Before You Start A War

Chapter Twelve

The next day, Harry goes into the medic station where Liam is sitting, writing a letter, probably to his family back home. Liam got roped into the war after traveling to the states to help with the cross-country railroad being built, but was persuaded to enlist due to his medical degree he got back home in England. He was promised he'd never have to fight, which convinced him to finally agree, especially after hearing about the number of deaths on the battlefield in the first few years of the war.

He's just a normal, small-town boy with a big heart; too big, in Harry's opinion, but it came in handy when he was asking for supplies.

"Why are you so adamant on keeping him alive? We could easily find the enemy if we tried harder." Liam points out as he collects some bandages for Harry to use. Harry doesn't know the extent of Niall's injuries, but he'd rather have too much than too little.

Harry shrugs as he shakes around a jar of some clear substance; probably some type of antiseptic for cleaning wounds. "It'll keep us from shooting blindly in the dark. Can I use this?"

Liam turns around with an armful of bandages and cloth, "I'd prefer if you used clean water instead. That's easier to come by." Liam walks over and drops the bandages in Harry's open rucksack, pulling the antiseptic away and placing it back on the table.

"All right, fine. Thanks, Li." Harry smiles, closing the rucksack again and walking out of the medic station.

"Harry." Liam calls, causing the man to turn back around. "No one else should know about this."

Harry nods, "Of course." Liam nods back, and Harry lets the tent flap close behind him.

On his way to the bunker, he picks up Niall's hardtack and cup of water. He has his own canteen on him as well so he can use some of his own water for cleaning any cuts he might have.

The bunker door creaks as he pulls on it, closing it quietly behind him and lifting his lantern to light the wall lamps again. The one above Niall's head has gone out, probably blown out by Niall last night before he fell asleep. Niall is sitting up today, greeting Harry with a nod as Harry lights the last lamp and takes a seat next to his friend, leaning against the wall. He hands Niall the water cup, waiting for him to take a sip before reaching into his bag where he put the slab of hardtack.

"Eat up," Harry offers over the biscuit, smiling when Niall takes it. He seems to be in a bit less pain today, but Harry is still going to look over his entire figure to check the damage.

Niall breaks off a few bites before noticing that Harry's eyes are running down his body. He doesn't feel well being studied like this, but he tries to shake it off and instead interrupts him by asking, "You got fed, right? Before this?"

Harry looks back up, meeting his gaze. The dried blood under his nose and on his chin is a brownish color, broken up from stretching around his skin and chipping off in a few places. Harry registers Niall's words and responds with, "Yeah, of course." Niall nods in approval, returning to his food as Harry continues to look down Niall's body, taking note of the bruises and marks around his wrists and ankles.

Once Niall is finished eating and only has a few more sips left of his water, Harry places his rucksack in between his own legs, pulling out his canteen and the rags. "Could I clean you up a little?" He asks shyly.

Niall looks over all of the cloth and bandages, before glancing back up to look into Harry's eyes. He looks hesitant to ask something, but Niall already knows what has to happen. He sighs and begins taking off his jacket, gritting his teeth at the movement. He reaches to the back of his neck to pull his shirt off, his taut muscles groaning and his joints creaking. "The worst of it is on my back." Niall supplies helpfully.