Actions

Work Header

Mi Casa Es Tu Casa - On Temporary Hiatus

Summary:

Returning from the front line with a broken leg, and a helluva lot of trauma, Callum Highway finds himself in an entirely different world than the one he left behind.
When the opportunity comes for him to share a flat with cocky guy called Ben he finds himself once again pulled into a world of conflict and intense relationships.

Notes:

To be perfectly honest I didn't do much research into the Army and the way it operatesd. However if I include into future chapters I will be sure to be more informed. Also this fic will most probably be slow to update, due to damn university commitments!

Chapter 1: Insomnia; Tossing and turning

Chapter Text

 He only had to close his eyes and he was back there, seeing everything, feeling everything, and hearing what wasn't totally obliterated by the explosions. Each gunshot sent pulses of white shooting through his head and beneath his feet, the clay turned from mustard-y brown to a vivid, bloody red. The warzone was a foreign planet, both a featureless abyss and a horror show at the same time. Nothing could help him forget that, not the pills, not the drink, not even his counsellor. She tried, and he tried (with all the will in the world) but it was all for nought. Just like this fucking war then. They'd been here for months now, and the things they'd achieved had been minimal. They'd disarmed some roadside bombs and liberated a few settlements from Militia control, but at the end of the day they were no closer to a victory. Whatever a victory would mean for him.

With wild eyes he scanned his surroundings, hoping for anything he could hide behind, or even better somewhere he could run to. If only he could get away. That was his best chance. His legs told him to run, begged him, almost doing it of their own accord. But he couldn't run. He couldn't escape. Somewhere ahead of him were his section, trudging through the combat-zone shielding their eyes from the midday sun. At the back of the group, Lance Corporal Davis was yelling for him, shouting, his voice raw, he was waving too, urging him along.
  "HURRY THE HELL UP HIGHWAY! NOW!" He bellowed; his voice raw and scratchy when it reached Callum’s ears.
  "HIGHWAY! DO I HAVE TO DRAG YOU?! COME ON!" he was losing his patience. Understandable considering the situation, but nevertheless it sent a jolt of panic shooting up his spine. He was about to move, to comply with his orders but then the hairs went up on the back of his neck. He felt instinctively that something was wrong, although he couldn’t quite explain it.

Davis continued to shout, his frustration turning him bitter “HAVE YOU LOST THE PLOT? WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT NOW? IF IT’S A BLOKE WITH A GUN I DOUBT HE’LL WANT TO SHAKE YOUR SHITTIN’ HAND!”

But still Callum continued to gawp across the wastes, the featureless landscape offering a clear line of sight to whatever horrors were happening back there. But there was no horror for once, or none close to hand. Instead, and as if out of nowhere another soldier had appeared. He was walking aimlessly across the parched earth, as casual as you like, almost as if he was taking a stroll through the park on a Sunday afternoon. Callum’s heart flipped with the sight of him, his nerves immediately standing on end, he was for the first time imbued with the fight part of the fight or flight response.

“Chris!” He shouted, in unison with another percussive blast, completely ignoring Davis. The other man continued his walk, without even looking up. Callum’s heart dropped with every step he took, he just wasn't going to catch up. He wasn’t ever going to save him. Another explosion sent grit in every direction, smattering his hair in dirt. A tiny hailstorm of clay and sand raining over his head.
“Chris!” He yelled again; his voice somehow smaller than it had ever been before, he might as well be shouting from the bottom of a well.
Davis had no such trouble. “HIGHWAY YOU BLOODY HALFWIT!” He continued to roar “COME THE FUCK ON!”

Callum couldn’t move though, he couldn’t just leave him, it felt undeniably, irrefutably wrong to turn his back. So he didn’t, he took one step towards the wanderer… But that was when the world began to collapse. Reality folded in on itself at one exact spot, the one where the soldier’s boot met with an explosive buried in the dirt. He saw it in slow-motion, the ground erupting with fire, the air erupting in noise. It swallowed Chris up in a moment, but it seemed to Callum a lifetime, what with all the screaming he was doing, and the anguished disbelief rooting him to the spot.

Callum woke up in an instant, his skin was plastered in sweat. He was thrashing in his duvet like a man drowning. Eventually he freed himself from his bed, and the memory.

As soon as he had, he felt an explosion of embarrassment within him. His face turned hot, there was a pouring of realisation from head to toe.  He wasn’t in Afghanistan; he wasn’t at war at all. Instead he was in his freezing cold bedroom, in the middle of London. What's more he was alone. His only companion was the picture of his section, looking back at him from his bedside table.
When he looked at them, and their smiling faces he wondered what they were doing now, how many of them had died. He wondered how many of them had gone like Chris had, in an instant and with no warning. A lump formed in his throat, so before he could set about crying, he picked up the frame and slammed it flat on it’s face.