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Beard is more than a little drunk by the time they've all spread out around the bonfire. He's found himself slowly tilting to rest his head on Barnes' shoulder, so when Barnes starts talking, the hand on his hip holding him steady going suddenly clammy, it seems to make the air around Beard's head thick with his breath. The sudden change in pressure makes him perk up, just a little, and he rolls his eyes up to see Barnes' Adam's apple bob. Barnes doesn't look down, focused on Jacket and Daniels play wrestling in the sand.
“Huh... never thought I'd see the big guy open up like he has. When we first got put on the squad together he was such an uptight guy I thought for sure we'd be at each others' throats the whole time we were out here.”
Barnes' hand has gone sticky, but Beard holds it firmly to him as he sits up anyways.
“Yeah...” he says cautiously from that soft place between wakefulness and sleep, “You gave him something to complain about yourself too.”
Daniels releases Jacket from the hold he'd managed to get around his leg and stands, pulling him up with him and brushing sand off the seat of Jacket's pants. They walk up the beach together, dropping to sit opposite each other, completing a crescent that opens out to the ocean.
“What is it you're thinking about that's got you so tense on our night off, Barnes?” Daniels stretches his legs out to knead his bad knee, “You look wired about something.”
“Hopefully not wired to explode,” Beard says with a clipped laugh that falls as flat as his joke. He smiles anyways.
“We've been through a lot together,” Barnes says, slipping the bottle out of Beard's slack grip and taking a swig. “Had each others' backs and been stronger for it. Us getting along so well is why we're even out here, why we don't have to deal with those other squads.”
“Might be nice to have to deal with other squads for once,” Beard mutters, “and not have to do all the work.”
Barnes snorts derisively. “Hell no, none of them could keep up with us.”
Jacket's staring at Barnes now, the most focused in the group as he takes a big gulp of water, dead sober.
“You're the only one we need making the calls Lieutenant, I mean that. This isn't my first tour—I've been in the Army for a while now, but I've never worked as well with any of those big squads, with higher ups breathing down my neck. This,” he says, “This is the real shit.”
Beard really looks at him then and finds himself staring into what could be a heat mirage for all he knows. Barnes looks hyper-real, dark eyes boring into his own, vital and focused and so fiercely human that Beard pulls away, unsure if he should be sharing the same physical plane as him.
“So, what?” Daniels eases up behind him, hand resting on his shoulder to keep him from tipping backward.
“So, we're the fucking Ghost Wolves! The most well-oiled murder machine in this shitshow and we've got nothing to show for it.” He passes the beer to Daniels at his insistent grabbing motion.
“Well, what, you wanna go out and get matching ass tattoos?” Daniels guffaws, “I don't think there's a shop around here that can do a wolf with a flamethrower—yeah I've seen your scribbles on the port-a-potty man,” Jacket looks offended from where he's scooted up on the other side. Beard reaches around Barnes to pat his arm consolingly.
“Fuck off, I had a design in mind already, asshole.” Barnes is too revved up to back down from this, and Beard knows he'll mow Daniels down if he's given the chance so he uses his calm Lieutenant voice to cut through the growing animosity.
“Might as well get branded if they keep shuffling us around like cattle.”
Beard expects his maudlin little joke to roll off the other men's backs as usual but he feels Daniels' hand tighten on his shoulder and knows he's miscalculated.
Barnes' leg has started to jiggle as he opens his pocket notebook. The page he has open has just the one symbol, formed with thick pencil lines.
"The three lines are me, Daniels, and Jacket, and the circle is you, Lieutenant because you're the one keeping us together."
His face twists and his hands twitch like he wants to snap the notebook closed, but for once he lets the silence be as they all consider it.
Beard weighs the implications of it, wondering what to say, but Daniels takes the burden of being the first to react off of him.
“It's less flashy than I'd expect from you,” he says, voice heavy “It, uh.... it's slick.”
Barnes' face twists like he doesn't know how to react, and Beard cuts in, sure of Daniels' intent.
“I agree, it has a kind of elegance,” he rearranges his face from frozen surprise to something more comforting.
Jacket nods, patting Barnes' back.
“Well. Okay then,” the previous fervor returns to his expression. “We might as well get started. Stoke the fire, get it nice and built up—unless you think it'd be more efficient to use the flamethrower?” Barnes looks at Beard for permission but it's Daniels who speaks up.
“Yeah, man sounds fucking great! Do you wanna be the one standing in front of it? We'll get that sucker heated up in no time, especially if you don't care about your arms or legs.” He throws his head back to laugh, and it seems his mirth at his own joke is what gets Jacket going, wheezy little giggles that sound kind of like they're being forced from an old pair of bellows.
They're all getting up around him, Barnes too busy listening to Jacket's laughter to get worked up, when it hits home what they're about to do.
“Wait, uh,” he says, cringing when they all turn to look at him at once, “Uh.”
Daniels helps him up as he flounders for words to be the responsible one again. With Daniels' hand in his a calm descends over him. He looks each of them in the eyes and considers his options, finding it harder to back out of something he hardly realized he'd committed to.
“Fffffuck it? Yeah... yeah. Let's go,” he says, tension unwinding as he takes wobbly steps towards them, still holding Daniels' hand.
They regroup around the fire in less than twenty minutes' time, spread out on a tarp and passing around a canteen as they watch the metal change color in the fire.
When Jacket had first produced the thing, made of twisted scraps of metal, Daniels had weighed it incredulously in his hands.
“Is this really gonna work?” he'd asked.
“More importantly, is it safe?” Beard said.
Jacket shrugged, apparently not aware that it wasn't the most reassuring reaction, and Barnes had walked over, arms full of bandages, nearly dropping them when he first locked eyes on it.
“It's perfect.”
Beard and Daniels locked eyes, silently agreeing that it had been solved.
Beard straightens up, glancing at the others.
“I guess, well, I guess.... I'll go f—“ he stops as Jacket stands, tearing his shirt off with a quickness and staring at him.
Pushing aside the immediate tension of locking eyes with a shirtless man breathing heavily, Beard sizes him up.
“You wanna go first, buddy? Alright, if you're sure...” He retrieves the brand from the fire—his hands are steady but the fabric wrapped around the handle does very little to stop the heat from radiating right into his hand, giving him the first taste of what's to come.
Barnes is mumbling in Jacket's ear and Jacket responds by looking directly at Beard and smacking his chest with vigor, right over his heart. Beard almost drops the brand right then, clenches his hand around it to keep it from falling and grits his teeth.
That earnest, gorgeous, foolish man, heart too big for his own damn chest.
“You really mean it?” Beard knows the answer already.
Jacket nods.
He takes a shaky breath, Barnes and Daniels already doing their part to hold Jacket still, and presses the burning metal into his skin.
Jacket jolts, hissing through his teeth as it connects, and throws his head back.
This moment—Beard on the other end of a medieval torture device as it sears a symbol of their bond into all too willing flesh, Barnes and Daniels on either side staring down with wide eyes and open mouths as they wait their turn—it's more real than anything in his life up to this point. He pulls it back, wrinkling his nose at the tugging resistance, and gazes at his work.
He's lightheaded as he takes in the mark, redness spreading over Jacket's chest, symbol dark enough to stand out in stark contrast to the tanned skin beneath it.
“It's gonna scar up just fine,” Daniels says, sounding like his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth as he produces a handful of bandages. Beard returns the brand to the fire, sitting down heavily as he watches the others take care of Jacket, Daniels taping him up as Barnes murmurs in his ear, kneading the back of his neck.
Jacket calms down in increments, until his breathing has steadied and eyes have gotten heavy, blinking slowly when Beard moves over and ruffles his hair. Daniels clears his throat.
“I'm going next.”
“Where you going to get it?” Barnes asks.
Daniels rolls up the sleeve of his tee shirt, indicating the curve of muscle on his upper arm, “Right here.”
Beard begins to agree with him, glancing over to where the brand has been reheating when Barnes snorts. They all look at him, save Jacket, who's eyes are closed where he leans against Beard's standing legs, still shirtless.
“Yeah sure that fits the real rowdy Ghost Wolves lifestyle aesthetic we've so carefully crafted here, why don't you get a heart with 'Mom' in it, while you're at it,” Barnes says, sneering. Beard swears he hears him whisper 'poser' under his breath but wisely keeps his mouth shut, choosing to pet Jacket's head instead as they wait their little squabble out.
“Well, what do you suggest then,” Daniels grinds out.
Barnes' face lights up in glee. “You said it first man, get it on your ass if you're not a wimp!”
Daniel's jaw tightens. “Fine,” he says, shoving his pants down and getting on his hands and knees, “FINE! You're gonna be getting it on the opposite ass cheek though Barnes, I swear to god.”
“Oh no doubt,” Barnes says, laughing and crouching down beside him.
“Do you want me to drag a crate over for you to lean on?” Beard notices the flush crawling down Daniel's neck, from where his head hangs.
“No, I'm already down, Lieutenant,” he shouts into the dirt, “let's get this over with.”
Beard also sees the way he squeezes his thighs together, humming in interest and filing it away for later as he pulls the rod out of the fire, wishing his fingerless gloves were thicker when his already tender hand is exposed to the heat again.
“Which one?” Beard asks, trying not to laugh.
“Which side is the gay side,” Barnes says, hand on Daniels' exposed lower back, “Because that's the side I'm getting it on and I don't want him copying me.”
“I'm not sure,” Beard says, “I'm pretty sure that's a myth, and only for ear piercings. Do you have a preference, Daniels?”
“Just get it over with!” Daniels hunches over further. “The left I guess.”
“Alright. Steady...” Beard draws closer and holds as still as he can when the brand makes contact, even as Daniels howls and shakes his head, confident that Barnes can keep him in place.
That same feeling of clarity—a singular moment of quietude drawing back the curtains of fear to cast the scene in an unearthly light—comes to him and he stares transfixed. Jacket's come back around, sitting cross-legged beside Daniels and rubbing his head the way Beard had done for him, looking as serene as can be. He can feel that same peeling in the separation as he pulls back, Daniels cussing up a storm, and it's over.
Barnes leans over Daniels' back to stare hungrily at the angry red wound, pulling the meat of his ass back toward him for a better view. Daniels smacks him hard on the hip as he rises, hands grasping his pants where they've slid down his thighs. Jacket is quick with the bandages, and then he's pulling his pants up with some difficulty and plenty of groaning.
He stands, a little shaky and looking kind of lost; Barnes pops up beside him.
Daniels is going to take a while to process it, Beard can tell.
“My knees hurt like hell,” is all he says, licking his lips.
“I think I'll take the crate Lieutenant,” Barnes says.
It takes no time to lug a big old box over to the fireside, and Jacket stokes the fire as Beard does so, feeding it driftwood with detached interest.
Barnes throws himself over the crate, pants already down and back slightly arched.
"You're not going to want to have your back like that," Daniels says, guiding his posture into a better position with his big hands, still steady as a rock.
Barnes glances back at Beard, eyes wide and just a sliver of teeth visible over his shoulder.
“I'm ready,” he says, voice raspy, “Hit me.”
Beard does.
The shout that rips out of Barnes is louder than thunder, echoing in the air, and Beard knows better than to drop the brand but it sends tremors down his arm all the same.
Daniels has the presence of mind to shove a wad of bandages in his mouth which helps stifle it to some extent, but he and Jacket hold him down just in case. It tapers off into muffled laughter, and Daniels and Beard have enough sense to pretend not to notice the wetness on his cheeks.
Jacket, however, doesn't, dragging a finger through one of the tear tracks and sticking it in his mouth to taste.
When Beard separates the metal from his backside and sees the mark, a weight lifts from his shoulders. It's the last one he's doing and the swell of pride in his chest, looking at his work has him laughing with unexpected giddiness. The others join in and he tosses the brand back into the fire, arm feeling light.
The mood has stuck all of them equally it seems, Daniels landing a smooch on Barnes' ass right next to the brand as he patches him up.
He stretches out flat on his back like a starfish as he waits and his boys pile on top of him, flopping down carelessly. They're a welcome pressure on his buzzing skin as he tries not to let his thoughts catch up to him.
“So Lieutenant,” Daniels says from where his face is smashed into Beard's armpit, with no intention of moving, “Where are you going to take the mark?”
“Yeah!” Barnes nudges his shin with his foot.
“Mmmf,” he says, slinging his arm over his face, the difference in temperature between his arm and his face soothing.
Daniels looks over, and seeing the brand is ready he drags himself out of the pile, hollering when Jacket accidentally knees him right in the tender flesh of the mark. He extends a hand to help him and Barnes up anyways.
“I'm really getting sick of the smell of burning flesh,” Barnes says as he takes it, reaching out for Beard, “It fucking reeks.”
“Not as romantic as you'd imagined?” Beard waves his hand away, sliding his legs under him and kneeling on them, and then, under his breath, “Let's hope I can bring some of that back.”
They all stop moving as he tries to even out his breathing, staring down at him
It takes a monumental amount of force to pry his jaw open, swallowing hard.
“I want the mark on the back of my neck.” He can feel his pulse in his throat. “So everyone knows who I belong to.”
The collective exhale of breath like they've been punched in the gut, is the only sound in his ears. He pulls his shirt off, parts his hair off his neck, and waits, watching the others busy themselves.
“Jesus Christ on a popsicle stick,” Daniels says to Barnes “Did you hear what he said? That's—“
“Yeah,” Barnes says “I'm hard too. Shit, man.”
Daniels can only groan in agreement.
Reconvening to gather behind him, they all get a hand on the brand, crowded into each others' space as they aim it at the freckled column of his neck, just below his hairline.
Even before it touches him he can feel the heat radiating out, but it's nothing compared to the sensation of the red hot iron as it hits his skin, how it pulls all the thoughts out of his head through the point of contact. He's sure he screams, why else would there be a hand wrapping around his mouth?
It draws on for an interminable amount of time—it's not the same as getting hurt out in the field, where at least he has something to focus on besides the sensation of his own flesh bubbling.
The disconnect is worse from the other side of the rod, and it takes all he has not to bite down on the person stifling his cries.
After a moment the hand disappears, and he draws huge gasps of air, the smell of his own charred skin thick in his lungs.
“God, Lieutenant, that was,” Barnes says
“Inte—“ Daniels clears his throat, “Intense.”
The hands that apply the gauze are gentle on his hot skin, and he stretches out once again, Jacket and Barnes huddling next to him as Daniels smooths down the last of the tape.
The stars are out, shining brighter than any of them have ever seen on the mainland and he turns his sweaty face up towards them as Daniels lies down next to Barnes, both of them burying their faces in their arms, turned to talk quietly to each other.
With Jacket leaned back in his lap to look up at the stars with him and the fire burning down to cinders, Beard closes his eyes, letting a couple tears out.
This mark they share—that he's given them and they've given him, in turn—is a promise that he'll keep them safe.
But for now, his boys will keep watch for him.