he won. pete was dead. raymond garraty won the long walk.

you looked like a ghost on the street, a shadow of what once was; eyes sunken in and nails bitten down to flesh, but all ray saw was an angel. his angel. you look dirty, like ever since he left for the walk you hadn’t showered. as you took him into your arms, crumpled on the asphalt as fireworks rang overhead. ray took in the smell of home. his baby was safe, he was finally safe. raymond imagines that he doesn’t look much better, but seeing you so disheveled makes his heart lurch forward.

the major barked orders at his men, all rough and tough but nothing but kind to ray. it made him sick. the man who had forced him and 49 other boys to walk in their own filth and die like cattle, was calling ray “son” and talking about what a looked you were.

a soldier leads you to one of the military vehicles ray had learned to fear over the past few days, instructing you two to sit in the front so the cameras and people on the street can see you. ray is bleeding and hurt yet the lease follows him like he’s a supermodel. “i wanna go home.” he whispers against your hair.