A/N: Boys Don't Cry is basically all the one-shots (some may be two-shots or a little higher) I come up with for all the slash ships. I'll tell you in the author's note what ship it'll be, and if you wanna know what ship I have in mind next, go ahead and ask in a review. Sometimes there will be sex, sometimes there won't. The rating will change, as will the genre each time I update. This first fic is Kames, and I hope you enjoy it.


Gray clouds slowly drifted across the sky, signifying another bleak day. Rain had fallen the previous night, and the cold mud sticking to everyone's feet made them want to wail. For all the work the day held for them, having their feet going numb would do no good. If they were unable to perform the tasks given to them, they would be killed. As if the weather wanted to enhance these fears, icy, merciless winds blew against the rows of people, and for some, it was almost too much for their fragile bodies to handle. They had been at the camp longer than anyone else, and whether surviving for so long was a miracle or a curse, no one could really say.

Soldiers marched down the lines, checking off numbers on their lists as they counted each person present. As they did so, everyone in the camp could hear the roaring sound of a train approaching. For weeks there had been no sign of it, and now, with no warning, the train was in sight. Dark smoke puffed out overhead, and even the soldiers paused to look. As the train grew closer, the ground tremored. The soldiers held up their hands, signifying for the people in line to stay put. Hearing the whistle of the train, and seeing it slowing to a stop, the soldiers ran towards the railcars, shouting commands as the train finally did stop. The doors were pulled open, and dozens of people dressed in gray, rag-like sacks were yanked down, shoved towards the entrance of the camp.

James Diamond stood in the second row of people, and had to avert his eyes as the newcomers were sorted. Only when he was certain that the soldiers were almost done did he look back. From his distance, he could faintly see what the new prisoners wore, and he was taken aback when he saw the pink triangles marking most of the men. He had only seen so many symbols, and managed to learn what most of them meant, but he had yet to see pink triangles. Blinking a few times, he watched as the soldiers barked orders to a group of children and seniors, herding them down a dirt path to the building at the edge of the camp. James knew where that path led, and closed his eyes when he realized the fate of the children and elders.

"Metzger!" a soldier called, startling James. He peered over his shoulder, seeing the man who had shouted running in his direction. James' eyes followed the soldier, watching as he ran to the man taking roll. They exchanged whispers that he couldn't decipher, and as they nodded in understanding to each other, the one called Metzger eyed everyone still standing in line. He approached the section farthest from James, shouting directions for them to follow. Metzger led them forward, taking them down a second dirt path.

James knew where that path led as well. It was no better than the first one. The people being led away were never going to come back.

"Line up!" another man yelled, and James turned his head to see the new prisoners being organized in the now empty space. He observed each one of them, paying close attention to how their clothes hung off their bodies. Their skin was pale, and dirty, much like everyone else's. James felt his bottom lip quiver, and he tore his eyes away from everyone, staring down at his own hands. There was dirt under his nails, some of which were chipped. One was completely gone. His bony fingers were almost gray, and James was ashamed to see them. He was grateful that the camp had no mirrors for him, because he knew he would detest what he saw. For such a large part of his life, he prided himself with how magnificent his body looked. He worked hard to have it look so perfect, and to see it all gone was too much. Even his hair, which he had cared for so earnestly, was chopped off so quickly.

James had already been separated from his mother, and watched his father get beaten to death. He had absolutely nothing now. With a blink of an eye, everything he had known was gone.

Only a year ago, James and his parents had been discovered hiding in the house of a German family. The family had been friends to James' parents, and he knew nothing of their fate after being dragged away by Nazi soldiers. After being captured, he was shoved onto a train like a wild animal, and taken to his first camp. It was there that his nice clothes were taken, and he was forced to wear rags. His hair was sloppily cut off, and he was branded with a number. He had long since forgotten the name of the first camp, because after only three months, he was transferred to a new one with his father. His mother remained behind. In his second camp, Stutthof, James witnessed two German soldiers select his father for one of their sick games, which resulted in him being beaten until he was past the point of surviving. James had winced each time he heard a bone in his fathers' body crack. After about eight months there, James was transferred to his current camp: Flossenburg. He had been there for two weeks, and found there was nothing better or worse about the camp.

"Listen up!" the menacing voice shouting pulled James from his horrific memories. A burly soldier approached James' section, and smirked at the sight of cowering people. "You will work on the railroads today…" The man shouted commands, all of which James had heard before. He would be making train tracks that led nowhere. All the work he ever did was useless, but he knew better to complain. Swallowing any remark his nature wanted him to say, James remained silent, walking with his group when the soldier beckoned for them to follow.

The bitter winds continued to sting James' exposed skin, but the mud on his feet was forgotten. He had almost completely grown accustomed to the harsh conditions, and felt immune to most of the weather. However, he was only human. The shoves and punches from soldiers still crippled him. Sighing, James rubbed his arms to create the slightest bit of warmth, staggering towards his working post. They were led to a fresh part of the land, which they would have to dig out enough room for the tracks. For however long the soldiers decided to keep them at this station, James' section would be digging, and eventually laying out the tracks.

James was handed a shovel, and without hesitation, he began digging. The metal was cold against his hands, but he quickly became used to it, and dug out of the earth as fast as he could. He liked to pretend it was nothing - that working so hard didn't put strain on his arms. His muscle was gone, but he imagined it wasn't. Work like this was supposed to be easy for him.

Several feet away, James heard another soldier commanding people to move. He peeked up in the direction of the noise, and saw the new prisoners being led his way. Focusing on his work again, James shoveled away at the dirt. The newcomers were stationed feet away from him, each person being placed on the opposite side of the tracks. They were slowly being spread out, and soon enough, James felt someone standing across from him. He was curious, but refused to look up. Instead, he continued to dig.

"Hello."

The calm, smooth voice took James by surprise. He blinked, his eyes darting up to see the young man across from him. The eyes staring back at him were a bright, lively green. They were filled with a hopefulness James wasn't used to. Curious of the stranger now, James paused for only an instant, taking in the appearance of the man. He was young - perhaps as young as James - and what was left of his hair was tousled, and blonde. There was a black ring around his left eye, which seemed swollen; obviously he had been hit by a soldier. His lip was split, and there was a large cut on his cheek. He wasn't as filthy as the other prisoners, and his body appeared to be relatively nourished.

"Hi." James responded curtly, resuming his work as to remain unnoticed by the soldiers. He continued to dig in silence, trying his best to ignore the ache already growing in his arms. It angered him how weak he was, and how much of a ghost he had become in contrast to his former self. The Nazi soldiers had stripped him of everything he was proud of, and made him out to feel like dirt. Clenching his teeth, James stabbed into the ground with his shovel, digging more aggressively.

"I'm Kendall." the man continued. James could just hear the smile, but he refused to look up. He could see the shovel across from his was digging at a more leisurely pace, almost as if the stranger didn't realize he was getting close to earning himself a beating. Should he be caught by a soldier, he'd either be ordered to stop talking and work harder, or simply be killed. When James showed no sign of answering, Kendall remained silent.

For the next few hours, James worked diligently, once or twice catching Kendall staring. Whenever their eyes met, Kendall would give a small smile, which James didn't return. He couldn't comprehend why this stranger would be so pleasant. They were all poorly clothed in a freezing camp, and he appeared to be beaten. Was he one of the mentally ill prisoners? James didn't believe the soldiers would keep someone insane alive, but he didn't know what else to think. Finally, the shrill whistle that signified a break echoed throughout the camp. James dropped his shovel, straightening up as the soldiers supervising them marched the group back to the camp.

There had been no breakfast that day, so James knew it was time for lunch - a term that he learned to use very loosely. The one mean served each day at the camp consisted of a stale slice of wheat bread, and a bowl of what might've once been cabbage soup. Occasionally there would be an old potato to share, but those were lucky days. James waited somewhat impatiently, feeling the rumble in his empty stomach. He didn't dare look down, knowing he would only be disgusted with the body he saw. It haunted him every waking moment; his body was no longer sculpted perfection, but rather, a fragile skeleton with a taut layer of pale, dirty skin.

Sighing, James approached the pots of soup, and took the bowl thrusted in his direction. The stale slice of bread floated at the top of his bowl, and he batted away the bugs that tried flying around it. He walked outside into the chilly air, stopping when he reached an isolated corner. He leaned against the wall of a cabin, earnestly biting into the hard bread. There was no flavor, which James had gotten used to months ago. His eyes squeezed shut, and he ignored the stench of the soup as he drank from the bowl, devouring every last drop.

"You're hungry." Kendall's voice startled James, and almost made him drop his bowl. The blonde was standing a few feet across from James, his green eyes observing everything in front of him. Seeing that James was far from amused at the comment, Kendall continued. "It's nice to see you again, James." Hearing his name being used, James' eyes widened. He stared at Kendall, utterly confused.

"How did you-"

"We went to school together, in Holland," Kendall interrupted James, his smile never disappearing. "I didn't expect to find you…" The answer left James stunned. He racked his brain for a memory, thinking back to the times where he didn't have to live with a brand on his clothing. Sifting through all the school memories he had, James finally recognized who the man in front of him was. They had never really spoken, but James had seen him awarded for different achievements on several occasions.

"Kendall Knight." James breathed, pleasantly surprised by the reunion. It wasn't a close friend, but it was someone, and that was better than being alone. Kendall's smile grew when James was able to remember him, and he closed the distance between them, taking the space beside James. He clutched the bowl in his hands, eyeing the already empty dish his friend held.

"Here," Kendall offered, holding out his bowl for James to take. He didn't see a problem giving the food away, but James stared at him as if he were crazy. "Take it. I can miss a meal." His insisting was new to James, but the low growl in his stomach made him reach out and take the food. Again, he drank to the last drop, and chewed through the hard bread.

James could feel Kendall's eyes on him, but chose to ignore it as he finished off the food. There was shame in his heart when he realized Kendall was seeing him in such an undignified manner, but the camp gave him no other choice. He was an animal there. No, he was lower than an animal; lower than scum, even. Shoving the thoughts away, he looked back up at Kendall, curiosities filling his mind. However, before he was able to ask anything, the shrill whistle echoed over the camp, and prisoners began scrambling to the empty lot where they would be counted.

Turning away, James aimed to head to his normal post in his section. Before he wheeled around completely though, he saw Kendall's ID number. It had just been engraved on him today, and he saw the dried blood that lined thinly around the punctures. Faltering for only a moment, James stole a quick peek at his own arm, distinctly remembering the day he was carved with his number. He could feel the burning sting even now, and he wondered how Kendall had taken to it. Knowing it wasn't the time for questions, he made his way to his spot in line, waiting to be accounted for.

James was led back to his work post, and though he still refused to talk, he did return a few of Kendall's smiles.


Harsh, frozen winds and the shrieking whistles awoke everyone in the camp. Soldiers were running through the cabins wildly, rounding up the prisoners.

"Why are you here? It doesn't make sense," James observed, biting into his bread. He and Kendall stood at their secluded spot near the cabins, finishing their lunch before the next whistle blew. The guards ignored them for the most part, but the boys were silent when one was near anyway. James swallowed his food, then continued. "You're not crazy, and you're not Jewish. What's the pink triangle for? Are you one of the rebels? I've heard about them being brought to camps, but I haven't seen any yet." His curiosity changed his typically blank expression, and Kendall didn't fail to notice. He had to wonder what changed James the most - being in the camp for so long, or actually allowing how he felt to show. From what he remembered, James kept his poker face on at all hours of the day.

"I guess you can say I was a rebel," Kendall responded, pausing as he recalled what landed him in Flossenburg. He watched as James kept his eyes on him, waiting for his story. Only then did it become evident what was really different about James Diamond. He was lonely. Kendall wasn't surprised, but at the same time, he was. Although James had clearly suffered in the camps, from what Kendall had seen on his first day, James kept himself numb. He stuck to routine, and remained invisible - something quite out of character for the attention-loving boy. Seeing it so obvious in his eyes was what threw Kendall off. He expected since James now wasn't alone, he would find some way to bring out his personality. He'd pretend he was fine and perfect, not reveal how crippled and scared he was. "I was arrested in Denmark when the Nazis raided my friends' house. It was during one of our meetings. They found everything - our plans to burn down synagogues, lists of people we were supposed to smuggle to America… Everything. So some of us ran, and some of us were captured. I mouthed off to one of the soldiers before they sent me to the trains, and I earned myself a few hits." Kendall chuckled at the memory, and James stared at the healing cut on the blonde's lip.

"So that's why you had a black eye…" he realized, watching as Kendall grimaced after swallowing a spoonful of his soup. Unable to stop himself, James chuckled. "You'll get used to it. After a while, it'll be the most delicious thing in the world." Scoffing, Kendall emptied his bowl into James', once again supplying the brunette with more food than he was used to. He gave a single nod - his personal form of thanks. Once again, he ate, savoring the feel of almost being full and satisfied.

"A meat and potatoes are the most delicious things in the world, James." Kendall corrected his friend, smirking. James gave his shoulder a push, then finished eating.

Even when the whistles began to break, there were still noises loud enough to keep everyone in camp awake. Though the lights were flashing around, and the prisoners watched as people scrambled around like cockroaches, no one knew what to do. There were gunshots, and dozens of prisoners fell.

Two months in Flossenburg taught Kendall what James had known for a long time, one lesson being to appreciate food. It only took a few weeks for Kendall to stop giving his food away and start eating. He apologized to James for taking the extra meal away so suddenly, but James understood. It was only a matter of time, and James had been expecting it. Eating was the least of their worries, as bizarre as it sounded. Surviving was the main concern, and Kendall had a hard time keeping himself invisible. Having been one of the more extreme rebels, he was constantly tempted to talk back to the soldiers that monitored him. However, after hearing a mumbled comment, James begged Kendall to watch his mouth.

In those few moments of genuine pleading, Kendall understood that James wasn't prepared to lose anyone else. Though they had only spent a short time together, a bond had formed. It was almost too easy to be real, which scared James. He couldn't live knowing someone else he cared for was dead, and as sudden as Kendall's arrival had been, it was something he was grateful for. He wasn't alone anymore, and he didn't have to be as long as they both survived. If James had done it for so long, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that Kendall could do the same.

"Hey Jamie?"

This week, the boys were grouped together, cleaning out the crematoriums in the camp. The guards on the tracks and in the mines were strict, but the ones monitoring them now seemed to be more interested in playing cards. Seeing this, Kendall saw no harm in occasional whispering.

"Yeah?" James wiped out the ash residue from his eyes, fighting the urge to sneeze. His hands were raw from scrubbing the metal so hard, and only so much progress had been made. The work was still meaningless. Kendall could see that clearly, and it was a mystery to him why James would work so hard when nothing would come of it. He had to wonder if it was all that kept James going before he arrived.

"Have you noticed anything strange around here?" Kendall finally asked, still thinking about the question as he said it. James paused, confused. He stared at Kendall, questioning him with his stare. He had a different idea of strange, and it quickly became obvious how much life outside of the camps had changed. Before James had been captured, people were being summoned away - to the camps he now knew were nothing like what the Jews were told. There had been rules and restrictions, but people could still live. According to Kendall, life was more strict. It wasn't as horrific as life in the camps, but soldiers were allowed to come into a house and raid through it if they wanted. Fear was widespread, and no one could escape it.

To James, the soldiers and schedule of the camp seemed normal. However, Kendall saw something different. He was aware of the subtle changes, seeing as he had only been in the camp for two months. When he first arrived, people were killed for blinking. Everything was tight, and cruel. It wasn't just the guards watching them for the day - it was everyone. The grip on the prisoners had loosened just a little, and Kendall saw it.

"What about it?" James questioned suspiciously, now hesitant. He wasn't sure what Kendall was going to say, but he had a feeling it was something he didn't want to hear. Swallowing thickly, James returned his attention to scrubbing away the ash and grime. Ignoring the ache in his wrist, he awaited what his friend had to say anxiously.

"Well," Kendall began, his circles over a particularly filthy spot slowly coming to a stop. He bit his lip, still pondering the ideas that had formed. "If things get any more lax around here… We could get away. We could sneak through a fence or something. I've seen some that could be easy to cut, or break. I might have enough muscle left to-"

"Stop it!" James whispered angrily, throwing his rag down. Kendall immediately silenced, his eyes wide with shock. Never before had James shown an argumentative trait, and it threw off his friend. Kendall had assumed that James would be eager to escape. If anything, he expected to hear something along the lines of hesitation and fear - not anger. It puzzled him. James glared at Kendall before finally closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "You're not doing anything that could get us killed. We can wait this out, alright? I'm not going to get myself killed, and I won't let you do it either."

As much as Kendall wanted to argue against James, he didn't. There was something in his words that made Kendall stop and think yet again. He had heard something, but he couldn't place what it was - not until he caught James staring at him. They both instantly looked away, but Kendall was able to figure out what he heard in James' voice. It was a mixture of things. First, there was genuine worry. James was afraid for them both, and probably even more so for Kendall. Death horrified him. The second thing confused Kendall, but he could hear it now perfectly. Jealousy. Something bothered James enough to make him jealous of Kendall, and he didn't know what it was.

Orders were bellowed, and the prisoners that hadn't been shot all lined up. They were being told to follow all of the officers, or else they'd be left behind and killed. In the distance, tanks could be heard approaching. They were still a long way off, but they were arriving nonetheless.

Two days ago, James tossed and turned as he tried to fall asleep. There was more room in his section of the bunks tonight, due to all of the people that had died over the past week. He wasn't sure if that was the reason for his restlessness or not. All he knew, was that he was having more difficulty sleeping than he'd ever had before. James wondered if there was guilt keeping him awake, but he couldn't be sure. When his neighboring prisoner had died, James stole his clothes. He couldn't continue wearing his when the lice made him so painfully itchy. Shaking off the thoughts, he tried to keep his eyes closed. However, the shouts he heard forced him to open his eyes again. He craned his neck to see what was going on, and immediately regretted it. Once the light grazed over the officers and their prisoner, James could feel his heart stop. They were taking Kendall somewhere.

Every pain James had ever endured didn't quite compare to what he felt that night. He could remember leaving his mother behind, and hurting over not knowing if she was alive or dead. He could remember watching as his father was beaten to death, and desperately wanting to cry each time he saw the soldiers make him spit out a tooth or break a bone. What James couldn't recall, was feeling as lonely as he did then. Lying in the spacious wooden bunk, James was alone. He had no one. After breaking his rules and growing to care for Kendall, who was too good to be true to begin with, he was losing him. Being marched away in the middle of the night like he was sealed his fate.

James almost didn't hurt at all after he accepted what he saw. It was as if his heart vanished the moment he looked away. Any feeling was stopped short, and pushed away before it could attack him. He curled up on his bunk, holding his knees to his chest and trembling. His legs were thin, and mostly just skin and bone. He used to have such beautiful legs, to go along with a beautiful body. That was gone, just like Kendall. Choking on his breath, James squeezed his eyes shut, feeling one tear escape and slide off of his face. He had done his waiting, and though he was graced with a friend to remedy his loneliness and fear, that friend was taken away just as quickly. James hated to admit it, but there seemed to be nothing to hope for.

"You survived five months," James whimpered, his voice shaking. His volume was no louder than a hoarse whisper, almost undetectable to even his ears. "You did good, buddy…"

Marching began as soon as the prisoners were gathered. There was no roll call, and none of the other usual procedures. The soldiers began leading the prisoners towards the gates, shooting whoever fell out of the group. They didn't seem to care if the prisoners were in their correct order. Brothers moved to be together, as did sisters, mothers and sons or daughters, husbands and wives, and friends.

"You're… alive…" James breathed, his tired eyes suddenly wide and alert. Kendall had shaken him until he woke up, and James almost didn't believe what he was seeing. It had to be a dream. He had seen Kendall being dragged away by two soldiers! How was he not dead? Unable to ask these questions, James sobbed once, and threw himself against his friend. He clung to Kendall, afraid that if he didn't, the boy would disappear. "What happened? Wh-Why did you go?" His questions were struggled, and he couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Kendall was still here. Everything felt real enough. The fabric of his clothes was rough and worn, his skins was cool, his hair was damp with cold sweat, and he smelled of dirt, alcohol, and smoke.

Kendall's hands locked around James' arms, and he pulled away, his eyes darting around as he observed James' expression. His breathing was labored, and James could detect the alcohol in it. He didn't understand where Kendall had been, or what was going on. All he wanted were answers, and they seemed to be choking Kendall. There was a fresh black ring around his eyes, and dried blood was around his nose. His lip was split again, and his jaw was bruised.

"There's a brothel set up for the soldiers," Kendall explained, shutting his eyes as he replayed the memory. James froze, almost knowing where the explanation was going. He looked over Kendall once more, seeing the pink triangle was ripped from his clothes, and his scrawny chest now had a symbol burned into it. The ugly, red flesh was seeping out droplets of blood, but Kendall seemed unaffected by it now. "They took me there, for their own sick games. All the women were taken after a while. They poured their drinks on me, blew smoke in my face… They're all hypocrites. Every last one of them." Kendall's sentences were a mystery to James, but he still listened. Though he was somewhat drunk, Kendall could recall perfectly what was done to him in the past two days. James shushed him, pulling an extra piece of clothing he had gathered over his friend to warm him.

"Just calm down Kendall," he whispered, pushing the blonde hair back. The blonde fell weakly onto his side, lying on the uncomfortable bunk. He tousled his hair back into his face, and James ran a hand through his own hair, feeling a hope for happiness at how good of a start it had in growing back. "You don't have to tell me anything yet…" Tearing part of the clothing, James used the small piece to wipe the sweat from Kendall's forehead. He suddenly stopped though, feeling Kendall's hand on his wrist.

"You have very pretty eyes," Kendall breathed, lifting his free hand to stroke the side of James' face. James didn't know how to respond. He knew he should've pulled away, and gotten as far from Kendall as possible. He now understood what the pink triangle on Kendall's clothes had represented. James gaped at the blonde, his eyes darting to his hand, which was still being held by Kendall.

"You're gay." James stated, the realization not hitting him as hard as he first thought it would. He almost didn't care, which scared him. Being gay was a crime to the soldiers; it was worse than being a Jew. What would happen if he was Jewish and gay? Surviving would be impossible if the soldiers knew. Kendall had a chance because he was only gay, but what had happened? Why wasn't he killed by those soldiers? As if reading his mind, Kendall cleared his throat, and let go of James' hand.

"They said if I was good, and turned straight, like a normal man, I could go." Kendall informed James, folding his hands over his chest and looking away. "Their women tried to seduce me, and force me to have sex. I didn't. I refused. So they locked me up in a separate cabin. The second night, they tried again. A woman gave me a blowjob, and I said I'd be straight, but I'd still fight once I got out. I wasn't going to let them win, and it only pissed them off." James' breath caught in his throat. He wanted to reach out and take Kendall's hand, but he couldn't make himself move. "They raped me. It's okay for them to do it - to release sexual tension or something… They're all hypocritical bastards. Said they'd let me go after they were done, and they spit on me-"

James stopped Kendall with a hug. He embraced his friend, holding on to him as tight as he could. Kendall was unsure of how to respond to the affection, but gradually eased into comfort, and held James against him. He was honestly scared of the reaction he might get, and seeing that James was still willing to care put him at peace. Neither of them wanted to be alone anymore.

"You could've been freed. You could've gotten out," James murmured into Kendall's ear, fighting the sting in his eyes. His best friend was alive. Nothing else mattered to James. He wasn't alone, and that was the most important thing. He wasn't scared anymore. Kendall could hear the sadness in James' voice, and pushed himself up, meeting his friends' gaze.

"I couldn't go knowing you were still here." Kendall replied, giving James all the explanation needed.

The two boys remained silent, and after a short while, Kendall closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. James held his calloused hand, running his thumb over the rough skin. He didn't know what his feelings were, and he questioned his sexuality, but he knew what the consequences could be. Even so, he didn't seem to care. He wanted to hold Kendall's hand, and he was going to.

As the bitter wind blew against them, the soldiers and prisoners abandoned Flossenburg, walking in the direction of another camp. American troops were approaching, and the soldiers that remained behind were supposed to burn the bodies and hide what had occurred in the camp.

Coughing violently, James shivered underneath the thin sheet wrapped around his body. His shoulders and arms were exposed to the air, and he felt like throwing up. Kendall watched in agony as James suffered, and though he wanted to hold his friend and keep him warm, James insisted he didn't. One of them being sick was back enough. Typhus had broken out in the camp, and the boys seemed alright, until James developed a cough.

"You're gonna be alright, Jamie… I promise." Kendall assured the frail brunette, stroking his hair. He came to understand why James had been jealous all those months ago. Kendall had muscle, whereas James was weak. The camp had broken him - shattered who he was, and kicked around the pieces. Kendall pitied him, until he realized that James wanted no such thing. He wanted company, and he wanted to be free. He wanted things to go back to normal, and he wanted to stop being afraid. "Just hang on a little while longer, okay? The soldiers know something's coming. We're gonna be free soon. I promise, okay? Just stay with me…"

Kendall had been in the camp for eleven months, and James was going on two years. If they had survived that long, they could stick it out just a little longer. There had been talk of other camps being liberated, and though the prisoners weren't supposed to know, word had gotten out. James had his hope somewhat restored, and Kendall tried to match it, even with James growing more and more sick.

"I'll steal you some new clothes, okay? Just stay with me…" Kendall breathed, wanting to weep. James had abandoned his clothes yet again because of the lice, and he had remained naked the entire night, fighting his cough as the frozen air burned his skin. "Just stay with me…" Kendall repeated himself, rocking James in his arms.

That was when the whistles began to blow, and the soldiers started rounding up the prisoners.

James had one arm over Kendall's shoulder as he limped along with the group. Each cough shook his body, and Kendall did his best to keep James on his feet. They were falling behind in the crowd, nearing the last few people. If they didn't pick up their speed, they would be killed. Several had fallen in the first mile, and they were all shot. In the second mile, a few more fell, but not as many bullets were used on them. There was still a long way to the next camp, but Kendall insisted that they could make it. The American troops would save them there, and James would be given medicine. They would be free, and they wouldn't have to live in fear.

They continued to trudge alone, wincing each time the freshly fallen snow burned their unprotected feet. James held his thin blanket over his body, breathing heavily as the movement put strain on him. He was weak, and Kendall only had so much strength to get them both moving. One look at James' face kept him going, though. His face was even paler than it was when Kendall first arrived at Flossenburg, and there were deep purple circles under his eyes. His lips were chapped, and there was a faint blue hue to them.

"No more…" James breathed, shaking his head after Kendall stated for the seventh time that the Americans would save them. He coughed, falling away from Kendall. James hit the ground, gripping the sheet tight. Kendall was herded along with the rest of the prisoners, and the distance slowly increased. Everything moved slower, but James was still becoming smaller and smaller as Kendall was pushed ahead. He didn't know what to do, and couldn't believe his friend had fallen. It didn't register with him until he saw a soldier running up to James, his gun cocked and ready. He wanted to scream, and protest, but another soldier pushed the gun away.

"Don't waste bullets! We don't have time," the soldier shouted, pointing to the trail behind them to signify that the American tanks were closing in. "He'll freeze." Hearing this, Kendall finally tore himself out of the group, running past the two soldiers. He was only a yard or so away from James when he heard the gunshot.

There was a sharp burn in his side, and Kendall watched the blood fly out around him. He coughed out his cry of pain, falling to the ground. The snow stung his skin, but he couldn't move. All the shouts from the soldiers were becoming more and more quiet, and Kendall realized that whoever shot him wasn't going to come and make sure he was dead. After a minute, Kendall finally turned his head, seeing the group of prisoners and the soldiers had continued marching. He and James had been left behind.

Blood leaked profusely from Kendall's wound, and he could see the angry red spreading through the white snow. He winced, trying to stop the bleeding with his hand. James was close, and he wanted to get back to him. Kendall tried to push himself up, but his legs refused to cooperate. They were suddenly numb, and as hard as he tried, he couldn't get them to move.

"FUCK!" Kendall screamed, beginning to cry as his legs continued to fail him. He looked back to James, hearing him cough. "I'm coming, Jamie…" He let go of his wound, ignoring the blood soaking his hand as he clawed at the ground, dragging himself forward. Kendall felt tears sliding down his face, but he refused to quit. He bent a few fingernails digging into the frozen ground, but he pulling himself towards James. The snow was beginning to numb his fingers, but Kendall did his best to ignore it. James was too close for him to give up.

It took him a few minutes, but Kendall was within an arms' length of James. He groaned, swinging his arm ahead of him and using the last of his strength to haul himself closer. James coughed again, wishing he could move. Once he had fallen, his body seemed to shut down. He was able to twist his neck enough and see Kendall coming for him, only to be shot down. James even watched as Kendall used all of his strength to crawl back to him. All he wanted was the ability to move, just so he could meet Kendall, and not watch helplessly.

"Kendall," James breathed, feeling Kendall rest his forehead against the top of James' shoulder. Kendall fought against his body's desire to lay down and quit, and his arms shook as he pushed himself into sitting position. His hands reached out to James, stinging as he pulled his friend onto his lap. "Don't…" James was too weak to say anything more, and he could feel himself slipping away. He was sure it was death, but he hoped it was only sleep. Kendall had worked so hard to get to him. He didn't want to die just yet.

James stared up at Kendall as he was held, and he felt his lips curling up into a small smile.

"You're gonna be okay, James. I promise, okay? I promise." Kendall insisted, whimpering when James chuckled. "Stay with me buddy, okay? Stay with me." James coughed, his throat agonized by the dryness. He shook his head, trying his hardest to open his mouth and speak again. His eyes shifted down to look at the hand that lie on the ground, and Kendall didn't fail to notice. He grabbed James' hand, staining it with blood as he squeezed it.

"I think I love you Kendall," James muttered, his eyelids drooping. There was still a small smile on his face, and Kendall held him closer. "I'm pretty sure I love you, okay? I love you…" His voice was quiet, but Kendall heard everything. A few more tears escaped, sliding down Kendall's cheeks and dripping from his chin. James closed his eyes, exhaling as Kendall pressed his lips against his forehead.


Snow began to fall again, and as the American soldiers marched along, they discovered dozens of frozen bodies. It didn't take long for the dead to freeze, and the Americans couldn't tell what had killed them first: blood loss, or the weather. As they passed the bodies, the soldiers assigned to help gather the dead were left to pack everyone onto the truck. They mourned silently for the strangers, feeling pity for the poor souls. No one knew what had gone on in the concentration camps, and not even the soldiers could fully comprehend what they'd just seen.

For a mile, the Americans found nothing but the faint outlines of footsteps. Some were from boots, and some were bare feet. They knew they were approaching another camp, and wondered how horrific the sights there would be.

"Hey, there's another set of bodies ahead! Get the stretchers ready!" an officer suddenly shouted, alerting two soldiers. The men exchanged glances, knowing it was their turn to pick up the dead. They ran ahead, panting once they reached the two bodies. Their tanks were still a distance away, and the two young men observed the bodies. One was skinnier than the other, with dark brown hair. His lips were a darker shade of blue, and the bags under his eyes gave away how sick he had been. The other body was holding the first, his cheek resting on top of the others' forehead. His hair was blonde, and there was blood all over his side. Both of them had a thin layer of snow coating them, and the American soldiers sadly moved them out of the tanks' way.

The truck for the bodies stopped in front of them, and the soldiers delicately placed the bodies on stretchers.

"What do you think? Brothers?" one of the soldiers asked the other as they set the bodies down in the truck. He ran a hand through his short black hair, looking to his partner. "Logan?" Snapping his partner out of his thoughts, the first soldier glanced back at the bodies.

"I think… I think they were like us, Carlos," Logan answered, watching as the truck started moving forward. Carlos bit his lip, knowing what his friend meant. "I think they were in love." Logan licked his lips, and the two boys shared a moment of silence for the dead.

Carlos stared at Logan with a love that had to be kept secret, and the two marched forward.