Never Shall Be Slaves, part seven
Jun. 8th, 2007 02:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: Never Shall Be Slaves
Co-author Credit:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
abnormal_sea
Fandom(s): Richard Carstone is from Bleak House by Charles Dickens. Tom Jones is from the novel of the same name by Henry Fielding. Danny Sloane (Arthur's younger brother) also makes a brief cameo appearance.
Rating: PG-13, overall, for violence and some language.
They worked until dusk made it hard to see, and slightly after. Finally, the Germans gave the order to stop for the night, issued soup that was mostly water and a tiny chunk of stale bread, and sent everyone back to the barracks. They were overcrowded, though some of the men on the crew were clearly used to worse conditions.
Richard rolled his shoulder absently as he choked down the food, knowing that tomorrow would be infinitely worse. Tom got significantly less food than Richard and didn't seem to want to eat what he had gotten. He ended up giving it to another prisoner and lying down on the wooden bunk, rubbing his injured shoulder. The wound had reopened due to the work.
Richard came over and offered him the stale chunk of bread. "You should eat, cadet." He frowned as he registered Tom rubbing his shoulder. "It's worse?"
Tom nodded, his face contorted in a grimace. "Yes, sir, it is."
Noting the blood seeping through the thin material, Richard said, "It'll hurt, but try to keep pressure on it until the bleeding stops, if you can." Neither of them had enough excess material to effectively rebandage it, so pressure would have to do.
"Yes, sir." Tom pressed his hand against it and hissed with pain. "I'm sorry."
"Don't. I'm the one who should be responsible for how we ended up."
"I'm not trying to make them angry at you. I'm just trying to..."
"Trying to hang on to yourself, a bit? I can't say that I blame you."
"I don't want to cooperate with them, sir."
"I don't like it either, Jones. But would you rather be shot, to make a point? What good would that do anyone? The bastards certainly aren't going to loose any sleep over it."
Tom looked up at him from where he was lying down. "But...but they can't do that." He looked very afraid. "Can they, sir?"
"They've already done a lot of things they shouldn't," Richard said quietly. "I don't think I'm willing to gamble on their mercy or their sanity."
"I want to go home," Tom mumbled with his eyes closed in pain and to stop any tears.
He might have said more, but two nazis burst into the room, calling for prisoner 342. Tom got up and came forward, his hand still clutching his shoulder. The men escorted him out and he threw a last glance towards Richard before leaving the building. Richard watched in helpless frustration as they took Tom away.
After a few hours or so, Tom returned. He stumbled about in the dark before finally finding his and Richard's bunk, which he collapsed onto. Richard hadn't really been sleeping, but realized others were, so he pitched his voice soft, despite the worry in it. "Jones. Are you alright? What did they do?"
"They were teaching me, sir."
Richard frowned. "Teaching you what?"
"More German, sir. It was like I was still in school, desk and all. Then they had me watch a film and tell them what it meant." He dug in his pocket. "Look what they gave me, sir, when I got a question right." He pulled out a small piece of candy and gave it to Richard. Richard frowned deeply, though he took the candy. Tom shrugged and tried to get comfortable despite his shoulder. "It was very odd, sir."
"I don't like it." That was an understatement. Richard liked it considerably less than the fact that the soldier had hit Tom in the face, because even if that was illegal, it made sense. He wasn't sure what the Germans were getting at with this, but it gave him a funny feeling in his stomach.
"Perhaps they want to use me as a translator, sir." Tom yawned. If they were going to be giving him these lessons every night then it was going to be hell every morning. Richard made a noncommittal noise, frowning at the ceiling, but didn't try to keep Tom from sleep. He was sore, but his mind was far too occupied for him to drift off himself.
Tom eventually fell asleep, his shaved head coming to rest on Richard's shoulder. But that was the only part of Tom that touched him, the rest just twitched every now and then, but stayed in it's own space. Richard eventually dozed, lightly, a frown still touching his lips.
Co-author Credit:
abnormal_seaFandom(s): Richard Carstone is from Bleak House by Charles Dickens. Tom Jones is from the novel of the same name by Henry Fielding. Danny Sloane (Arthur's younger brother) also makes a brief cameo appearance.
Rating: PG-13, overall, for violence and some language.
They worked until dusk made it hard to see, and slightly after. Finally, the Germans gave the order to stop for the night, issued soup that was mostly water and a tiny chunk of stale bread, and sent everyone back to the barracks. They were overcrowded, though some of the men on the crew were clearly used to worse conditions.
Richard rolled his shoulder absently as he choked down the food, knowing that tomorrow would be infinitely worse. Tom got significantly less food than Richard and didn't seem to want to eat what he had gotten. He ended up giving it to another prisoner and lying down on the wooden bunk, rubbing his injured shoulder. The wound had reopened due to the work.
Richard came over and offered him the stale chunk of bread. "You should eat, cadet." He frowned as he registered Tom rubbing his shoulder. "It's worse?"
Tom nodded, his face contorted in a grimace. "Yes, sir, it is."
Noting the blood seeping through the thin material, Richard said, "It'll hurt, but try to keep pressure on it until the bleeding stops, if you can." Neither of them had enough excess material to effectively rebandage it, so pressure would have to do.
"Yes, sir." Tom pressed his hand against it and hissed with pain. "I'm sorry."
"Don't. I'm the one who should be responsible for how we ended up."
"I'm not trying to make them angry at you. I'm just trying to..."
"Trying to hang on to yourself, a bit? I can't say that I blame you."
"I don't want to cooperate with them, sir."
"I don't like it either, Jones. But would you rather be shot, to make a point? What good would that do anyone? The bastards certainly aren't going to loose any sleep over it."
Tom looked up at him from where he was lying down. "But...but they can't do that." He looked very afraid. "Can they, sir?"
"They've already done a lot of things they shouldn't," Richard said quietly. "I don't think I'm willing to gamble on their mercy or their sanity."
"I want to go home," Tom mumbled with his eyes closed in pain and to stop any tears.
He might have said more, but two nazis burst into the room, calling for prisoner 342. Tom got up and came forward, his hand still clutching his shoulder. The men escorted him out and he threw a last glance towards Richard before leaving the building. Richard watched in helpless frustration as they took Tom away.
After a few hours or so, Tom returned. He stumbled about in the dark before finally finding his and Richard's bunk, which he collapsed onto. Richard hadn't really been sleeping, but realized others were, so he pitched his voice soft, despite the worry in it. "Jones. Are you alright? What did they do?"
"They were teaching me, sir."
Richard frowned. "Teaching you what?"
"More German, sir. It was like I was still in school, desk and all. Then they had me watch a film and tell them what it meant." He dug in his pocket. "Look what they gave me, sir, when I got a question right." He pulled out a small piece of candy and gave it to Richard. Richard frowned deeply, though he took the candy. Tom shrugged and tried to get comfortable despite his shoulder. "It was very odd, sir."
"I don't like it." That was an understatement. Richard liked it considerably less than the fact that the soldier had hit Tom in the face, because even if that was illegal, it made sense. He wasn't sure what the Germans were getting at with this, but it gave him a funny feeling in his stomach.
"Perhaps they want to use me as a translator, sir." Tom yawned. If they were going to be giving him these lessons every night then it was going to be hell every morning. Richard made a noncommittal noise, frowning at the ceiling, but didn't try to keep Tom from sleep. He was sore, but his mind was far too occupied for him to drift off himself.
Tom eventually fell asleep, his shaved head coming to rest on Richard's shoulder. But that was the only part of Tom that touched him, the rest just twitched every now and then, but stayed in it's own space. Richard eventually dozed, lightly, a frown still touching his lips.
