Days past weeks.

Weeks past months.

They could hear the sharp wails from the thin tent walls, but the man who came in was silent. Breathing heavily and light dimmed from his eyes. He knew it was his time, and he was in an immeasurable amount of pain. But his bravery kept him strong.

His hair is scraggly and he has stubble on his chin. He looks aged and tolerant. In a count of three he's moved from the stretcher to the bed. Doctors buzz around his bed. His legs have been blown apart by an explosion, and a small white inchworm makes its way over his mangled limb. Across the room in a brown, worn boot is a full foot. The whole scene looks almost unreal.

"Please- someone-" He breathes. "Take a letter." The nurse flips papers on her clipboard.

"Yes?" She asks. He breathes again.

"Blaine,

If you're reading this, Kurt with you over there, it looks like I only got a one-way ticket over here. I sure wish I could give you one more kiss, and war was just a game we played when we were kids.

Well, I'm laying down my gun, I'm hanging up my boots, I'm up here with God and we're both watching over you."

"Mr. A-"

"Please, I know where I'm headed." She quiets.

"So lay me down in that open field out on the edge of town and know my soul is where we two would always play and live alone. And if you're reading this, I'm already home.

If you're reading this, there's gonna come a day when you move on and some days you forget about me- for now remember this: I'm in a better place where soldiers live in peace and angels sing amazing grace. So lay me down in that open field out on the edge of town and know my soul is where we two would always play and live alone. If you're reading this, I'm already home."

"I'm home." He coughed. "I'm going home." His eyes closed and the nurse gasped and dropped her clipboard to the ground. On the board, the name Cooper Anderson was scribbled down as a casualty of war.

"Mr. Anderson!" She gasped. Tears leaking from her eyes. "I love you, Coop." She said quietly. She reached down for the clipboard and pulled out the letter. "I have a letter for Blaine Anderson!" She called, looking and the white face of his brother. She wiped a strand of hair from his face. She pressed a kiss to his unmoving lips. She reached for her left hand and removed the diamond and placed it in his hands. "I- I love you, Coop. You brave man- you-" She sobbed into his torn clothes. "You take care of yourself- you hear?" She closed his fingers around the ring and stepped back to attend to the wailing patient beside him.

"If you're reading this, I'm already home." She finished. The inchworm wiggled his way across the dead tissue of a man who couldn't survive the explosion the little worm did.

The little worm would escape the blood and gunfire and turn into a beautiful butterfly- a butterfly with wings of fire and a beat like sparks with each flutter.

He tore apart the letter and read each word carefully. "We are so sorry for your loss." The general said. "He was a magnificent fighter." He bowed. "He fought for our country and for you." and turned on heel.

"That's all he is." He spoke to his back. "A piece in your war." His eyes filled with tears. "My brother!"

"Blaine? Where are y-" Kurt saw the yellow slip in his hands. "What's that?"

"A letter from Coop." He replied lifelessly.

"What's he saying?"

"He's going home."

"That's great!" Kurt replied.

"Yes. We won't have to worry for him no more." Kurt pulled away to see Blaine was crying. "And he'll take good care of your momma, Kurt. He's a good man." He sighed. "A real good man." He went upstairs and pulled the guitar from the case.

"Now put your fingers here. Perfect! Yah! Now, strum." Cooper told him, and Blaine played. Coop, whose arms were wrapped around him, clapped his hands. They were in their field, and Cooper had been saving up money to buy Blaine a full guitar he could have for the rest of his life. Blaine was small and it was big on him, but Blaine didn't care. He was so excited to have his brother home for Christmas.

"Cool! Next put your fingers here."

"Like this?"

"Perfect, Blainers." His brother was the most impressive guitar player he'd ever met and his hero. "Now play the whole sequence together."

"Did you write that, Coop?"

"Sure did."

"Wow."

He began to play his brother's song, fingers gliding over the chords, feeling his brothers arms around him again. Kurt watched from the doorway, eyes filling with tears, feeling a horrible ache in his heart as he watched the boy play, beginning to add words to the tune.

"If you're reading this…"