These Scars I Carry
Chapter 1
"Homecoming"
As the escalator descends, my jet-lagged eyes scan the concourse below. To my surprise, at the end of the way I see a small collection of kids from a high school marching band playing the Marines' Hymn and beside them, a couple of old guys— their dress blues straining at their waists— acting as an unofficial color guard.
Jesus Christ. Please don't tell me my mom hired a band.
Mom's arms are stretched high, holding up a large sign painted in bright, glittering colors that says: WELCOME HOME LINCOLN!
Tightly tied around her wrists are strings attached to a metric shit-ton of balloons— all colored red, white, and blue— which flutter and bounce in accordance as she hops up and down in excitement. A huge smile splits her face from ear to ear and I have to suppress an urge to groan in embarrassment. It's not like I can just pretend this welcome wagon is for anybody else— I was the only Marine on board the flight.
The paper sign crackles and crumbles between us as Mom rushes forward to tackle me into a hug. I stand there stupidly for a moment before my dumbstruck brain reminds my arms that I'm supposed to hug her back. Her arms are flung around my neck, standing up on her tiptoes to reach. The balloons drift low, softly bouncing off the top of my head as her quiet sobs reach my ears and I can't help but feel like shit.
This is a year and a half's worth of hugs she's giving me, and it suddenly dawns on me that I haven't called or written her nearly as much as I should have done. The guilt eats away at me in this one single crushing embrace. I get the feeling that— if it were up to her— she'd never let me go again.
"Thank God you're home," she whispers into my chest and I feel my throat tighten. Her voice cracks with her shedding tears, "thank God you're alive."
I feel the guilt weighing heavily over my shoulders again. Partially because of all this stress I've caused her, partially because I don't really know what to say. But mostly just because I'm alive.
"I'm-" The lie catches in my throat and I have to start again. "I'm glad to be home Mom."
We stand there awkwardly for what feels like forever. Strangers come and go, too many of them stopping to give a thank you for your service and welcome home. And it pushes the awkward levels to over a hundred. I'm entirely uncomfortable here— vulnerable. Many of them give me quick a pat on the back as they go, and I can't help but flinch every time they do.
Common sense tells me not to worry. That the people in this airport are just normal, everyday civilians just going about their lives in peace. That the endless sea of tourists wearing Michigan State football hats and colorful clothing mean no ill will towards me. They're just regular people.
But I've spent the last seven months living in a country that's still an active war zone. Where the bad guys will blend in with the civilian population. Where the friendly guy at the bazaar who was smiling and waving at you one day, will be the same guy shooting an AK at you the next. You're never sure just who to trust and I feel completely naked here. My fingers twitch.
I hate the fact that I don't have my rifle with me.
"I need to grab my bag," I mutter and I'm relieved when my mom lets go. She spends a few anxious moments thanking the color guard and hugging some of the band kids. And then we're off, heading towards the escalator to the baggage claim.
"I think you've gotten taller." She says, looping her arm around mine as she gazes up at me up with a motherly smile. I return a halfhearted one towards her, but say nothing in return.
"How was your flight? Are you hungry? Because we can stop for lunch somewhere here, or on the way back home. Wherever you want to go. It's up to you honey." There's no pause in the conversation. No flow. She talks fast and too much, desperately trying to fill the void of silence between us.
Someone brushes my shoulder by accident and my heart skips a beat. My trigger finger twitches yet again.
"I'm not hungry mom. Don't worry." That's a flat out lie. I'm starving actually, but I don't want to spend anymore time than I have to in this airport. I need to escape these crowds.
A soft, metallic sounding female voice sounds off over the intercom above— telling us new arrivals the local time and date so they can reset themselves. My watch is still set to Afghanistan time, even though I've been stateside for a few weeks now. Never been bothered to change it I guess.
"Your father is making shepherd's pie for dinner tonight," Mom says cheerfully. "It used to be your favorite, remember?"
Anger blazes to life within my chest and I want to snap at her. Shepherd's pie is still my favorite of Dad's dishes. I haven't fucking forgotten.
The urge to snap at her fades instantly though, and I feel like the world's biggest dick. Mom is just being mom, her intentions are good and I'm being disrespectful.
Get a hold of yourself Loud.
"I remember. Sounds great mom." I offer her a guilty smile, one that doesn't quite meet my eyes but she thankfully doesn't notice.
"Your father wanted to be here, but Lola had an audition today that she couldn't miss." Mom continues on in a tone that makes her sound like she recited this apology a thousand times in the mirror already. "And it's almost finals week, so the rest of the girls couldn't risk missing school. Lynn had to coach, and Luan has classes and a show tonight, and with Luna on tour-"
"Mom, it's fine." She's rambling, and I have to cut her off. "Everyone's busy living their lives. It's fine, I'll see them all tonight." She looks at me guiltily, like she's about to cry so I offer her a genuine smile this time.
No seriously, it really is fine. Growing up in a house with ten sisters, you get used to the idea that someone will always have something else going on. You can only play the balancing act for so long, and I'm not selfish enough to expect my sisters to put their lives on hold at the drop of a dime just to see their brother a few hours early. I haven't seen any of them for over a year, so waiting just a little bit longer isn't going to matter much. It's better this way. Especially since they would be expecting the brother they remembered warmly, the one they grew up with— the brother that many of them helped raised, who then in turn help to raise the others— the brother they loved.
Not me. Not the stranger that returned in his stead.
Mom starts talking again, filling the silence with her upbeat voice, bringing me up to speed on everything I've missed for the past year and a half: Leni's moved out - working as a fashion designer out in California, studying business, of all things! Luna is on the road— an opening act for the band Motley Crowe— living the rock star dream. Luan goes to community college in Royal Woods and works weekly gigs at the Laugh Factory comedy club.
Not all their dreams can come true though. Lynn was an unfortunate case— having dropped out of college due to a serious leg injury which cost her her scholarship. She was working as a little league baseball coach for the time being, teaching the ways of the trade to the next upcoming generation of Lynn Louds.
Lucy was still in high school, same as Lana and Lola whom had just started off their Freshman year. Lucy was still stuck in her creepy goth-phase, though I doubt I can really call it just a 'phase' at this point. Lana was off doing extreme sports and Lola was starting to get into legitimate child acting.
Lisa was still a genius, but what else was new? Having an early, early, early graduation from school— she was now teaching and lecturing out at Luan's college. "Professor Pip-Squeak" mom says the student body calls her.
The biggest shock came when she spoke about Lily. Lily was eight now— or maybe nine? Fuck. I don't even remember. Whatever. Lily had grown and grown tall. She apparently towered over all the boys and girls in her elementary - even the older kids in other grades. Lynn apparently was trying to convince her to take up basketball, seeing her height advantage as a golden ticket to stardom. Lisa wasn't interested though— mom said all she wanted to do was stay indoors and play video games and read comic books.
It was like a punch to the chest. Life slapping me across the face in a surprising turn of events. Lily had grown to be just like me. Or I guess how I used to be.
It was a lot to take in, too much really. Overwhelming. I had just landed and already the 'real world' was shoving itself and all its changes down my throat. I felt like a glass of water— filled to the brim with all the crap that life had thrown at me for the past year and now I have to face everything back home— but the cup is full and the changes start pouring in and the glass overflows.
I'm a stranger here. Here. In the place I grew up. I mean, Christ, do you know how screwed up that sounds? I didn't even want to come back to Royal Woods... but I didn't have anywhere else to go.
I'd rather be with my friends. I want to be with the people who know me best.
I want to go home.
As soon as the thought crystallizes in my head, I feel bad again. Especially with my mom standing beside me at the baggage carousel, wearing the biggest smile in the history of smiles and rattling on about how happy she is I made it home right before the school year ends. How I'll be able to spend the first few weeks of summer with the family.
Hold it together Lincoln. You'll only be home for four weeks. That's just thirty days. Hold it together.
"Lori already visited you, didn't she?" Mom asks and I blink once before remembering to answer.
"Oh yeah. First week I was back, she and Bobby came up to visit."
"That's so sweet," Mom sniffles and wipes at her now damp eyes. "Florida is so far away. I still can't believe my babygirl is all grown up, and with her own little Santiago on the way too."
There we go, just another reminder.
Mr and Mrs Santiago. Lori Santiago. Something else I have to check off on my great, big list of 'Shit-I-Missed-While-I-Was-Gone.' To be fair though, it wasn't like I wasn't already aware. Lori and Bobby had gotten hitched well before I left for Afghan, though their marriage ceremony happened a few months into my deployment.
Before I had even graduated high school, Lori and Bobby moved to Florida together. Lori for school, Bobby because he had finally gotten his, how he so eloquently put it— "big break" for a future career. Something involving being an aviation mechanic. How he landed that job, I'll never rightly know, but the two were happy and from what I understood, well off enough to live in Florida.
With the exception of the occasional letter or postcard, I hadn't seen nor heard from Lori or Bobby in over a year. Then, within a week of being back home at Camp Lejeune, the two surprised me with a visit.
"Welcome back twerp," Lori said tearfully as she embraced me into a hug, which at the time, made me anxious for some reason. She was still using that stupid nickname from so long ago, and I was smiling in response.
"I think I'm too tall to still be getting called 'twerp' dude." I had said to her, giving her a kiss on the head as I returned the hug halfheartedly. I remember she smelled like fresh oranges and the ocean breeze. What I expect Florida to smell like, I suppose. Bobby stood to the side of her, looking a bit awkward but also with a wide smile on his face.
"You'll always just be twerp to me Lincoln." Lori shook her head, sniffling as she took a step back from the embrace. A hand raised to wipe at her eyes, and the bright North Carolina sun above reflected off a pretty diamond that sat upon her finger.
We spent the weekend catching up. I gave them a small tour of my base— Camp Lejeune— and of the greater Jacksonville area. I also remembered to give the two my belated congratulations and apologized for missing their big day. Bobby took it in stride but Lori? Lori just started bawling with ugly crocodile tears, and I just felt like even more of an asshole.
She swore they were happy tears. That she understood and that she was just so proud of me and happy I was home. She said I would make it up to her by being here for her next big day.
Then, she dropped the ball— Lori, my eldest sister Lori, the one who bullied but also looked after me when I was a kid— was four weeks pregnant. She and Bobby were going to have a baby. Mom and Dad were going to be grandparents. My sisters were going to be aunties. I was going to be an uncle.
And I didn't have the heart to tell her that nine months from now, I would probably be back in Afghanistan.
Fuck.
"You're all growing up so fast," Mom says, drawing me back to the present. "And I still can't believe how much you've changed!" I've went through the usual growth spurt when I was in high school, but I've grown another two inches at the very least in the past year. My long, straggly white hair is gone as well— replaced by cleanly faded sides and a neat, short cropped top.
"You look so handsome." Mom says, hugging my arm tightly and I feel the need to escape this conversation.
I try to ignore the awkwardness, so I look around the room at the hugging families and businessmen with laptop bags slung over their shoulders. Beyond a cluster of people waiting for their luggage, I see a dark-haired, dark-skinned guy wearing desert camouflage leaning against a support column. His eyes are large, magnified behind the thick military-issued glasses he wears.
I watch his hands as they travel down to his pockets to retrieve a blood soaked roll of medical gauze from their depths. His other hand does more or less the same— this time coming up with a ripped and flayed tourniquet. The guy inspects the medical devices for only a second, before his eyes shoot back up and suddenly we're making eye contact.
My heart rate skyrockets. I feel like my blood is boiling. I know him.
"Lincoln?" Mom touches my shoulder and I'm shocked out of my trance.
I blink once and the guy is gone.
"Honey, are you alright?" Mom asks again, confusion on her features. "You spaced out there."
"M'fine," I manage to choke out, eyes still glancing around the baggage claim. Searching for the guy I saw.
Instead, the black-flapped opening spits out my seabag onto the conveyor and I'm relieved to walk away from this conversation. I grab the bag with one hand and hoist it onto my shoulder, sending little puffs of dust into the air around me. Afghanistan has followed me home.
"Welcome home Devil Dog," an older gentleman says to me. He walks with a limp but still carries himself strong, like he were still in his prime. His sleeve is pushed up, displaying the Marine Corps EGA— eagle, globe, and anchor— tattooed on his upper arm. Showing me he belongs to the brotherhood. "Semper Fi."
"Always Faithful sir." I shake his hand and although the exchange feels awkward, I'll admit— I'm far more comfortable with this than I was with all the other useless 'Thank you for your service' praise other civilians had been spouting. At least this man here, he at least gets it. Gets me.
Once a Marine, always a Marine I guess.
"God bless you son." The old man says, pats my elbow and lets me go. When I return to my mom, she's got this proud smile on her face and her eyes are getting misty again.
Another crowd of people pass us, and I have to swallow once in order to choke down this uncomfortable feeling I get. "Can we go now?"
I need to get out of this airport.
"Of course honey," Mom says, oblivious to how anxious I am. We start making our way out of the concourse and Mom tries to fill up the silence with even more small talk. She chatters on endlessly— mostly about how the girls are doing in school and the gossip around her dental office. I don't care for gossip on who's dating who, or how bad this kid's teeth were, but letting her talk means I don't have to.
Then, the bombshell drops.
"The McBrides wanted to see you today." She says and I freeze, dead in my tracks. Mom stops and glances at me, perplexed.
"What?" My voice just manages to squeeze out. Mom nods in response.
"Howard couldn't get off work. And Harold is up-state for the day-" Her voice trails off in my mind, mostly because the only thing I can hear now is the whining white-noise screech that always follows an explosion. It drowns out the environment around me but if I focus, I can just faintly hear somebody screaming.
My stomach churns and my eyes go hot with tears that never seem to come. A cold sweat breaks out over my body and I start shaking. No no no. I can't do this now, I can't have an episode now, not here.
"Lincoln honey," I see Mom's face and her features soften just as her voice does. "Is something wrong?" Her arm reaches for my chest, "You're shaking…"
"Bathroom," I mutter— dropping off my bag in the middle of the walkway in an explosion of dirt and dust. I bolt for the nearest restroom, just barely making it to the stall before I'm retching and puking up my stomach. I haven't eaten all day, so nothing comes up but bile and sickly yellow acid. My throat burns and tears are clouding my vision. Yet I can still just barely make out the familiar sounds of screaming in the back of my mind.
I don't know exactly how long I sat there, collapsed against the toilet of some airport in Michigan. My body is still weak and shaking when I finally find the strength to stand. Legs wobbly, eyes burning and nose dripping, I stand in the stall— holding on to the walls to keep from falling over— until the heaving stops. My mouth tastes sour and foul, my heart is beating too fast.
I stumble over to the sink and start splashing cold water onto my face when my Mom peeks her head through the men's room doors.
"Lincoln, are you okay?" She says and for a split second I hate her for seeing me this way— that she's still so kind and motherly even though I'm a horrible son. Then split second passes, the anger fades and I feel horrible again. Guilty. It's not her fault my brain is scrambled like an egg.
And yet, her question lingers in the stale bathroom air. I'm sorry Mom. I'm really sorry but no, I'm not okay. I'm a Goddamn mess right now.
I can't tell her that though.
"I'm fine Mom." The lie comes easy and I give her a reassuring smile that feels so fake upon my features. "Must've been something I ate. I'll be out in a minute."
She buys the lie and as she exits, I splash more and more cold water on my face. Focus Lincoln— keep it together man. Just make it home and you can rest. Just make it home and you can sleep the pain away. I finish with the sink and look up at the mirror.
Clyde McBride, my best friend in the whole damn world, is standing right behind me.
"Jesus Lincoln, you're a mess man." He laughs and I do nothing but stare numbly as he passes me lump of paper towels. I dry my face off and when the soaking towels pull away— like the curtains to one of Luan's shows— Clyde is still there grinning at me.
"Why are you here Clyde?" There's accusation in my voice and I can't help but feel stupid.
"What? I can't drop in to see my best friend?" Clyde is grinning, his eyes twinkling with mischief but there's something else there. Something hidden behind his wide lens frames— something sinister. "I just want to welcome you back home dude. You made it back alive."
There's pain in my chest, like I'm taking a knife to the gut. And once again my blood is boiling in my veins. "You shouldn't be here man." I say weakly, but Clyde does nothing more than laugh.
"Bullshit bro, this is my home too." His face suddenly darkens and I can see a thin line of blood drip from his nose, just like when we were kids. The nosebleed continues as the droplets fall and stain the uniform he's wearing red. "I want to see my Dads."
"We can't do that Clyde."
Clyde snarls at me, and suddenly I feel like a child— hiding from an abusive parent. "And why the fuck not?!" He screams in my face and I have no idea how Mom doesn't hear him from outside the bathroom doors.
I shove him off and glare back at his bleeding face. "You know damn well why." Clyde glares back at me, his arms subconsciously fixing the creases in the uniform he's wearing— the desert pattern becoming more and more blood soaked as we talk.
"You promised me Lincoln. We promised each other."
"I know, and I'm sorry— but I can't." I choke, the words catching in my throat before I swallow once and spit them back out. "And you can't either."
"Why not? You plan on stopping me?" His eyes are narrowed into slits behind his glasses, and I swear I can see third-degree burns appearing across his skin.
"No Clyde," my breathing is erratic and my chest hurts, but I can't look away as the skin rips and tears itself apart. "It's because-"
The words die in my throat as Clyde's blood soaks the bathroom tiles beneath us. I can't say it, please don't make me say it.
"Because why Lincoln?" Clyde whispers, taking a step towards me and I shut my eyes tight to hide from his deteriorating form.
"Say it Lincoln. Say it."
I take a shaky breath. My mouth no longer tastes like bile, but instead tastes like copper. I can feel the heat of the sun bearing down on my back. I can smell smoke and gunpowder in the air around me. My back hurts— teeth are chattering, and there's a sticky sensation coating my hands. Sticky and metallic. Somewhere— I can hear screaming.
"Because Clyde," I drown out the noise and the sensations finally fade as I open my eyes. "Because you're-"
Clyde is gone. I take a shaky breath of relief and that fills me with shame… Shame, because I'm alone in this bathroom. Shame, because Clyde was never here. Clyde left with me for Afghanistan.
"-dead."
And he didn't make it back.
Author's Note:
Okay now, there's no way in Hell I can make this story sound original. 'Lincoln enlists in the military' stories are a dime a dozen. They've been done to death. Full stop. I'm fairly certain the fandom is as sick and tired of them as they are with the 'No Such Luck' AU stories.
So why would I try my hand at one of these? Well you see—
I've lived this life before. I'm currently on my third tour in Afghanistan— and while this deployment is much much more relaxed than the other two (I have internet for crying out loud!) it still doesn't change my experiences in my previous deployments.
Military Lincoln fics usually follow the same concept: Lincoln joins *insert branch here*, goes to war, returns home and deals with his trauma and PTSD with the help from his family. Nothing wrong with that, the story basically writes itself.
Here's the thing though, and no insult intended to any authors of such a fic, but most of these stories have the same underlying problem— the people writing these story don't understand the military. They don't understand the soldier mentality. They don't understand what it feels like coming home from a deployment. And they don't understand battle-trauma based PTSD. I don't mean to judge and I'm not calling out any of my fellow authors, but this type of story is of a sensitive nature to me, and I want to see it done justice.
Justice though, requires realism. And realism in regards to the military (the Marine Corps especially) is not a very family-friendly place. Expect discomfort, expect violence, expect political-incorrectness, and definitely expect harsh language.
We swear in the military— A lot. Lincoln is going to be swearing— A lot. If you're okay with that, cool welcome aboard. If not, then I'm sorry. But thanks for at least reading the AN.
Finally though, the story a few years in the future, ages of the Loud kids are as follows:
Lori-26
Leni-25
Luna-23
Luan-22
Lynn-21
Lincoln-19
Lucy-16
Lana-14
Lola-14
Lisa-12
Lily-9
Alright, AN done. I'm out, thanks for reading.