Summary: Alex hasn't left Tommy's side since his rescue at the Mole. He's not ready to let go of this stranger turned security blanket...even if they are momentarily safe in the arms of England.

Author's Note: I don't own or profit on anything Dunkirk related. This is merely inspirations from a woman who squinted to find some brotherly love throughout the movie and came up with her own angsty ideas for this special pair of strangers after the film.

This story takes place that first night after they arrive off the train.

Finally, some mild PTSD/War Trauma scenes and brief language will appear, just to caution.

Morphine for the Soul

...

Nobody misses the sound of a plane flying overhead at approximately 2:15am.

Not a single soldier lying in the bunkers is able to keep from startling in their sleeping bags because of it.

As the roaring sound grows more and more distant, hearts calm and soon everyone in the cramped space settles back down to sleep.

All but one...

Alex has pressed himself into the nearest corner of the wall, five feet from his pillow...five measly feet from where Tommy still snores next to him in his own tattered army pallet.

Every part of him wants to bolt back to the safety of his own cocoon...back beside the only familiar face left from the beaches of horror.

Tommy...

There was something absolutely safe about the other boy, as if he had a much better chance of living if he kept him close...

But five feet was still five feet. It only took that much of a distance to kill you at Dunkirk.

The thought makes him press his back harder into the corner, unaware of the protests of his spine through the thin fabric of his shirt.

No way out.

No bloody way out.

A second plane flies over; lower this time.

Closer...closer...too close!

Even as Alex tells himself it's not a kraut engine, his feet bolt on their own, hands feeling the walls for support before he's tripping and scrambling over the sleeping forms of soldiers.

They're dead. They're all dead. He knows it. He remembers it. He still smells it.

He reaches another wall and can't find the door, not even a window to climb out of.

Trapped!

"Help! Somebody help me!"

His fists bang on any surface they find, wood from the side panels splinter his fingers as he scrapes around for escape.

Water rushes around his ankles in the next moment and a scream tears from his throat.

"I don't wanna die! I don't wanna die!"

Big hands whirl him around so suddenly that he's dizzy even before they violently shake him.

He can almost feel the blow to his cheek and the blood that forms at the corner of his mouth. The iron taste of it only drives him more mad.

"Stop! Wait!"

Tommy's voice.

Even as another blow strikes him in the gut, he hopes it really is him, cause he's good and ready to lose it if not.

"Give him a moment, for goodness sake! He's chokin'."

Alex wonders if the voice is talking about him. His green eyes search around the darkness frantically for something tangible to prove that Tommy was here...that he wasn't just a stiff corpse like the rest of his mates.

"You best shut him up or I will." Someone says in the darkness beside him.

"Alright! Alright! Just...please, give us a moment."

There's no doubting it now. Tommy's here.

Alex feels thin fingers grab the sleeves of his oil stained thermal just as his eyes begin to focus.

"Throw me his bedroll. That one over there, mate, yeah." Tommy continues, as he tries to ease his new comrade to the floor.

But Alex isn't having it. There is no way he's letting his guard down, even for this lucky charm of a soldier.

Legs kick in a manic fashion as he tries to loose himself from being restrained, but Tommy soon gets help from some of the other soldiers in the vicinity.

Alex knows Tommy needs the help, because if it were one against the other, he would have flattened him like a bloody crepe by now.

"I don't wanna die," he says with watery, trembling lips. "I can't. I can't."

"Nobody's gonna die, mate."

"They're gonna bomb us again! I hear em' up there."

"Shhh. Just our boys, mate. 'S just us." Tommy's so sure as he speaks it.

How can he even trust a hope after all the death he's just witnessed?

"...Mum." Alex whispers, and the shame of that one, single word is enough to ruin any last shred of dignity he has, but he can't stop it from trickling from his mouth. It's easier to say the second time, and by the fourth, he's actually calling it out. He's now convinced himself that she'll come if he shouts it loud enough.

It doesn't matter that she's dead and buried...that he hasn't seen her face in over a year...that he would be bullied for this in the morning. He's too swept up in panic to notice.

A hand suddenly stifles his lips from continuing on as an ironic mixture of gentle shushing and angry voices compete for the same prize: his silence.

For a brief moment, he tries. He really does make an effort, but he's already been so damn selfish already, so why on Earth should he stop now?

That poor frog...Gibson...he was ready to sacrifice him without a second thought, so eager to save his own skin while so easily dismissing the other boy to the cold depths of the ocean.

Coward didn't begin to describe how he truly felt inside.

He was nothing like Tommy...

Tommy...the bloody saint.

He read something far greater in the eyes of the lanky soldier.

It was something he craved and needed...something that he couldn't begin to understand.

Was it stability? A foundation? Where did he get it from? The other boy may as well have been guarded by angelic beings.

"I think he's good. Ease up," He hears Tommy whisper after what feels like an eternity.

As his wide eyes finally come into focus, he really hopes they stay that way this time. He feels Tommy's hand rise from his swollen, tear streaked face as the other soldiers let go of him as well.

Has he been restrained to the floor this entire time? He glances around at five different silhouettes, before resting on the only face he knows...who hovers over him like some filthy, skinny cur.

"You're okay. You're alright." Tommy says.

Alex wants to scream back every obscenity he can think of, but his body's gone mute without his permission.

'Leave me!' he wants to say.

But he's too tired to be anxious anymore...too exhausted to even try to protest when Tommy loosens the top two buttons of his shirt...too weak to slap away the warm rag that wipes off the grime, blood, dirt and salt from his neck and cheeks.

"No shame, mate. You just got a bit spooked."

He hates the way Tommy's words affect him. He despises the sobs that force and rip their way out of him just because of someone else's empathy.

If he was already reduced to such a pathetic heap, he would never make it through this war.

Somebody throws another bedroll at Tommy's head, and the dumb blighter simply thanks the man who delivered it in such a rude fashion.

"The shakes will stop," Tommy tells Alex, not missing a beat.

The Raven haired boy smooths out the other bedroll and pauses a moment to observe that the other soldiers have all hunkered down again for the night.

When Alex locks eyes with him again, there's a question in Tommy's stare.

He's asking permission.

'Can I help you?'

He can't explain how he knows this, but his quiet peer is awaiting an equally silent response.

Alex can feel his chest rising and falling faster and faster at the idea of giving in to comfort. He wants it so bad, but he's a bloody soldier, not a squalling infant...never mind that he'd just been crying for his mum only a moment ago. Never bloody mind all that...

As if this is the permission Tommy's been waiting for, he lays himself down on his bedroll and brings Alex into his arms, ignoring the other boy's pathetic tough front as he pretends he doesn't absolutely need this right now.

"F*ck off." Alex growls through his teeth, pushing against the other boy a few times to prove to himself that he actually means it.

Tommy only wraps him up tighter in response, easily reading between the lines.

The moment he does, Alex is breaking down again, burying his face into Tommy's neck.

His source of relief wreaks of oil and smoke, but the contact numbs the pain like some incredible morphine for the soul.

Tommy shushes him a few more times, occasionally apologizing to the other soldiers on his behalf.

"Gotta relax, mate." he whispers, "I know you're tryin', but I don't want them beatin' you up anymore than they already have."

Silence falls between them again.

Alex's body still shakes every now and then from his earlier sobbing, but at least his mind is slowing down.

Oh, how he wishes for a full night's sleep, even if it has to be here in the arms of utter humiliation.

Tommy's gone perfectly still, though his grip hasn't loosened a bit.

Alex wonders if the bloke is regretting his actions, but lacks the courage to even make a joke about such a thing.

"You ever speak a word about this to anyone-"

"Not a word."

He doesn't need to look up at Tommy to know that this was definitely not something they'd ever talk about again.

Another plane flies over the base and this time Alex stays still.

Tommy pats him gently on the back; perhaps his own way of saying, 'Well done, mate. You didn't make a total arse of yourself this time 'round.'

Another involuntary tremor rolls through Alex's frame, just as Tommy shifts a bit and clears his throat.

He never once expects what comes forth from his comrade's lips in the next moment.

A song...so soft...so quiet that he knows it's only meant for his ears.

"Through many dangers, toils and snares, we have already come..."

Alex bites down hard on his bottom lip. He wants to be done with the tears, but they pool and cascade down his nose anyway.

Tommy presses his cheek to his new friend's forehead, and he lets himself cry too, even whilst finishing the last of the verse.

"'Twas grace that brought us safe thus far, and grace will lead us home."

"So...you really are a saint then?" Alex whispers between his sniffles, pondering what to do about this new information.

"I'm no different than anybody else," Tommy replies.

Alex isn't satisfied with such a simple response.

His parents went to church faithfully every Sunday when he was a child...never mind that the rest of the week his father beat he and his mother within an inch of their lives and told his own son what a worthless piece of sh*t he was before passing out in his chair every night.

"That's the secret to your survival? Your religion?" Alex asks.

"Jesus isn't a secret, mate..." Tommy whispers back. "...And...He certainly isn't a religion-"

"Shut it, already! Both of you bloody idiots!" Someone cries in the darkness, and Tommy knows their own men will shoot them if they don't cease.

"We'll talk more tomorrow. Sleep." He says before settling in better.

Alex is more than a little furious. Waves of anger, guilt and grief make him want a better explanation and quickly, but he really has no other choice in the matter.

"Sleep." Tommy whispers once more and Alex's body complies quicker than he expects, exhausted snores soon drowning out any sounds of war lurking somewhere in the shadows of their backyard...

A/N: Thank you so much to anyone who took the time to read this humble little fic! Whether it was enjoyable for you or not, I am grateful that you did! This story will have more chapters to follow. I plan to explore what happens to Alex and Tommy through the remainder of the war, and if they do survive, how might their friendship evolve over time? Please leave a comment or review and God Bless you!