TW: Blood, war, character death, guns

All I Want Is Home

WW1 AU

Anthony Higgins felt his body go rigid as the cold metal of the gun barrel was put to his back and he was tackled to the ground. A deep voice growled, "You move, I pull the trigger. You say anything I don't want to hear, I pull the trigger. If you want to live, tell me where your battalion is." Anthony heard the click of the gun, causing him to shiver.

The war was almost over, he could sense it. But now he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He couldn't tell this soldier where his camp was. That would surely end up with them all dead. But he couldn't risk his life. He had somewhere he was wanted. Home.

He could imagine his wife and children trembling in fear, wondering every day if they would receive a letter saying he died. He could just imagine their screams and cries. Poor Roxanne, his beautiful wife of eleven years. Learning that her husband who had fought so valiantly had sacrificed his own life.

Innocent Peter, his eldest son at the age of eight. He would be devastated to learn that his father had lost his life to a Russian soldier. Little Annalise, his daughter at the tender age of three. Anthony couldn't bear to imagine her growing up without a father by her side.

And the baby his wife was carrying. They would be here in a few months, and Anthony wanted to make sure that he was there to teach them to walk, talk, and all that. If he was killed, he would not be able to do so.

"You going to speak or not?" The soldier asked gruffly, pressing the gun into his back harder. His accent was thick, but his English was understandable enough.

Anthony stopped to think. If he did sacrifice himself, and his side won the war, he would be hailed a hero. But was it worth being called a hero over being able to see his family again? His battalion was waiting for him back at base as well.

"I'll give you one minute exactly to respond to my question." The soldier snarled.

Anthony thought again. What if he lied? If the soldier was thick enough to believe him, then maybe, just maybe, he could make it out alive. He could see his family again. He would get to see the birth of his third child, perhaps, were he lucky.

He bit his tongue and lied, "Two hundred yards south from here." The two hundred yards part was true, but it actually was to the east. He had turned to the north because he had spotted a Russian trench.

The Russian gave him a glare, then lifted the gun off his back. "Go." He grunted. Anthony gave a sigh of relief and took of down south. He was doing this to distract the Russian until he turned and left him alone.

After about five minutes of running, Anthony turned around to check if the soldier was still there, but then froze. The soldier was still behind him, and now the gun was directly in his face.

"You deceptive thing! You lied." The Russian soldier seethed angrily. He lowered the gun to Anthony's chest, put his finger to the trigger and fired.

Anthony stumbled back and fell, his own blood seeping through his uniform onto the ground. He could feel himself slipping away from reality as he bled out.

"Roxanne… Peter… Annalise… baby…" He gasped in pain, coughing, only to stain his uniform further. "I'm sorry."


A few days later…

"Mummy!" Peter bounded into the living room. "There's a letter from Daddy's battalion!"

Roxanne felt her breath hitch slightly. Would her husband be coming home? Was he alright?

"Peter, go to your room." She ordered. The boy nodded his head and left the living room.

With shaking hands, Roxanne tore open the envelope. She desperately removed the paper from within, but felt her heart drop the moment she started reading.

'Dear Ms. Higgins nee Ashton, we regret to inform you that your husband, Anthony Higgins, has died on the battlefield. He went missing two nights ago on an expedition to a Russian trench, but didn't return. We found him in the forest dead the third morning, shot through the heart by a Russian soldier. He will be buried here until you can send for his body.'

Roxanne dropped the letter and put her head in her hands. Her husband was dead. He wouldn't be coming home.

She rubbed a hand across her pregnant belly. The child, boy or girl, would be born into a world without a father. No father to teach them the important things in life. But if Roxanne had to do it herself, she would.

She would tell her children that their father was a hero.


A/N: Okay, that was a sad one. In school I had to read recounts of the first World War, and this popped into my head. So yeah. Hope you enjoyed (or not)