Chloe had joined them sometime later. She'd settled in behind Nines, all three of them sniffling and sobbing in a pile of misery. None of them knew how long it had been, but the sun had gone down hours ago when they finally moved to sit. Nines held the box on his crossed legs, but he didn't want to open it. Chloe and Gavin didn't ask him to. They remained silent. Gavin propped himself against the low coffee table with his legs outstretched. Nines sat cross-legged against the chair he'd fallen out of, and Chloe sat beside them with her legs curled at her side, resting her weight on one hand as she rubbed her swollen stomach.

Understandably, Nines didn't feel up to dinner. Chloe eventually coaxed them both into going to their room and had the kitchen prepare them a light dinner to send up. Clearly, the staff knew. News travelled fast, especially in the lower levels. The maid who delivered their meal was respectful and meek as she set the tray on the dresser and apologised for Nines' loss with a bow of her head. Gavin quietly thanked her, and she left, shutting the door with a quiet click.

"Think you can eat something?" Gavin asked softly as he propped himself up on his elbow and stroked Nines' tousled hair. He shook his head, silvery eyes dim as he remained on his side with his left hand resting on the pillow beside him. "Not even a little?" He hated it when Gavin gave him the hopeful voice. He glanced up, almost resentful of the soft sympathy in his soft green eyes. Something of it must have shown through as Gavin's eyes dropped with hurt.

"A little..." Nines relented, feeling bad for the hurt he'd caused. He knew Gavin was only trying to help. It was exactly the sort of coaxing he used to try back when Gavin was in early recovery. He sniffled quietly as he pushed himself up. Gavin raised the pillows for him, helping him lean back and settle against them. He shuffled his way to the edge of the bed and took one of the bowls from the tray. It was a light chicken and vegetable broth. They must have known they wouldn't have much appetite. Nines accepted it and played with the spoon for a while, stirring idly.

"You want some bread?" Gavin already had a piece dipped in his own bowl. Nines nodded meekly, thinking he may as well do it to please Gavin. He accepted the bread and dipped it in his own bowl, watching quietly as Gavin ate. At first, he wondered how Gavin could eat at a time like this, but Connor and Sixty weren't his brothers. He had no significant history with them beyond this past year. Gavin had lost men before. Many men. Men he'd been closer to. Does he care at all? He knew it was an unfair thought. Of course he did. He may have had an up and down relationship with Sixty, but he'd liked Connor a great deal. "It's good, right?" Nines huffed. Gavin knew he hadn't taken a single bite.

"I'll open the box after..." Nines trailed off as he looked down at the soup. It blurred a little until he blinked and warm drops rolled down his cheeks. He thought he'd run out of tears already. He sniffled again and pressed into the gentle touch as Gavin leaned over with a handkerchief to dry his eyes. His fingers lingered, gently dabbing his reddened skin. It was sore.

"You want me to leave?" It was an understandable question. It was reasonable to think he might want some time alone with what was left of his brothers. He shook his head; unsure he'd be able to do it by himself. Taking a breath, he nibbled the soggy bread. Gavin was right. It was good. It wasn't heavy, and it was tasty. Full of fresh, spring flavours. A light broth rather than a thick, wintry soup. He sipped a spoonful quietly. Gavin seemed happier once he started eating and returned his attention to his own bowl. They remained quiet. Gavin finished first, setting his bowl aside and looking idly around the room. He thought direct eye contact and watchfulness might be too forceful. He didn't want Nines to feel like he was impatient or expectant. Nines appreciated that as he spooned the broth into his mouth.

"D-do you...Do you have a knife?" He knew that he did. He was like Sixty. Sixty never went far without his pocket knife. Gavin nodded as he shuffled around to his own bedside table and rummaged in the top drawer to pull out a simple pocketknife. The one he used to keep with him on the front. It had been cleaned up since his return, like everything else he owned. Cleaned up, put away, and forgotten about. Nines accepted the small blade, and Gavin held the box steady as he cut it open with three quick swipes.

"Hey, it's alright to change your mind, if you're not ready..." Nines shook his head as he dropped the knife on the bed beside him, taking a shaky breath as he tugged the first flap open. He swallowed, stopping as he felt Gavin's hand on his thigh, stroking and squeezing. A second huff fled his lips as he tugged the second flap and looked inside. There were two bound piles of cloth and three letters. The first two were the standard condolences that Nines remembered writing so often. He recognised Markus' neat writing as he set them aside. The third he didn't know. He frowned as he looked it over. "Captain Allen." Gavin recognised the neat, regimental script. That letter was set aside as well.

As he tugged the first bundle free, he found it was fairly light. Gavin helped with the strings, pulling them loose so that Nines could unwrap the cloth. Sixty's things...His old pocket knife. A clearly thumbed through novel. A worn deck of cards. It hurt that so little had been returned. Having gone missing in action, most of his personal effects were likely still in his possession. Nines' jaw tightened at the thought as he took the larger bundle. This was Connor's. A stack of photos from the front and their father, along with a few letters. Three thick diaries and his notebook. A small puzzle. His pocket watch. A sleek pen. A small, hand stitched teddy bear he hadn't seen in years. I didn't even know he took you to the front...The small bear was patched and worn, barely bigger than Nines' hand. His lips trembled as he lifted him out and set him in the crook of his elbow, safely tucked inside the sling.

"You want me to read them for you?" Gavin asked as he nodded to the three letters. Nines sat back with a tired nod. He wanted to know, but he didn't feel up to reading them himself. He let out a shuddering breath as Gavin moved the empty box aside and opened the first letter. One from Markus. "It's just the standard sorry for your loss spiel for Sixty..." Nines nodded. He didn't need him to read that one word for word. It was the same as the next one. The same letter, but for Connor. "Markus sends his own personal condolences, and so do North, Josh and Simon." That was nice. He truly appreciated their sympathies. "They'll write personally once they're in a better position to do so..." That didn't sound good.

"What about Captain Allen?" Nines asked as Gavin reached for the third letter. Gavin's brow furrowed somewhat as he read the longer message.

"He was injured...badly. This was written at the hospital before surgery. He wanted you to hear from him personally before his arrival? Shit, he's coming here!" That didn't sound too promising for his health. "He didn't see it personally because he got hit pretty early on, but he has reliable eyewitness accounts of what happened." Nines closed his eyes as he listened to Gavin speak. He could almost picture it as if he were there, imagining it with perfect clarity. Sixty putting his head above the parapet to watch the oncoming troops...

************************************************************

"Shit! Down! Everybody down!" Sixty yelled as he ducked back. The enemy troops were less than halfway across, but that wasn't what worried him most. It was the distant whistling of shells headed their way. The men knew better than to argue when Sixty yelled out a warning. If Sixty told you to duck, you needed to duck. Bodies pressed against sandbags and knees hit the dirt as the barrage began. The only comfort they had was that it would have to stop after one or two volleys, otherwise they'd hit their own men.

The ground shook as explosions rocked the earth above. They were lucky the shells were landing on the higher edges, above the trenches themselves. Mostly. Sixty's head jerked up as a series of pained cries went up just down the line to his right. Dirt and bodies rose in the air just a few feet from where he was crouching. Shit! He clenched his teeth as he looked back. Every soldiering instinct was telling him to hop down to check on those men, and get them seen to, but he knew he had to stay at his post. He glanced over the top. They were passing the halfway point.

"Gunners!" he yelled above the roaring shells. At least one man was on it. He heard the chatter of a Gatling gun start, soon followed by another as those further down got the message. It was giving away the position of their guns, but they had to hold the line. If we can take enough down, they might pull back...Their numbers were too thin to hold off another offensive. The promised reinforcements still hadn't arrived. He heard yells go up for reloads and coughed as a cloud of smoke washed over him. Shit! Where the fuck is David? He hadn't heard Captain Allen call any orders since before the shelling. Was he even in their section?

"Sir! Second wave inbound!" It was Rick. One of his men. He was a good kid. Young and timid. Too green to be out there, really. Sixty nodded as he joined him for a second look. Rick was right. The first wave had pretty much been downed, but that second wave was already approaching the halfway point. Shit! They ducked again as more whistles sounded. The ground shook again. "What do we do?" Rick cried, brown eyes wide with fear as he clutched his rifle. Sixty gave him his usual fearless grin. With Allen MIA, it was up to him to rally the troops.

"We give them hell!" Sixty pushed to his feet with his usual bloodthirsty cackle, whooping as he opened fire on the advancing line. He barely registered the breeze against his back from a nearby explosion. It seemed to work. Further cries went up through the trench as the Gatling guns fired again. From the sound of it, the shelling had taken out at least one of their gunners. Sixty ducked on the fire step to reload, still grinning as Rick gave him a horrified look. Come on now, kid! This is no time to be a deer in headlights!

"Sixty! Get down from there!" It was Connor. Sixty hopped down from the parapet and wrapped an arm around him. He should have known he'd be one of the medics to appear when the alarm went up. Connor gripped him back, hazel eyes wide and frightened as the whole trench rocked. They lost their balance as the ground shook and dirt tumbled over their shoulders. "Captain Allen got hit! He's being taken to camp! You're in command!" Sixty pushed down the swell of fear in his chest. He's not dead! He's injured, that's all! Connor didn't tell him more, likely because they were in the middle of a battle. He knew he needed to keep his head.

"Understood! Keep yourself down here unless you have to!" Connor nodded his agreement as they parted. They'd seen each other. They each knew the other was safe for now. That was the most either of them could ask for. Sixty heaved himself up again and looked over the top. "Fuck! Incoming!" he yelled, rallying the men to ready their rifles. We're about to get some fucking company...Sixty nodded to Rick, and they stood, firing into the ranks of enemy soldiers running their way. Smoke filled the air as each side fired blindly. Sixty was pretty sure he got at least one before he was forced to reload.

His head jerked up as Rick let out a cry of shock and fell back with a body on top. An enemy soldier was on him, bayonet buried deep in his shoulder. Sixty barely had time to reload before the bayonet was pulled free. He managed to shoot the enemy soldier in the back before he could finish him off, but more were coming. Foreign voices rose around them as orders were called out. Sixty roared as he fired along the line, taking down as many as he could see.

"Connor! See to Rick!" He needn't have yelled. Connor was already on his knees, pushing the limp body aside and stemming the bleeding as best he could while yelling for a stretcher team. Sixty jumped down as another soldier dove into the trench. He swung his rifle, hitting the side of his face with the butt before stabbing down to force his bayonet through the man's throat. "Shit!" His helmet came loose and shoved it off. He could see better without it. Another soldier was already running his way. There was no time to reload. He screeched and cackled as he ran to meet him, dodging the blade that was thrust towards his chest. A feral roar broke free as he pushed his rifle up, watching with thirsty eyes as the blade disappeared into the man's coat.

He was exhausted, gasping for breath as the body fell. He dropped to his knees, hands shaking with adrenaline as he reloaded. More had made it across this time. Fresh cries sounded as his men rallied and returned fire. That was promising. They wouldn't go down without a fight. He sighed in relief as he pushed up, fully loaded and ready to go. Two soldiers dropped in front of him and fired his way. They missed as he rushed them, returning fire and hitting one right in the neck. He barrelled into the second man, sending them both tumbling in the dirt. He grabbed his pocketknife and slashed the man's throat, having no time or space to use his rifle.

"Con?" He was horror-struck as he looked back. "Connor!" He could feel it. Not the pain, but the sick, foreboding. He didn't even think as he left the body on the ground and threw himself down beside Connor. His heart was in his throat as he lifted him from where he'd slumped over Rick's body. Rick was shaking and shivering, now covered in blood that wasn't his own. Sixty let out a pained shriek as he laid Connor down. His hazel eyes were still open, lips bleeding and trembling as he choked on the blood rapidly filling his lungs. The bullets had passed by him and headed straight for Connor. "Shit! No-no-no! Y-you can't!"

"K-ka-kay..."

"You're not fucking okay! You can't fucking say that! Medics!" Sixty shrieked, voice almost lost in the gunfire and yelling. He choked on a sob as Connor coughed and spluttered, spitting blood down his chin and onto his already filthy uniform. Sixty could feel panic rising in his chest, along with an uncontrollable, burning rage. Connor was too good and gentle for this. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. If anything, he was the one who was supposed to be lying there with Connor crying over his corpse.

"Ta-t-t-Ni-Nin-" He couldn't even finish a word around the blood as he choked and drowned.

"Don't try to speak, you idiot!" Sixty blinked away tears as he looked for the medics, yelling again as he saw them coming. "No-no-no-no-no! Don't you do it! Don't you fucking leave me!" Connor suddenly stilled, taking on a peaceful and apologetic air. His fading hazel eyes seemed to tell him he'd be fine. I won't be fine! Not without you! Who the fuck's going to keep me in line if you're not here? His throat ached as the quivering stopped. Connor's jaw went slack, his body limp. "Get him out of here! Sound the retreat! Fall back! You hear me? Fall back!" Sixty ordered, directing the medics to see to Rick. They nodded as they dropped and got to work. "A-and him...don't leave him here..." He turned his back, trusting they understood.

He swallowed hard as he readied his rifle, throat aching, eyes burning. Gunfire roared around him as the men did as he said. The braver ones were still holding the line as the weaker fell back. Sixty grinned. Let them fall back. Let them run. He'd hold the line himself if he had to. He'd hold it long enough for them to get out of here. Heat rose and swelled in his chest, bringing with it a bloodthirsty cackle as he heaved himself up onto the parapet and looked over the edge. His body jerked as he felt a sudden, strange pop on his forehead. It was almost like someone had flicked him really hard. Hazel eyes blinked as warmth flooded down his brow.

"Sir!" Sixty lowered the hand from his forehead, mind blanking at the sight of red. He cackled mindlessly as he looked at the stunned medics, grinning like a man possessed by the devil himself.

"Fall back!" That was the last thing he said before raising his rifle and giving a final bloodcurdling cry as he leapt over the top to meet the coming tide. Heat seared across his skin, especially the throbbing in his forehead as he ran, cackling and screaming, through the barbed wire into the smoke. That was the last Rick and the medics saw of him. He was gone...

**************************************************

Nines opened his eyes to find tears dripping down his cheeks again. Gavin was still reading. The wounded officer had refused to be moved without Connor's body. He'd gripped and pulled it onto his chest, holding it tightly as the two medics heaved and dragged him to safety. They were lucky to make it to the trucks. The trenches were lost. They'd barely stopped in the camp long enough to call out the retreat. Valuables were hastily grabbed. Larger useful items were smashed. Food was taken or burned. Water canisters were knocked over. They wouldn't leave supplies if they could help it.

"Private Tanner retrieved Connor's tags, and the ring he kept on the chain. He gave them to Allen at the hospital in case they went missing somewhere along the line...Sounds like a sweet kid..." Gavin concluded with a small snuffle. His eyes were red and puffy too after reading that. Being a captain, and away from enemy lines, his letter hadn't been checked. There's no way they would have let it through otherwise. Allen had written everything out in graphic detail. "He wrote because he knew you'd want to know the truth. Not the usual apologetic bullshit they put in the condolence letters." That much was true.

"And...that's the last they saw of him?" Gavin didn't need to ask who.

"Yeah...After he took that bullet to the head, he jumped over the top and disappeared...Allen hopes he made it...Hopes he went over there and gave them hell before they took him down." Gavin's green eyes glared as he stared at the paper. He hoped so, too. Fuck it. He hoped he was still there, tearing them down one by one. It was impossible, of course. His body had probably been running on adrenaline and dropped less than a minute after he disappeared. He took a bullet to the head for Christ's sake! He was probably already dead when he took the jump. Nines knew it, too.

He let out a small, pained whimper before he started sobbing again. Pathetic, agonised wails. Gavin tossed the letter and shuffled up to join him, pulling him against his chest and holding him tight. Nines curled over, gripping Gavin's arm and sobbing helplessly. His chest ached. His throat ached. Even his back ached. He felt sick. He couldn't breathe. Gavin rocked him, letting out gentle hushing sounds and reassurances. It wasn't fine! Nothing was fine! He'd lost his brothers! His blood! Two of the most important people in his life! Gavin held him tighter, doing his best not to jostle his arm.