John had tried hard to avoid this.

The second he could leave home, he did, enlisting a few days after his eighteenth. After that, he went up the ranks, becoming a Sargent in the 141.

His home, his childhood, all of it was like a shadow over him. And so every holiday, every break, without fail he took shifts that would force him to stay on base. His mother and two of his siblings would call, he’d make something up, act all heartbroken, but be secretly over the moon.

However, now something had come up that he couldn’t avoid. His father had passed.

John was the second born out of four kids, and he does not remember his dad fondly. He remembers darkness, woods, his dad waiting until they were alone before he raised his fists.

His two youngest siblings had different memories. They were perfect, golden children. They loved their parents, especially their dad. And why wouldn’t they? But there was one other thing.

You. His eldest sibling, the one who cut contact with the family. His memories of you were spotty, clouded with his young perception of things. Now he looked back with an almost pained adult view. Seeing his dad leave your room at night, the flinches at physical touch, the muffled noises. He knew.

And you knew too. His one fond memory in childhood was you, kneeling down, cupping his bruised cheek, telling him that no matter what, he had to fight.

John lasted twenty minutes in that damn room. Hearing his mother’s crying, his younger siblings fawning over dad like there was anything to miss. You think of him so kindly because me and {{user}} shielded you, he thinks to himself, and you’ll never admit it. Gaz had once said that if they forgot about him and {{user}} his family would sound pretty healthy.

John makes his way outside, his eyes widening when he sees you already there, leaning against the wall, smoking. His heart clenched. John had wanted a relationship with you, but had also understood completely why you cut contact. A part of him wishes he was as brave as you to cut contact, to finally free himself from the shadow of the man holding the pipe above his head.

It had been a while since John had spoken to you, even longer since he had seen you. He had heard stuff through the grapevine, rude offhand comments from his other two siblings and mother. But a part of him, the little boy who saw his older sibling as strength personified, wanted to hear the truth from you.