After young Jout had snapped his fingers, old Jout found himself walking with his younger self across the compound of Stalag 13.

"How long have you been a prisoner here?" young Jout ask as they passed Klink's office.

"October 20th it will be exactly one year and seven months," old Jout answered. "And one day later, it will be my one-year-anniversary with Peter."

While the two made their way over to barracks two, young Jout questioned, "How was it for you to meet Rob again?"

"Like a punch in the face. I was totally thunderstruck when Klink mentioned that Rob is the Senior POW of this camp. I mean, almost thirteen years had passed by since he left me; never in a million years had I thought to ever meet him again. And then in a German POW camp during wartime! What are the odds?" Jout explained. "When I had overcome my initial shock, I instantly felt anger rising in me. I promised myself to never forgive Rob for what he'd done." A chuckle left his lips. "This promise lasted for about a month. That's how long it took me to forgive him."

"What changed your mind?"

"Peter," old Jout said, a smile appearing on his face. "He was the one I opened up to, telling him all about my childhood. He listened to me, without making any disrespectful comments like a lot of others before him did; because he knew what I've been through. Peter told me about his own experiences with his abusive father, erasing the feeling of loneliness that I had felt in my past. He was also the one who suggested that I should forgive Rob. If it was not for Peter, I wouldn't have a brother right now."

They arrived at the barracks, and young Jout opened the door. When old Jout stepped into the familiar building, he saw Newkirk, LeBeau, Carter, and Kinch sitting at the table, playing cards. Hogan stood by the door of his office and stared into space. Old Jout followed his gaze and found his twenty-year-old self at the end of it, who lay in his bunk. He lay on his left side, which meant old Jout only saw his back.

Young Jout walked past him, sitting down on Carter's bunk. "Who's who?"

Old Jout pointed to the man standing by the door, his brown leather jacket zipped hallway up and his crush cap on his head. "That's Rob."

"That's Rob!" young Jout exclaimed disbelieving. "He looks old."

This comment made Jout laugh. "Well, he was thirty-one by then. Of course he looks older than when he was eighteen." He pointed to the common table in the middle of the room and said, "The small one dressed in red is LeBeau. He's French, and has a deadly temperament; so better to not aggravate him. The young sergeant next to him is Carter. He's the same age than me and sometimes a bit naïve. He was my first friend in here. The African-American opposite him is Kinch. He left the unit about a year ago because he couldn't stand to work with a homosexual like me," old Jout explained, his voice sounding bitter at the end. "And the man completely dressed in blue is Peter. He's an Englishman, born and raised in London's East End with the most attractive accent I've ever heard in my entire life."

"Apart from Kinch, all of them are deeply concerned for you. Your death would break all of their hearts; most prominently, Rob and Peter," young Jout announced.

He watched how is older self stared at the men in front of him, seemingly trying to decide what to do. Young Jout rose to his feet and opened the barracks' door, with that taking old Jout of his thoughts. The older man looked to the door and saw how a woman entered the room; it was Angel, who smiled softly at him.

"Hello, Joshua," Angel said. "Finally, we meet again."

"What is she doing here?" old Jout asked, his gaze drifting to his younger self.

"It is time to decide whether you want to go back to the living world, or follow Angle into Heaven," young Jout announced. "The choice is all yours."

Old Jout first stared at the little boy who had taken him on this journey, and then at Angel, the woman who promised that he could meet his mother again. He began to think about all the people he had met on this journey, who all had undoubtedly an impact on his life; some were good, some were bad, and some were in between.

Suddenly, a voice behind him said, "Go back to the living world, Joshua."

Jout whirled around, startled by the voice he instantly recognized. "Mom," he whispered. Seconds later, he ran towards her and threw his arms around her.

His mother began to stroke his hair while he placed his head on her shoulder. "My son! I have missed you so much."

"I've missed you too, Mom. So very much," he said. "That's why I consider going with Angel; so that we can be reunited again."

His mother moved his head from her shoulder and gazed into his eyes. She moved with her thumb across his cheek and said, "But you have to go back to the living world. Your time has not yet come!"

"But, Mom –"

"Listen to me, Joshua," she interrupted. "Ever since I died, I have watched you; and witnessed how strong you have become. I saw what you had to endure, and it broke my heart. But when I look at you now, I see a young man who has endured so much hurtful things in his life and still gives so much love to the people around him. You forgave your brother, with that making him one of the happiest people around you. There's Peter, to whom you mean the world and who loves you with all his heart. And then there is Tommy, who looks up to you, who sees you as his father." His mother smiled at him and said, "I am so very proud of you, Joshua; of everything that you have become. And I will be proud of everything that is yet to come. Your future will be bright, my son. Don't throw it away because you want to see me again. We will meet again, Joshua; be sure of that."

Tears were running down Jout's cheeks as he gave his mother another hug. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Joshua." They stepped apart and she wiped her son's tears away with her thumb. "Now, go back to the people who care about you!"

Jout sniffled, but managed to give his mother a smile. He turned around and went over to his younger self, but before he said anything to him, he turned around once more and looked at his mother for one last time. She greeted him with a reassuring smile, giving her son the strength to battle the pain that was lying ahead of him.

Jout turned to his younger self and said, "I'm ready to go back to the living world."

Relief washed over young Jout's face. "That's good to hear." He opened the barracks' door one more time; however, this time, old Jout saw not the camp's compound, but only white. "All you have to do is take a step when you are ready."

Old Jout stared at the white in front of him, then he lowered his glance to look at the little boy next to him. "Thank you for everything. I would surely be dead by now if it wasn't for you."

"You're welcome."

Old Jout raised his glance again, and after taking a deep breath, he took a step forward into the white.

Newkirk stared down at the still form lying in the bunk in front of him, his heart aching. Exactly one weeks ago, Jout was brought back to camp after days of being tortured by some Gestapo major who tried to take down Papa Bear. And with every day Jout did not wake up, Newkirk grew more and more concerned. He knew he should not lose hope; he did not want to lose hope. But there were times like this, when he was sitting alone in Hogan's quarters, observing his unconscious boyfriend, that the dark clouds of doubts slowly clouded his mind. He sighed and rubbed with his hand across his face. No, he would not go down that road again. Jout would survive and eventually, they would get out of this rotten camp.

Newkirk stood up from his stool and walked out of the small room, only to come back moments later, a blue book in his hands. He sat back down and opened it. "I just realized ya 'aven't been able to read any of yer poems lately. Figured ya might enjoy it if I read a few to ya. But I 'ave to warn ya: I'm not really good in emphasisin' poetry right."

He searched for Jout's favourite poem and, without changing his accent since he knew Jout liked it, began to read aloud: [1]

"Out of the night 'at covers me,

Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For me unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I 'ave not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

Me 'ead is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the 'orror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not 'ow strait the gate,

'ow charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of me fate –"

"I am the captain of my soul," said a husky voice, making Newkirk look up from the book in his hands. He found himself staring into his boyfriend's very open chocolate brown eyes, a tired smile on the other man's face. "Hey, Peter."

Newkirk just stared at Jout, shocked that the other man was actually talking to him. A few seconds later, he quickly bent down, throwing his arms around his boyfriend, who in return placed his own hands on his back. "Oh, Josh, ya're alive!"

Newkirk sat up again, and as he stared into Jout's eyes, he lowered his head and placed his pale lips on his boyfriend's, giving him a deep kiss. When they broke apart, Newkirk immediately rose to his feet and ran across the room, tearing the door open. "Josh's awake!" he yelled, instantly returning to his place by Jout's bedside.

Jout gazed at the door, seeing how seconds later his brother and friends rushed into the small room. He gave them the same tired smile he had given Newkirk earlier and greeted, "Hey, guys!"

Hogan closed the distance between him and his brother and sat down on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on Jout's leg. Overjoyed that Jout finally woke up, he asked, "How are you feeling, Josh?"

"My body feels like it was put through a meat grinder," Jout answered. "But mostly I'm tired." A yawn that left his lips confirmed his statement.

"How can you be tired?" Carter asked, who by now had made his way over to the bunkbed, standing behind Newkirk. "You've been sleeping for one whole week."

"I've been what? What day is it?" Confusion was spread all over Jout's face.

"October 19th," Hogan said. "After you returned from the hospital, Wilson informed us that you were in a coma."

Right on cue, Wilson entered the adjoined room, who had been informed of Jout's awakening by Olson. "Look who has decided to return to us!" He went to the bunk bed and sat down where moments earlier Hogan had been sitting. "How are you feeling, Lieutenant?"

"Like I have already said, as if my body was put through a meat grinder…and I'm tired."

"That's no surprise. You will probably sleep most of the next days too. Your body still needs all the rest in can get to fully recover." Wilson began his examination by checking the size and movement of Jout's pupils. While he did that, he checked his patient's memory. "What is your name, rank, and serial number?"

Albeit confused by the medic's request, Jout said, "Hogan, Joshua Patrick, 1st Lieutenant, US Army Air Force, 0958731."

"Your birthday and hometown?"

"February 15th, 1923 in Bridgeport, Connecticut."

With the stethoscope in one ear, Wilson listened to Jout's heart and lung. With the other he listened to his patient's answers. "And what's the name, rank, serial number, and birthday of your brother?"

Even more confused than before, especially since his friends watched him fearfully, Jout replied, "Hogan, Robert Edward, Colonel, US Army Air Force, 0876707, July 13th, 1912." He raised his eyebrow and questioned, "Why are you asking me this? And why are the others looking so afraid?"

Wilson removed the stethoscope from his ear. "After you had been brought back to camp, Colonel Klink organized a transfer to the hospital because of your grave injuries. There you went into surgery, during which your heart stopped beating. That's why you've been in a coma the past week. And the reason why I asked you these questions was to determine whether you received brain damages during the time your heart did not beat."

"And?" Jout asked hesitantly.

"Judging from your excellent memory and the fact that you can talk to me without any difficulties, I would say your brain is left undamaged." The others sighed in relief, and Wilson's glance landed on Jout's bandaged left hand. He grabbed the hand and ordered, "Lieutenant, please squeeze my hand as hard as possible."

With all the strength he could muster, Jout tried to squeeze the other man's hand, but found that he was not able to move his fingers one bit. When another attempted also ended in a failure, Jout said with a fearful voice, "I can't move my fingers."

Hearing the fearful tone of his patient's voice, Wilson lay his hand back on the bed and assured, "The muscles, tendons, and nerves in your hand were damaged by the stab. But don't worry, Lieutenant; with constant training you can try to regain some of your functionality."

"Some?" Jout questioned.

"There's a high chance that you have lost some of the mobility in your hand. The same goes for your knee. But we will see in time." Wilson rose to his feet and announced, "For now, you should go back to sleep; your body needs all the rest it can get. We can worry about everything else later."

"Mon ami, while you are sleeping, I will prepare your favourite dish for dinner," LeBeau announced.

"Thanks, LeBeau," Jout said as another yawn left his lips while he felt how his eyelids were getting heavier

"That's enough for now." While Wilson ushered the other men out, Jout turned to Newkirk and asked, "Will you stay with me?"

Newkirk smiled at him and brushed Jout's umber brown hair from his forehead. "Of course I will, luv."

Jout returned Newkirk's smile and closed his eyes, sleep quickly conquering his still exhausted body.

[1] - Invictus by William Ernest Henley