A/N: Part two of two of Max's experience in Vietnam. ... Is it pathetic that I bawled while writing this? Again, don't answer that, please...

I own nothing. All mistakes are my own.

I woke up some time later under the faint light of the soon to be rising sun. Everything was quiet, literally silent. I didn’t want to move in fear of disturbing this rare moment of tranquility. For a moment, I thought I really was dead. For the first time, I noticed the beauty of the foreign landscape around me. In the quietude of the morn, it looked so heavenly. The wind blew gently, its touch caressing each leaf on every tree. The greens patched together with the browns in a masterpiece painted by some famous artist. It was close to perfection.

As more light began to peek through the curtain of trees, birds began to chirp. A smile found its way onto my lips. It’s been so long since that sound entered my ears. It gave me hope that the war wasn’t a waste of life.

“Jayne.” I closed my eyes in relief as Jack came to my side. There was always a fear in the back of my mind, a seed that had planted itself in my inner thoughts. With each battle, its thorns rooted themselves deeper. Today, however, they stood still. “Jayne, you up?”

“No, fool, I’m still sleeping.” I smirked, opening one eye to peer at the brunette. He chuckled, shaking his head as he stretched. He looked over me, eyes heading to my bandaged side. Guess a bullet got me. Guess I was saved by Corbin, our medic.

“Heh, was worried for a sec. Knew I shouldn’ta been,” Jack said through a grin, bending over to gently ruffle my hair. My heart skipped a beat. We never spoke about that chance, never had too much physical contact. Why was he breaking tradition now? “Not after I carried your ass to Corbin, my fingers all in your f***ing wound.” He held up his left index and middle fingers for emphasis.

I didn't know what to say. Jack had saved my life. If it weren't for him, I'd be one of the rotting bodies on the field. Tears welled up, but I refused to let them fall. Jack looked at my bandages again, a worried crease in his brow. What would I have done if I didn't meet the man before me? Well, besides not breathing right now... I wanted to laugh, remembering the first time we met. I actually thought the big oaf would give me trouble.

I sighed, placing my duffel on my bunk. What the fuck had I'd gotten myself into? I wondered what the gang was doing? I'd give anything to be with them right now.

“Hey. You're in my bunk, pal.” I grumbled, turning around to tell the intruder where to shove it when I froze, finally seeing the guy. Holy shit, he's got some muscles! I didn't do anything, and we just stared at each other. “You gonna move or what?” The brunette quirked an eye brow.

“Why should I?” I mentally slapped myself for asking the question as it left my mouth. The guy would probably make me move with his big ass fist, and I'll forever be on his bad graces. Swell. As I was preparing for his first punch, he surprised me by laughing.

“Wouldn't want your skinny ass to be crushed if I make the bunk collapse.” He grinned as he plopped his duffel down on my now ex-bunk. “Name's Jack Michael Caster.” He offered his hand. Blinking a bit, I took it.

“Uh, Max Jayne Carrigan. Pleasure?” I stated, unsure. He shook my hand firmly, laughing when I introduced myself. Did I say something funny?

“Jayne? Who names their kid that?” He chuckled as he tossed my duffel on the top bunk. Guess I was moving.

“My mom, apparently. Thought it was cute.” I said, still fascinated that the guy, uh, that Jack hadn't punched my lights out. Jack chuckled again.

“Cute, huh? Well, you betta watch out, then.” When I cocked my head in confusion, he continued with a grin. “All the guys might find a mighty fine interest in a cute boy like you.” He smirked. I blinked, a grin slowly creeping on my lips.

“Oh, is that so? Whatever am I going to do about that?” I batted my eyes at him, which earned a bark of laughter.

Still laughing, Jack draped his arm across my shoulders. “Alrighty, Jayne Baby, I'll watch out for that skinny ass of yours.” We laughed as if we've known each other for a lifetime.

Coming out of good, fun times and back to reality, I peered at my best friend, who still eyed my wound with concern. He kept the promise he made; he saved my ass. Clearing my throat, I spoke. “I’m hard to get rid of.” Even as I said it, I felt a lump rise in my throat. It went down a bit when I heard his bark of a laugh. So much for the quiet morning.

“Are ya kiddin' me? No way you leavin', ya lucky son of a bit –!” He didn’t finish his speech. Bombs had started to go off all around us. One’s force threw Jack forward, landing him next to me. Panicking, I reached around for my rifle. It wasn’t near. Oh, God…

Jack had his, though, and he was using it. Firing at any movement within the trees, Jack yelled for some back up. The Sarge barked out orders, and I heard someone say the medivacs were on the way. The helicopters were coming this way, under all the heavy fire? That’s suicide. I felt so useless. I was a weapon for the army, yet I couldn't do anything to help the fight.

I made to move to find some form of a weapon, but Jack held me down. He yelled something about wounds reopening.

Peering around me, I noticed that I was lumped with other wounded soldiers. Wounded soldiers… medivacs… enemy fire… Oh, God! The medivacs were coming for the wounded soldiers, and Charlie knew it. Shit!

Bullets whizzed everywhere, some hitting their targets with fatal precision, and others missing by mere inches. Two others joined Jack in front of the wounded, trying to eliminate any threat to their comrades. Others were trying to hold off our position, keep the clearing clear for the choppers. Then, the thunder came.

The choppers swooped to the ground. My unit ran to deliver the wounded. Bullets were still zooming past us. Jack carried me, an arm wrapped behind the small of my back, while his other arm handled his rifle. “Goddamnit!” he cussed as we dodged our way through the maze of bullets and bodies, “Motha fuckin' gooks just won't quit!”

We made it and briefly waited for my turn to be flung into the helicopter. Jack shielded me as he took out a few Charlies. Jack packed me in last while the other two soldiers covered him. Despite everything, he smiled. “Goin' home, Jayne!” he yelled, “Take care, bud –!”

Time stopped.

I blinked as blood splattered across my face. Jack's eyes widened as his entire body rippled from the force of the stray bullet. My breath caught in my throat as I saw his face contort achingly slowly into a pained expression. He wobbled, falling forward. Screaming my lungs out, I quickly reached for him, trying to save him, trying to reverse the irreversible. I just managed to grab hold of his shoulders as the chopper took off.

I screamed for someone to help him as I gripped him tighter, not letting him fall from the chopper, but no sound came out. There were simply no words I could utter. I couldn't save him. I couldn't save him the way he saved me. I held on to him tightly even after others helped me pull him fully on board. I held on even after they told me he was dead. I couldn't let go. I failed to save him. Tears were streaming down my face, but I didn't care. I had just lost the closest thing to a brother I'd ever have.

No one goes home. This fucking war takes everything from you. The body may still function, but it by no means lives. Everyone – everyone! – dies in battle. And I did die.

I died when my only brother died.

.

.

Liked it? Hated it? Want to tell me I'm a pansy for bawling at my own story? Review?