William sat in the little field, holding to the body in his arms. That damn German pilot had stabbed Tom, his friend, his lover, in the stomach. Not too deep, though; it had been too easy to wrench away the knife, to throw it into the grass. Will shot him twice to be sure. And now, there Tom was, bleeding, in Will's arms. Tom, lovely as always, head in Will's lap and hand under his, over that wound in his abdomen.
"I love you, y'know that?" Tom said, eyes on Will. Only Will, like always.
"Yeah, 'course I know, you tell me every chance you get. I love you too." Will wiped the tears from his face, trying to appear strong. If only for Tom, he would make it out of this shit situation. They had come this far. It would be insulting for their mission to end here, in this field, a few feet away from that damned pilot. Then he heard footsteps. Will held the cloth pressed to the wound a bit tighter.
"S'alright, Will, love." Tom said, voice soft, gazing up at him. His Will, beautiful and brave, willing to do the impossible. And for him, of all people. For his brother Joe, by extension. If he made it out of this hellhole, Tom was going to make sure Will knew just how much Tom loved him. The footsteps of earlier got louder; two soldiers approached. Will couldn't tell what their ranks were, not that it mattered, but he was curious.
"You need some help, there, mate?" One says, "It's alright." His voice grew gentle; the other men stepped toward Will and Tom, offering their help.
"Please, help him," Will says immediately, "Don't worry about me. We have a mission to complete... Take him, please. The longer we stand here, the worse off he'll be." Will realized he was crying a bit as he spoke. It would have felt unbecoming if Will gave a shit, but he didn't. The other two soldiers nodded. Will looked at Tom in his arms, face slowly losing color.
"Listen, Tom, these nice gentlemen are going to help us out a bit, and they can't do that if you're on the ground, so up we get," Tom's gaze met Will's, and he nodded. With help from Will and the two others, Tom stood, though he winced. He exchanged a glance with Will, who took his hand and squeezed it.
"Was it the plane? We saw smoke,"
"Yeah," Will replies. It's easier than the truth, that Tom had been stabbed trying to help the pilot. Easier than admitting it was Will's fault for turning his back. The other two men, whose names Will didn't catch, walked Tom and Will to where the rest of their unit was. When they reached the line of vehicles, an officer belonging to their unit approached. He asked Will where they were going.
"I'm headed to Ecoust, there's a message I need to deliver as soon as possible. This one needs to get to the nearest aid post, Please." Will tried not to let his voice break as he spoke, tried not to betray how horrible he felt. He should have shot the German bastard when he had the chance. Will shook his head; thinking too long about what-ifs would mess with his brain. What if the war wasn't going on? What if he could marry whomever he wished? What if he could marry Tom and they could live together happily, free from the troubles of the world, of this damn war that would surely tear them apart, mentally and physically? Will had turned over those questions many a sleepless night; thinking too much gave him a headache or made him cry.
"We've got enough room for you. We're going past Ecoust, so we can take you part of the way there. We'll make sure your friend gets patched up, don't worry."
"Thank you, sir." Relief washed over Will, filling him with a warm, hopeful feeling. Hope was a dangerous thing, but it felt good to hold on it, if only for a little while. The officer explained their predicament to a higher up, so Will got in the truck. As luck would have it, it appeared there was space for only one other man. Tom went to the nearest aid post to have his wound treated; Will saw the men who had helped them guiding him away. Will tried not to dwell on it, on the truth before him. He'd only known Tom a short while, but Will knew he was the man he wanted to be with for as long as destiny allowed. It hadn't been easy, realizing how he felt and scrounging up the alone time to tell the bloke.
Along his way to the Devons, Will almost got shot by Germans, passed out, and encountered a French woman with a baby who wasn't hers. The river he'd floated through had been beautiful; cherry blossoms floated alongside him. They reminded him of Thomas. When he got back to his regiment (and he did get back, thank you very much), Tom would be there waiting for him. Will had his time. He delivered the message as planned. He met Tom's brother (just like him, a little older); Will told him how he felt about his little brother. It was no surprise to him, of course; Mrs. Blake had mentioned Tom's letters and his many mentions of a man called Will Schofield in her writings to her eldest son. Joseph Blake thanked Will for being by his brother's side, making sure he didn't become a statistic, one of many numbers in a long list of war casualties. If he didn, it might have broken Will. They shook hands. Three days later, Will was back with the 8th, and his boy. His darling boy. It felt surreal to be back in the place he started; all that work only to have gone in a circle.
He found Tom rather quickly. Or Tom found him. Either way, the two reunited at last. And Will would be damned if he'd let the man he'd almost lost out of his sight again. Seeing his lover again after the worst seventy-two hours of his life, not knowing if Tom was alive or dead, had been an enormous relief. There was his Thomas, all flesh and blood and very much not dead.
The war ended two years later; by some miracle they made it out with only minor injuries here and there. Will was glad it was over; so glad he would never have to worry about whether he would make it through the day, live or die. He and Tom returned to England together. They found a flat above a little bookshop in south London and took over the store as well. They made sure it was near both Will's sister Sarah (and her darling daughters) and Joseph and his wife. Will and Tom ran the bookshop together with love and care. Each night, together they walked up the stairs to their little flat to their shared bed. Will often fell asleep in Tom's arms. The nightmares persisted for years after. They found it hard to forget what they had seen in the trenches, like nearly all survivors of that same horrible war. It was even harder for Will to forget the feeling of holding Tom in his arms as he lay bleeding, near to dying. Tom was always there to wipe away his tears and assure him everything was alright, as Will was for him. It wasn't just the nightmare that plagued either of them, but with Tom by his side, Will could get through it. The nightmares were arguably the hardest part, stuck in moments where he'd become helpless, unable to stop the war from tarnishing innocence and hurting those he loved most. Once that horrible war was over, Will could feel true peace again. As it turned out, peace involved a whole lot of Saturday mornings, together, on their couch that needed reupholstering. Or, lying in bed until noon, enjoying the company of a cherished lover.