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Bombs fell. Shrapnel and debris were everywhere. Alex dove behind the nearest barrier - the shell of a destroyed car - and prayed. He gasped, and cried, and prayed.
When Travis would point his shotgun and pull the trigger, the resulting bang would always feel too much like those days. Alex would feel the PTSD eating away at him, and when they would duck into an unused motel room and Travis would barricade the door with the dresser and they would be, for at least a few hours, safe, Alex would curl up into the bed and shudder, thinking of the good men he'd lost, thinking of his leg almost blown away, thinking of Travis - practically a war veteran even though he'd never left the United States in his life.
"I think we'll be safe here," Travis said, peering out the blinds for a moment, pulling back when he was satisfied and setting his shotgun against the wall. "You should get some rest."
But Alex was always the one "getting rest" and he never actually slept - the nightmares of Afghanistan, of deployment, of something else nagging in the corner of his memory that he was trying too hard to forget was too much for him and he always jarred awake without feeling any sleep.
"You rest," he said, finally. "I'll watch."
"Tell me a story," Travis said. The motel room had been dark and silent for so long Alex had thought Travis was asleep. "About the war, I mean."
Alex sat there for a while, thinking. "Why would you want to hear about that?" he asked, finally.
"Because," Travis said, "it's gotta be worse than this."
Alex wasn't so sure about that, but he told Travis about his friend from boot camp dying - about Alex finding him blown in half. His voice trembled and when he got towards the end he felt Travis' hand on his shoulder, heavy, solid, comforting.
It was like peace in time of war.
"My father killed himself in this room," Travis said the next night, when they'd found a motel and Travis had stopped suddenly outside one of the doors, staring at it, his face twisted in an expression Alex had never seen before - not on anybody; not ever. Alex was quiet for a long time.
"Let's find another one, then," he'd said, and it was absurd and unhelpful, but it was all he could think of. Travis just stood there, staring.
Slowly, Alex reached out, placing his hand on Travis' shoulder, trying to be the strong one, trying to be the soldier. Travis shifted under his touch, his gaze finally breaking away, eyes going to Alex's face. They were red and wet, but Alex pretended not to see, and when they finally found a room on the other side of the motel, Travis passed out against the bed, falling asleep too quickly.
Alex couldn't help but think, as he watched the older man sleep, that even with all of their problems, there wasn't anyone else he'd rather be trapped in this war with.