Disclaimer: Don't own. Probably a good thing, just look at how I write. XD
Author's Notes: Can be seen as Christopher/David slash or just strong friendship, because honestly, I'm not going to tell you what to think. Battle and death do strange things to a man.
For those who still read Everworld fanfiction, thank you. You are not appreciated by me as often as you should be. Thank you, THANK YOU, even if you don't review or don't like it. It makes me happy just knowing you're there. :D
"Welcome home, General," Christopher says as the door bangs shut behind David's back. It takes two breaths, both shuttered and tight, between the moment he hears that voice and when his eyes meet the tired blue of Christopher's from across the hall.
For a moment, all David can think is that his armor his heavy. The sword drags at his hip. His hair is muddy, his smile slipped away and lost in the makeshift graveyards he has left behind, and there's so much weighing him down that he won't be able to move no matter how much he wants to. But then it doesn't matter, and any words bubbling in his chest are knocked away from the arms crushing him, and Christopher is five steps ahead of him (as always) and he holds David like all the pounds have melted away.
Christopher smells like flaky soap and sweet bread.
David closes his eyes.
"Thank fucking God," is what Christopher says, and it's hoarse and real and so beautiful that David almost starts to cry.