Chapter Text
Will sank heavily against the tree. He had never felt this level of exhaustion before. It felt like he had gone full circle and was too tired to even sleep. One of his hands found its way to his breast pocket, retrieving the blue tobacco tin inside. It was still cool from his swim earlier.
Inside were photos of his sister and her daughters. On the back of her picture his sister had written four words. Her cursive was always much neater then his and he envied her for it. They read, ‘Come back to us’. He stared at these words for a long time. If he focused, he could still feel the heat from her hand as she wrote them.
Still in the tin was a metal chain with a little gold ring. Will felt a lump in his throat forming as he looked at it. Touching it felt wrong. He undid the clasp and slipped the ring off. Then reached under the collar of his coat and took off his own chain. On it was a larger, silver ring. He added the gold one to his and placed it back around his neck, tucking it safely under his coat. It still feels warm against his chest.
The sun tells him it is almost noon when he feels the presence at his side. Lieutenant Blake is standing beside him. He feels sick.
“The medics are able to take you now,” he holds out a hand to Will.
Will accepts and together they walk to the med tents. Cries from the injured sound around them, and he tries his best to ignore them. He sits on one of the empty cots and the Lieutenant stands nearby. He wished the other man would just leave. His presence makes Will’s stomach twist with guilt. If he had only thought.
One of the medics approached him. He had an empty look in his eyes and his hands were stained with dried blood. The medic set down the case he was carrying and pulled Will’s bandaged hand into his own. He silently pulled off the trashed dressing and looked it over. The skin around the cut had turned a sickly gold. Will was too numb to even care.
The medic let out a deep sigh and got to work. He took a small blade out of the case and cut away at Will’s hand, carving out the infection. It was a long and painful process but he remained silent. By the end of it all his hand was covered in bright crimson and the grass beneath was slick with his blood. The medic poured something over it that stung like hell. Then he packed it with gauze and wrapped it in a clean bandage.
Next was his head. He turned on the cot so the medic could get a better look. He poured more of the liquid on the gash and Will twitched. He scolded himself for showing the weakness and clutched at the sleeves of the wool jumper he wore under his uniform. The wound was packed and bandaged without too much additional damage and Will was told to lay down. As he did the world bent around him. That was all the proof he required to know he needed rest. Being unconscious for hours had taken its toll on his mind.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the Lieutenant speaking with the medic. Why did the older Blake care? Tom’s blood was on his hands. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Blocking out the sounds of the dying around him. It was all his fault.
When Will opened his eyes again the sun was low and the tents were much quieter. Those around him had either died or fallen asleep. The Lieutenant was still there beside him. He was holding a steaming cup of what was most likely stew.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he offered the tin.
Will could not remember the last time he ate a proper meal. He silently took the tin with his right hand and ate quickly. It tasted of watery tea and undercooked meat. This did not bother him however. He was hungry and this was food.
“Tom spoke about you a lot in his letters you know.”
His heart skipped a beat and an overwhelming numbness came over him. He looked down into his half empty tin, “He did? What did he say about me?” His voice was quiet, dull.
The Lieutenant’s reply was barely above a whisper, “A lot of things. He really loved you Schofield.”
Will’s heart pounded in his chest at the words. This was the last thing he needed. Not only would he hate him for letting his brother die, now he had a whole new reason to despise Will. He wanted to curl up into a ball and never get up.
“It’s alright, I’ve… I’ve known for a long time,” there was a dead look in his eyes and he stood, turning to leave, “I’ll take you to the quartermaster tomorrow and get you a new rifle and kit. For now get some rest.”
The fabric of the cot was itchy against his skin but he barely noticed. The Lieutenant knew. There was no anger in his voice. Only the overwhelming sadness of loss. Maybe he was okay with it. Maybe he would beat Will within an inch of his life. He pushed these thoughts away and focused on getting to sleep.
***
His hands were bathed in red. The bleeding just would not stop. It flowed slowly from Tom’s side, dripping onto the dirt. Will pressed his hands to the wound, making Tom wince. He had to survive. He had to, he had to. Will could not do this by himself.
Embers from the fire drifted by them, glowing in the grey sun. Tom’s skin was so pale as he reached to take Will’s hand. The boy was terrified. The person Will loved above all else was dying and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Forced only to watch as the life drained from his eyes.
Tom reached weakly for his neck with his free hand, fingers fumbling with the chain. Will slipped it over his head for him, the little gold ring twisting slightly in the breeze. He moved to give it to Tom but the other pressed it into his hand instead. Silently telling him to take it. He smiled sweetly up at him and Will could feel himself start to break. But he could not. He had to be strong for Tom. He gripped the boy’s hand, so much smaller than his own, and watched as he died. He took a last look at the small photo of his family.
“Tell them, I wasn’t scared.”
Slowly, Will blinked awake. He scratched the sleep from his eyes. It was still too early for the sun. He raised his arm to check his watch only to remember it was broken. His left hand felt like he had dipped it in fire and he hoped the sensation would soon go away.
The world around him was silent except for the occasional moan of the dying. He had to get away from this hell. He swung his legs off the cot. So far so good. Standing was a little harder than he thought. It felt like his bones would snap under his weight. They shook violently and it was not long till he had to sit again.
He reached for the rings around his neck, holding them tight. Will felt like someone had carved out his insides. There was no pain, just a big empty hole where they used to be. He wished there was pain. It would make it easier to believe if it hurt. As it was he just felt hollow. He did not even have it in him to cry even though he knew how good it would make him feel.
It was freezing even though it was april. His body was still too weak to shiver so he clenched his jaw instead. They had not given him a blanket. He curled into himself on the cot and waited for the sun.
Time passed impossibly slowly. It felt like days but the sun had barely moved. His strength was coming back to him but not nearly as fast as he would like. It might take days for him to recover completely. Not that he would tell that to anyone.
He examined the man next to him, watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He had dark hair and a young face. Could not have been older than twenty. Blood soaked bandages wrapped themselves around his chest and what remained of his right arm. He would be sent home if he survived his injuries.
Soft footsteps approached and one of the medics tapped his shoulder. He asked Will to sit up. He obliged and the medic took his left hand, gingerly undoing the bandage. He shook his head at the bloody mess, pouring more of the stinging liquid on it. The medic stuffed fresh packing into the crater in Will’s hand and wrapped it with clean dressing.
Then he moved to his head. He undid the bandage and took out the packing. This time he took a cotton and doused it in the liquid, holding it against his head. The medic kept it there as he wound bandage around his head. Will hated him for that.
There was obviously a good reason for the man to do this but Will desperately needed something to occupy his mind. With every passing second the pain seemed to multiply until, finally, it broke. Now it just felt cold against his torn flesh. It felt wonderful.
Hatred was no longer an option. He would have to find some other way to keep himself distracted. The Lieutenant was picking his way through the tents, looking over the injured with concerned eyes. He made his way to Will. He seemed empty and for this he was grateful. A broken man could not hurt him.
“Let’s get you some breakfast,” he offered Will his hand.
Will declined, standing on his own. His legs shook but they bared his weight and after a few steps he was stable. They walked slowly back into the trenches and he found himself feeling more and more trapped. Men shuffled around, repairing the trench walls. Shells had taken out most of the front line.
Breakfast turned out to be a tin of something that resembled stew and a stale slice of bread. Will ate all the same. He did not see the Lieutenant take any food however. He caught Will’s gaze, “I already ate.” A lie. He doubted the man had eaten since breakfast the day prior. Everyone had their own way to cope.
He finished off his small meal and began to make his way to the quartermaster, the older Blake following close behind him. The quartermaster was a shorter man with a permanent look of exhaustion under his eyes. He took one look and Will and began digging through supply crates. He pressed a new rifle, kit, and helmet at Will and went back to his work.
He clipped on the webbing and put on his helmet. The rifle was a brand new model from 1917 The bolt was smoother than his old one but the weight seemed off in his hands.
The Lieutenant spoke, “There’s a convoy headed to the 8th in a few minutes. It’s loading up by the woods. If you hurry you might catch it. If they try to stop you, just tell them I sent you,” and then he was gone, lost in the crowd.
Will slowly trudged through the trenches to the woods. The trenches had been made in a hurry and so were not very hard to navigate. There was barely even a curve to them, making the soldiers sitting ducks if the Germans decided to start shelling again.
At the edge of the woods was a group of three lorries and a small car. He approached the convoy. The Colonel stared vacantly at him before waving him to the last lorry. Will made his way to the vehicle and climbed in. The other soldiers were talking in hushed voices.
“And did you hear what he said to Anderson?”
“God. That bastard. I’ll kill him.”
“Spear him on the end of my rifle. Blow him to little bits,” the others laughed.
Will was completely lost and to be honest he did not really care. He settled onto the bench halfway down the lorry and set his rifle between his legs. The soldiers continued to describe various ways of hurting this unknown person. He must have really pissed someone off. This was going to be a long journey.