wondering if her brothers were safe. She wondered if there’d ever be a time when someone wouldn’t walk out on her. She wondered if she’d ever feel whole again.
July 22nd, 1944
The new replacements arrived in a line of blurred green and khaki. They all were faceless, standing at attention. Dean was already feeling tired just looking at them. He got 10 new privates. 10 new fucking rookies that probably didn’t even complete a week in Basic because the men were dropping like flies at Omaha and Saint Lo. 10 greenhorns who probably didn’t know how to secure a rifle, let alone use one, and he knew it was up to him to gather up all his patience to teach them.
Dean looked over the new privates, some of them probably not even 18. He would never understand why someone would lie to get into the army. Why would anyone do that? It wasn’t exactly a day at the beach. His gaze trailed along their faces, and Dean knew how they felt.
He saw that some of them were scared. They were frightened and shaking in their boots. Some stared at him, their eyes blank, emotionless. Those were the worst. It could mean that they had already given up, and they weren’t even in the shit yet. Dean could tell that the majority of them weren’t there because they want to be. Well, technically, he wasn’t there because he wanted to be either, so.
He eyed them up, one by one until his gaze rested on a short recruit. The guy’s shorter than the others. Dean came to rest before him. The private stared up at Dean with big brown eyes. They were really big, doe like. Just like Bambi, he thought. He saw the movie in a special showing at camp in 1942. Why they showed a Disney flick to a group of soldiers was beyond him, but he had to admit that he teared up a bit when the mom was shot. The privates lips were pressed together tight into a straight line, as if he was holding in a laugh. Dean could see the cheeks puffing up. Dean could’ve shouted at him, asking him what’s so fucking funny about going to war, but he was too tired for that shit so he let it slide. Instead he asked a different question, “What your name, private?”
“Blum, sir.”