[
Outward Bound] by
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
hth_the_firstGunn/Wesley, Gunn/Ronon.
This is... it's gut-wrenchingly sad in places and very, very beautiful all over.
He was grateful for his life again. He'd never had so much to be grateful for, and everything was better and worse because of this tiny seed of a fireball in his chest that wouldn't go away, this knowledge that he was here in the grass with the pine smells and the moons rising in the clear, daylight sky because once upon a time, he wasn't alone, and someone cared enough about him to change his destiny.
Everybody buys it eventually. Gunn's number came up on May 19, 2004, and everything since then, all this stuff that he has in a place bursting with life and full of people who are perfectly kind to him, is courtesy of a dead man who used to love him like crazy.
That was the kind of deep shit that Gunn had time to think of, in the lazy summer days before the harvest season started. That's what he was thinking about when he looked up from a party of ants hoisting a spear-shaped leaf and marching it across the tip of his boot, and saw what looked for all the fucking world like a party of uniformed U.S. Marines cresting the next hill over.