YOU ARE NOT HALLUCINATING, THIS IS AN ACTUAL UPDATE.
So sadly I don't even watch Downton anymore after the travesty that was Sybil's death, and so I lost track of this fic. I've always intended to come back to it at some point as I've had a lot of the rest of it written, but obviously it's taken me a while!
No idea if anyone's still interested in reading it, but i'm posting this anyway in order to resolve the cliffhanger and hopefully (at some point) get it finished!
No matter how much falls on us, we keep plowing ahead. That's the only way to keep the roads clear."
― Greg Kincaid
July 1916
Everything was dark.
He lay on his back, cold seeping into his clothes, confusion blurring his thoughts. He struggled to remember where he was as a ringing pounded through his skull.
Then it hit him. The battle, the war, the fighting, the bodies, the blood.
Branson kept still as he attempted to bring his senses back into some semblance of order. Then, as his headache faded into a dull throb, he slowly opened his eyes. The light he was expecting didn't come, only darkness remained. His heartbeat sped up and he blinked a few times, clearing away the blurriness and taking in the thousands of tiny dots of light in the sky.
It was night time already?
As he grew more accustomed to the ache in his head, he began to notice the eerie silence that surrounded him. It was a world away from the atmosphere of earlier, as he'd marched across the battlefield and been thrown backwards by an unseen force like nothing he'd ever felt before. He'd barely had time to register what was happening before a sharp pain had lanced through his head and he'd faded into unconsciousness, which right now he counted as a blessing. He was still alive anyway, and the passing thought that he would be able to see Sybil's face again filled him with hope.
Suddenly a bullet cut through the silence, startling him. Tom took a deep breath and exhaled, he could tell that thankfully it hadn't been close by. As he lay on the damp ground he listened. Other than the occasional caw of birds or flashes and bangs of sporadic gunfire from both sides, it was quiet.
Then the realisation came over him with distinct clarity. He was stranded in the middle of No Man's Land.
If he stood up, or even tried to move, there was every chance he could be mown down with bullets from either side or picked off by a sniper. Tom figured it was too dark for anyone at a sufficient distance to distinguish who he fought for. He sighed and closed his eyes. He needed to think.
He figured the darkness would be an adequate cover for him to get back to his own line. If he kept low, and moved slowly, hopefully he could remain undetected. It was a slim hope, but better than nothing.
Tom hissed as he turned onto his front as a sharp pain radiated across his chest. A fleeting thought compared it to the pain he'd received when he'd been shot earlier in the war, but he quickly pushed that to the back of his mind. At least this time he hadn't been shot. He guessed at least one broken rib, but had to try and block it out of his mind so he could get himself out of this mess. There was nothing he could do about it right now anyway, and he hoped that was at least the extent of his injuries.
He tucked his head down and began to drag himself through the mess of mud and blood, thankful for the darkness so that he couldn't see the extent of the massacre. It was a long way back to the British line, and he gritted his teeth against the pain. If he wanted to see Sybil again, he could damn well drag his body back to safety.
xxx
A cold chill went up her spine and stopped her in her tracks.
Sybil cast a quick glance around at the array of men sleeping in the beds and stretchers that littered the room. It was quiet, the time approaching two in the morning, yet she was still on duty, cleaning the smatters of blood staining the floor an ugly red.
She looked down at her hands as she scrubbed; they were covered in dried blood, a harsh reminder of the previous day. Memories flooded her mind, ones she would do anything to forget. Sitting back on her knees she took a breath, knowing this quiet wouldn't last long. As soon as they had more room, endless more soldiers would be brought through the doors and her fear for Tom being brought through them would be amplified yet again.
The assault of the previous day had been the largest of the war so far, and there had been an unprecedented number of casualties. Just hearing others talk about the massacre of soldiers, the numbers that had been cut down, made her feel as though a vice had been closed around her chest. She'd asked around to see of anyone knew Branson, and even found a man in his division who knew him, but he hadn't seen him since the whistle blew to go over the top. There was every chance Tom was one of the dead, and the mere thought set her nerves on edge. She put her hand to her chest and closed her eyes, trying to get her breathing under control without disturbing any of the patients.
There was no confirmation. She had to have hope, because if she didn't, what else was there?
She gave a weary smile at a fellow nurse who came to relieve her of cleaning. She was told to go get some rest for the inevitably busy day ahead, and she made no objections as she dragged her exhausted body towards her shared sleeping quarters. Sybil scrubbed her hands and nails clean and peeled off her dirtied uniform with a relieved sigh. Falling onto her bed she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
