A/N - I'm sorry this has taken so long. It's hard to write. Anyway, it's Anzac Day today - 25th April. Even if you're not in a country that observes it, maybe just take a minute of silence and think about the sacrifice that soldiers have made for us to live how we do now.

The whistle blows and Nick runs. Runs up the ladder after the man ahead of him and out into the mud. The noise is deafening, guns firing, men screaming and yelling either side of him. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Felix go down, but can't stop, just keeps running toward the Germans. Nick fires blindly ahead of him, trying to remember his training, trying to remember anything but the mud on his boots trying to suck him down and the men draped over the barbed wire ahead of him.

A shell explodes nearby, showering him with sod as he runs, almost tripping and falling, catching a glimpse of Jeffy's blond hair as he crumples to the ground ahead of him. A bullet whistles past him, grazing his arm, ripping through the thick fabric of his tunic and slicing into his skin. Nick barely has time to register the pain before another shell explodes, throwing him bodily into the air and knocking him out.

When Nick comes to, he's flat against the edge of a mine hole, his legs disappearing into a pool of stagnant water, feet already starting to sink into the mud beneath them. It takes a moment for him to free them, pulling himself up a little higher, clinging desperately to whatever he can to stop himself slipping in. It's only when he reaches out to get a better handhold that he realises there's another man in the hole with him.

Nick reaches out, shaking the man's shoulder. He doesn't move, doesn't even turn his head to look at Nick, and Nick starts to worry he's out cold. He shifts closer, ignoring the twinge of pain in his arm, to roll the man over onto his back. Nick screams hoarsely, scrambling backwards as much as he can, staring at the man in horror.

His face is gone. A rotten, bloody, mess, torn away by shrapnel and swollen from the water, wrecked by the hungry rats that swarm over No Man's Land, rats like the one floating in the water he's standing in, bloated body bobbing against his sodden trousers. Nick can't look away, eyes transfixed on the corpse. He reaches out, swallowing a wave of nausea to tug the dead man's dogtags from inside his shirt, leaning closee to read them.

Pvt. Hudson, F.

"I'm sorry, Private Hudson." Nick says softly, closing his eyes and offering up a quick prayer for the dead soldier.

Nick looks up at sky, grey clouds blocking the sun, flashing red and orange as shells explode nearby, the noise of guns and men echoing out through the air. He prays. Prays that someone will find him, prays that he won't die here, won't be found like the nameless man he's trapped with. Prays for the strength to get himself out.

He looks up at the edge of the hole, face set determinedly, pushing his foot into the muddy wall of the shell hole and hauling himself out onto his stomach. He crawls forward, dragging himself through the barbed wire back to the trenches, staying as low as he can, not wanting to draw attention to himself. A soldier grabs him, helping him down onto the duckboard, walking with him to the first aid post.

Nick sits in silence, only repeating his name and rank as the wound in his arm is cleaned and dressed. He's sent back to his post, walking slowly in his wet shoes along the trenches, ducking out of the way of stretcher bearers as they rush past carrying bodies covered in sheets, a bloodied hand brushing his thigh. Nick reaches the dugout, stepping inside, looking around the empty room for his back so he can change his socks. It's only when he reaches down to undo his laces that he realises he's shaking.

There's a yell from outside, an agonised shout of 'No!' that makes Nick shudder. He finishes doing his puttees, then hurries outside, slamming into Felix as he heads the other way. His face is pale under the mud, eyes duller than normal.

"Blaine's dead."

Nick stops, staring at him.

"What..." He mumbles, looking past Felix at Captain Hummel.

All of the colour's gone from his face, he's just standing, staring blankly forward at Smythe. Nick sees his lips move, but doesn't catch what he says before Hummel's suddenly standing back up straight, ordering Smythe to accompany him back to the dugout they share a few trenches away. Nick watches them go, part of him marvelling at the mask that Hummel puts on, coming to the realisation that they all do. They all hide inside themselves, and in their letters home.

He jolts, reaching quickly inside his tunic and pulling his letters out, checking through them quickly, hoping they're not wrecked by mud, wanting to be able to read them even though he knows word for word what they say. Nick puts them back into his pocket, sighing with relief before tugging his helmet on and walking over to join Jeffy.

"Jeffy... I..."

"Don't." Jeffy says slowly. "I understand."

Nick nods.

"Why was the Captain so cut up?"

Jeffy shakes his head.

"There... I fink 'e were more keen on Tips than we fort..." He mumbles.

"Jeffy..." Nick said quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on the view through the periscope they were stationed at on watch.

"Mmm?" Jeffy glanced up, fumbling with a match, crouched against Nick's legs, trying to light his cigarette and stay out of sight.

"S'Hummel a queer?" He asked quietly.

"Mmm." Jeffy hummed again, holding the cig tight in his teeth as he stood up, shoving his hands in his pockets. "There're more of them about than you'd think."

Nick nodded, swallowing slightly.

"Was Blaine –" Nick started, the rest of his sentence cut off by the Jeffy's lips on his.

The kiss was soft, just the firm presence of Jeffy's lips, his his hands resting lightly on Nick's hips for a few seconds before he pulled away.

"Life's too short." Jeffy muttered, smoke leaking from his mouth as he spoke.

Nick stared at him, fingers pressed to his lips.

"You taste like mud."

Jeffy threw his head back, laughing loudly.

"I taste like mud... 'course I do... we live in the fucking mud, Nic'las! Everyfing is fucking mud!" Jeffy shook his head, still laughing. "We live in the mud and we'll die in the mud, Nic'las. Sucked in and dead and buried in moments."

"Like Blaine." Nick said quietly.

"No. Not like Blaine." Jeffy said, suddenly serious. "Blaine was shot. Shot by the BLOODY GERMANS." He yelled, ducking down from a volley of bullets that never came.

Nick smiled slightly, watching Jeffy, still that taste of mud and smoke on his lips.

Don't hate me... here, have this, pretend it's Nick - ./tumblr_m2xot7SNZN1r6y3vao1_