Warnings: minor character death, death of a pet, some language
Title of the chapter taken from George Graham Vest, "Eulogy on the Dog," (1870)
Sorry to do this again, but I will be going on another brief hiatus, hopefully just a month again. This time, it's all Star Wars' fault. The desire to write fic for that has taken over my life, and while I still love this fic, Star Wars is eating my brain right now. I promise I will see this fic through to the end, but I need some time to get the Star Wars out and the E! back in. Love you all!
Mike was in the back of the engine when Johnny wandered into the bay, hanging his head, looking rather forlorn. He watched him silently for a moment, finally asked, "You okay?" to get his attention. Brown eyes peered up at him from under a mop of brown hair.
"If you have a minute, I could use a hand up here, and you could tell me what's up," Mike offered.
"Yeah, I have a minute. Whatcha doin' up there, anyway?"
"Just some minor maintenance checks," Mike replied, "Wanna make sure we got fresh blades on everything, make sure the hydraulics on the jaws are good, see if they need more fluid. Pretty much got all the blades changed, and I was gonna get the jaws down to check the lines and bleed 'em if they need it."
Johnny clambered up to join him, and they worked together for a few minutes, clearing the way and finally started to get the jaws down.
"Mike," Johnny spoke up after a moment, his voice quiet, "Boot's gonna die soon."
The words stung, but Mike couldn't pretend he didn't know it already. Johnny continued, "We know it. We all know it. He's barely been eating, had accidents indoors, can't jump up on the couch or bunks anymore. You hear him whinin' the other night when he couldn't get into Chet's bunk?"
"Yeah… he didn't stop until Chet picked him up and put him there."
"Exactly. Look, I'm just sayin', I think someone oughta talk to Chet about it," Johnny said as they bled the lines out back, "I grew up on a ranch with all kinds of animals, and I know sometimes you just wanna keep denyin' it, wanna pretend everything's alright, but there comes a point when decisions hafta be made."
"Did you ever have to-… y'know… ever have to put an animal down yourself?" Mike asked.
He didn't think he'd ever be able to do it. He'd seen police officers dispatch deer and other animals severely wounded in car accidents, and it turned his stomach every time. When it's a part of life, something that needs to be done, I guess you get used to it.
"I mean, yeah, I had to," Johnny shrugged as he lubed up some parts for the jaws, "Nearest vet was hours away. Maybe only saw him there three or four times a year. We had to take care of things ourselves. Wasn't fun, never liked doin' it, but it was what was best for the animal, so we did it."
Mike simply nodded in understanding. They'd had a dog when he was young, a bully mutt that had followed him home and he'd called Cookie. (He used a cookie to gain her trust.) They had her for only five years when she got sick and had to be put down. His parents made him go with them to the vet. Looking back on it, he was glad they did. Still, that was the only experience he had with this kind of situation in all his years. He turned his attention back to the jaws, adding the fluid and checking the pressure. For a moment, he felt good, his hands stained with dirt and grease and hydraulic fluid.
"Why don't you talk to Chet about everything?" Mike suggested.
"Me? Why me?"
"You have experience with the situation. You'll know more about what he's feeling and how to get through it and all that. Personally, I think it would be best coming from you."
"I-I dunno, Mike, I think it should be you or Marco."
Mike shook his head, replying, "Not this round. You guys are friends, good friends, and you're the same age. It would be better coming from you this time, Johnny."
Johnny chewed his lip, not answering. Mike could practically see his gears turning, watched him go over the information in his mind. He wiped his dirty hands on a rag, trying to get the worst of it off. The two men went into the latrine to wash their hands.
"Mike… do you-?" Johnny started, wet his lips, asked quietly, "Do you really think I'm the best choice for this?"
"Yes, I do. Like I said, you're good friends, and he really does like you, thinks a lot of you. I just think it would be better coming from you because you're the same age. Me and Marco and Cap… we're older, and-… well, sometimes Chet can kinda act like a kid, but he's a big boy, really. Problem is, sometimes me and Marco have a tendency to still treat him like a kid. I'm one of the worst offenders of mothering, especially where Chet's concerned. You won't do that. You won't tiptoe around what's happening, won't try to treat him like a kid, won't try to spare his feelings. You'll tell him the truth."
"What, and you won't?"
"Chet's been through a lotta bad shit," Mike explained softly, "Honestly, if I were to be the one to talk to him, I'd wanna try to protect him, protect his feelings. Not that I'm sayin' you don't care about him enough to want to protect his feelings. I'm not sayin' that at all. I'm sayin' you know what has to be done, and you'll do it because you care."
God, I hope that sounded the same way it did in my head. Johnny's expression was inscrutable. He simply looked at Mike for a long moment.
"Where's Chet now?"
"I think he's-"
The tones dropped, call for the squad, child with trouble breathing. Johnny hurried out to the bay, Mike not far behind. He stood by the engine and watched as the squad pulled away, Marco stepping up beside him. His presence was comforting and familiar.
"What's wrong?"
Mike turned to look at Marco, saw the dark eyes were full of concern.
"I just can't hide anything from you, can I?"
"Nope. You're an open book."
Mike sighed quietly, told him, "It's about Boot."
Marco hummed, nodded, said nothing. Mike continued, "Johnny looked kinda down, and that was why. I told him he oughta talk to Chet about it."
"I think you're right. We've been tiptoeing around this for too long," Marco agreed, "I think-… I guess we're just too afraid to hurt Chet's feelings. I mean, Boot's basically his dog, even the other shifts say so, say that Boot doesn't like anyone else as much as he likes Chet."
"I know, and so it should be Chet that makes any decisions here… I just wish we didn't have to put it all on him."
Marco gave another little hum of agreement.
xXxXx
"I never thought I'd say this, but you're bein' too quiet," Roy said to Johnny in the squad, "C'mon, Junior, just tell me what's wrong."
"Who said anything's wrong?"
"It's all over your face. Talk to me."
Johnny didn't reply right away, seemed to be putting his thoughts together, stared out the windshield with his finger over his lips. That's his pensive look. I hope I don't need to be worried. When Johnny thought too much, that usually meant he was coming up with some kind of crazy plan for God-Knows-What. Roy had a sinking feeling that was not the case this time.
"It's about Boot, Roy," he said at last.
Roy wasn't sure what to say to that. Everyone was able to see what was happening with Boot. The little mutt had been a part of their station for several years now, but he was showing signs of advanced age. It was the elephant in the room. No one wants to take an old dog to the vet. Roy thought back to the time Chet had yelled at Boot and upset him, making everyone think the dog was sick. Everyone was tripping over themselves to take him to the vet then, but not now, not with him showing much more obvious signs his end was near.
"What about him?" Roy asked simply.
"You know what," Johnny replied, "I'm worried is all. Chet really likes that dog. I dunno, I talked to Mike about it, and he said I oughta be the one to talk to Chet about what needs to be done, but I'm not sure."
"Why not? You're his friend."
"Sure, but I'm not good at-at havin' talks with people. I always fuck up, say the wrong thing, make 'em more upset. I like Chet. I don't wanna hurt him."
"Well, the way I see it, this whole thing is gonna hurt him one way or another. Like you said, Chet loves that dog. This isn't exactly gonna be easy on him."
"I know that. I ain't stupid. I just-… What do I even say?"
"The truth."
Roy was hardly one to cast the first stone here. He was just as guilty of mothering Chet as anyone, just as guilty of trying to hide the truth from him. Technically, Chet was the youngest member of the station, only by a few months, and for whatever reason, everyone tended to kind of treat him like a child. Roy thought perhaps it was because of his immature behavior, his occasional clinginess, and his devotion to Boot. When that was paired with what little they knew of his past, they all wanted to keep Chet as happy as possible.
"Look, just-… don't overthink it," Roy told him, "That's when you get yourself into trouble, when you overthink. It's Chet. Just talk to him and tell him the truth."
"It's not that easy, Roy. I can't- I can never find the right words to say when it comes to this kinda thing."
"Try and treat it like Boot's a patient and Chet's his family member. That's something you know."
"Yeah… yeah, I guess I could do that… That might work…"
Johnny fell back into his pensive silence; Roy dropped into one of his own. It was never easy to tell someone a loved one was dying. Thankfully, it wasn't always their job as they were usually too busy, working too fast, but sometimes it fell to them to break bad news. It's not any easier when it's someone you know. He knew the feeling. Doctors usually left it to firemen to tell another fireman's family he was dead, and it had been his sacred duty a number of times. This was a bit different, though, even if they considered Boot a part of their family.
Back at the station, Roy sought out Marco, who was found with Mike in the day room. Both greeted him as he stepped up.
"You okay, Roy?" Marco asked, "You look like something's bothering you."
"Talked to Johnny in the squad on the way back from Rampart," Roy replied, "He's, uh, he's upset about Boot… and upset that Chet's upset about Boot. He said you talked to him, Mike."
"Yeah, he helped me with some equipment maintenance and we talked it over. Why?"
"I guess you didn't do a good enough job convincing him he's the man for the job."
"What job?"
"Talking to Chet about his options as far as Boot is concerned."
"Oh… That job…"
"He's still worried he'll screw it up and make it worse," Roy told them.
"I'm not sure how he could make it any worse," Marco commented.
"True… I mean, really, this is kinda all our faults, for letting it go so long," Roy said, "We can't pretend we haven't been tryin' to spare his feelings, been pretending everything's okay when it hasn't been. We're all guilty of it."
"I know I am," Mike sighed, "I like him, and I know he's had a shitty go at life. I'm the worst offender when it comes to treating him like a kid, to mothering him."
"You say that like I'm any better, querido. Didn't really occur to me that we weren't doin' him any favors."
"That's why I told Johnny he oughta talk to him. They're the same age, so it's less likely he'll treat him like a kid," Mike spoke up.
"I think you have a point, Mike, and I agree with you. I think Johnny's the best person out of all of us, especially because he used to live on a ranch. He's used to stuff like this, not numb to it, but used to it. He won't pull any punches, won't coddle him. I think that's what Chet needs."
The other two men agreed, stayed silent for a long moment.
"So, we all think Johnny's right for the job," Marco said, "How do we convince him?"
Roy replied, "We don't. Put too much pressure on him, and he's gonna crack. Work is completely different from his personal life. As a paramedic, John can do anything. As a regular twenty-seven year old guy, not so much. That's where he doubts himself when stuff like this is concerned."
More murmurs of agreement followed. Johnny was a good kid, after all. He always managed to do the right thing, even if it aggravated everyone else. He was sweet and kind and good-hearted, and that was what Chet needed now. Chet needed someone who would be there for him but wouldn't sugarcoat what was happening. Johnny was able to do that. Roy sighed quietly and sat back in the chair.
xXxXx
A soft rustling pulled Hank from his already restless sleep. Boot's crying earlier hadn't helped his rest, either. He heard the sheets rustle again and picked up his head. In the darkness, he could see one of his firemen moving, sat up marginally to get a better look. Chet had gathered up his bedclothes and the little mutt and was heading out of the dorm. Hank briefly wondered if perhaps Boot had soiled the sheets, but he didn't smell anything, and he was fairly certain Chet would not have wrapped himself up in soiled sheets. Where is he going?
Hank was about to get up and follow him when he heard someone else moving. He decided to wait, stayed very still, watched as Johnny passed by in his bunkers and followed Chet out of the dorm. Everyone else remained asleep.
Good. Go talk to him, pal. Hank was as guilty as everyone else in coddling Chet. Perhaps it was because he was a father and has had to have the same talk with his girls before. He never liked doing it, not that he thought anyone really did, but Hank's emotions sometimes got the better of him. Johnny, though he'd never addressed what was going on with Boot, had at least never tried to pretend it wasn't happening.
Johnny and Chet had evolved together over their time at Station 51. Hank hadn't been there from the beginning, but he'd been there for a long time and had seen quite a bit. They tended to bicker a lot, antagonize one another, but he could see the friendship that wasn't buried quite so deep as either of them seemed to think, could see they liked and respected each other. A number of times, when one or the other was hurt, he could see the affection rise up and take over only for both to deny it later. There was even one time Johnny almost quit after Chet was injured and Johnny felt it was his fault.
Hank quietly got to his feet, shivering against the October night air, and padded to the door that led into the bay. Soft voices carried through the quiet station from the day room, and Hank stepped closer to listen.
"…okay to miss him," Johnny was saying, "It's okay to be sad. There's nothin' wrong with that."
"I know… I know… It's just hard. I-I don't know if I can be in there with him when they do it," Chet sniffed, voice thick.
"He'll look for you if you're not there."
"How do you know?"
"How else? Seen it happen. We had a dog that was real fond of my aunt, and he got too old. Same kinda thing like what's goin' on with Boot. Well, my aunt didn't wanna be there when Uncle Henry shot him, so she wasn't. That poor dog looked so sad… Now, we had another dog, my dog, best damn cattle dog ya ever saw… she got kicked by a cow and was hurt so bad she had to be put down, and I went with Uncle Henry to do it. She didn't look sad like Winchester did… no, 'lil Poppy looked content, at peace, like she knew what was happening and was ready. Think it's 'cause I was there with her. She knew it was okay."
Hank peered into the day room carefully, not wanting them to know he was listening. Chet had nestled himself in front of the couch, Boot wrapped up in the blankets with him, and Johnny was sitting beside him in his bunkers, pressed close to his side.
"He's always been there for me," Chet said quietly, "You've seen it. Any time we have a bad run, he's right there to make me feel better. He just sits with me, and-… I dunno, he just makes it better. Sometimes, I even- nevermind."
"What is it, Chet?"
"No, it's stupid. You'll laugh."
"I won't laugh. I promise."
Chet sighed quietly and said, "Sometimes, I like to talk to him, to Boot. I know it's silly, but I really feel like he listens to me. I'll talk to him after a bad run or when I'm feelin' down about somethin' or even if I just have a problem I can't figure out. I feel like he understands, like he gets me, y'know?"
"Yeah, I know how you feel. I had a horse like that once…"
Hank stepped away, left the two young men alone to talk freely, went back to bed. He hoped the night would remain quiet so the two could continue to speak. Poor Chet… From what little he knew of Chet's life, the young man didn't really have friends outside the station and none outside the department. He didn't seem to have a bad childhood, never really hid anything about his time growing up, but his teenage years and beyond were a mystery save for his Army service. Johnny was more of an open book, and maybe that was what Chet needed.
Sleep finally came to Hank after a little while, waking with their morning alarm. The other firemen grumbled, not quite waking up all the way. Hank stepped into his bunkers and quietly went into the kitchen. Johnny and Chet were still nestled on the floor in front of the couch, though both were awake, both holding mugs of coffee. Hank asked, "You fellas been out here all night?"
They looked up at him, still looking tired as though they hadn't slept much.
"Most of it," Johnny replied, "I made the coffee."
Hank poured himself a cup and sat at the table, waiting for the rest of his crew to emerge. Johnny and Chet remained in their place. Roy went to sit by them on the couch, letting his leg rest close to Johnny. When Mike and Marco emerged, they put together something for breakfast, not that anyone really ate. The general attitude was very subdued, all knowing what was likely to happen at the vet's office in a couple hours.
xXxXx
If Marco was being honest, he had been rather hurt when Johnny had told everyone that he was the one Chet had wanted with him if the vet had to put Boot down. Marco and Mike had been there for Chet through a whole lot of bad stuff, and something like jealousy rose up in his chest when Johnny had made that announcement. No, I can't be mad. It's our fault. Maybe if we'd been honest with him, he'd want us there instead. His ride home from the vet's office with Mike was silent, neither ready to talk. They had two little furry friends of their own at home.
The whole thing was just sad. As if they didn't deal with enough death in their job, now it was with them in their time off, too. Marco's fingers twitched. He had so badly wanted to hold Mike's hand in the while waiting for Chet and Johnny, but he couldn't, not in public, not where people could see. Now, in the safety of Mike's truck, he reached over, feeling blindly. Rough fingers twined with his, and he felt comforting warmth blossom in his chest. He wanted this day to be over, for the sadness to go away, for this to all have been a sad and terrible dream he would wake from.
The cats greeted them warmly, Rosa and Tito meowing loudly to announce that it was far past their breakfast time. Marco quickly put out their food, smiling faintly at their noisy purrs. They're so big… They're six now. He pushed the bad thoughts from his mind. Rosa and Tito were perfectly healthy little terrors and would be for years to come.
"Marco, babe? You okay?"
He turned. Mike stood in the living room, not quite wringing his hands, his brow knitted. Marco sighed, "Yeah, I'm okay, I guess… Today was just heavy, y'know… especially when I think about them," he gestured to the cats, "That's a decision I'm gonna have to make one day, that we'll have to make one day."
"Yes, but not for a long time to come. We still have plenty of time with Rosa and Tito, and we're gonna make the most of it. C'mere…"
Mike held open his arms, and Marco stepped into them willingly, needing the comfort and warmth. He wrapped his arms around Mike's waist, rested his head on Mike's shoulder, breathed slow and deep. They stood embracing for a long moment. It seemed to take them away for a time, to take away the sadness and grief and knowledge that their friend was so very sad and not there with them. Chet will be okay. Johnny's with him. Johnny will take good care of him, the very best.
"Mrow!"
Marco and Mike both looked down. Tito was gazing up at them with those yellow eyes of his, one of his paws raised as if to tap Marco on the leg. He meowed again. Marco smiled, dutifully bending to pick up the large cat as Rosa trotted over to rub against his leg. (Rosa did not like being held or cuddled like Tito did.) Tito rubbed against Marco's chin, purring loudly, his joy at being held apparent.
"Yes," he told his furball, "we're gonna be together for a long time yet… you and your sister and me and Mike… We have plenty of time."
Mike pressed a kiss to Marco's temple and cheek, rested his head on his shoulder, let Tito sniff at his nose. Some of Marco's heartache eased.
xXxXx
Johnny's heart sank as the vet told them wasn't any other recourse for Boot.
"At this point, it's my professional opinion that it would be best to put Boot here out of his suffering," the vet told them, her voice sad but professional, "We can take care of it now if you'd prefer. Will all of you be staying in the room?"
Johnny's eyes flickered over his shiftmates.
"No," Chet spoke up, "just-… just me and Johnny are gonna stay."
They heard it from Chet now, straight from the horse's mouth. He had worried a little about how they would take it, but no one seemed particularly put out. The guys all said goodbye to Boot, petting and scratching and even giving little kisses, giving Chet words of encouragement. They filed out one by one, leaving Chet and Johnny alone with Boot as Dr. Varnold returned.
"Well, gentlemen, I've got the shots here. The first one is a muscle relaxer and sedative to keep him calm, and the second is the one that, well, the one that finishes it. I'll administer the first one now and give it time to take effect."
Johnny watched her administer the shot with the same care and efficiency he would with a human patient. Chet sniffed loudly, sitting beside the exam table, gently petting Boot. He spoke in a low voice to the little dog. The words weren't intelligible to Johnny, but he supposed they didn't have to be. He's saying goodbye to his friend. Those are words only Boot has to hear, not anybody else… even me. Johnny just sat close by, a hand on Chet's shoulder, squeezing gently. He did not want to see his friend suffering like this. He never liked it when they were hurt or sad, liked it even less than a person normally would he suspected. He took it personally, almost, that he couldn't do anything to help them in their time of need. He wondered what was going through Chet's mind, as if he didn't already know, as if he hadn't already lived it before.
Dr. Varnold administered the second shot. A choked noise escaped Chet's throat, his shoulders jumping under Johnny's hand. He squeezed a little tighter. He remained silent still, not knowing words that would do any good, knowing that words wouldn't do any good. He could hear Chet speaking now, a broken stream of, "It's okay, Boot… s'okay… just like goin' to sleep… all you're doin' is goin' to sleep, pal… I-I'm gonna miss you, Boot. I'm gonna miss you so much… You're my 'lil buddy, remember that, okay, Boot? Boo-Boot?"
That was it. Johnny looked and saw it plain as day. Boot was gone. Chet choked down another sob that sounded terribly like 'Goodbye,' broken though it was. Johnny swallowed around the lump in his throat. The vet looked very sad. She's still young. How many goodbyes has she already seen? She stepped up and whispered, "You just leave whenever you're ready. We'll make sure the remains are taken care of how you'd like."
Johnny thanked her softly and sat with Chet for a few moments longer, waiting patiently for him to rein in his emotions. Finally, Chet gave a loud sniff, stood, headed to the door; Johnny followed. Chet put his hand on the doorknob and stopped.
"What is it, pal?" Johnny asked, "What's wrong?"
Chet shook his head, his body tense, but he said nothing. Johnny sighed. He carefully turned his friend to face him and told him gently, "Look, I don't want you alone the rest of the day, but I also sure as hell don't want you feelin' overwhelmed or like you can't feel sad. I'll take you home, and I'll stay with you. We'll just tell the guys I'm takin' you home and we'll get your car tomorrow or somethin' or whatever you want, okay? We'll get through this, alright? C'mon, let's 'bye to the fellas…"
He waited, allowing Chet to take a few steadying breaths, noting his eyes were wet but his face dry. Together, they headed out into the waiting room where their shiftmates were sitting, all looking much the same. Each of them made offers to go to breakfast or sit with him or have him for dinner, but Chet politely declined each one, said, "Thanks, but I'm just gonna have Johnny drive me home, and then I'll figure out gettin' my car tomorrow. I-… y'know, I really appreciate all you guys bein' here and bein' so nice. I mean it."
"Of course, Chet," Marco responded, "You call if you need anything, okay?"
"I will."
The others made similar offers before slowly heading out the door, piling into Cap's sedan.
"Don't you hafta stop home for a change of clothes or somethin'?" Chet asked in the Rover.
"Depends. Didja want me to stay the night?"
Color rose in Chet's cheeks, and he quickly stammered, "Well, Johnny, I-… I mean, I-… I-I couldn't im-impose on you like that. I don-don't-"
"It's okay, Chet, I don't mind. Like I told ya, whatever you want. Honestly, I always keep a change of clothes here in the Rover just in case. Never know when you'll need 'em. Now, what do you want? Do you want me to stay overnight?"
"Only if you-"
"No. What do you want, Chet?"
He chewed his lip, his face still pink, and finally mumbled, "I want you to stay."
"Okay… okay, good. I'll stay. Wouldn't be the first time I crashed on your couch, after all."
Chet huffed, "Ain't that the truth," but said nothing else. He was very quiet, uncharacteristically so, but Johnny understood. Grief can do that to people, makes 'em act different. He just sat with Chet, let him sit quietly, knew he would speak in his own time. It was well into the night before he said anything related to what happened that day.
The lineman turned in early, saying he was just tired and worn out. Johnny let him go. Not much I can really do to stop him. Can't force him to talk if he doesn't want to, after all, Johnny remained in the living room, idly watching TV on low volume. If Chet needed him, he'd be able to hear. He was dozing slightly when a sound caught his ear, muffled and quiet but there. He got to his feet and padded to Chet's bedroom, listening at the door. Crying… he's crying. Johnny pushed open the door and went in.
Chet didn't even notice. He lay curled up under his blankets, facing away from the door, crying as quietly as possible. Part of his paramedic mode clicked up, something in him that told him someone was hurting and needed help whether they wanted it or not. Johnny crossed over to him in quick strides, softly calling his name as he did so. Chet flinched sharply and sat up, scrambling to wipe at his face though his lip was trembling.
"What's wrong, Chet?" Johnny asked, sitting beside him, "Why didn't you say anything to me?"
"I-It's stupid," Chet replied, his voice broken, "He was just a 'lil dog that got old. We've seen so much bad, awful shit on this job, seen people die, seen kids die. That MVA a couple weeks ago-… why am I cryin' for a-a stupid 'lil dog when I didn't cry for a whole dead family?"
"Because you care about the stupid 'lil dog. Just what you said, we see a lot of bad shit. Now, I'm not sayin' we get numb to what we see on the job, but we kinda get used to it. Still hurts, still makes us sad. We just don't react at the moment 'cause we're too busy workin' or the moment passes, so we just put it away and move on. Then… then somethin' like this happens that stirs it all up. So really, right now, you ain't just cryin' for Boot. You are cryin' for that family and those dead kids and everything."
"How come you're not cryin'? Aren't you sad, too?"
"Sure, I'm sad. I loved Boot as much as anyone else. Just-… well, I think you were pretty lucky."
Chet knitted his brows, and Johnny explained, "Well, I told ya, I've seen plenty of animals put down livin' on a ranch… and on a ranch, nine times outta ten, we had to put 'em down ourselves with a gun. You got a chance to say a real goodbye, to sit with Boot until he was gone, got to look him in the eyes… I never had that, that's for sure. I wish we coulda just gave 'em all a shot and let 'em sleep. Bullet's kinda startling…"
"Did you-? You ever shot any of 'em yourself?"
"Yeah, had to."
"You ever… ever cry?"
"Sure, 'specially early on, when I was young. Did a few times when I was older, too, like when we had to put my horse Wiley down. Cried my eyes out the whole rest of the day. It only makes sense. Boot was your friend. Fella has a right to cry when his friend dies."
Johnny picked idly at his sweatpants, not looking at Chet though he could feel the blue eyes boring a hole in him. He cried when his buddy Drew died, when they lost kids in particularly horrible way, when they lost a fellow fireman. Fella has a right to cry every so often. No shame in it. The bed shifted as Chet moved, coming to rest and sitting next to Johnny, their shoulders pressed together.
"I-… I wanna thank you, Johnny," Chet mumbled, "For telling me the truth, for helpin' me through this, for bein' here for me… stayin' with me…"
"It's no big deal-"
"It is. It is a big deal. I know you and me don't always get along, that I've said some pretty shitty things to you in the past, but… but it's only 'cause-… 'cause I like you, consider you a-a good friend… a brother."
Something stirred happily in Johnny's chest. He replied, "Yeah, I know… that's why I take such good care of ya, pal. Gotta keep a friend like you around."
Chet leaned into him, and he leaned back, enjoying the warmth from Chet's body.
"It's gonna be awful different around the station without Boot," Chet said quietly, his voice thick again.
"Yep. Awful different," Johnny agreed, "I'll have one less person ignoring me."
Chet made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, replying, "Yeah, Boot didn' like you too much."
"He sure didn't. Not sure what I ever did to him. I like dogs. You were just his favorite."
"I could get him do anything, pretty much," he sniffed, rested his head on Johnny's shoulder, "God, I'm gonna miss him so much."
"We all will."
"He was just always there for me. Not that you guys weren't, but Boot-… he made it better-"
Chet's voice choked off, and he started crying there on Johnny's shoulder. Johnny wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing gently.
"It'll be okay, Chet," Johnny whispered, "You'll be alright, pal. I'm here for you."
He swallowed around the lump in his throat and finally allowed himself to cry there with his friend, finally let his tears. I'm sure gonna miss that scruffy 'lil dog…