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Arthur hears the noises as if they were calling him from hell itself. He blinks open tired eyes, knocking an empty bottle of scotch from the bed to the floor with a clunk as he listens intently to the noises around him. Groaning. Whimpering.
He sits up, wiping his face as he stares at the wall next to his bed. He doesn’t have his watch with him so can’t tell what the time is, but he knows it must be early hours. There it was again- low groaning, he was sure of it.
He rolls his eyes as he swings his legs out from the blankets and stands up, stretching his aching muscles; it was probably John in the midst of an early morning hangover or nursing a new black eye. It wouldn’t be the first time the household was awoken to the sounds of someone in pain.
He contemplates just opening his door and yelling for the noise to stop, but as he crosses the room and makes to grasp the doorknob he hears something that makes his heart go cold. ‘No…No….not yet…!’
‘Tommy?’ he breathes, momentarily confused- he opens the door and steps out, his eyes flicking upwards as he hears movement down the corridor. Polly pokes her head out of her own bedroom door, her eyes as wide and confused as his.
‘Is that Thomas?’ she whispers, peering down towards the main room that Tommy slept. A series of low moans answers her question for her.
‘Leave it, Pol.’ Arthur calls as Polly makes to open the door fully and step out. ‘He won’t want to know anyone heard him, ‘specially you.’
‘Why me?’
‘You’re a woman. Its just not what men want to happen Pol.’ Arthur mutters, shaking his head. ‘Just go back to bed- he’ll be alright.’ He crosses the darkened landing, careful not to step on the creaky floorboard opposite Finn’s room; he most certainly doesn’t need his youngest brother out of his room amidst all this.
‘Call me if you need any help,’ Polly replies, voice lined with worry.
‘Will do.’ Arthur placates her with a nod, his voice low as he gets to Tommy’s room. He takes a deep breath as he grasps the handle and opens the door a little; the room stinks of smoke and he knows Tommy’s been on his pipe again. He wafts his hand in front of his face as he steps into the middle of the room.
Tommy’s in his bed, the covers bunched up around his sweat-laden body as he takes big lumps of his sheet in his fists, the whites of his knuckles visible even in the dark room.
Arthur watches as his brother arches his back, another low groan escaping him. ‘No…Not yet, we’re not ready….’ He moans out, shaking his head in sleep. ‘Not ready for them….’
Arthur swallows hard, emotion rising in his throat- many a night he has had to sit at John’s bedside as nightmares swirled in his mind. John didn’t serve in the same infantry that they did, and the horrors he saw in the trenches and in the fields of France were very different to what he and Tommy had seen, down below in the bowels of hell laying traps for the Germans.
John was easier to calm down though- a firm hand on his shoulder, some comforting words spoken through the fog of his nightmare, and his face would calm and he would drift off again for a few more hours, Arthur sat on the side of his bed to make sure he was alright.
Tommy had been with him once at their younger brother’s bedside, his eyes focussed on a spot on John’s wall, as if he could just ignore everything around him yet still be a calming presence. Like that would be enough to protect his brother.
Even though they remained siblings, the war had changed their dynamic- when once they would have looked after each other almost instinctively, completely in tune to each other’s moods and emotions, now those same things were seen as weakness, hindrances. Something to work through before getting on with the job at hand.
Arthur was as guilty as the other two, he knew- the amount of times he had teased John in the morning when they all sat down for breakfast, revelling in the pink tinge that rose from his neck as he recounted the previous night’s trauma were insurmountable. He felt fucking ashamed of himself but what else could he do? Everyone had changed. War did that to people.
He looks up as another shudder ripples through his younger brother; he makes to place a calming hand on his forehead or his shoulder, to just let him know someone was there, when Tommy thrashes onto his back, eyes squeezed shut. Arthur can only watch as his brother’s eyes flutter against the lids, his mouth drawing up as he pleads in sleep once again for someone or something to stop, to give him more time.
‘Tommy….’ Arthur mutters after a while, knowing that this had gone too far now. ‘Wake up, lad.’
He moves to the bed now and puts a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, shaking it a little. ‘Wake up Tommy, come on, enough’s enough….’ He doubles down on the shaking, resorting to using both hands as more groans erupt into the room. Finally Tommy breaks through the nightmare with a cry of alarm and panic as he opens his eyes to find Arthur shaking him. His hands fly to Arthur’s forearms, squeezing tightly before relaxing as his mind slows and he realises who it is.
Arthur steps back as Tommy wrenches away from him, sitting up before putting his head in his hands, sweat-slicked shoulders heaving as he fights to get his breathing under control.
‘That was a bad one.’ Arthur mutters after a few moments of weighted silence. He crosses the room and pours his brother a glass of water from the sideboard.
‘They’re all fucking bad.’ Tommy replies, voice muffled by his hands.
‘Here, drink this,’ Arthur says, handing Tommy the glass.
‘Water?’ Tommy scoffs, yet he downs the glass in one, not caring that it dribbles down his chin a little. He wipes eyes that are laden with tears, and Arthur averts his eyes a little.
‘It’s better for you than alcohol at the moment, lad.’ He shoots at him, before taking the glass back and refilling it with whiskey. ‘Now you can have one.’
Tommy nods and drinks, before putting the glass on his bedside table and pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes, shaking his head. ‘Fucking hell…’ He groans into the room.
‘Anything I can do to help?’ Arthur speaks into the silence, suddenly feeling absurdly nervous.
Tommy scoffs again, the harsh noise grating against Arthur’s ear. ‘If you can clean my brain out and get rid of all the shit that’ll be fucking nice.’
‘You and me both, brother.’ Arthur sucks in a breath. ‘You want to talk about it? Sometimes when John-‘
‘If John did less talking and drinking and more working then he wouldn’t be in this mess!’
‘Now that’s not fair, Tom. John’s a good kid that’s seen some fucking awful things, same as us. I think we need to give each other a little fucking break every now and again.’
He watches as Tommy snorts, the sound jarring to him, yet he offers no retort to his words, no clever little comeback. He knows his words ring true, but he won’t admit it.
Tommy eventually nods, letting out a deep, shuddering breath. ‘You can go back to bed, Arthur. I’ll be alright.’
‘You sure?’ Arthur replies, letting the matter drop completely.
‘Yeah, I’m sure.’ Tommy nods, before looking across to his brother. ‘Thanks. For…. for checking on me.’
‘You’d do the same for me.’ Arthur replies, knowing deep down that that was just not true- Tommy liked to believe he’d help but he felt showing signs of weakness was wrong; many a night he had cursed loudly when John had drunk himself into oblivion and tried to talk about the war, accusing him of putting strain on the family when all the younger Shelby needed to do was have someone listen to him.
Many a night he had left the house, slamming the door loudly when talk turned to the war; they knew they had all come back damaged, yet Tommy tried to avoid it altogether. Some nights though, like tonight, were too hard to weather on your own.
Tommy nods at his words and lays back down, puling his damp covers over him as he stares up a the ceiling.
‘See you in the morning.’ Arthur calls to him, not expecting a reply, before crossing to the door and opening it, stepping back into the dark hallway. He looks back to see Tommy hasn’t changed position at all; in the light of the moon he can see the whites of his eyes, staring up at the ceiling.
He sighs, shutting the door behind him before making his way back to his own room. They war may have changed them all, but they were brothers first and foremost. Sometimes, he thought as he closed his door and made his way back to his own bed, they should all start remembering that little fact.