This is kind of a short update, but this chapter's important. Thanks to everyone who's been reading so far, I appreciate it! I don't own anything I don't own.
London and Annette were experiencing a rare break inside the medical tent. Every day prisoners were brought in with injuries from work and they were supposedly tasked with fixing them. But most often if it was something more serious than dehydration or exhaustion a soldier would just come in and shoot their patients. While there was a moment of peace they sat and Annette began to smoke a cigarette.
"So what's your story?" he inquired. "If you're French what are you doing here?" She shrugged and took a puff of the cigarette.
"What difference does it make? I'm here now." He'd been attempting to chat her up since his assignment to the tent but she met him with nothing but coldness.
"It makes a difference because everyone has a story. I like to know those stories."
"Why?"
"Isn't it a little comforting to know no matter what happens to us, all our stories can still survive?" The look she gave him was stronger than a thousand winters sleeping in the snow; he could feel his blood temperature dropping.
"I'm not going anywhere, so my story doesn't matter." Before the situation could get any more awkward than it already was Don came in with a bucket of water and a scrub brush. London liked Don, he was the kind of man that wasn't as common to come by anymore. He could sense the honesty, the kindness, and he knew that Don was a good man.
"Afternoon, you two." He got down on his knees and soaked the brush in the bucket before beginning to scrub the blood from the floor. When the soldiers shot injured prisoners they didn't bother to clean up afterward, so Faust had sent him to wash away all the blood. To him it seemed pointless if they were just going to shoot more people in the medical tent. But he knew that he'd do nobody any good if he got himself shot. The others were barely holding onto themselves as it was, so he sucked it up and bore their weight on his shoulders.
"How you been doing?" London was polite; Don wished he could've met him under different circumstances.
"Could be worse. What about you?"
"I'm hanging in there. Still alive after all."
"The boy you came in with," Annette interrupted, "is he yours?"
"He's not my son if that's what you're asking," answered Don. "He's a member of my company."
"But you care for him?"
"I do."
"Keep your eye on him here," she warned. "He's not safe."
"No one's safe here, what do you mean?"
"The soldiers here, they're sick. They like to play if you understand me. Every so often some of them will pick a prisoner and bring them somewhere where nobody can see, and then they play. I've seen it happen before. And they always go for the boys." London grimaced as he processed exactly what she was suggesting and Don stopped cleaning the floor.
"That's not going to happen. I'd die before I let them near him."
"You might have to keep that promise."
Norman was being escorted back to his cell after completing his job for Faust. He hated spending so much time around Faust, never knowing if he was in danger or not. He hated eating the food that Faust put in front of him. It tasted tainted, like the fact that he was eating it in front of Faust spoiled it, but he did so out of fear. Mostly he hated that he was getting special treatment when his crewmates weren't. He deserved nothing; he deserved to be hurt worse than them for getting them into this mess. Faust could act polite all he wanted, but Norman still hated him.
As soon as the door was opened he had the urge to run. He thought perhaps he'd be the only one in the cell, but Grady was already in there. Anyone else he could've handled being alone with, not Grady. Even before they were locked up Grady had always hated him. The Germans scared him more, but only barely.
"I thought you and Gordo were working on a transport truck together," Norman said as the door closed and he heard the click of the lock. He was so fucked.
"They wanted Gordo to sift through some recovered junk today, pick out what was useful. Guess they didn't need me." Grady was standing in the corner, a stoic expression on his face.
"A-are you okay?" He was hoping just to keep talking idly until one of the other men got back, but his attempt wasn't good enough because Grady came sauntering over to him.
"Looks like you're holding up," Grady stated casually. "Leg's getting better." Without warning he kicked Norman in his injured thigh and Norman cried out, collapsing onto the ground. He grabbed the kid by his collar and yanked him up, slamming him into the wall.
"Wait, Grady-"
"Shut up! We're going to talk some things out, you and me, and I'm going to make them extra clear so you understand. First, it is your fault we are here. Understand me?"
"I'm sorry, I-"
"What did I say about shutting up?" Grady yelled, shaking him a little. "Second, the only reason you are not dead right now is because those men are my family and I'm not going to risk them. Understand me?" This time Norman was smart enough just to nod silently. "Lastly, and you're going to want to pay attention here, if anything should happen to any of them because of you I will break your neck. Understand me?" Norman nodded once more and Grady punched him in the jaw before dropping him. As he returned back over to the corner he could see Norman trembling on the floor. His point had gotten across.
To all the Grady lovers I like him too and I'm not trying to make him a bad guy. When I was watching the movie he seemed kind of angry and he didn't really like Norman too much so I'm continuing that here. What are your thoughts on London's obsession with stories and Annette's warning?
I want to thank Athena Silverwolf for reminding me I hadn't made it clear that Norman isn't fond of the special treatment, trust me he's not turning into a Nazi lover. Hope you enjoyed it!
