Page 13 of Men of Fort Dale: The Complete Series

John blinked at him. “What’d I do?”

“How’s that different from any other day?”

Simmons huffed, pushing out of his seat. “Jesus, fine. Maybe you can stop being a fucking asshole by the time I come back.”

But what exactly was it?

It was a question that had been echoing through Sloane’s thoughts since he’d woken with a headache and a nauseated stomach.

He’d tried to get through the usual morning conversation with Dean, his gut twisting in knots the whole time.

Dean had fled, and Sloane hadn’t stopped him, not knowing how to make it better or go away.

The question was, did he want it to go away?

Simmons stomped back in, glowering at Sloane as he snatched up the checklist near the door. Sloane watched him, wondering how he was going to apologize to Dean.

He was saved from further introspection by the buzzing of a phone.

Heart pumping hard, Sloane reached out to take the phone, praying it was Dean.

They had been radio silent for over twenty-four hours now, and Sloane couldn’t take another dose of their not talking.

He swiped the screen, bringing the message up and freezing.

“Uh,” Sloane sputtered.

The message was a picture and not the sort Sloane could say he’d ever had sent to his phone.

In full view of the camera was a man, his ass pointed toward the screen and his legs spread.

Below it was a message, racy enough to bring Sloane’s brow up, which was only furthered by the last message above, sent by the phone he had in his hand.

“This...is not my phone,” Sloane realized aloud.

A strangled cry from behind him brought his head up in time to see a blur moving toward him. The phone was snatched from his hand, and Simmons clutched it to his chest. Wide-eyed, Sloane looked from the phone to Simmons’ panic-stricken face.

“Why are you looking at my messages?” Simmons demanded.

Sloane blinked. “I...wasn’t thinking, thought it was mine.”

He’d forgotten he’d taken John’s phone from him before sending the man out to do a perimeter check and had set it on the desk beside him. Without thinking, he’d opened the phone and got more than he expected.

“Why wasn’t it locked?” Sloane asked.

“You don’t lock yours,” Simmons retorted.

True, but then again, he didn’t get messages where he would care if someone else saw them, which was more than he could say for Simmons.

Sloane looked him over, finally speaking slowly. “So, that was uh?—”

“An accident!”

“An accident.”

“Yes.”

“Some guy accidentally sent you a nude.”

Simmons’ fingers tightened over his phone. “My name is...similar to someone else’s on his phone.”

“And you know that without telling him what happened?” Sloane asked, choosing not to mention Simmons's message before the picture came in.

“It was an accident,” John repeated.

Sloane smiled. “John?”

“Don’t.”

He sighed. “Look, you should know that I, of all people, won’t...judge you for that. I mean, look at my best friend.”

Simmons looked at his phone. “I’m not.”

Sloane remembered Dean telling him how hard it had been for him to accept his sexuality in the beginning.

How Dean had tried any number of mental tactics to convince himself he wasn’t gay.

About how Dean had insisted his interest in the male body was purely curiosity, that it was just hormones playing tricks on him, and any number of hurdles he could think of not to accept the truth.

Sloane had found it amusing, coming from Dean’s mouth as his friend recounted all the ridiculous ways he’d avoided it.

Seeing Simmons clutching his phone to his heaving chest, sweat breaking out on his forehead, Sloane couldn’t see the humor. Sloane reached out, hesitating when Simmons drew his phone further away before finally resting his hand on the man’s upper arm.

Sloane took a deep breath. “John, I’m not going to say you are or aren’t something, okay?

I’m just going to tell you that...if you feel a certain way, there’s a reason for it.

Maybe you’ve been feeling it for a while, or maybe it’s something new, but don’t run from it, man.

You’ll only end up tired and miserable.”

Simmons looked down at Sloane’s hand, shaking his head. “It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it’s not. It can be hard to make peace with something unfamiliar, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”

Simmons looked at him. “What would you know about it?”

Sloane frowned, realizing John had a point...and maybe he didn’t. Wasn’t his mind filled with doubts, fears, worries, and wonder? Was he giving Simmons advice, or himself?

Sloane gave him a squeeze. “Look, I won’t tell you to talk to me. I’m just saying you don’t have to run from it, and you should get comfortable with yourself, whoever the hell you are, okay? And fuck, if you need to talk about it, you can.”

“With you?” Simmons asked incredulously.

Sloane gave him a pat, chuckling. “Yeah, man. You’re an annoying shithead sometimes, but you’re not a bad guy.”

“Just annoying.”

Sloane smirked, digging around for his phone. “Yeah.”

“That’s the closest to a compliment you’ve ever gotten with me.”

“Yeah, don’t tell Trisha, though.”

“She’d never believe me.”

Sloane chuckled, tapping out a message to Dean before he could second-guess himself.

He wasn’t going to let this silence stretch out between them again, not this time.

Sloane didn’t know what the result would be, but he messaged Dean and asked him to meet Sloane at his apartment when their shift was over.

Simmons plopped down in his seat, holding his phone still. “I...thank you.”

Sloane glanced sidelong at him, smirking. “Don’t worry about it.”

“And I...if I want to, I’ll talk...to you.”

Sloane looked down at Dean’s ‘ok’ message and smiled sadly. “Good.”

He’d just stepped through his door when he stopped, spotting Dean in the hallway.

Sloane cocked his head, looking at Dean’s untucked shirt, the wild state of his hair, and the bright, nervous light in his eyes.

Sloane didn’t know how long Dean had been there, but he’d obviously been losing his mind.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sloane asked as he closed the door behind him.

Dean took a deep breath, walking up to Sloane. “I can’t do this.”

Sloane blinked. “Do what?”

Dean shook his head. “This...this quiet, awkward, not talking thing. I can’t live knowing I fucked up, that this all went to hell because of me.”

Sloane yanked his coat off, tossing it over the back of the chair with a careless gesture. “Dean, hold on.”

Dean’s lip trembled. “No, Sloane. I can’t do this; I won’t.

I always told myself I was so goddamn lucky to have a friend like you.

I never had any real friends growing up, not until I went to basic and met you.

You’re the best goddamn thing that’s happened to me, and I was okay.

I was glad to have that, and I was even overjoyed. I don’t?—”

Sloane watched in frozen horror as Dean’s eyes swam, spilling over into a single tear.

“I can’t let that all get ruined because of some stupid crush, because of one goddamn drunken night where I was an idiot. I don’t care what it takes, Sloane. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I don’t have anyone, I never had any family, I lost my team, and I can’t lose you too.”

Sloane stared, his arms locked at his side as he watched Dean unravel in front of him. The tears were flowing freely now, and despite the panic in his voice, Dean was still clear and desperate. His shoulders shook, and he seemed unable to keep his arms still as he paced back and forth.

And what was that about his team?

Dean clenched his eyes shut, chest heaving. “I know I fucked up, Sloane. I know I went too far, and I’m sorry .”

Dean’s voice shattered on that final word, and Sloane saw his legs wobble. Ripping himself out of his stupor, Sloane lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Dean. The strength ran out of Dean completely, and he went loose in Sloane’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” Dean repeated.

Sloane shook his head, allowing Dean to collapse to the ground, safely held in Sloane’s arms. Seated on the floor, Dean burrowed himself into Sloane’s chest and let out a heartbreaking sob.

Sloane wrapped him tighter in his arms, saying nothing as Dean cried his heart out, soaking Sloane’s undershirt with his tears.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, clutching one of the strongest people he knew, who had finally reached the end of his tether.

Sloane knew it was just the weirdness and tension between them that had brought Dean to this point.

Dean’s fingers dug into Sloane’s shoulders, pushing his face closer to his chest as he mumbled and cried to himself.

Little by little, Dean’s sobs broke into soft hiccoughs. Sloane ran a hand over his back, letting Dean push himself back so he could sit upright. Dean looked up toward the ceiling, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes before he spoke.

“Shortly after you returned to the States, the team I was with was sent out on a snatch-and-grab. All we needed to do was find the target, grab him, and get out. Simple, easy, the intel said we were clear to go without any issues. They were wrong.”

Dean opened his eyes, looking at Sloane with the most haunted expression he’d ever seen on the man’s face.

“Someone dropped the ball, or maybe the enemy just found out. Either way, they were waiting for us and caught us when we came through an abandoned village. We fought, but they had us outnumbered, and they knew the area. Williams was down before we knew what was happening. He took a bullet right through the throat. Dragged him to cover, but he bled out while I tried to staunch the bleeding.”

Sloane watched, still holding him by the arms but no longer having to clutch onto him. Dean’s eyes had gone hazy as his mind faded into the past.

“Kennig and Heath got caught by an explosion, don’t know if it was a mortar or what.

It’s Kennig I can still hear sometimes when I sleep.

He didn’t go as quick as Heath. But I think most of all, I remember Mathews.

Hit five times as we were retreating to the extraction point.

He bled out on the copter on the way back.

They said they had to drag me off him, drug me up, but I don’t remember. ”

Sloane gently wiped a tear from Dean’s face as his friend continued to sit still, his body drained. Dean blinked at the touch, looking down at Sloane’s hand like he’d never seen it before. Dean closed his eyes, leaning his face forward until it rested, cupped in Sloane’s hand.

“I never thought I’d be able to tell the story again,” Dean whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Sloane said, rubbing his thumb over Dean’s cheek.

Dean shook his head. “No, it...hurts, but...worth it.”

There was nothing he could do to make Dean’s pain go away, but Sloane had known that from the moment he’d realized something else was wrong with Dean. The one thing he could do besides being there for his friend was to assuage his other fears.

“Dean,” Sloane said softly.

Dean’s eyes flashed open, shifting to Sloane’s face warily. “Yeah?”

Sloane smiled, giving Dean’s cheek a gentle squeeze. “You were never in danger of losing me, never.”

“Even after?—”

Sloane shook his head. “Never. I can’t tell you where my head is at about that exactly, not right at this moment.

I still need a little time to think about it.

But when it comes to you, I’m never unsure.

Whatever I might feel about what happened, I will always want you to be a part of my life, so long as you want to be. ”

Dean’s lip trembled. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m not walking away from you, Dean, and I won’t push you away either. We’ll figure this out once we’ve had some time to get our heads on straight.”

Dean’s lips trembled. “Not really all that straight, is it?”

Sloane chuckled, drawing Dean in for another tight hug. “Smartass.”

Dean burrowed his face in Sloane’s neck, nodding. “Thank you, Sloane.”

Sloane sat there, content to hold Dean for as long as the man needed him. He’d told Dean the truth; he didn’t know how he felt or where his head was, but he had Dean, and right now, that was enough.

But for Dean’s sake, he was going to have to figure it out soon.