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Out of every nasty thing Dick had taken home from the war, the grief latched on to him much tighter than anything else.
It crawled from his blood-soaked fingertips, rooting itself in the bones beneath his skin, growing and growing and growing until it reached the fragile organ on his chest. Ever since that day, the grief took shelter there, made a home for itself, in the dark, hollow space below his ribcage.
Even now as Dick drags himself through everyday life, he can feel it murmuring in its sleep, only awakening when a memory is triggered by the smallest of things – a certain brand of whiskey or the back of a dark-haired man’s head or a name. A name that, in Dick’s universe, only belonged to him. To Nix. His Nix.
Dick never really recovered from Nix’s death.
It’s been five years, four months, and twenty-three days, but the smell of his blood still permeates Dick’s nostrils. He still remembers the day vividly, no matter how much he tries to forget. God, he tries so hard to forget, tries to latch on to happier times instead. But like everything else, the grief held onto every memory Dick had of Nix; it reddened and brutalized every moment they shared. Dick cannot think of Nix without the haunting tone of melancholy, lingering.
Everybody moved on.
Dick stayed on that rocky road in Nuenen.
***
“How bad?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Dick hears the ping of a bullet and a body falling to the ground. On instinct, he turns and finds Nix on his back, his helmet rolling away. Time stops for a singular moment as Dick processes what he sees. But it doesn’t take long for him to rush towards Nix’s side, assessing the damage that’s worse than what he’d originally thought. Something heavy and permanent grabs at his chest.
“Nix?” Dick whispers, a hand falling to the blood on the side of Nix’s head. Nix’s eyes are closed, skin getting paler by the second. There’s a small crater on his forehead, right above the tip of his eyebrow, crimson liquid pouring out of it. When Dick turns his palm, his fingers shake at the sheer amount of red in them.
“Medic!” Dick yells, unsteadily holding Nix’s bleeding head in a desperate attempt to stop it. His throat is blocked, growing hot, but Dick tries to yell again, “Medic!”
He hears footsteps speed towards him and feels a hand flying to Nix’s neck. Dick could only cradle Nix’s face with his hands, saying, “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” more so to himself. His sleeves have caught all the red liquid, his hands looking like a battle had occurred in them. Still, Dick continues to rub Nix’s cheekbone with his thumb, the corners of his eyes starting to sting, making blinking feel like stepping on broken glass.
“Sir. Sir.”
It takes all of his courage to tear his eyes away from Nix and face Roe. The grim expression on his face says it all.
“I’m sorry.”
The world around Dick starts to blur as the tears threaten to crash down his cheeks. Hastily, Dick gathers Nix’s lifeless body in his chest, face buried on the bloodied side of his face. He’s cold, so unusually and unbearably cold, so unlike the glowing warmth Dick had come to know and love.
This is not Nix. He’s not Nix.
Nix couldn’t die.
Not like this.
A few nights ago, Dick had expressed his interest in the European countryside, saying how beautiful it’d look without all the fighting and the death, and Nix had replied, “After we win the war, I’ll show you around. Just you and me.” Months ago, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, after Dick had vomited his rations into the sea, Nix had laughed, “Guess we wouldn’t go boating after this, huh?” And that one night. Right after their initial jump to Normandy had been canceled, “We’ll go to Chicago, I’ll take you there.”
Nix couldn’t die before fulfilling all the promises he’d made. Of going to this and doing that. Of the adventures he’d sworn to take Dick to. The two of them. Together.
It’s cruel and unfair, to leave him like this, remnants of the future they can never have hanging in the air.
“Nix? Lew?” Dick breathes into Nix’s cheek, his arms tightening around him. “Wake up. Please.”
He’s aware a small crowd had gathered around him, but Dick couldn’t care any less about them.
“Sir…” A hand falls to Dick’s shoulder, and he’s quick to shrug it away.
“Captain, we gotta go.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Sir, we gotta get out of here.”
Everyone else’s voices seem so far away, as if they’re coming from underwater. Ironic, since it’s Dick who feels like he’s drowning right now. It takes every gutsy bone in him to loosen the embrace. Dick’s eyes are firm on Nix’s lifeless face as he carefully lowers him back to the ground. He searches for Nix’s hand and grips it tight.
Dick takes a deep breath. And another. And another.
With a clenched jaw, he looks up at the man nearest him – Lipton.
“Help me get him up.”
Lip’s eyes widen. “Sir?”
Dick stands on his feet, walking to the top of Nix’s head. “Grab his feet,” he orders coldly.
Lip doesn’t say another word. As instructed, he swings his rifle over his shoulder and takes Nix’s legs. Dick crouches to haul Nix up by the shoulders. And before he knows it, Roe and Malarkey are helping, too. The four men carry Nix’s body towards the back of a truck, past the sorry and inquisitive eyes of other soldiers.
Nix’s feet go in first.
“Careful,” Dick says, stern, as the men lay Nix down on the floor of the truck. Slowly, he pulls his arms away from under Nix’s armpits, gently resting the back of his head on the floor.
A soldier taps him on the back and Dick glances behind him to find Luz offering Nix’s helmet. Dick’s throat begins itching again as he takes it, examining the bullet hole near the center. Taking deep breaths, Dick clutches the souvenir of Nix’s death and climbs aboard, Nix’s lifeless body at his feet.
***
Dick is in a trance the whole night, not even noticing the sun disappearing and being replaced by the bright moon up above. Like he’d ordered, they take Nix’s body with him, a thin white cloth wrapped around him. Dick has been sitting with his corpse for hours now, picking at the patches of grass below him and scratching Nix’s dried blood from underneath his fingernails.
At one point, Sink had found him in that state underneath a tree, murmuring his condolences before urging Dick to snap out of it. Dick could only nod half-heartedly, hanging his head after Sink had walked away.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to go,” Dick says, glancing briefly at Nix, his face covered by the bloodied sheet. “You’re not supposed to die here, Lew.”
A stubborn aching envelops his chest yet again, the urge to break down heightening by the second. Dick blinks away any oncoming tears and presses his lips together.
He’d never been in love before, not really. Not until Nix, anyway. When they met, there’d been an instant attraction to the man. He was like the sun, his devilish grins so bright and gleaming. And Dick was just the humble Earth, orbiting him but admiring from afar. It wasn’t until their friendship grew into something more serious that Dick’s innocent crush had developed into a much firmer affection.
But Dick had never expected his feelings to be reciprocated. Not only was it dangerous, but a love like that… it never felt like it belonged to someone like Dick. So, it was quite a shock when Nix had kissed him the night of D-Day, on the back of a secluded jeep while they were trying to fall asleep.
It was soft and tender and nothing quite like anything Dick had experienced before.
Dick exhales through his nose and turns to Nix’s body. With shaking hands, he holds onto the cloth obscuring his face, and pulls. The brief sight of Nix’s white, pale face is enough for Dick to throw the cloth back.
That image of him will haunt him in his sleep forever.
“Dick.”
It takes him a couple of seconds to register that someone is standing in front of him. Slowly, he follows the legs to the face and finds Harry, his eyes still clearly red despite the darkness. For a moment, Dick selfishly feels offended knowing the grief he feels isn’t his alone. He realizes that Harry, too, has lost a friend, no matter how unique Dick thinks his feelings are. Quite frankly, Harry’s the only one who could come close to understanding how Dick feels right now.
“What–“ Harry chokes. “What are you gonna do with the body?”
Dick already has a plan in mind when he rises to his feet. He’d dreaded having to do it, but he knows it’s what he’s supposed to do. He goes off to search for a shovel, Harry’s eyes following him. And when Dick finally finds one, he returns quickly. He finds a soft layer of soil just a few feet from the tree and starts digging.
His mind drifts to the feel of Nix’s hand on his, so comforting and innocent amidst the destruction beyond them. Dick’s strength comes not only from himself but also from Nix’s firm resolve, ready to offer itself to Dick whenever he needs it most. Right now, the only thing that could pull Dick away from this dark pit he’s in is something he can never have again.
He digs.
It’s not your fault, Dick, Nix would say.
He digs.
Sometimes this just happens.
He digs.
War is hell... or whatever.
Dick’s pounding brain is interrupted by a hand on his arm. Instinctively, he turns, saying, “Nix?”
Harry looks at him with eyes full of pity, his lips in a thin, straight line.
The pang in his chest ripples throughout his entire body yet again. Shaking his head, Dick looks around and finds the other men starting to help, grabbing their own shovels and determinedly hacking at the earth. He hadn’t heard them come over, too busy suffering in his own thoughts to notice. Dick explodes with gratitude, almost breaking down yet again at the sight before him.
“You can just stay with him, Dick,” Harry says. “We’ll finish the grave.”
By him, he means the lifeless corpse Dick has been talking to for the past few hours. It’s absolute insanity, but Dick is grateful for Harry’s understanding.
Dick walks back to where Nix is, lowering himself to sit beside him. His white hands poke out a little under the cloth, and Dick takes it, lacing their fingers together. They sit there like that for a while as Dick watches his men laboriously digging at the ground. Every once in a while, Harry would glance at him, probably to make sure Dick hadn’t completely lost it yet. His concern is only fair because, at this moment, Dick feels like he’s on the verge of releasing something monumental, like a tsunami that will engulf everything in its path when threatened. He wants to yell and curse and scream; find the German whose bullet killed his best friend and commit something as heinous to the bastard.
But he can’t.
He wouldn’t.
Right now, all he can do is sit here with Nix, feel his hand for the last time, no matter how cold his fingertips are.
After what feels like an eternity of lying with Nix, Harry walks over to them.
“It’s time,” he says, staring at the ground, and the water starts to collect in the corners of Dick’s eyes again.
He blinks them away. “Yeah.”
Dick squeezes Nix’s hand before letting go, pushing himself up clumsily. Together with two of the other men, they carry the corpse to the makeshift burial ground. Slowly, they place Nix against the mountain of freshly dug soil. The men watch as Dick kneels in front of him. He peels off the cloth from his face, trying his darndest to avoid staring.
Dick sneaks his fingers behind Nix’s neck, pulling at the lock and taking off his dog tag. He places it in his pant pocket before also unpinning the Captain’s bars on his shirt collar. It almost feels like a ceremony, the intricate way in which he’s doing each task. Finally, Dick palms through the empty space in his breast pocket until he finds the small item he’s looking for. He takes out the edelweiss they’d once found on a German soldier, and punctures the stem through a hole in Nix’s collar.
When he’s finished, Dick places a hand over Nix’s chest before rising to his feet once again. He takes a step back as two of his soldiers complete the job. They take Nix’s wrapped body and stand on either end of the four-feet grave.
“Careful,” Dick says.
Shifty, who’s holding Nix’s top half nods, climbing down the pit so he could cautiously place Nix inside.
“Would you like to say somethin’, sir?” Roe speaks up from behind him. When Dick turns over his shoulder, he finds a small crowd of Easy Company men watching them bury their fellow Toccoa man. The lives Nix touched during their time together.
Dick’s eyes land on Harry, who only nods.
Taking a deep breath, Dick steps forward, close enough to the grave to see the outline of Nix’s body against the thin cloth, but far enough so he can’t entertain the thought of jumping inside and lying with him forever. He swallows hard.
“I, uh…”
Everything he wishes he could say could only be said in private. The love and devotion they had for each other – it’s not something that he can ever share with the world. He loathes how he cannot mourn Nix like the widow he feels like he is. Cannot give Nix the proper, honest memorial he deserves. To everyone else, Dick is simply a dear friend who has lost a comrade, not someone who just had the love of his life taken away from him.
Despite the rapid thoughts firing in his brain, Dick’s mouth runs dry, tongue empty. After clearing his throat of the things he wishes to say, he finally decides to speak.
“What am I gonna do with the Vat 69 in my footlocker now?” he jokes. The crowd exhales a nervous chuckle. Dick attempts a smile. “I’m gonna miss you, Nix. We all will.”
After a period of silence, Dick catches Shifty’s eyes and nods. He nods back and dutifully grabs his shovel, slowly scooping from the mountain of dirt and throwing it above Nix. Dick could barely watch as Nix gets swallowed by the earth. He finds Harry, who gives him a tight embrace, before walking away, going far so that the sound of metal against soil is nowhere to be heard.
***
Every year since that moment, Dick saves up all his money and returns to that same spot in the fields, just outside of Nuenen. He watches as war-torn Netherlands patches itself back up, slowly forgetting the destruction that had occurred and the people that had been lost in the crossfire. Dick spends his time there on the grass beneath the shade, four feet above Nix’s decomposing body. He would bring food and books and conversation, telling the ghost of his past lover all of the things that have occurred in his life thus far. Heaven is something Dick believes in, and he believes that Nix’s soul is listening to him intently, even if he can’t see him in person.
It’s been five years, four months, and twenty-three days, and the wound from Nix’s death is still fresh on his skin. Perhaps the grief will never leave him. Perhaps it’s something that he will carry in his chest until the day he dies. It’s an odd feeling, really.
How can something so heavy also feel so empty?
Well, who else is Dick Winters without Lewis Nixon except half a heart?