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riflerhymeswithtrifle · 2 months ago

Text

Life Is Short

AO3 fic link

Relationship: Stanislaus "Kat" Katczinsky & Paul Bäumer

Word count: 1778

Summary: "Kat's mind felt silent. The only thing he could think was 'Impossible'; It couldn't be possible. It could not. Paul's wound was small. Paul was his only friend. He couldn't be dead. It wasn't logical. It wasn't fair."

Author's notes: -An AU fanfic in which Paul doesn't loose Gerard Duval's papers and gets shot by the farm kid instead of Kat.

-First work published. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

-English is not my first language, sorry for any gramatical error.

Warnings: Mentions of death, war, grief, wounds and blood.

***

"I'll be right back." Kat said and went into the woods.

Paul sat down and the man wandered for a while before stopping in front of a tree. Kat was just done when he suddenly heard a gunshot, clear and loud in the middle of the silence. Some birds flew while squeaking. He flinched, looked around quickly and put his trousers back on. He then ran back to where he left Paul.

"Paul? Paul!" Kat screamed and heard some quick steps close to him.

"Kat!" That was Paul's voice.

The man turned to his left and saw his comrade, walking rapidly towards him with his left hand pressing the right side of his stomach.

"Paul..." He looked around and saw, to his relief, no one else. When the young boy was near enough, Kat could see Paul was limping. "What happened?"

"We need to go." The young boy said in a serious tone. He didn't stop to let Kat examinate him. He was too scared to stay there any longer.

"Who fired the shot?" The man asked and followed Paul out of the woods.

"The little kid from the farm." Said Paul, trying to remain composure.

That didn't last long, because he fell on his knees while grunting in pain.

"Paul!" Kat exclaimed and rushed to him.

"This is bad." Paul whispered in fear while laying on the floor.

When Kat took his clothes and pulled them up, he saw a big amount of blood coming out of a small, black hole in Paul's abdomen and staining his skin.

"What a mess." Kat complained. This wasn't planned, not at all. "It's not so big."

"Take out the bullet." Paul said with a small voice.

"I'll leave that to the medic." Kat stated and looked inside of his pockets for a gauze. He found one and placed it carefully on Paul's wound.

"I was once in class at seven years old." The young boy said suddenly. "We were talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up." Kat frowned. He didn't understand why Paul was talking about that, in that moment. "I said I wanted to be a writer." The boy let out an unfunny laugh. "A poem writer. The teacher said I could do something more useful, the kids laughed and said that I certainly couldn't. I should have agreed with them and gone with the first plan."

Kat was left speechless. Was Paul venting because he thought those were going to be his last words? He couldn't allow that. He wouldn't let Paul die.

"Listen." Kat said with an accusatory tone. "Everything's going to be okay, alright? We'll get to the infirmary and they'll fix this. It's not a big deal, won't even be difficult to walk."

Paul slightly nodded and winced. His hand went to his wound, and Kat never in his life felt more guilty. Fucking decision of stealing from that farm, fucking hunger, fucking war.

"For Christ's sake." Kat whispered while looking down at the stained gauze. "Why did it have to happen now?"

Paul looked at him with a worried face, but said: "We have to keep going."

"Yes."

Kat got on his knees, put Paul's arm across his shoulders and took him by the unharmed side of his waist. He got up with an unusually required strength and Paul stumbled a little before steadying himself.

"Paul?" Kat said, before starting to walk.

"Yes?"

"I think you would've been a remarkable writer."

Paul laughed, incredulous.

...

The return felt so much longer and tortuos than the departure. Kat felt the way Paul's body was pressuring him more and more with every passing minute. He tried to shake his friend a couple of times so that he would gain consciousness, but it took Paul less and less time each time to go back to lay his dead weight on Kat.

The man started to panic. What if Paul wouldn't be able to make it?

He shook off those thoughts and intensified his grip on the boy. It wouldn't be illogical if that happened; No one died of a small hole in their waist. Besides, those thoughts wouldn't be any useful; They were there just to worry him and fuck it up again. But Kat wouldn't make a mistake again. He wouldn't let Paul slip, not so near the end. Instead, Kat would talk to Paul to keep him conscious.

That was something he was used to do. When receiving new recruits, it was almost a job he signed up for to calm them. After hearing the first gunshots, or witnessing their first bomb, or coming back from their first attack, the new soldiers were always scared and confused, as if just realising what they actually went to do. Kat had been the same on his first days, but he hadn't had anyone to tell him how to protect himself, or when the explosions were going to end. So he made it his job to take care of the new arrivers (as much as he could).

Kat was lucky he did the same with Paul's company. Franz, Albert and Paul weren't the youngest he had meet, or the most terrified in their first night, but they were certainly the best comrades he could have met. Especially Paul, who didn't have problem on staying by his side at all times, and read him letters, and just talk of anything. Kat was more than glad to take care of him as much as possible, and make bad jokes to pass the time, and talk nonsense just to distract Paul from all the pain and death that surrounded and threatened to ruin them.

This time was no exception, although it was easier to have a conversation with Paul when the young boy actually answered and wasn't about to fall unconscious.

"When we get home... I'm going to make you... a new pair of boots... for Christmas." Kat said between heavy breaths. "Yours seem like they hurt."

Kat wasn't sure if Paul actually laughed, because he heard some happy cheers growing louder in the distance. He turned around while strongly holding his friend and saw two trucks going through the road. Kat smiled with relief and backed off to the side. He left Paul sitting on the floor and looked at the first vehicle. He waved his arm but, to his horror, the truck didn't stop. It kept going, and Paul fell from his arms.

Despite his desesperate screams, neither of the vehicles lifted him and Paul. Kat cursed the men who were happily waving at him and turned his attention to Paul. He tried to lift him up but the boy was too heavy and dysfunctioning to get on his feet, even with help.

Kat noticed blood on his fingers, and with all the strength he had left, he lifted Paul over his shoulders. His friend made some painful noises, but almost didn't move.

...

Kat was going as fast as possible, breathing heavily. As soon as he crossed the infirmary door, he screamed a couple of times for a medic. Paul had stopped whinning of pain a while ago, and the man could feel the whole dead weight of his friend. That wasn't a good sign.

There was a free litter near him, so he bent next to it, sat Paul down and with a hand on his back laid him down. He took a moment to watch his face, which was pale but seemed calm. That was good, he thought. It meant no pain.

When he saw a man in white and stained in red go to him, Kat sighed in relief and sat on the floor. He watched as the medic analised Paul's wound, and then his face.

"You could've saved yourself the trouble." The man said, taking Paul's neck in both of his hands.

"Uh?" Kat hummed.

"He's dead."

Kat's mind felt silent. The only thing he could think was "Impossible"; It couldn't be possible. It could not. Paul's wound was small. Paul was his only friend. He couldn't be dead. It wasn't logical. It wasn't fair.

"But... It's only a small bullet wound." Kat said, standing up.

"Yes, black blood." The medic spoke while walking far from the litter (why was he walking away? He had to cure Paul). "Straight into the liver. His organs are poisoned."

"He's unconscious." Kat insisted. He had to, or the medic wouldn't help Paul. And Paul needed help, but he wasn't getting it. So he had to fight for it.

"No... He's dead. I think I know more about these things than you."

"No. It's impossible." Kat sat next to Paul. "I was... I was just talking to him to keep him conscious." His voice became desperate while he lifted Paul's clothes again. "He's unconscious..." Blood wasn't coming out the black wound. "He's unconscious." Kat kept insisting. He had to make the medic realise Paul was going to be fine if only he could get help.

But when he took the young boy's cheeks in his hand to shake his head, and when he applied pressure to the side of his neck, he didn't get a response. And then the it hit him, like cold water in an already very cold day.

"You see?" The medic spoke again, quite calm to be surrounded by so much death. "He was so unlucky. So young and close to the end."

As he was caressing Paul's face, Kat noticed it's expression was still calm, as though almost glad the end had come. No more pain, no more war, no more hunger.

...

It was a haunting memory. He became that: A memory. Paul Bäumer was no longer a boy, or a soldier, or a body; His youth was taken away from him, people will see him just as another name in the list of the dead, and his lifeless body could no longer imitate his movements and talk as if it was him.

Paul was gone. The only thing left was his memory.

What haunted Kat the most wasn't the fact that this was the loss of a friend, or the death of another boy, or all his wishes for a better life for Paul being smashed; It was that he never got to say sorry. It was his fault, and he could never apologise.

While playing with a "Gerard Duval" information papers, he thought of saying sorry to Paul's family and making sure to tell Gerard's family what happened to their beloved dad and husband. Would that make him forgive himself? Of course not. But he had to do it for Paul. It was the least the young boy deserved.

***

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