Title: Some sense of Chaos
Pairing: Leaning towards Winters/Nixon, Babe/Roe, Harry/Kitty, Skinny/Pillows, Webster, Liebgott, Perconte, Luz,
Genre: Gen, Crack, Gay
Disclaimer: I don't own Band of Brothers, nor do I mean any disrespect to the real men in E company or their families. This is based on the actors' portrayal of real men in a fictional setting not the actual men of Easy themselves.
Summary: Easy Company has a pillow fight. No Seriously.
A/N: This was SUPPOSED to be a serious attempt at Skinny/Web gen that came out something else entirely--I need to stop writing Web, you guys. I had to rewrite good bits of the beginning to try and fit the nonsense it dissolved into, if it feels choppy at points--you now know why. A lot of this was rushed, mostly because trying to fully describe a pillow fight between grown men, much less paratroopers is hard. Love for binni for the very quick beta.
[EDIT]: So apparently renne is like Jesus, and happily pointed out...that pillow fights in E company were apparently CANON. G-Go figure.
Compared to the stiffness of the ground he's become so accustomed to the slightly grimy sheets in the hospital that felt dirty no matter what he did and the dust in the ruins of the various attacked houses they commandeer, Webster finds the beds in Austria almost overly extravagant.
It's a weird thought but still he finds himself frowning at the overly-stuffed pillows and cushions and barely a second later pushes them off the bed save for one. The door opens and suddenly:
"Nice digs," Skinny announces and Web looks up because really: that wasn't whom he was expecting but he has no qualms with Skinny and he's pretty sure it's vice versa. Surveying the room, he throws his things onto the bed. Webster feels obligated to point out there is only one bed but forgoes it. He has shared bunks before so it wouldn't be too drastic. Besides, he doubted Skinny would cling to him like Hoobler does--did. Webster frowns at the thought of the name, even it's he himself who thinks it.
Skinny makes a mad grab for the cushions discarded on the floor. "Oh dibs, I love pillows."
Webster actually breaks out of his musings--or lack thereof--to regard Skinny with a raised brow.
"Really?" It's kind of a weird admission but Skinny just shrugs like it's nothing out of the ordinary, piling them up under his arms until his hands are out of sight.
"Course. Especially the fluffy ones like these--they're the best," Skinny continues, already designating his part of the bed by arranging his newly acquired loot. He drops the pillows into a lump and then begins to settle his things around. Webster watches with a slight shrug but he finds himself grinning all the same. The room is lit up nicely by the big open windows on the wall and Web can't help but think about his old dorm room.
Skinny shoves his pack off of the bed. Settling the pillows and the covers, he looks up at Webster's mostly unpacked things with a raised brow that is a direct mimicry of Webster’s earlier. Webster rolls his eyes, grin widening. He moves his own pack off the bed--he'll get to it later since he's sure someone is bound to call for them soon--only to suddenly see white as soon as he does. He falls back and he’s not hurt so much as he’s horribly confused.
He blinks and finally pulls the pillow down from his face, Skinny is watching him with an angelic expression…that quickly dissolves into fits of laughter at the intensely bewildered expression on the other’s face that Webster assumes most people would have.
"Did you just...throw a pillow at me?" Even though it's asked for confirmation, Skinny snickers louder, his makeshift ammo already nearby.
"Damn straight I did, Web." He waggles a finger, pulling an eerie impression of one of Web's professors. "I told you that pillows are the best."
"I thought you meant for--" He's cut off again as another pillow is aimed his way and he once again doesn't remember to catch it so it stops him by smacking him lightly in the mouth. Skinny continues to beam at him before raising his arms to chuck another. It's clear he's not about to back down. Webster decides, finally. He's done crazier things in war and tries to reach for the offending objects around him.
Skinny, however, proved to be oddly good at this sort of thing (that or Webster was admittedly worse at throwing then he was at shooting) and easily moved to the left and threw one back. Webster reached forward and caught it, whirling it again slightly harder...
...Only to have it hit Babe Heffron in the face as he opened the door, Liebgott beside him.
There was a moment of silence and Webster blanched while Skinny just waved and pelted another Web's way--it hit him dead center.
"Oh man, are you guys having a pillow fight?" Babe grinned, enthusiastically picking up a cushion, not the least bit upset at being hit. "I love pillow fights!"
Liebgott, pulling what he assumed was an impression of Webster with a slightly fond and condescending sneer, said, "You're all a bunch of g--"
Webster's aim had actually been pretty good that time and Skinny nodded to him appraisingly while Babe moved to steal some of the fallen makeshift weaponry on the floor. It was ridiculous but he allowed himself the triumphant smirk of a man that had just bested another. It was silent and the pillow was swiped by Babe before Liebgott could even open his mouth. Webster crossed his arms in response.
"God damn it, College Boy--you're going down!" came Liebgott's roar. The technician 5th grade was already yanking them out of Babe's arms. "Give me one of these!"
Skinny grinned like a successful conspirator and chucked another at Babe who in turn smacked Liebgott in the face with it.
"Hey, hey! What the hell, Babe? I'm on your team!"
"There are no teams! Every man for himself!" Babe almost giggled as he smacked him even harder, Liebgott cursing all the way.
"Haven't you gotten in a pillow fight before, Joe?" Webster didn't even wait for an answer as he sent a pillow sailing towards him. Skinny threw one back at Webster, and was slightly disappointed to see the writer catch it.
"Lemme guess. They did this all the time in Harv--damn it, stop throwing pillows while I'm fucking talking!"
Perconte opened the door to the room cautiously, a concerned Gene behind him. All of the other men were out gallivanting or on patrol. Notably absent had been the usual shrill harping of Webster and Liebgott, and Babe's accent-infused words that filtered through the air of the mess hall. They'd heard yelling as soon as they got within five feet of room and, suffice to say, Luz had made Perconte fetch Gene just in case. Oddly enough, the radio man seemed to be mysteriously absent which raised another red flag but Perconte already had the door open and was looking in--only to be met with a stuffed animal to the face and the unmistakable crow of Luz: "Hey Frank!"
Frank threw the…whatever the hell it was…back in Luz's general direction and pinged Babe. Behind him, Gene seemed to just be standing there, watching with the strangest, almost disbelieving, smile on his face.
"Gene!" Babe waved--or was in the middle of it if Luz hadn't just walloped him with a rather large body pillow. The redhead growled and threw another stuffed bear at him. Skinny snorted as it hit Liebgott in the back of his head, ceasing the constant barrage he and Webster were keeping up.
"Are you guys fucking NUTS?" Perconte spluttered, taking in the scene with a disbelieving gape. They all stopped, exchanged glances and aimed his way.
"Don't hit Gene!" came Babe's protest as the medic let out a sigh and moved to the other side of the door. Predictably there was some more yelling and now Perconte had begun to launch some kind of counterattack at Luz.
"Jesus, Frank!" was his muffled screech and Eugene finally followed inside, knowing full well they were going to need a medic sometime, even if it was just pillows and stuffed animals.
Harry Welsh and Lewis Nixon both felt a tad bit on the edgy side, albeit for different reasons. Winters was tied up doing constant paper work and had thrown Nixon out--had done it cool and politely too, using his guilt against him--and the mail was late so Kitty's usual letter wasn't going to be showing up for another day. For whatever reason they'd decided to go wandering around the compound, causing somber glances in their wake.
"I can't believe Dick," Nixon mutters for what probably is the 10th time in the span of 30 minutes. If Welsh wasn't so used to this kind of moping he'd have gone and bought a bottle of VAT 69 just to get Nixon to stop complaining. And even then: he knows, sadly, that it never really worked.
"Yeah, well, I can't even read what Kitty has to say--everyone suffers," Welsh remarks dryly--even more so than usual. They’d both been doing the same song and dance for roughly two hours now and even they don’t have it in them to be that miserable. Well, without alcohol or an immediate threat to life.
Nixon pauses as they head down the hall way, noting that all the rooms are seemingly empty except one, and a slew of noises is leaking from that one in particular. He and Harry exchange a look. It is mostly out of morbid curiosity that they even really open the door, not caring that it might be some kind of breach of privacy and--
The room's occupants don't seem to notice, however, continuing on their merry ways. Liebgott and Webster are currently engaged in some kind of standoff to the side, while Skinny and Luz are both ganging up on Babe and Perconte. Gene seems to be watching the whole affair from what must've been neutral territory, shaking his head and already undoing some bandages.
"...Are they all pillow fighting?" Welsh manages after a while. Nixon nods. Both of them just stand there for a few more moments, not sure what to make of the situation.
"S-Sirs!" Webster announces, looking up from where he is and causing the rest of them to turn and stare back, freezing in place. Babe actually drops his pillow and Perconte falls back. Even Gene straightens. All of the men look like children caught with their hands in a cookie jar.
"Are you all...doing what I think you're doing?" Nixon wonders--more to himself and Welsh than them.
Skinny recovers slightly and shrugs sheepishly. "Maybe, Sirs?"
There is another moment of silence. Nixon and Welsh exchange glances again before turning to them. "Got any room for two more?"
Hell, it beat moping around and scaring replacements.
Richard Winters glances around worriedly, trying to follow the jigsaw directions he'd been given by various men as to the whereabouts of Nixon and Welsh. He'd finished his paperwork early, and Speirs, with an unusual slight smirk had told him rather mysteriously that it was in his best interest to find the two of them. And so there he is, walking around the part of the hotel they were in, reserved for the enlisted, and--wondering where all that yelling is coming from.
"Damn it, Harry!" He speeds up his pace, able to recognize that tone from a mile away. He hears other assorted voices but assumes it must be the men gathering to gamble again. He locates the room and...is promptly hit with a stuffed monkey as soon as he enters.
There's a silence and he opens his eyes. He doesn't stare, but he does offer out a rather calm, "Nix, Harry--what is going on here?"
"PT," Harry chimes, his face the model of obedience. This causes the men around him look over at him admiringly, almost disbelieving. Nixon agrees, moving from where he had Luz cornered. "We're teaching...defensive tactics."
"The Japanese are a tricky people, Dick," Harry adds, and there may or may not have been a snort coming from Luz's direction but Winters can't keep the smile off his face. "Oh, really?"
"Trust me, Dick. I am the intelligence officer." Nixon has a pillow and is a lot closer than he seemed before. Winters isn't oblivious but he just keeps smiling sweetly at him and nods. "Carry on, then."
He ducks in time to avoid Nixon but gets it in the face from Welsh. The chaos around them resumes and Winters gives Harry a wry look.
"Sorry, Dick. I've been wanting to do that since Toccoa." Harry doesn't look the least bit apologetic and Nixon frowns and asks, "You've wanted to hit him in the face with--what I'm assuming--is a goose-feather-filled bed pillow since Sobel's reign of Tyranny?"
"You want and do stranger things to him," comes the relaxed quip that's ruined when they're both hit with the side of said pillow. They both stare at each other then Winters incredulously, despite the obvious evidence in his hands.
"What a coincidence, me too." If it wasn't Richard Winters, it would almost be cocky. "Look alive, you two. How are you going to take the Pacific with defenses like that?"