Chapter Text
This was it. Jason paced and squatted and squatted and paced in the helicopter. That was, he did as much as he could before getting a stern barking from the Queen herself. Jason backed away from her. Lord only knew she was already seconds away from biting Merwins head off, he didn't wanna be next.
Skirting her, he made his way back to the front where Nick was sat, dead eyed staring out the window. Some people get jittery nervous, Jason himself a guilty party, others just did...that.
"Nick," he said, getting no response. "Nick, hey Nicky!" The marine's eyes regained focus and he blinked once without facing his comrade. "Yeah, I hear you." "Just checkin'," he admitted. "You seem a little out of it....and now aint exactly the time for philosophizin'" "I hear you; I'm here," he repeated coldly.
Jason shrugged. Whatever Nicky needed to do to stay in the moment he supposed, being emotionless might be better. But he noted, with a bite to the inside of his cheek, that left him with no one to talk to. Nick couldn't be distracted, Rachel was spitting fire, Eric and Clarice together looked like they'd wet the bed any moment, and spurring Joey or Merwin on would piss everyone else off. No walking, no talking, huh? He continued chewing at the inside of his cheek. He had a moment to think....to reflect...
"Kolchek!" He had heard his name called about a million times in the past week alone. Sure, the military gave him a sense of purpose when he felt lost, but Jesus Christ did it suck. It was like willingly joining a club led by high school bullies. Toughen up, they said. No hard feelings. Jason understood. Couldn't have people pussyfooting around a warzone. But sometimes....he couldn't help but wonder what the point was. But, then again, if there was no point in this, what did he have left.
That said, he put his all into his training, his work, his performance. Like it or not, it was something to do. And shockingly to no one but him, hard work paid off. He became a lieutenant faster than he thought possible.
A title....that was a start.
Now here he was, very nearly in charge of a whole task force. Really, Rachel got pushed aside and Eric didn't have the balls to tell nothin' to nobody, much less keep track of 'em far as Jason was concerned. He sighed. He hated recognizing it, but he was nervous. And would never, under any circustance, admit this out loud. He hated the feeling and what came along with it: pity disguised as sympathy.
Blah, blah, sincerity blah blah healthy emotions and whatnot. He could practically hear Rachel's voice in his head. It was pity, no two ways about it. Weak feeling for weaker people.
He shook it off and brought himself back to the moment. Right. People, many people, counting on him to do his job right. No more fuckups. The border was one too many for his liking. Ah fuck, the border... Maybe Nick was onto something with his playing braindead. He was done thinking. He let the radio's static and Eric's voice fill his head instead.
Go time.
~~
Just when he had said no more fuckups, huh? He supposed it wasn't his head under the block for this one. Still, he did feel pretty bad for the shepherds. Were they innocent? No. Was anyone really? They didn't deserve.....any of this bullshit.
Jason shrugged to wiggle his vest around over his tensed shoulders. "I want this place turned inside out," he had said. Not five minutes later, the Iraqi forces took that literally. A helicopter was coming down, shots were fired, and no sign of Eric's holy grail payload to be seen.
He watched Nick head into the fray for Joey. Good, accounted for. When he turned to check for the others he noted a shepherd making a run for it. Just as he always had, he yelled. He threatened. He had his gun pointed square at the guy.
"If you don't get down, I swear to God I'll shoot you full of holes." Still, the shepherd kept right on escaping. Jason caressed the trigger briefly before thinking, had he been the farmer whose house just got sacked, he'd be running too. It's not like he was the guy who called in the cavalry anyway. Lowering his gun, he heard a familiar click.
He pinched his eyes shut and winced. "You better not miss."
He waited. Waited. The sound of gunfire around them, but not the one he was waiting for. "No more killing," a voice behind him meekly said. No American voice, either.
Jason turned and saw an enemy solider, gun down. He squinted at him in disbelief, but only for a moment. Soon the ground beneath them trembled, squirmed, quaked. All sorts of things the ground isn't supposed to do. Then, he fell in.
It smelled like warm butter, sage, and thyme. Something was in the oven, something else sizzling on the stove. It was warm and humid, the air made thicker with the hot, heavy kitchen air. A faint smell of a menthol cigarette wafted in from another room. There sat his mother, clutching her robe shut, eyes trained on the tube. The high pitched whine that came from it nearly drowned out the sound of the prime time soap. Nearby, his father was perched in a recliner, Sunday best still on, if disheveled. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose as he studied the paper. He grumbled quietly to himself as he did so. The sidetable beside his chair had something on it, some papers. Jason knew those papers. Letters. One from the school concerning grades. One from the superintendemt regarding behavioral issues. One from a family friend, and another from the neighbor. Every single letter was about Jason. He frowned and walked forward into the living room. He heard a 'tsk' before a long inhale and a cloud of smoke coming to tickle his nose. "We've been hearing some interesting things about you, son," his father boomed, still hidden behind his papers.
No. No, this wasn't real. This was the past. Now, he was.....he was...
Where was he?
Jason opened his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. No one near, radio signal dead. No clear way to climb out of whatever weirdass cavern he sank into. Well, better get looking for a way, then, he thought.
~~
Sure as shit he rode Nick's ass about seeing things, and look at em now. He'd been a real dick to him. Apologies were for later. Seeing what happened to Merwin, that plucky computer girl whose name he already forgot...
"Nicky? That you?" He heard a timid yet firm reply just ahead. The two had been separated for a while, too long for Jason's liking. He didnt like being anywhere in this hellhole alone.
Upon ducking through yet another dusty corridor he saw his friend, guiltily crooked grimace plastered across his face. Jason cocked a brow just before noticing the Iraqi soldier beside him, pistol at the ready. His expression quickly changed to show his unbridled rage.
"Drop yer fuckin weapon," Jason warned. The solider glanced at Nick, seemingly hoping for some kind of help. Getting none, he focused back on Jason.
"I could ask the same of you," he retorted, unmoving. Nick stepped in, briefly but not forcefully asking for Jason's compassion. Allegedly the dead creature on the ground had been a team effort, and Nick felt some sense of debt toward the guy.
Indebted or not, and enemy is an enemy, lest Nick forget the assult on Eric and Rachel as well as the cute little mousetraps set up around the ruins for them.
"Last time I'll ask nicely, drop the fucking gun," Jason continued. The solider stayed still. "If you don't get on the ground right now, I swear on every fucking God in this joint that I'll end you where you stand," he spat in a final appeal, "and you better hope you're set straight with them because they'll send you to a hell far worse than this."
"I didn't come this far to be shot by a trigger happy American!"
Jason scoffed and leaned into his gun.
"Alright, enough," the solider finally conceded, lowering himself to his knees and laying the gun down.
Somehow it was this motion that made something click in Jason's head. Was this the same guy from just before he fell? It had to be. The soft lilt he had when he spoke English seemed familiar. The same method of disarmament and motioning to signal he meant no harm...
Jason shook the thought off, ordering the man cuffed and brought back with them.
~~
Of course, Eric's stupid ass let the Iraqi escape. Seriously, not even adrenaline-filled life or death situations could make that man useful. Still, Jason knew it wouldn't be the last time he saw the guy. These ruins weren't big enough for the both of them. Besides, if he was really the one who stabbed the shit out of that monster, he's the bigger threat to those halls than these basement dwelling shiteaters.
~~
Yet again Jason was ready to end the lives of the Iraqi soliders, but this time his cockblock was Colonel Competent. 'They needed the help,' Jason mocked in his head. He could take those toxic flying nutsacks all day....
Until he couldn't.
Jason couldn't keep track of the fights at all. Everyone got jumped, monsters were everywhere, two per person. He had no idea who was left alive. He saw Nick taking blows, Eric yelling, the really annoying Iraqi guy got his shit rocked, Rachel was squirming around but that other guy....what did Nick say his name was? Sa--hi--? Sal--Salim! He risked his own hide to cover Rachel. It was anyones guess whether that ultimately helped either one of them.
He had been dragged off alone and had to go mano a mano with the physical manifestation of tooth rot. He wasn't sure how he'd done it himself. He groaned, pulling himself off the floor. His body was ready beaten, bruised, battered, everything short of mangled. He just prayed that it wouldn't give out when he needed it most.
Once he was on his own two feet, he began searching once more for any signs of life. The slight shifting of dusty pebbles and an errant shadow caught his attention. Jason swung around, finger to trigger. But there he was, Salim, that same fuckin guy.
"Don't fuckin move."
Salim sighed. "I mean you no harm."
Jason lowered his gun. Of course he didn't. How many times was this guy in a position to have killed him. Yet here they were, both still standing. "Just glad to see another human face," he deflected. "Any others with you?"
Salim hung his head and shook it. "I believe it's only us."
"Yippe-kah-fuckin-yay."
"We should be acquainted at least," he began. "Salim Othman, Iraqi Republican Guard.'
"Jason Kolchek, U.S. Marines."
Without further conversation, they began to look around. How big was this place? It was starting to feel like a halloween cornmaze. A wrong turn? Vampire. The same hall again? Surprise, it's an equally identical hall, no connection to any chamber hed seen before. He began to let out annoyed huffs any time they came to a dead end.
-----
Jason. Jason. He turned the name over in his mind. Yes, it was fitting. A hot-headed fresh faced all-American boy in the army, Jason. Still, there was something behind his eyes, something genuine. His commanding officer had lacked that, just barking like a scared dog. Compassion, perhaps? It'd be hard to tell....this guy was more stubborn than a weed growing from cracked pavement during the dry season.
He wasn't exactly a chatterbox either. Normally, Salim wouldn't mind, but considering today's events so far, conversation would help keep him grounded. He tried....many times. He got noncommital one word answers and uninterested grunts. Salim spent a deal of time analyzing the other's facial features, too. His boyish good looks betrayed his stern expression. How young was he, dragged into all of this? Or maybe he himself was getting old.
Salim leaned into questions about the war, about who he was. Unsurprisingly, he was met with ignorance and intolerance.
"Your people started this war," Jason muttered, scanning walls for anything telling.
"You Americans, so sure of how the world works. The feed you lies," he spat.
Jason snorted.
"Why do you fight?" Salim ventured, hoping for the conversation to dig up that glimmer he saw before in Jasons eyes.
"To remember the dead," he responded, seemingly annoyed.
Salim cocked a brow. "Remember or avenge?"
"Won't matter if you keep this up; you'll be right along side "em."
The American huffed and shuffled around Salim out of the alcove they had been inspecting. He was....interesting to Salim, and not necessarily in a good way. Was it that the Americans indoctrinated their warriors with patriotic savior-complex producing filth? Or was this just their standard of education? Or, even more hilariously he thought, was he just stuck with the most dull-witted, least understanding man in the United States? None of those options were a pleasure to consider. Regardless, how could he, Jason, not see the carnage. How was he not bothered? Why didn't he want peace? Why does he make everything difficult and strained? Salim had a mind to find out.
He continued poking and prodding Jason with innocent enough questions or statements about his own life. How long had he been enlisted? Favorite ration food? Any siblings at home? But, sometimes the conversation came back around to blame.
Finally, Salim had had enough. He shot back, complaining about his ignorance, his unwillingness to see, and his very uniquely American sensibilities. He could barely follow his own speech as it came out of his mouth. Was he even making sense? He huffed finally, pushing a large rock from their path.
Jason smirked, "I get all the news I need from cable TV."
"So the stereotypes really are true," Salim grumbled, turning to face Jason. Was he....smiling? "Oh, it was a joke."
"Or maybe you're just as ignorant as I am." This did make Salim consider for a moment. Perhaps he was judging Jason too harshly. But then, what was his problem? He glanced over at the still smiling Marine. It was the first time he'd seen him smile.
Riling up the Iraqi---no, no, Salim. Riling up Salim was quite the entertainment for Jason. He didn't like talking about his past or his home with anyone, not even Nicky. Fat fuckin' chance a literal enemy combatant was making him talk. Instead, he had been cold and brief as possible. However, that started to bring out this tired, strung-out guy that was not the same as the one asking what food he'd give his life for in this moment. Salim started getting almosy as snippy as Jason.
And when he started his ranting and raving about Americans? Even better. It was pretty funny. It's not like Salim had it all wrong. There's plenty of ignorant bastards; Jason wpuld wager he's pretty ignorant too. He had that right. But some of the stereotypes he'd throw out...comedy gold, if not because they were true. Still, making him see the irony of his actions...maybe sticking with him wasn't so bad.
Salim stopped asking so many questions after that. Truthfully, it was a bit of a letdown for Jason. He did genuinely enjoy the distraction, even if it was annoying as shit. He counted his lucky stars multiple times that he just so happened to be stuck with an Iraqi nearly fluent in English. If there was a language barrier? Fuuuuck that shit. Fighting a demon together, they'd be dead tripping over their own shoes before it even got a hold of 'em.
"I cannot wait to see my son," Salim said, not really to Jason, it seemed. More like, it was just something to break the silence.
"Bet he's really missing his pops, huh?"
Salim was quiet for a second. "I had told you friend already, today is my son's birthday."
Jason inhaled sharply. "Oof, what a day for the world to cave in. Shit," he breathed, kicking pebbles along as he walked.
"I must make it out," Salim stated, "for him." Jason nodded along. It was a worthy reason. What reason did he have to make it out alive? "What's waiting for you at home?"
Jason groaned. "Nothing good," he answered truthfully.
Salim said nothing, but raised a brow, waiting for an explanation. He really fuckin wanted to know? He'd asked around that question for at least the past hour. Fine, he'd finally get his answer. "My family doesn't much care if I ever come back," he admitted, fighting to keep his tone even.
"Oh," Salim breathed, with some sort of intonation Jason really didnt like.
Pity.
He rolled his eyes. "You really think I'd be here if I was happy at home?"
Salim fiddled with a pocket closure. He had a point. To shift the focus, Jason asked "Why'd you do it then? Leave your boy, I mean?"
Salim sighed. "It is only us; I raise him alone," he started ducking under another low threshold. "We needed an income."
"Single parent? Tough shit," Jason admitted. He reflected on his own experience having two...yeah, no. Definitely didn't benefit any. "You're a good dad, though." Salim turned back, again wordlessly asking for context with his eyes. "Most people got two whole parents an' neither one of 'em could give a rotten rats ass," he explained.
"That's a bit.....how do I say it? Depress--no. Pess...im..pessim--" "Pessimistic?" Jason offered. "Well, I take it you know by now I'm not exactly the glass half full kinda type." Seeing Salim's non reaction, he continued, "It's true anyway. I'm a shining example."
Salim searched for something to say. But what was there? What comfort could he offer a relative stranger from a background so different and unknown to him? "I'm sorry."
Jason scoffed. "Why? It weren't you neglecting a little white southern boy," he said with a smile. "Just keep being a good father to your son, Salim. That's what matters."
That was the first time he had heard Jason use his name. Was this....progress? He just smiled back warmly. He dearly hoped he'd see that smile again.