When William awoke, he immediately felt that something was off. The air was heavy as if it was poison pumping through his lungs, sinking toxic gases into his blood system, making his head heavy and eyes ache. But his shoulder was in the most discomfort, it seemed to pulse with pain as if spiderwebs were burning his nerves. He groaned, confused as he felt the thin sheets around his shoulders. By the cleanest sheets and awful smell of medicine and moonshine, he knew he was in the medical tent. "That's going to scar." he whipped towards the voice, staring at John whose right hand was covering his own injury as he was sitting near the edge of the tiny bed.

"You got a piece of shrapnel stuck in your shoulder, there were also pieces of glass. Doc was afraid it was some new torture technique, throw some bottle that would start burning the flesh but whatever was in that was harmless. So you'll be alright in no time." John mumbled, his green eyes clouded as he avoided Will's eyes. "What happened? How many did we lose?" a silent question, a need to know if everyone Will knew were safe and sound.

"You got blown under the tank, you lucky arse lived right through it. Burned your neck a little though, but hey, at least you still got your limbs." his tone did not have the usual cherries that buried the anxiety, instead, there was pained smile. William reached io to his neck, clutching the small key that, somehow, was still attached to the rusty chain. Will did not miss the way John avoided answering one question.

Before he could dig further, the dark flaps of the tent were moved aside and furious Theo stormed in, his icy eyes immediately landing on startled Will. He took two long strides, standing right next to his bed as he towered over the boy, grabbing him from the collar as he lowered his red face down, their noses almost touching as he gripped the jacket so hard his red dotted knuckles turned white. "You bloody imbecile." hissed the angry soldier, his hands shaking as he ignored the confusion in those blue, haunted eyes. "You foolish child! What was going on between you and Captain!? What secrets do you hide?" his voice was filled with venom, Will felt his breaths getting shorter. "He always kept you at hands reach, why? Why you? What made you so special? Huh? Tell me!" there was a best of silence as he looked at Will, shaking his head in disappointment when the boy stayed silent, too confused to say anything.

"This is... All on you." he said quietly, John pulled Theo away, pushing him roughly away from shocked William. "Walk it off, Theodore." he said, immediately gaining the older man's heated glare. "He's right. Go on, clear your head." another voice joined in, stepping into the med tent. Hoare's steel cold eyes looked down at fuming Theo who just huffed and stormed out, the dirt and dried blood still on his face.

William looked up quizzically, still confused and hurt by what had happened. "Does the kid know yet?" he spoke to John as if Will was not even there, staring up wide-eyed while trying to ignore the throbbing in his shoulder. John shook his head, stepping aside to allow Pappy in properly. The older man nodded, clutching his hat as he stood tense and alert.

"Captain Michael Carter passed away, the grenade was too close, there was nothing to do," he said, the stoic mask cracking just slightly, letting the dark emotions through as he started at the ground, glaring as though it would open up and Captain Carter would come back to the living. John sighed, taking off his hat as he stared into the distance.

And William felt his heart clench painfully and his eyes burned with unshed tears. Death was all around, all the time and now it had broken the human wall the small group had built. With the death of their Captain, the whole crew got hit. Hoare excused himself and walked out, his eyes having dangerous shine to them as he left. John stood up as well, trying to hide the discomfort as well as he could.

It didn't take long for the camp to be packed and William, even though his shoulder was still hurting and sweat covered his forehead, forced himself to move. In all honesty, he felt that if he stayed down, he would not be able to stand up again. And he needed to move, because the reality of Michael Carter not being alive anymore was not believable. He refused to believe it. Because if that was the truth, it meant it was all Williams fault.

Michael had shielded him, had pushed him underneath the tank, had thrown his body on top of his to make sure the worst of war would not harm him.

He was not there when they buried the dead that night, he was headfirst in the bush, dry heaving and silently begging for mercy. Draining a half-empty bottle of alcohol to try and hide the pain, both psychical and mental one. Meyer found him sometime later, helping him up after the boy had vomited again. Whatever medicine he had been given was mostly starting to wear off, making his whole shoulder burn.

But he deserved it. He deserved it all, so he soaked it in.

They stopped in a small town that was a lot bigger than the ones they had visited so far. But it was not like Brooklyn, it was not home. Elliot helped him into one of the rooms, nearly dragging him as John flanked close behind, green eyes looking around suspiciously. William fell onto a couch with a heavy sigh, his hands and legs numb and his eyes burned and mind was foggy with a small fever. He could feel Elliot's hand on his forehead, bushing away a piece of golden hair that had fallen over his half-closed eyes.

"Let us hope the fever will have gone down by the sunrise. Let God be merciful." he said quietly, his ash-covered face tired as John lit up a couple of candles in the room. "I think you should let Theo know where we are staying and Hoare too, he is probably busy now..." John said, taking a seat on the couch as he nudged Williams legs back slightly. "I'll do that, keep an eye on the kid, the medics are all full right now, but we can not... Just come find me, okay?" William had already closed his eyes, but since all he heard was the footsteps getting further away, he assumed John had just nodded.

He fell into a slight slumber, his eyes moving under the eyelids as he time and time again opened them, seeing the eyes of Captain Carter staring down, begging for William's help. He could sense the rest of the crew in the room, sometimes hearing a raised voice that was shushed. And then he was being swallowed by the sickness again.

After just a couple hours of restless sleep, William woke up, the bright moonlight illuminating the couch he had been sleeping on. Loud snoring caught his attention, his hazy blue eyes landing on John who was sleeping on William's legs, most definitely having accidentally fallen asleep there. The room was tiny and untidy, but he could care less about the dirt and broken furniture around them. He moved his legs, pulling them out from underneath John who seemed to be sleeping quite heavily. He was still wearing the blood, dirt and rain coated clothes, too drained to change or clean them. The smell of sweat on his clothes made him sigh as he pushed himself up, gasping at the pain that pulsed from his shoulder.

He grasped the armrest of the couch, waiting for the dizziness to pass as he kept his eyes shut, the headache a dull reminder to take it easy. He knew if Steve was there the man would probably talk his ear off, push him onto one of the old mattresses they had back home, pull the thin blanket up to his nose and make warm milk.

Because that's how Steve was. He cared when he didn't have to.

He blinked his groggy eyes, mumbling incoherent words under his breath as he blindly moved towards the front door, eager to get out of the house that was suffocating him. Any minute he waited for the walls to be torn down, smoke to take his breathing and gas to make him blind. Fear gripped his heart and be felt scared again.

He didn't acknowledge the missing weight on his back, where his rifle used to be. Someone must have taken it, he thought. Hands sliding over the walls he stumbled down the last steps on the stair, weakly pushing the door open. He could faintly hear some soldiers singing far away, it was a song with beat yet he couldn't recall it's title. He slumped against the brick wall, the coldness soothing the pain a little. Out there, he could feel as though he could breathe again, the ogyxen didn't feel toxic.

He frowned, licking his dry lips as a recalled Captain Carter having given him something. He slid his shaking hand under his coat into the inside pocket, feeling the slightly crumpled paper under his fingertips. He pulled out an envelope, studying it on the moonlight. It wasn't sealed and seemed to be made in a hurry. He faltered for a second, hesitant to open it.
With a swift movement, William pulled out the inside of it, finding only one piece of paper and a small pile of cash in it. His blue eyes were rimmed with red as he skimmed over it, feeling once again tightness in his chest as a sob shook his shoulders.

One way ticket to Brooklyn.

He clutched the thin paper, his escape route, his way to home. He gritted his teeth, letting his head hang and blond, tattered hair to fall over his closed eyes as another sob rocked through his sweat covered body.

How could God be so cruel?

A blood curdling scream cut through the night, making him stand up, looking around, alert as he tucked the envelope back into his pocket. The drunken soldiers seemed not to mind as they started singing even louder. A muffled scream made William run towards it, someone was hurt.

As he came upon an alley, anger coursed through his veins as he saw two American soldiers forcing themselves upon a girl. “Quiet wench, stupid whore, because that's what your kind is, right sweetcheeks?” one joked, pushing the girl roughly against the stone wall. The two soldiers chuckled, making William nearly red with anger.

"Hey!” it got their attention as they whipped around, eyes wide as they stared at William. “Why don't you pick on someone your own size?” he said, marching closer to the two gobsmacked soldiers as he pulled the bloodied girl away from the two. “Come on, she's German!” he claimed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So? Kindly get lost or I will personally make you,” he said lowly, glaring at them as the second man took a step closer, studying Will's face. “Wait, you're the Fire Borne?” William was confused as he tilted his head, blinking at the two men as the second nodded along.

“You are! And already on your feet? God must have mercy on you.” he said, nodding in respect. Thinking it was just moonshine in their blood, he told then to fuck off, and to his surprise, they did without much of a fight.

As he turned to the crying girl, he froze, looking down at those familiar eyes. Half of her face was burned now, some of her blond hair as well as she cried. “Clara?” the girl froze, blinking up at William as she brushed some of the blood from her cheek. She said something in German but he couldn't understand it. He had thought she was dead and now here she was, bloodied, crying, broken but alive. “What are you-- nevermind, you won't understand me anyway, right?” he said sadly, the girl answering in german. William felt dizziness wash over him as he leaned against the cold wall, Clara's cat-like eyes studying his weak statue.

“Wait, I think I can help you...” he said, blinking away the stars that appeared in his vision as he skimmed the inside of his pocket. Clara looked with interest as William pulled out the cash with shaking hands, his legs going numb. The rivers of tears had dried on her dirt and blood coated face as she suddenly jumped up, snatching the envelope with ticket and money as she dashed past William, her ripped and dull dress flying behind her as she disappeared into the night. William tried to catch her, but he was still too weak as he fell onto the hard ground, groaning under his breath as everything became a jumbled mess in his head.

“Here you are, come on, you have had enough of late-night walks, kid.” Hoare's heavy hand pulled him up, letting William lean on him as the younger mumbled something under his breath, the dizziness now threatening to put him asleep. And as much as he fought with his consciousness, he was pulled into darkness by the fever and aching wound.

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