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This page last viewed: 2017-06-27 and has been viewed 2146 times

My Boys

My Boys

Author: Soulseeker

 

Rating: sorta PG-13, kinda slashy.

Summary: Someone watches the Team sleep.

Beta: nope. Any mistakes are entirely mine.

Feedback: you betcha.

 

 

                                                      My Boys

 

     I'm watching my boys sleep and silently chuckle to myself. My boys. Although I'm not their 'birth' father, didn't watch over them as children, wasn't there to soothe skinned knees or kiss their boo-boos or teach them how to ride a bike, I feel as if I'm really am their father. I watched them begin as a rag-tag group of rejects and prison fodder, pull together to form a team, a family, with me as their commander and father.

 

    As their father, it's up to me to watch over them on nights like this. Nights that seem to suck the very soul out of unsuspecting sleepers. Nights that drag on without end, without hope. We've been on the run for the last three months and I wonder how long we can keep going. Braking out of Fort Bragg was a piece of cake. So easy it was almost laughable. Finding Murdock and breaking him out was also just as easy, thanks to Face's 'release' papers. But now, it was getting harder and harder and it didn't have anything to do with the army hunting us.

 

    Right now, all three of them are piled up on the king sized bed in our single room like puppies. It's a crappy room in a crappy motel, but it contains the most precious things in existence. B.A., Murdock, and Face. There's enough room in the bed for me, when I'm tired enough. But now, I'm just content to watch my children as they sleep. They look so . . . innocent, so peaceful in their relaxed state. Their faces are lax from tension, from worry about what fresh hell the next day will bring. These are not men, trained to kill and follow orders. Not men being hunted down like rabid dogs. These are mere children, too young to vote, too young to shave, too young to legally drink. They are my boys.   

 

    B.A. had always been the strong, silent one. Large of body, muscles bulging, dark skin blending with the night . .  my eldest. Although many thought that he was nothing but trouble, nothing 'going on upstairs', my oldest 'son' had always amazed me with his brilliant mechanics. He could take any broken jeep and make it work on nothing but baling wire and a wad of gum. If I need something fixed on the fly, that boy could work miracles with nothing but a wrench and a screwdriver. He's strong. He's a rock. He's the one we all rely on for strength, both physical and mental. And right now, his large body is curled around the thinnest of our little band, trying to protect him from something that no one can see or hear or fight. At least, none of us can see the danger slipping through the shadows of a brilliant mind gone off-kilter.

 

    Face is sleeping on the outside, sheltering Murdock between him and B.A. Smaller, paler and blonder, he's my youngest. Many of my superiors warned me not to take him on, that he'd just drag me to the brig with him over his scams. If only they knew that we ended up in prison after all, not because of his scams, but for simply following orders. Face is a smooth operator, a quick talker, a boy who can get the possible in an impossible situation. If I or his brothers need anything, he can talk, forge, scrounge or outright 'steal' whatever is necessary. All for a good cause, of course. He's the charmer. He's the over-achiever. He's the one we rely on for things we need to survive. And he's hopelessly, desperately in love with the one in the middle. I'm afraid that one day, Face is going to follow Murdock straight to a padded cell.

 

    Speaking of which, Murdock is my middle child. He's taller then the other two, but his tan skin and brown hair is the perfect blend between them. He's the one I worry the most about. He'd been on the edge even before we met and I was warned that it was only a matter of time before my precious boy was completely shattered. He may be cracked, but he's not broken. Not yet, not now . . . not ever if we have our way. My boy's a brilliant pilot, able to rescue us from every deadly jungle firefight we were ever in. He's our clown. He's the one who saw the bright side to everything.  He's the one who kept our spirits up when we were locked up in that hellhole of a prison camp. At least, at first. The longer we were there, the longer Koa had to torture him, the less he found joy in living. We watched as he grew thinner, quieter . . . sadder. I watched as Face's love for the pilot went unreturned the deeper Murdock went inside his own head. But that never stopped my fair-haired child's heart from beating.

 

    After the camp, we all seemed to pull back together. Then came the mission and imprisoned by our own people. Murdock was sent State-side to a mental hospital. It took a while, but after we broke out, we rescued him from his own hell before it was too late. Or, at least we thought we got to him in time. He can go from peaceful to rage in seconds. He eats his weight in food and then starves himself for days. He babbles uncontrollably and then never utters a sound. Frantic energy and motionless crouching in corners. Insomnia and near coma-like sleep. We never know what's going to crop up next. And it's slowly killing us all.

 

    Face won't listen to me or B.A. when we tell him that Murdock needs help. His heart won't let him see the truth. Murdock is in a fast spiral, heading for a crash that he might never recover from. I only pray that Face can survive that when it happens. Because I can't lose both my boys at the same time. It would be too much for any father.

 

    I smile as B.A. draws the others closer to him in his sleep, snuggling into Murdock's back. Face tightens his hold on the skinny body in his arms. B.A. and Face are sleeping the sleep of the exhausted. Murdock is sleeping the sleep of the drugged to the gills. There'll be no screams in the dark tonight. No whimpers or cries of pain. No phantoms calling on revenge for dead fathers or destroyed villages. At least, for one of us.

 

    Yawning, I check the clock. It's going on 3 a.m. Dawn is not far behind that and we'll need to get cracking at first light. We can't afford to stay in one place for too long and soon, we'll need to find a way to earn some money. Maybe something good will happen in the light of a new day. Some idea, some plan, some way to keep my family together and safe and well.

 

    Kicking off my shoes, I crawl in behind Face and stretch an arm over my sleeping sons, resting my hand on B.A.'s strong shoulder. Thank God I didn't listen to those idiots that warned me away from them. I love and care about these boys. I can and will protect them. They are my family.                     

 

 

The end.

P.S. yeah, I know it's more then a drabble, but, there you go.

 


My Boys by Soulseeker

 

 


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