The past five days and thirteen hours had been agonizing. Who would have thought that being conscious was so painful?

So, the soldier tried not to fall asleep, because whenever he did, he woke up, pulling his hair and screaming on top of his lungs for the pain to go away and the ghosts to leave him alone. For a little while they did, until he fell asleep again.

Despite the pain making him drowsy and giving him migraines, they did give him names and snippets. As if they were puzzle pieces he needed to fit together. He had stolen a plain brown journal that smelt of plastic and toxic industries. As soon as he remembered something, anything, he wrote it down, explained the sighs and sounds. Some pages were simple sketches, he started drawing lines until it looked like an object from his memory. Sometimes his handwriting was very neat, sometimes it was impossible to read.

He had also heard names, they called to him. Davis, who was Davis? He did not know. Steve, Steve, Steve... There was a surge of anger that always followed whenever he thought about that name. John Lawford, he knew that person must have been one of the last friends of his. So, it did not take a lot for the soldier to track down John Lawford. The man who was in this century and age getting closer to his hundredth birthday. Tracking him down was not a hard task, it was easy, almost like a child's play.

The soldier stood on the open balcony door, the white curtains gently flowing in the breeze as he looked the form of a lanky man sitting on a sofa. There was a yard behind him, a couple of old people strolling about with nurses keeping keen eyes on them.

The room was too neat for someone like John Lawford. The walls were beige and white, the bed had brown covers firmly tucked, waiting for a person to sink into the mattress. The fireplace was empty and cold, but the room was warm, too warm for the soldier's taste. There was a piano in the corner, it was dark brown, atop of it sat a very elegant vase with bright red flowers in it. They smelled sickeningly sweet.

"They say I am crazy, a lunatic. But they don't know, do they? They haven't seen. And you, you arse are here judging me too, I know so take a good look at these old bones you punk." the pale, old man said. His grey hair was a little past his chin, the green eyes that once were brightly lit with fire and mischief were now dull.

Pull the victim up, push against the fireplace: cause internal bleeding in brain, threat removed.

The maroon sweater seemed a bit too large for him, but nevertheless, the veteran kept his frail shoulders pushed back and chin up, eyes staring into the spot he sensed the soldier standing. "Have you got nothing to say? Bloody idiot, get out then, get out and stop staring at me." the man hissed, gripping the soft armrest with his frail fingers.

The soldier almost glided over the floorboards, his tightly tied combat boots making no sound as he still eyed the old man, stopping by the gramophone. There were neatly packed vinyls in alphabetic order. He skimmed through them, stopping when he noticed a familiar name among others. "What are you doing?" the blind man asked, his voice tight and weary. He was hesitant for a second, eyes flickering between the vinyl and the aged man who was getting more nervous by his silence. "Hey, what are yo--" he clamped his mouth shut, hearing the melodies of Dream a Little Dream of Me filling the silence and drowning out the birdsong from the ajar balcony door.

The man almost jumped up, hands out so he wouldn't walk against anything as he started shuffling towards the frozen soldier near the antique gramophone. "it can't be. It cannot." John mumbled, reaching out. The soldier's fingers clamped around the man's thin wrist, firmly, but not too tightly to bruise the man. He looked, eyes wide as the green orbs stared into his own. And he could just briefly believe that John Lawford was not blind. "Stop being an arse and let me see you, Rogers." The old man mumbled, pulling his left hand out from his grip as the tips of his fingers first touched his neck, immediately realizing how tense the soldier was.

They moved up, towards his jawline, his left hand followed, running gently up, touching the soldier's forehead, eyebrows, nose, lips, chin. His hands shook as they skimmed his hair just briefly. "Not a bloody damn wrinkle." The soldier saw it coming, but he felt as though the old man wouldn't do much harm. However, when the balled fist met with his jaw, the soldiers head jolted left just lightly.

"Bollocks!" John hissed, pulling his throbbing hand back. "Sorry." the soldier whispered, feeling bad for the old man. The man let out a bubbling laugh, eyes widening as he suddenly latched himself on the soldier, hugging the man. The soldier's first instinct was to snap John Lawford's neck. "I knew you would come back, you ain't a quitter." he laughed heartily, still shaking slightly, but the soldier knew it was probably excitement, he just hoped it wouldn't give the man a stroke.

John pulled back, but his hand was still gripping the soldier's wrist as if he was afraid it was his imagination and the man would disappear into thin air. "You're John." the soldier stated, his voice low and slightly raspy from the lack of use. He studied the old man's wrinkled face, finding the shape of his nose, colour of his eyes and hairline all so familiar.

Push down, step on the hand, slit his throat: easy kill

"And you're Will." there was doubt in his voice, but it was gone as soon as it came. "Blimey, you sound exactly like in the 40s." the man muttered, going to sit back in the chair, all while dragging the soldier along with him, he had firm grip for an old man. "But you're oddly quiet, out of character, what happened? I have been searching for decades, and here you are, popping out on my death bed. Always so dramatic." the man asked, Will pulled a chair closer, one hand still in the man's grip.

There was a beat of silence before he answered hesitantly, unsure if he should really talk. "I do not know entirely, I cannot remember much, but somehow I got your name. And you must know." he said quietly, almost seeing the cogs swirl in the old man's head. "Turn it off, will ya? I've been listening to it too much." John referred to the gramophone as he hesitantly let go of the soldier's wrist.

He silently stood up. "The day you left to free those soldiers on your own was the last we saw of you. Elliot and I, we were the last." his sentence died off as the soldier turned around again. The room was silent as he took in the troubled look in the man's eyes. He studied John carefully, reluctantly running his eyes over every wrinkle. He tried to remember more of him, but the harder he tried, the worse the migraine became. On a scale one to ten it was a measly five, so nothing compared to nights filled with nightmares.

"Are you still there?" John sat up straight, trying to listen carefully, panic in his voice as he tried to listen for every rustle or shuffling of clothes. The soldier grunted, giving out his spot to the blind man whose head snapped towards him. It felt odd, wrong, to announce someone his whereabouts. It was making his skin prickle uncomfortably. "I don't know what you went through. I don't even know if I want to understand, I'm too old for this. Everything you need, I wrote down. Collected our stories. My daughter, Elisa has them. Find her, you find the answers. But I will raise Hell if you as much as touch her, Will, you bloody hear me? I'm old but I can still put your arse into the mud. She's my daughter and you are my best mate, I know her, but you've been gone for centuries, you've changed. Now get your arse over here so I can make sure you're not my hallucination."

He held his hand out as the soldier narrowed his eyes, suspicious at John before he took a quiet step closer, eyes flickering between the hand and his misty eyes. Touches could be fatal, but John, in his current condition, had danger level merely seven per cent if even that. The soldier reached out his hand, noticing the way John's shoulder relaxed as his cold fingers hooked themselves around soldiers wrist again. "Silence doesn't suit you. Speak to me, please. I need to know."

He held the soldier's hand in both of his, seemingly running his shaking index finger over the soldier scarred knuckles, frowning at the scars that littered all across his calloused hands. But John was patient, listening to the bird song. If he wasn't gripping soldiers hand, John would have thought there was no one even there. But the feeling of someone's eyes on him had alerted him. It was a shuddering sensation, making him always cold to his gore and listen to everything. He hated being pitied and looked after.

"I do not know." it was his voice, John could recognize it anywhere. Despite it lacking the enthusiasm, curiosity and youthfulness Will had always emitted, John just knew it was him. There was no doubt in it. "Ugly things I presume." John said softly, feeling quilt blossom in his chest again.

He had searched for years, had travelled the old battle places alone, sometimes with Elliot, but mostly alone. Determined to find his best mate who he had started thinking about like a brother. He had already lost his twin brother, so losing Will was like another part of his cracked heart had been torn off. It was bloody awful. But John didn't know if it was better now, knowing that whatever the enemy had done to William had made him not age. "Talk, you twat. How did you end up here anyway? Bloody hell, I've been waiting to see you for nearly eighty years." John tried to get at least something out of Will, if only to hear his voice. There was a pregnant pause before the soldier answered somewhat reluctantly.

"My cryostasis chamber was broken, I woke up." his eyes roamed over the room, trying to spot if anyone was listening in on them. He felt paranoid again, exposed to the person who used to be his friend, at least, he thought they used to be friends before that life, new life. "Tracked you here, you have been registered to many different hospitals, but this... place. was the last on the database. " he finished his short explanation, deeming it enough. "Woke up?" confusion laced John's voice.

"What year is it?" soldier flinched. He hated speaking, it felt wrong, he wasn't supposed to ask question, wasn't supposed to even make decisions for himself. John pretended to ignore the hesitance. "2021" The solider nodded, so twenty years since his last mission. "Cryo-sleep... freezes you. And when needed, they wake you up. But my... my chamber was damaged and I woke up." John was agitated about his emotionless tone, but he was sure he could detect a small string of fear. "So they might be looking for you." it wasn't a question, so the soldier stayed quiet, trying to suppress the instincts to break both of John's wrists to stop his fingers from touching his arms. Johns touch was burning him, whenever someone touched him, the pain was sure to follow. So sitting still and trying not to breathe was better than breaking the neck of the old, blind man who was oblivious to the soldier's inner struggles.

"Damn me and my old age." John was irritated, his bones ached and he could barely move, on top of that, he had become blind due to the gas on the battlefield. It hadn't happened immediately, but over the years, things became blurry, colours started fading and there was nothing to do. That was the reason he had stopped roaming the mountains for William, he nearly fell off a cliff due to seeing almost nothing. "Look, I have heard the news, about those who captured you, a'ight? Now listen carefully. Last I heard they had been wiped out, but we, the War boys know better now don't we." his grip loosened barely, yet the soldier was still wary of the old man.

“You need to find help, buddy. And how much I wish I could be there for you, I know my time of running and fighting is over. Hell, I just got a new kidney three months ago. Told those buggers I need no transplants, but I'm happy. Gave me enough time to see your ugly face again.” the old man teased the confused soldier, mumbling how he can finally die in peace. “I can't do much for you anymore. But as long as I am alive, my flat will be at your service, I won't be need'n it any longer. I'm pretty sure you know where it's located. But bear in mind it could be sold at some point.” the soldier who had studied the man's expression noted that he was tired, his eyelids had seemed to grow heavier.

Something tugged in his chest, and instead of anger and pain, the soldier now felt saddened. It was an ugly feeling, one he did not like at all.

John spoke some more, asking questions that either got a one-word answer or none at all. Once his dull, green eyes landed on nothingness behind the soldier and he allowed the man to pull back his arms, the soldier knew it was time to go. “I am glad we met, brother. Too bad it was now, just before I depart. I do hope you will get the help you need. And be careful, okay?” one last time did John reach out to the stoic soldier, pulling him against his chest, closing his green eyes to the sensation of living, breathing soldier against him.

William Rogers was alive, and that was enough for Johnathan Lawford to finally feel at peace. The frail man pulled back with a sigh, sinking into the armchair, looking as if he had suddenly gotten even older and all life has been sucked out of him. The words that left his mouth made the solider blink groggily, the sad feeling washing over him once again.

“I love you, bud. Despite me chasing a ghost for centuries, I'm glad you sought me out. Whether you are a fruit of my imagination or not, I hope we have finally made peace. I wished time  had better timing for you and me, but take what it gives, and be happy. I'm tired, Will. And I ask you, as an old friend, as a brother, to not seek me out anymore.”

A beat of silence hung over them. And the soldier understood the command, understood what was asked of him. “I do not want you to remember me like this. Old, frail, grumpy and blind. I wish you safety, brother. I wish you found your way, and trust people again, right people. I beg of you, do not give in, even when it seems like a last solution.”  his voice became a mere whisper, green eyes drooped and head lulled back.

The soldier who towered over the old man's body tilted his head. “Dum vivimus, vivamus.” he whispered, somewhat feeling happy when he saw the corners of Johns mouth perk upwards into a tired smile. The man echoed his words, eyes red with tears and body weak with fatigue.

He closed his eyes, relaxing once the soft melodies of Dream a Little Dream of Me reached him again. “Damn, my wife had a voice of an angel.” he muttered into the empty room, feeling the chill work its way through his thick maroon sweater. John was alone again, he could sense it. But in his heart, he finally found peace, he just hoped Will Rogers would find it as well.

“You better not die, you bloody arse.” he mumbled almost incoherently, feeling slumber pulling him under gently. He heard the gunshots in his memories, felt the sticky blood on his fingers, but he also heard the voice of his wife and the laughter of his child. He was not afraid to die,

life had been generous to John Lawford.

***
2810 words.

I'm not cutting onions, I swear. Also, feedback would be much appreciated :)