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When an animal is wounded, they often scamper off to hide. Dying in a secluded area where nobody can hurt them. They bleed out, alone at their weakest. Pitiful. Small.
Naib Subedar felt a lot like a wounded animal.
His legs clutched to his abdomen. He was alone, resting in the darkness of a tent. He’d excused himself from his fellow soldiers, making up something about the food he had eaten upsetting him. Obvious lie, but they bought it.
Head buried against the fabrics of his cot, he suppressed the agonized sob that threatened to leave his throat. A Soldier should be used to pain. A *Man* should be used to pain. Yet here he was, tears wetting his lashes. Heart racing in his chest. He’d endured a lot. Explosions, Gunfire, Stab wounds.. but this hurt. That twisting inside his gut, as if everything was trying to rip itself out. In a way, maybe it was. And he felt *sensitive.* So, So sensitive. Weak.
Small.
He was bleeding onto pieces of cut cloth that he’d shoved into his pants. It was all he had, really. He had to pray it didn’t soak through. If it did, he had to hope he could find a way to excuse it as someone’s blood other than his own. Although the placement would be obviously inconvenient.
And if he wasn’t a good enough liar..
He shuddered, biting his lip to suppress the sound that threatened to escape. The pain was almost bearable, but the feelings that came with it hardly were. If anyone discovered him like this, it would be over. His poor mother, left alone. He just wanted her to be safe. Was that so much to ask? Was it too much to ask to be born with a body that could’ve protected her?
If he was only born like his father, he could’ve enlisted without secrecy. He wouldn’t be here, huddled over and sniffling. It’s like his body was taunting him. Laughing at him for what could have been. It felt like his body hoped he was discovered. It was like it was trying to kill him.
He wanted to tear at it until it cooperated, but he knew that was a bad idea. Many times had he considered opening himself up, ripping out everything that prevented him from being like them. But it wouldn’t be enough. Emptying himself of every organ that didn’t cooperate wouldn’t suddenly fix his anatomy. It wouldn’t fix him. He’d still be less than the men they were.
Weaker.
Worse.
He let out a shaky breath, the compression on his chest suddenly making it feel extremely hard to breathe. He felt like a little girl again. Every muscle in his body tense and scared, Afraid of being caught. He wanted to be home. He knew his Mom would know just what to do. She’d make him a remedy for the pain and tuck him into bed. She’d stroke his hair gently and kiss his cheeks until the pain all went away. He’d be loved.
He’d be safe.
… But it wouldn’t last.
They couldn’t be safe with him like this. Not since his Father died. Someone needed to be the man of the house, after all, how were they supposed to survive without one? If he crawled home tail between his legs, it’d surely be the end of his mothers safety. What sort of selfish son would do that to their mother?
He had the opportunity. He needed to take advantage of it. He needed to be strong. He *needed* to be strong.
But right now he was bleeding. Right now his legs were clenching into his stomach. Right now a whimper was escaping his lips. Right now he was scared. Right now he was dying.
And right now he wasn’t the Good Son he knew his mother wanted him to be.