man burnt into ashesauthor.
no pairing, Sam + Dean.rating.
r, for violence.notes.
Gen, war!AU, 500 words long.
They were shipped out in March, just before Baghdad fell and just after the President told the nation they would stay the course. Dust blew into their eyes, grit and sand under the folds in their uniforms, sticking to the lines of sweat on their faces.
Everyone slept in almost fortified bases, and both of them could smell the oil burning. In the morning, they would both report, receive assignments and supplies, move down range with tarp cover trucks past checkpoints and burnt out hajji cars and Lockheed Martin-manufactured F-35s screaming in the air. Air raid sirens were their wake up call, warm submissive iraqi bodies almost enough to satisfy.
Sheer coincidence that they'd both ended up on Golf Company 2/23, after basic Dean was sure they'd get split up. He wasn't sure about the Marines' policy on family but by then he sure as hell wasn't expecting any favours anymore. After Task Force Tripoli was formed things got tight real fast, killing a whole lot more people than he'd thought he'd have to. Sam stuck by him, and he was glad of that, the sharp glint in Sam's eyes something he could ignore behind huge issue eyegear, enough to remind him it wasn't so bad. Only thing missing was the camo helmet with born to kill scrawled across the side, and Dean almost wanted to laugh at the irony.
A kid ran by with a kalashnikov in her arms, thirty round clip too big for her pockets, slidebite not done healing from last time. She started at the sight of them, ran harder. Dean took her down with automatic precision and Sam nodded yeah, had to be done.
April 15. Sam held a man's arms behind his back while Dean slit his throat because he was out of ammo after the machine gun nest two blocks and twenty-three bodies ago. Brigadier General John Kelly was tucked away at some palace and his men were bloodied and slick with sweat, Apache helicopter fire making music to kill by.
A teenaged girl lay half naked on the side of the street, eyes glazed over. Sam bent and plucked the unlit cigarette from her lips, stuck it in his mouth and lit it, breathing deep before handing it to Dean. He flicked it with his fingertips like he'd seen in the movies, breathed. People were starting the congregate again, and after a minute someone would come and start wailing, some Red Cross nurse would start muttering about General Tommy Franks. This scene had been played out more times than either of them cared to count, and every time it got funnier and funnier, and he wasn't sure how he was going to handle it when he and Sam would start laughing and wouldn't be able to stop.
Sam looked around quickly, stole a Beretta M92 off half an insurgent. Dean grinned wryly when Sam tossed him the weapon, it was cold and he could hear himself whispering the horror, the horror.