GuessImHereNowToo
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“Lie to me.” He feels the noise John makes in the jump of his throat against his nose, his mouth, but feeling it doesn’t help him figure out the flavor of it, pain or confusion or something else. “Please, John.”
John swallows, sticky with dehydration. “What do you need to hear?”
“Tell me again, we’re makin’ it out of this,” Gale whispers, and by some miracle John hears him. Gale goes limp under the hard press of John’s mouth to his forehead, eyes shut and fingers clawing at his sweater for a bit of purchase as John hugs him even tighter.
“That ain’t a lie.” John manages to sound fierce and confident about it even still, even now. “We’re gonna be fine, Buck. You and me. Promise.”
Series
- Part 3 of Whumpfest 2025
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“Marge takin’ good care of you, Buck?” he finally asks, lips barely moving.
“Yeah she really is, John. She looks out for me.”
John nods a little, stops when Gale tuts and rests a hand under his chin, featherlight restraint.
“She said you asked her if I’m takin’ good care of her too.”
“Yeah. Gotta make sure, you know?”
Gale hums, a sort of breathy ‘uh-huh’ through barely-parted lips as he carefully cleans the rewetted blood, swipes so gentle they don’t hurt even when he’s working right up next to John’s throbbing nose.
“You need someone to take care of you too, Bucky.”
“No point really,” John argues, definitely slurring now as everything catches up to him at once, adrenaline draining away to leave him nothing more than drunk and exhausted. “Not much here to care about. ‘S all back there.”
“That ain’t true.”
--//--
John Egan has survived hell and returned to America after the war to find some promises have been kept, but most have been hollow. The one bright spot in his disappointing return to 'normal life' is his next door neighbor Gale Cleven and Gale's wife Marge, both of whom somehow still find John to be worth knowing, even after everything.
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Tomorrow At Sunset, I Promise by GuessImHereNowToo
Fandoms: Masters of the Air (TV 2024)
13 Sep 2025
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Sunset cannons. The boom of it sends a flock of crows cawing and rustling out of the trees overhead. Gale wishes it would scare the geese making a muck of his nice, neat cemetery so easily, but alas. He’ll just have to get more creative with his methods, but that’s a problem for the morning.
Much softer and closer at hand, footsteps approach almost silently over densely layered pine needles and scattered twigs, and Gale looks up from the magazine he’s not really bothering to read so he can watch his own personal miracle emerge from wherever he goes when they’re not together, a vision dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt. He is, of course, already yapping, picking up the same thread they’d left on last night right at dusk when he’d disappeared again as usual.
Series
- Part 2 of Whumpfest 2025
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Summary
It’s going to work. God fucking dammit but heaven and earth really do move for Major Cleven, and his damned stubborn will, and his uncanny knack for knowing exactly where the limit is and still somehow managing to push past it, always just far enough. Gale Cleven is going to lead this squadron, and no measly mechanical failure is going to get in his way. It doesn’t seem possible, Benny’s still tracking the path they’d take if — when — if they have to pull aside, just in case, but the only person remotely capable of winning an argument with Buck is off in London on a weekend pass. His hopes aren’t high.
But everything’s gotta end sometime, after all. Everything’s gotta come back down.
Series
- Part 1 of Whumpfest 2025
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Summary
Five times the Buckies hooked up on the road, and one time they didn't have to.
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The sodium glare of parking lot pole lights isn’t exactly the kindest under pretty much any and every circumstance, but it somehow sits on Gale Cleven like a lover’s caress. Featureless yellow leeches the colors out of him as it does everyone else, the angle of it overhead throws deep shadows under every prominent feature as it does everyone else, and yet somehow when he turns to lean his shoulder against the payphone booth he almost looks like one of the models some of the guys put up clippings of in their sleepers, center crease carelessly smoothed away so it hangs right. Sensuality playing at the angelic, salvation stripped down to delicious sin.
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