September 18th, 1918 - Battle of Epehy

Blaine

The shock of the letter was too much. The last thing Blaine could remember was falling to his knees, the thick stew of filth sinking in and making his uniform cling to his legs. A painfully tight, pulsating ball of anger welled up in the centre of his chest, building until it finally exploded out in a flash of white heat that consumed him. He couldn't think straight, couldn't breathe properly and couldn't feel anything. Hate raged within him, throwing itself against his rib cage in heavy beats. In the end all that remained was a frothing, wailing beast demanding to be set free.

Blaine was ignorant to the wide-eyed, confused glances from the surrounding soldiers as his mates moved forward with reaching hands to control this thrashing creature that had suddenly taken their friend's place. He threw his body backwards, a hand lashing out to quickly swat Nick away while the other reached out scrambling for purchase along the dirt wall of the trench. His gun was leaning against the wall, where he had placed it when he'd been handed the damn letter. The heavy butt sunk low in the trench water but the barrel and trigger were aimed upwards, protected from the down pour by a little shelf that had been carved.

In the almost two years that Blaine had been situated at the front line he had come to learn that survival meant following the orders that trickled down to him from the upper levels of the British Army. The key order was to shoot before asking questions. He had killed before. In fact he had become well adapted in picking off the Huns that continually tried to make their way across that little scrap of death known as No Man's Land. It was easiest when they had to crawl over the wire strung across the entrapments that had been buried deep due to shelling. Never, however, had he ever turned his weapon on a fellow countryman.

The fingers of Blaine's right hand though still swollen and numb curled around the stock of his British Lee-Enfield rifle. He tried to find purchase while another heart wrenching cry escaped him. The thick streams of tears that trickled from the corners of his eyes were unaccustomedly warm and left clean trails in their wake.

Nick's face pulled tight and turned an alarming shade of white as he tried again to reach out to his friend. His finger's curled tightly into the back of Blaine's soaked jacket and Nick wrenched him to his feet amidst Blaine's still flailing limbs. They almost tumbled back into the watery grime when Blaine got in a solid smack with the end of his rifle.

Another boy entered the fray. Thad, an average looking bloke with dark hair, hidden by a metal helmet, was trying to wrestle the weapon from Blaine's grasp but wasn't faring well. His hands were too slick from the rain to get a tight hold. That, combined with the fact that he was trying to avoid losing his dying fag in the scuffle made it easy for Blaine to land a kick to the shin which made the boy back away wearily with a few choice curse words.

From there it was simple enough to swing around, arching an elbow to catch Nick in the side of the neck. Nick let out a loud gasp and stumbled backwards, first into the other wall of the trench and then into the ankle deep waters that sloshed around.

"What the fuck, Anderson!?"

By now, others had started to press inwards in curiosity but confusion was carved onto their weathered and dirty faces. Trent hesitated from the safety of his position several metres back before wadding his way to Nick's side; his eyes never once left Blaine's heaving and shivering frame.

"...Blaine. Stop this! What are you doing?" Trent's voice, soft and disbelieving wavered when another shout left Nick.

"Get that the fuck out of my face!"

Blaine, chest still heaving and pupils blown wide, had seemed to pull himself together enough to raise his gun, with the bayonet still attached, and aim it directly into Nick's right eye.

Just as suddenly as Blaine's meltdown had begun, it ended. The edge of the blade dropped down, narrowly avoiding the side of Nick's clenched jaw, and was harmonized by the collective exhale of those watching. The wild look didn't leave Blaine's face and that scared Trent even more. Without a sound or an explanation he swung his body around pushed his way towards one of the rickety ladders someone had tied together with soggy strands of rope. Before anyone could shout or make a grab for him Blaine was vaulting over the stacked bags that lined the tops of the trench.

Kurt

The rain continued to fall from the dark sky, creating rivers of muddy water that started to fall into the large shell hole in which Kurt was now residing. He was crouched in the hole's ankle deep water with his back resting against the wall. Balancing his rifle on his lap Kurt rubbed his hands together in an attempt to gather some warmth, but no matter how hard he tried they remained stiff from the chilly September wind. Kurt took hold of his rifle once more, wringing his hands over the barrel as his nerves started to settle in once again.

He was scared to meet his fate. Just the thought of dying made him think of all the things he'd never done in his young life. The list was long and included many things that Kurt knew wouldn't likely happen, even if he had the chance. Like falling in love; something he had decided would never happen because of his affection towards men. He'd expected as much but the thought that he wouldn't even get the chance was heartbreaking.

It was eerie how quiet it was. The only sounds Kurt could hear came from the rain drops falling on his helmet. Kurt felt a sharp pain shoot up his leg as it started to cramp from the unnatural position he was forcing his body into. Giving up on his attempt to stay somewhat dry, he sat in the cold water, despite the horrid thoughts about what could be in there with him. He sighed as he let his muscles relax. He saw it as a small blessing that the water starting to saturate his clothing went mostly unnoticed, since his uniform was basically soaked to begin with.

Suddenly a cry broke the silence, followed by the sounds of gun shots echoing through no man's land. Kurt was unable to tell from what direction the shots were coming from, as he readied himself for an attack. Steadying his gun against the slope, he slowly lifted his body placing his hands on the muddy ground of his embankment. Kurt saw the tail end of his regiment running towards him, shooting at an unknown target. When a stray bullet whizzed by his face he ducked back down, clutching his chest with one hand as he tried to calm his erratic breathing.

An unexpected splash covered Kurt in muddy water, causing him to scream in surprise as it hit the back of his neck. Quickly wiping at the mud on his neck he spun around to find that a man had tumbled into his hole. The man let out a groan as he regained his footing, glancing around until his eyes fell on Kurt.

Kurt held eye contact with the man, his fear rising as he stumbled blindly for his rifle. His eyes followed the man's movements as he rose to stand over Kurt his chest heaving, as his hands clasped a gun that was now pointed to Kurt's forehead.

Kurt's eyes widened as he felt the cold tip of metal against his forehead. Glancing up to the man's eyes Kurt hoped to find some form of hesitation in them, but all he found was hard orbs that seemed to stare right into his very soul.

"Das ist es." Kurt mumbled to himself, letting out the breath that he was holding as his eyes drifted closed. He waited for the death blow that this Brit was poised to deliver.

Yet, seconds crawled by and it never came.

Hesitantly, Kurt opened one eye to see what was happening, and was surprised at what he saw. The British soldier looked torn. The gun shook a little in his hand causing the sharp metal to nick the skin on Kurt's forehead. His brow was furrowed in confusion as he seemed to fight an inner battle with himself.

The British man's eyes widened suddenly watching Kurt's blood trickle down towards his eye. The conflicting emotions showed in the Brit's features.

It was the British soldier's next actions that truly confused Kurt. The gun that was cutting into his skin was lowered, hanging weakly in the man's grasp.

"Warum hast du nicht mich töten? Ich bin dein Feind." Kurt asked, confused. The man just stood over him looking lost.

"I- I don't understand what you are saying." The man said in English.

Kurt instantly called on his skills of translation, feeling completely stupid for asking the British man a question in his mother tongue of German.

"Why didn't you kill me?" he asked in his own heavily accented English, the words feeling odd on his lips from the lack of use. "I'm your enemy."

The man's eyes showed a glimmer of surprise, before he dropped to his knees, creating a small splash. He didn't seem to mind the water that soaked his uniform as he curled into a ball with his back against the wall and his head in his hands. The man looked like a cornered animal that had given up on fighting and was awaiting its own death.

Kurt watched as the man's broad shoulders caved in, seemingly trying to become even smaller. It would be so easy for Kurt to grab his gun and run the man through in this moment of weakness, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind Kurt felt his blood run cold. Even when faced with the thought of himself or this unknown man dying, Kurt was willing to give the other man life because he seemed to be a god damn coward.

Dabbing at the cut on his forehead to check the bleeding, Kurt felt the warm liquid was starting to clot. At least until he made the mistake of rubbing his sleeve across his face to get some of the lingering mud away. Kurt sighed in frustration, the noise causing the man across from him to look up uncurling his body, terror and sorrow written in his every feature. Kurt stared at the man with wide eyes, surprised at the sudden movement the soldier made but relaxed as the man tried to make himself more comfortable in the hole.

In the darkness Kurt could hardly make out the man's features. However, Kurt was under the assumption that the man was quite good looking despite the fact that he was covered in what could only be months of mud and grime. What little Kurt could see of the man was that he was broad shouldered and muscular at least compared to himself, his tailored green uniform was covered in mud as it clung to his frame, showing off a tapered waist. The man's hair was covered by his helmet, but the few strands that Kurt could see at the nape of his neck curled in tight spirals. The man had a strong jawline, his nose a bit large for his face yet it seemed to suit him just fine, it was actually nice to see a small flaw in him even though it really wasn't one. The man's eyes were almost impossible to decipher from this distance, the colour was hidden from Kurt's view but the emotions in them were as bright as day. At this moment those eyes seemed to be transfixed on Kurt never wavering.

He was staring just as Kurt had done but it seemed to be much more scrutinizing, gauging him for who knows what. The silence between them continued as Kurt busied himself with looking at the cuff of his jacket, pretending to take interest in the fraying material. But the man kept staring, as if Kurt was some sort of animal that he never seen before, and it was starting to make Kurt's skin crawl.

Kurt's annoyance was growing as each second passed. The staring was awkward; every time Kurt would look up the man would be looking at him. Kurt was starting to wonder if he even blinked.

Against Kurt's better judgement he broke the silence, "Are all British people this strange?" Kurt asked quietly, annoyance dripping from his voice, but he didn't care. He couldn't handle the insane man staring at him anymore.

The man looked completely bewildered, being interrupted from his trance, at the idea that a German would seem to know his language. Kurt's only indication that he heard him was him raising a bushy triangular eyebrow in question.

Kurt sighed, his frustration with the man growing as the staring seemed to intensify now that he opened his mouth. "You're staring. Have you never seen a German before?"

The man mumbled under his breath, glancing away from Kurt for the first time since the bizarre bout of staring had commenced.

Kurt rolled his eyes, "and they don't know how to speak up, it seems." He said aloud and stared pointedly at the man.

The British soldier looked back towards Kurt, "I said, none as adorable as you."

Kurt blinked in surprise at the response he was given, a blush rising in his cheeks as he looked to the water finally finding his gun.

None as adorable as you, seriously what was wrong with this man? He must have hit his head as he fell into the shell hole because no one says something like that while they are sitting in a large hole full of muddy water, with their enemy, who has a gun within arm's reach. It was official; the man was insane.

Kurt looked up to see the man smiling charmingly, as if he was proud of himself. "My name is Blaine."

"Kurt" he responded, without thinking. He watched as Blaine tried his name on his lips, his smile growing slightly.

Blaine shifted in his position, grumbling to himself as he started to move.

Kurt grabbed his gun, pointing it to Blaine's chest. His hands were shaking, and his mind raced.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Blaine said as he raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just moving, I think I may be sitting on someone..." he looked behind him to check, and then looked back to Kurt.

Kurt lowered his gun. The idea fully registered in his head and all the colour left his face. He stared at Blaine in horror.

Blaine lingered for a moment looking at Kurt before he turned to move the body that he was indeed sitting on. Blaine dragged the bloated body up further on the embankment, grunting slightly as he did so before turning and hesitantly moving to sit next to Kurt.

Blaine

It was with a loud huff that Blaine lowered himself down into what could only be watery human rot. He didn't seem to dwell too hard on that fact. Obviously this wasn't his first time being bogged down in a shell hole and the poor bastard lying across from them wasn't the first person to die where they sat, but at least the water level was low enough that they wouldn't drown and the company was a lot livelier.

The pain in Blaine's chest was still there, though not as pulsating as before, rather it seemed to have condensed itself into a hard stone that didn't hurt as much when he shyly glanced over at Kurt. Kurt, whose glazed eyes hadn't moved from the corpse Blaine had dragged out from underneath the water.  Kurt, who looked both deathly pale and a little green, and who definitely didn't look old enough or experienced enough to be in a situation like this.

Looking down briefly as he wiggled his arse a little more up the shell made embankment as not to be fully situated in the mud that threatened to sink lower under his weight, he noted the slight twitching of his fingers though he could not feel the movement. He fidgeted about some more looking for something to occupy his hands once he realized that his gun was still sitting all pretty next to the body across the hole from them. The internal debate over getting up and retrieving it or staying seated next to the German boy wasn't long. Getting up again would only put Kurt on the defensive and he was already so tired, so with a soft curse he left it sitting there. The short outburst extracted some reaction from Kurt, whose eyebrows drew together in a deep furrow. He didn't say anything and hardly spared a glance at Blaine, as he started to get comfy again. Blaine pulled his knees in tighter and rested his elbows on them in an effort to keep his hands out of the cold water.

 "Do you have a fag?" Blaine asked with what he thought was a pleasant smile. It obviously it wasn't. As Kurt's head swung to the left, his eyes snapped away from the body to stare directly at Blaine with a look that could only be described as uncomfortable. Splotches of dark red had started to decorate his still baby rounded and far to clean cheeks as he glanced down at the lack of distance between their bodies and that stupid expression plastered on Blaine's filthy face. He moved away slightly, the dark water rippling around their legs with his movements.

"A what!?" Kurt's voice was shrill, pitched too high to be normal and too stuttered to be relaxed. That adorable blush had started to work its way along the back of his thin neck and along the tops of his ears, and Blaine found it hard to stop himself from teasing the boy further.

"You know, a cigarette?" Blaine tried again, his thin lips still twitching upwards as he imitated a smoking gesture. Bringing two fingers from his left hand up to his mouth, where he patted his lips a few times before dropping his arm back down to his knees. After that Kurt seemed to visibly relax. His thin shoulders slumping slightly forward as he shook his head, eyes moving back towards their silent shell mate.

"No. I don't smoke." He replied. Blaine didn't know how to respond, both a little shocked and a little saddened. Everyone smoked; it seemed to be the unofficial law of the trench. The tiny flickering of lighted ends were their nightlights because torches were officially banned and the dotting of the clustered groups of smoking men at the ends of freshly dug tracks had become their wayward constellations. The night skies too clouded with the thick residue of artillery.

An uncomfortable silence followed. It was as if neither knew what to really say to the other; someone who legitimately was still considered to be the enemy with orders to be shot on sight.

"So..." Blaine started lamely, making a show of looking upwards and away from the cowering boy to the right. "How are you enjoying the weather?"

He tried for subtle, eyes cutting to the side every so often to look at Kurt and the small smile cutting its way across Kurt's lips. It made Blaine's heart beat a little faster as it was the first smile he had gotten out him. It was a funny sight to beheld, that slight upturn. Blaine seemed almost under the opinion that Kurt didn't know how, that his only default settings were scared and snarky. Blaine was embarrassed to admit but it was entirely possible that he was blushing four different shades of red, not that anyone could tell with all that layered mud. Thankfully, however, Kurt was also looking down at his mud slicked uniform with a strong look of distaste, his thin fingers plucking at the gold coloured buttons. It was a giant improvement from looking at the body.

"I've had better." He answered and then with a soft snicker he added "I think it will take years to dry out."

Blaine didn't stop the hearty chuckle that escaped him. "Yeah. However this is actually it being pretty dry."

A horrified expression crossed Kurt's face and he squawked out "You must be joking!"

"I wish." Blaine choked out between fits of laughter.

Their small bout of humour came to a quick end when artillery started up again, startling both of them. The resounding snap of recoiling canon mortars and the whistle of arching bombs from overhead were quickly being drowned out by the spray of the shrapnel and mud as they impacted with the earth. Kurt's jaw visibly tightened as he drew his arms around himself, hands clenching into tightly balled fists and fingernails digging into the fleshy bits of his palms. Blaine had to draw his eyes away from the sight of the other man's bobbing Adam's apple just above the collar of his darkened German uniform as Kurt tried to swallow thickly; heat building low in his stomach and he was immediately feeling guilty for the telltale tightening of his gut.

A shower of thick mud rained down of them as the boom of artillery crept closer by the moment. Kurt had closed his eyes, face scrunching as heavy droplets of mud hit his shoulders and the sides of his sheet-white face. Blaine didn't close his eyes but ducked his head down momentarily with a grimace on his face as he left the nape of his neck open for a direct assault.  Together they burrowed deeper into the filth that surrounded them and Blaine felt only mildly guilty as he took the opportunity to slowly close the space between them.

"It helps if you just think of it as thunder."

Kurt opened his bright eyes, blinking into the darkness as he uncurled his arms from around himself before turning his head upwards to watch how Blaine tried in vain to dig out the mud that slid under the collar of his jacket. Artillery continued to rain down on No Man's Land but suddenly it wasn't as terrifying.

"You've been out here for a while, haven't you?" It wasn't really a question but it broke the silence and reminded them both that they were still there; that they had been lucky the shell hadn't been any closer or it could have been jagged pieces of twisted metal falling on them. Their eyes meet for a brief moment and Blaine gave a hollow laugh turning his attention back to their surroundings, realizing his task was futile.

"I've been here for two years." It was obvious to Blaine that the boy hadn't been out here long, but he decided to attempt some conversation anyway.

"You?" He asked before finding himself shocked by the answer given.

"Four days." Kurt smirked at Blaine's expression.

"My god, you're just a baby." He cried, as if really seeing Kurt for the first time. This made his gut tighten in the bad way, as if his insides squirmed with nausea. He had come close to just viciously killing the poor sod, and the boy had never even seen the battle field before. He'd never even had a chance to realize just what he'd gotten his sorry arse into. Blaine took a moment, settling back down into his cold muddy imprint, to think about that first night becoming so lost in old memories that he almost missed Kurt's stuttered and defensive "I'm not a baby."

Kurt was red again, a scowl set on his elfin face. It was so damn cute that Blaine wanted to chuckle but he was pretty sure that Kurt wouldn't appreciate it.

"I didn't mean it like that. But some things seem to make more sense now..." The scowl didn't leave Kurt's pursed face but he did cock an eyebrow and stare pointedly, waiting for Blaine to continue. Blaine got the distinct impression that whatever he said was not going to help his case.

"It's just...I mean..." He started only to stop when Kurt's look didn't lighten up. Blaine didn't really comprehend what was going on between them. It wasn't as if they were friends. If they survived this night, they would just head back to their respective trenches to lick their wounds and start shooting at each other all over again. It really was a vicious cycle.

"You have your pack." He babbled. "And you jump at the canons and on top of that you keep glancing at our shell mate when you think I'm not watching."

That knocked the scathing look from Kurt's face. Instead he turned away, head tilted downwards in embarrassment, fingers intently plucking at the tarnished buckle at his waist and eyes shifting back to the corpse still across the hole from them but not responding. Blaine felt a little sheepish calling Kurt out like that, but another strained silence was starting to settle and he really didn't want to leave things this way.

With a deep breath and more genteel smile Blaine opened his mouth to say something to smooth over the situation but was sadly disappointed when all he blurted out was "I think we should call him Hans."

That drew Kurt's attention back. He looked at Blaine slightly confused until he caught on that Blaine's restrained arm flails were a way of gesturing towards the corpse. A dainty chuckle resonated in the shell hole as Kurt snickered bringing a curled hand to his mouth as a way to restrain the sound.

"Oh please, we both know that that is a British uniform." He reached over and gave Blaine's infantry collar button a quick flick, making the other man bark out a loud laugh. A small blush rose across Kurt's cheeks and he sat back with slightly widened eyes as if surprised by his own bold actions. Blaine didn't seem to notice as he was too busy trying to get his own flush under, he had felt both the movement of Kurt's body as he leaned over and the muted flick against his throat. He swallowed thickly and pushed himself to respond.

 "Well what do you think we should name him then?" He asked. Kurt stopped, tapping his chin as he thought for a moment.

 "Robert."

It was a little unexpected but the absurdity that they were actually going to name the bloated body made Blaine chuckle again.

 "Alright, Bobby it is."