He hadn’t meant to scare the child. She looked up at him with wide brown eyes, her brown skin dirty with dust and streaked with tears. He just wanted to see her safe. Soldier or not, Tristan wouldn’t hurt a kid, and this girl was small, maybe four or five.

He held his hands up, but she saw his uniform and his gun and she ran deeper into the abandoned house, up dusty, crumbling stairs to the second floor of the clay building. Tristan followed her up. Although he wouldn’t hurt her, the orders were to clear the village, and he couldn’t trust his fellow soldiers to have the same caution with their bullets.

“Wait,” he said, but he knew she probably didn’t understand English, and was certainly terrified of him. How could he communicate to her that he wasn’t a threat, while still in combat boots with a rifle strapped to his side?

He found her curled up, sobbing softly in the corner of the second floor. Slowly, he knelt and approached, his gloved hands lifted, and she curled up tighter, hiding her gaze. He knew she must think he was going to hurt her, so he didn’t touch her. He just looked her over, trying to see if she had any wounds. She was thin and dirty and barely clothed, but otherwise she seemed healthy and whole, and he sighed in relief.

“We have to get you out of here,” he said, even though he knew she couldn’t understand.

He heard soldiers outside, his own, and he looked at her thoughtfully.

“I’m going to help you.”

He just had to find someone with a high enough rank, his Captain, probably. Maybe they could get her back to a town away from the warzone. Who even knew how she had ended up in a contested village? Everyone she knew was likely dead. The best thing would just be for her to be far, far away from the gunfire.

He placed his hand on his own chest.

“Tristan,” he said slowly.

He gestured to her, hoping she would tell him her name, but she just shook her head, still crying. He knew he may as well be pointing a gun at her head, she would be scared of him, and for good reason, no matter what he said or did. The rest of his platoon approached, likely joined by the whole company. They were running out of time.

“Stay here, stay quiet,” he whispered, holding a single finger to his lips. “Shh.”

Sighing, Tristan stood and went to greet his fellow soldiers downstairs. Seven here, another three dozen or so outside clearing other buildings, and more platoons approaching from the South and the West. Nobody here had a chance, what was a kid even doing in this pile of rubble? He was in it deep now.

“Where’s the Captain?” he asked.

“Not here,” a tall man answered. Sanchez, Tristan recognized from the voice. Tristan was immediately on his guard, barely hiding his contempt for the man. Sanchez might be his superior, but he didn’t deserve to wear the uniform. He stepped forward and looked at Tristan seriously.

“We saw the girl come in.”

“I know,” Tristan admitted cautiously. “She’s upstairs.”

He stood to block the stairs, pulling his rifle forward.

“What are we waiting for?” another soldier behind Sanchez asked.

“The Captain,” Tristan said firmly. “We’re all going to wait for the Captain. She’s not going anywhere, but she’s scared half to death. Just a little thing, maybe four. We’re all going to wait down here until the Captain arrives, and that’s final.”

“You don’t have rank,” Sanchez reminded him. “I do.”

Suddenly Tristan was struck with a decision he’d never wanted to make. He could stand down, and trust Sanchez, whom he didn’t trust at all, or he could defend the girl at the cost of his rank, maybe his life. Well, there was no question. She was a helpless child and he was an adult who could choose. His feelings about Sanchez colored every part of the decision. If anyone might hurt an innocent girl just because he could, it was Sanchez.

“You aren’t going up there. None of you are. Over my dead body.”

Maybe if one of the female officers had been there, he might have been able to trust her, but the seven men in front of him were all friends of Sanchez, and Sanchez was scum. They might kill the girl, they might hurt her, or they might just scare the crap out of her, Tristan couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that he’d promised to keep her safe, and he would defend that oath with his life.

“We’ll see about that,” Sanchez said.

Tristan stood, rifle ready. The truth was, he didn’t think he’d be ready to shoot any of these men. They had all somehow saved each other in one way or another, they were brothers of the battlefield, and even if he would never let them hurt a helpless child, he didn’t want to turn his gun on them. Well, maybe Sanchez.

To his surprise, Sanchez strolled right up to him and placed his pistol against Tristan’s sternum.

“You hiding enemy brats now, Saint?”

The nickname was a play on Tristan’s last name, St. John, but also somewhat ironic. Up until this very moment, Tristan had never been one for heroics. More like drinking, mouthing off, and getting away with as much trouble as possible. So maybe that was why he had a pistol nose buried beneath his ribcage, rather than any medals of honor around his neck.

“Not hiding. Protecting. She’s innocent, Sanchez.”

Even Sanchez couldn’t seem to bring it upon himself to claim that a child could be anything but innocent, but the look of disgust he gave Tristan communicated his feelings well enough. He pulled away.

“Fine. I’ll put a coms call out for the Captain.”

Tristan sighed in relief, resting against the wall. He would stand there, on guard, until he could be sure the little girl was safe. He looked out at his fellow soldiers, wondering what the consequences would be for this sort of display. Their orders were to clear the village, and he knew the men had been excited to get in there, guns blazing, and kill anything that moved. He’d ruined their fun.

Not even five minutes could have passed before he heard a scream outside, a small, high scream, and several shots fired. He turned, and ran upstairs, and as he’d feared, the child had decided to make a break for it on her own. He looked out over the window, realizing she must have jumped, and saw her body only a few feet away, gunned down the moment the other soldiers saw her.

Staring down at the blood seeping into the sand around her, Tristan’s heart broke. His will broke. His trust in his fellow soldiers broke, and all at once, Tristan wanted out. Far out. As out as he could possibly get.

Numb, he turned and walked down the stairs. Sanchez was smirking at him.

“See? The brat tried to get away. They’re not your friends, Saint.”

Tristan ignored his words completely, pushing past him, and the rest of the day went by in a blur. Tristan took orders and marched, but his thoughts were centered on a singular task. He had to escape.

In his bunk that night, he thought about the situation from what he hoped was an objective point of view - he had watched his fellow soldiers murder a little girl. He was done. But they were deployed on active duty, and would be for another six months.

He would have to wait until they were given shore leave, he decided. Escaping from the base was too risky. Then, he would just go. Find a pilot, get a spot on a boat, anything to get back to the US. If he got there, and customs got him, he was just as screwed. After twenty-four hours of being away without leave, his name would be reported to the authorities. There would be a warrant for his arrest, and if he got caught, he would go to prison.

So he would need more than transportation. He would need a fake passport. A smuggler, someone who wouldn’t ask questions.

Tristan was left thinking about the reason he’d joined the military in the first place. All of his life, he had felt like he wasn’t really an alpha. He’d thought that by sacrificing himself for something bigger, something good, he could learn what it meant, and maybe one day, he’d be good enough for his omega. Had that day come, or was he just a fool for thinking enough blood could fix him?He drifted to sleep that night dreaming of freedom, only to be haunted by nightmares.

* * *

Tristan woke screaming and covered in a cold sweat from the dark, creeping nightmare that had terrorized him. He was four years old. He sat up and glanced around his dark room. His parents had just bought him a toddler bed, and he was enjoying his newfound freedom. Instead of being confined to a crib, which he hated, he was able to climb out of bed in the middle of the night, his small feet hitting the soft carpet with a quiet thud.

He glanced around his room, tears still on his face. There were black, shifting shadows everywhere, leaning in, reaching for him. He turned for the hall, where light peeked through from his slightly ajar door, and ran out of the scary blackness.

He didn’t see his parents, so he made his way down the hall, sneaking curiously around the quiet house, and then slid down the stairs on his bum, giggling as he thump-thump-thumped his way to the first floor. He still didn’t see his mommy or daddy. Where were they?

Tristan wandered into the kitchen, mesmerized by all the shiny things he wasn’t ever allowed to touch, but the counters were still a little too high for him to be interesting, so he turned back down the hall.

The living room was empty, and suddenly Tristan had an idea. His best friend ever, Josh, lived just next door. Tristan saw freedom when he looked at the sliding glass door to his backyard, and he made a run for it, pressing himself against the heavy glass and tugging the handle as hard as he could.

It didn’t budge. He frowned and played with the little knob on the handle, flicking it up and down, and then tried again. This time, the door shifted, and then, with a soft screech, it opened.

Tristan climbed out into the backyard in just his onesie, and he didn’t have the strength to shut the door behind him, so he left it open. It was nighttime, and a little cold, but he didn’t care. He was on a mission.

His backyard and Josh’s backyard were neighbors, just like they were neighbors. If he could get to the other side of the fence, they could play. Tristan gazed up at the tall, towering fence tops and realized they were too high for him to climb over, so then he got down on his hands and knees.

Sure enough, the gap beneath the fence was small, but if he did some digging...wiggling down on his stomach, he dug and dug with his hands until there was enough room to pop his head under the fence, and then he squirmed and wriggled all the way under.

The feeling of success and triumph when he found himself in the Miller’s backyard was intoxicating for four year old Tristan. He could have gone anywhere, but the whole point of running away was to run toward fun, and his four year old world was limited to the confines of his suburban neighborhood. And so, in the process of running away from home for the first time, he turned himself in.

Covered in dirt, wide eyed, in nothing but a onesie, Tristan pressed his chubby-cheeked face and fat fingers against the glass door into the Miller’s living room. The tell-tale flashing of the TV inside told him that not only was someone up, they were watching a movie!

He was greeted quickly by Josh’s dad, who slid the door open and looked down at him, perplexed.

“Tristan?” he asked with amusement. “What are you doing here?”

“Can Josh come play?” Tristan asked, looking up at the man with big blue eyes.

“Tristan! You’re covered in dirt,” Josh said. He’d been on the couch with his parents, watching the end of the movie, but he sat up to look at the toddler who had climbed under a fence, just to come play with him.

Tristan gave Josh a huge smile and ran over, hugging him tightly, while the older boy’s parents looked on in amusement.

“Josh! I had a nightmare so I came here. Play with me!” Tristan insisted. It made perfect sense to him.

Josh laughed, the eight-year-old bewildered by their unexpected visitor, but he hugged Tristan tightly, so tight that the little boy would remember it forever.

“We can play in the morning,” he promised.

“I’d better call your parents, little guy,” Josh’s dad said, and Tristan knew he’d been caught, but none of that mattered when Josh took his hand and pulled him onto the couch.

“You can sit with me until they come,” the older boy said, touching Tristan’s dirt-filled, shaggy golden hair.

Tristan buried his head into Josh’s warm, cozy chest, exhausted from his very first adventure, and fell asleep.