No Bravery | dunkirk au

There Are Worse Games To Play

April 15th, 1945: 

Alex hadn't gone back to camp.

He had laid on the damp moss, completely drained and spent from the whirlwind of emotions that had raked his body and his brain in the past hours. He had fallen asleep sometime after he had stopped weeping - although the cries had grown silent after a while, so Tommy and Ezio could not exactly pinpoint the moment when he had actually stopped crying. 

They were just glad it had happened. 

Sitting there in front of him - standing had become unbearable after a while - they had watched over him both when he had cried and when he had slept. 

Tommy had seen the difference in the way Alex carried himself almost immediately. All it had taken was a glance at his sleeping face. 

Although pained and tears streaked, pale and gaunt, for the first time in a year Alex seemed somewhat at peace. Calmer, as if some evil spirit had been purged out of his body. 

As he was crying, Ezio had recalled an episode from the Bible: when Jesus had been so distraught he had sweated and cried blood. That was the closest description as to what Alex had gone through that night. 

None of the two had felt comfortable to leave him on his own, out there, and go back to the village. They had simply laid down, using the trees around them as supports and settled for the night. 

"Remember in the clearing, after everything at the farm?" - Ezio had asked him, recalling the day Alex had simply fallen down, immediately asleep, after having walked for three days non-stop. 

All of them - including Peppe and Checco, who were now back at the village - had settled for the night. Ezio and Tommy had stood on guard most of the time, however, to look out for Alex. Keeping an eye on him, because they had been waiting for him to explode. 

They had waited almost a year for it. The moment had come. 

And they had both been there to witness it. To keep an eye on Alex, looking out for him. 

"It's different now." - Tommy had said, his eyes intent on Alex's sleeping form. Ezio had nodded. He could feel that too. 

At a certain point of the night, both Ezio and Tommy had fallen into a light slumber, standing close to fight out the cold, their arms and legs touching, their heads resting on each other's shoulder. 

The sleep had been dreamless and disturbed by the many rumors of the night and the nature around them. Deep down, however, Tommy knew that neither him nor Ezio felt comfortable enough to truly fall into a deep sleep, in case Alex would've woke up and needed their help. 

It happened, however.

When Tommy woke with a start, the sun was making its way up in the sky, some rays tickling his eyes, he had to shield his eyes and squint, as he yawned multiple times because he was not properly rested - sleeping next to a tree usually did that to a person. 

Once he had finished rubbing his eyes, he shot a quick glance to Ezio, still asleep next to him. He nudged him a bit, but Ezio only stirred and mumbled something in his sleep, so Tommy tried to get away from him in the most delicate way possible, as to not disturb him. He needed to rest, after the five days he had spent basically nursing both him and Alex, as they brooded and boiled themselves in their anger and hatred towards each other. 

His eyes naturally moved to where Alex had crouched and fallen asleep the previous night, and his stomach did a somersault when he did not find him there. 

All pretenses to be silent went out the window, and Tommy shot upright - Ezio, thankfully, did not wake, only whined a bit - and took two large strides to the place he had last seen Alex in. The moss and the grass had taken the shape of his body, but there was no trace of the actual person.