BIG CW:
Loss of a pet.

Gunther belongs to Im_Not_Old_Sport

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It had been a week since Christmas- a week since the Deleware crossing. The English forces were learning of the invasion and how many men they lost. 

Johnson's face heated with anger thinking about the situation. He had been arriving at the Hessian camp that day to join a friend. Once he got there, he was welcomed by the sight of the massacred ground. Blood and various dead men, shouting colonials, and poor men were hungover from the night's celebration.

He had done something stupid, but his friend was safe now. He offered the rifleman the opportunity to stay in his cabin for a while. 

Glancing over, the freckled lad caught sight of the man sprawled on a cot. He smiled a bit, shaking his head. Easily compared to an uncle, Gunther was quite tall and light-hearted but a grave man when duty calls. Auburn hair, almost appearing as red as the remaining embers of fire when touched by sunlight, and a mustache that is trimmed to perfection.

Jon would often tease him for being a show off- for the lad couldn't grow much facial hair. Though- he wouldn't keep body hair anyway- he shaves his legs often.

Rolling his eyes, the freckled lad went to work, propping his elbows against the desk. The new year brought him to review some older work, reading through bits of information and letters he had gathered from friends. He spent various minutes separating and stacking the letters into neat piles- keeping the dates in order; the bottom held the oldest notes, and the top had the newer ones. He tied each wad with a black ribbon before tucking them nicely in the drawers of his desk.

Finally, he pushed away, leaning back in his seat. Resting his eyes, he whistled, reaching his hand out. No wet nose reached up to greet him. 

"Geezer?" The freckled boy chimed, cracking his eyes open. He glanced beneath his chair, noticing the old dog had moved. He hummed. "Gunther-"

"Yeah?"

"Have you seen my dog?"

The German man huffed, forcing himself from the cot. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes softening. "Your pup is lying by the fire, Kriegerjunge."

The brunette smiled, lifting himself from his seat, giving his foot enough time to rid of the tingling of numbness. He whistled again- but the herding dog didn't lift his head. A look of concern spread across his face. Geezer always responded to the whistle- even over cannon fire in the fields. "Geezer?" 

The old dog lifted his head, a low whine sounding. Johnson hurried over,  limping due to a slight injury sustained recently. "Geezer, it's alright; what's wrong, boy?" 

A labored breath came from the dog, his eyes half-lidded. It clicked; Geezer had finally reached his last hours. Johnson brought a hand to his mouth, leaning down quickly to hug old Geezer. "It's okay, buddy. I'm here; I'm here." 

Since the dog's hearing and seeing had been failing, Johnson knew this day would come- he had retired the dog from herding life a couple of years before- back when he was still out on the streets. He's been through so much with this pup; he wasn't sure what to do without him.

"Oh, Geezer. Here," Jon absently reach over, grabbing a bucket of water. "Can you drink, boy?" His lip quivered as Geezer rose. He looked so sickly- his body shaking. All the freckled boy could do was hug his old dog, reminding him that he'd be okay. 

Gunther cocked his head to the side, hearing an almost desperate tone in Johnson's voice. He didn't dare question once he saw the boy's dog. 

Yet the dog tried, slowly flicking his tongue into the water before stumbling and falling onto Jon. 

He had known this was coming- perhaps not so soon. He wrote Roger two weeks back about how far Geezer had come and how many more adventures he wished to take him on. Oh, their little expeditions. 

Johnson was growing more comfortable with ranged weapons. He was new to the military- and it was the first time he had picked up a gun. It was explained how to load and clean the musket- much powder should come from the horn and roughly how much the musket ball should weigh. He memorized. 

Geezer sat by him as he read the notes and practiced. The training lasted months, and in that time, Jon had taught himself how to hunt- using tactics of good friends. 

There, Geezer showed how well he could work quietly. One of the quietest dogs Johnson believed he had seen. Smart as a tack and quick. He would wait until the gun sounded before moving, and ole' Geezer would alert Jon if any larger animals came through. 

He remembered when the dog stood between him and a copperhead, growling. Of course, Johnson was more careful now- knowing to watch his step. It had been his turn to protect Geezer. 

The lad smiled fondly at the memories. A couple of days ago, Anderson had informed Jon about Geezer chasing and catching squirrels, but now the poor dog seemed so drained. 

Unable to repress tears, Jon let some slip as he buried his face into Geezer's fur, rocking with him. He couldn't help himself, kneading his fingers through the fluff of the dog's chest, trying to comfort him. "I'm here. I'm right here, boy- soon, we'll be chasing squirrels and wrestling with sticks again. You can steal my blankets and lay on top of me- whatever you want, buddy. You have to give me some time to follow, alright?" 

Geezer rested his eyes as Johnson sat him back on the floor- hurrying to get a blanket. He eased down beside the hound, settling the blanket over the top of them. Beneath, the cabin floor was cold- even though it rested so close to the fireplace- but Johnson didn't care- he wanted to be near his best friend until his final minutes. 

Gunther sighed, staring at the boy curled up beside his dog. The lad had gone as far as letting the old hund lay across his arm. "Johnson?"

"Not now, Gunther, please. Let me have whatever time left with him." 

The German closed his mouth, glancing away. "I'm sorry," the older man whispered. He stood up, seating himself beside Johnson. To see the boy in a vulnerable state, especially after everything he's seen the lad do, was odd. The same boy dressed as a Hessian long enough to be captured now lay, pathetically clutching his sick dog to his chest. 

"Was he a good dog?"

"Oh, the best. Enough to keep this lonely street boy company for years."

"Was he?" Gunther questioned. He reached over, slowly running his fingers through the dog's fur. 

The boy's lip quivered as he nodded. "He'd always be around, no matter what happened. When I worked, he'd stand outside the shop until I was finished. He laid on top of me in winter to keep me warm- even after I started living in an inn. But- he always wanted to choose Roger when he was around." 

The dog's ears perked up at the name, and he slowly lifted his head, looking around the cabin. Johnson held back a sob, shaking his head. 

"I'm sorry, Geezer. Roger isn't here. He's still working for the king." He whispered, pressing his forehead to Geezer's. "You'll see him again... Someday, I promise. You can nearly trip him into the sunset ocean again soon." 

Gunther's shoulders sank, and he reached over, gently patting Jon's head. This boy was attached to this dog. 

Johnson closed his eyes, trying to ease away the burning. He hated how bad it hurt to cry. The stuffy nose, burning eyes- all of it was bothersome. But- there are things worth crying over. And Geezer had been Jon's best friend. The lad curled into a fetal position, resting his head on his arm. 

The old dog rested his eyes, breaths coming slow. He seemed content- finally- resting beside his human. 

They fell asleep there. 

Gunther had been the first to discover that Geezer had passed in his sleep a few hours later. Yet the brunette lad clutched to the hound, almost refusing to believe he was gone. 

But, finally, he was awoken by his German friend and forced to face the truth. He balled his hands into fists, bringing them up to his mouth. He bit into one of his hands, muffling anguished screams, his other hand leaving bruising strikes against the floor. 

Geezer had passed away peacefully beside Johnson- he was warm and content. 

The boy finally leaned over, wrapping the lifeless dog into a final hug. "Goodnight, Geezer," he whispered. His fingers twitched over the collar, uncertain if he had the strength to remove it. Falling back, he slowly looked at Gunther. "I can't- please-"

The older man bit his tongue. "The collar?"

"I can't remove it- I don't want to believe he's gone," the freckled boy stuttered, face red and swollen. He didn't know if it was crying or how he slept. "Please."

Gunther took a deep breath, sitting down. He gently reached over, removing the collar. He handed it to Jon, watching how the boy broke inside. He brought the collar to his head, lip trembling as he squeezed his eyes shut. He spoke what may have been a prayer- but Gunther wasn't confident- he couldn't recognize the language. "Are you alright, Krieger?"

"No," the boy whispered. "What am I supposed to do?"

Uncertain, the Hessian pulled Johnson into a hug. "Want to find a nice place to bury him? You know him best. What would he like?" 

"He'd want to be buried beneath an old oak tree high above the ground. There, sticks would be plentiful, and squirrels would play. And as time moves on, he'll soon have many oaks and squirrels to play with. He'll be able to play fetch and roll around in the grass." 

Gunther held the boy protectively. "That's right. He's going to be alright, Kriegerjunge. You did well for him- and I know he's thankful. You have to be strong; he'd want you to be able to throw a stick for another pup someday."

Johnson laughed weakly, fists squeezing into the German's clothes. He was right- that dog seemed to want Jon to be alright- and now he wouldn't have to worry about Earthly limits anymore.

Yet one thing lingered.

How would he tell Roger?