A/N: This was supposed to be strictly based on my Tumblr post (I'm howlingdawn over there) about Newt having a nightmare about his WWI dragons and being comforted by Tina and his creatures and then pretending to brush off their concern the next day but actually enjoying it, but that turned into more of a loose inspiration. Oh well. I like this, too, and hopefully you'll share my opinion.

Tap. Tap tap. Tap.

Newt, curled up on the couch with his head on Tina's shoulder, groaned as she elbowed him. "Go get the mail, Newt."

"Can't you-"

He cut himself off, glancing at her pointed stare. Smiling sheepishly, he apologetically patted her round belly and hauled himself off the couch.

"I told you not to stay up late waiting for Lady to give birth," Tina rebuked him, an affectionate smile ruining any force behind the words.

Newt opened the window and relieved the Barn Owl of its load, slipping it a little treat before letting her fly off. "There are only a handful of Graphorns left; forgive me for being a little excited at the imminent arrival of a new one."

"A little? A little? Newt, I don't think you were this excited when I told you I was pregnant."

"Of course I was excited, sweetheart," Newt assured her quickly.

Tina chuckled, reaching out to pat his hand as he returned to the couch. "I know you were. Your excitement almost gave Queenie a migraine."

Newt half-chuckled – he still felt guilty about that. He couldn't help being that excited, but hurting someone, however inadvertently, never felt good.

He flipped through the envelopes, handing most of them off to Tina, who accepted them with a faintly irritated sigh, muttering something about "ads for everything. Why do I want a rope that unties itself?!" One, however, was addressed solely to him. The return address looked vaguely familiar. Curious, he opened it, unfolding the letter within.

Mr. Scamander. We are aware that you have surpassed the normal age for draft, but due to your expertise with dragons and other magical creatures, your presence is needed…

The papers slid from his fingers. They drifted to the floor, the gentle scrape of parchment on wood resonating in his mind like the clang of metal on metal.

"Newt?" Concern vibrated in Tina's voice. Pulling out her wand, she summoned the fallen papers.

"I've been drafted," he rasped.

Tina paled, skimming the letter. "But… But…"

He looked at her belly, seven months round. It had taken years to get here – to work up the courage to ask her out, then propose; to find a good spot to get married, save up enough money for a house, find a good house, preferably near Jacob and Queenie's home; then even more time to try and try and try for a baby. And now that everything had finally, finally come together…

"They want me to work with dragons again," Newt reported, his voice flat.

Tina nodded slowly, trying to put on a brave face. "That's not so bad, is it?"

"I'm going to take a nap. Alone," Newt said shortly. He got up, turning towards their bedroom.

"Newt, wait-" Tina began, reaching for his hand.

He pulled away, wordlessly disappearing into their bedroom.

-FBAWTFT-

The stars were blocked by clouds of ash. The stench of death filled the air. Unintelligible shouts and wordless screams deafened the survivors. Icy cold pierced their threadbare uniforms, but desperately pumping blood warmed them, creating a confusing cold heat. A dizzying rainbow of flashing colors lit up the night.

Newt had no time to aim his wand, blindly flinging spell after spell after spell into the oncoming horde of Central Powers wizards. His heart throbbed, his breath came in terrified gasps, his entire being shook. He could barely see, but he had watched his fellow Brits fall, their final expressions of rage and determination and terror etched on their faces forever.

Overhead, dragons shook the air. Their enraged, agonized roars crowned out the wizards below. Their bodies collided, talons slashing, fangs snapping, wings flapping. Others swooped down, jaws gaping open, plumes of neon flames exploding from within, their heat scalding the humans below. Spells bounced sporadically off their scales as some fired blindly upwards, futile attempts to protect the comparatively feeble humans fighting on the ground.

Newt glanced up as frequently as he dared, in between firing off spells at wizards who tried to hurt his side's dragons, searching for one dragon in particular. The dragon who had been with him since the first day, the only one of five who had survived the years. The dragon he had fallen asleep beside many times, who had curled around him, warding off the nightmares and loneliness and listening attentively to his rambling. The dragon he had grown to love more than life itself.

Finally, he found her.

His heart stopped.

She kicked out desperately with her two legs, even using the remaining half of her tail – the end had been ripped off a month ago. Her wings flailed, her head snaked out, jaw snapping, fire billowing.

But against three agile, silvery Swedish Short-Snouts, the slow, bipedal Ukranian Ironbelly could do nothing.

She rolled into a ball, dropping below her attackers. Abruptly, she flared her wings out and rolled over, scoring her claws down one Short-Snout's stomach, and frantically rolled out of the way. Without even a roar, the injured dragon plummeted. Wizard screams erupted from the ground below him, some cut off as his limp body crushed them. Newt stared, gaping, his legs threatening to give out beneath him.

Blue flame erupted overhead. He looked up.

The very edge of the plume engulfed Samantha's face.

"SAMANTHA!" he screamed.

She bellowed in agony, shaking her head wildly.

"Stupefy!"

Newt tore his gaze from the sky, his gaze locking onto the red bolt headed straight for his chest.

Up above, Samantha screamed again as the second surviving Short-Snout tore her wing off.

The spell slammed into him like a train, throwing him backwards. He crashed to the ground, skidding and tumbling straight into a tree. Pain exploded over his entire being. It wasn't just physical.

As the world faded to black, the last thing he saw was his beloved Samantha tumbling helplessly, scales melted over her beautiful face, blood gushing from where her wing used to be.

The last thing he heard was her lifeless body crashing to the ground.

The last thing he smelled was her melted flesh.

The last thing he felt was his war-torn heart shattering yet again.

Newt bolted awake.

"Samantha," sprang from his lips, but he only had the breath to make it a hoarse squeak. His blanket was tangled around him, as if he'd been thrashing in his sleep, but he'd ended up in the fetal position. One white-knuckled fist was clenched over his heart, which thudded wildly, burning with an ache both old and fresh. His other fist clutched his pillow, his face buried in the crook of that arm, tears soaking his skin.

From his hair, Pickett squeaked worriedly.

"P-Pic-"

The door squealed as it was thrown open. "Newt!" Tina exclaimed.

Bare feet slapped across the floor, and suddenly he was being hauled upright. "Shh, shh, it's ok, you're safe," she whispered. Newt dragged his arm from his face, wrapped it around Tina and clung to her, to her warmth, to her safety, to her life. "Breathe," she urged, gently rubbing his back, cradling the back of his head. "Just breathe."

From the floor, the case rattled, a whine coming from within. Pickett scrambled from his perch to the floor, headed straight for the case's locks. The split second he undid the second latch, the lid flew open. Tina tensed as Niffly, Dougal, and Jane leapt out, but Niffly and Jane beelined for Newt while Pickett and Dougal dutifully closed and relocked the case before joining them. The Niffler, Demiguise, Occamy, and Bowtruckle promptly settled around Newt, picking his shoulder, lap, and hair respectively, or, in Jane's case, growing to wrap around her mummy, practically tying him to Tina.

Gradually, air began to fill Newt's lungs again.

"They've either grown more loyal or more clingy over the years," Tina observed, only half joking, using her elbow to pet Dougal's head. The Demiguise, sitting on Newt's lap with his arms wrapped around him, purred. Hesitantly, Newt shifted his fist from his heart to stroke Dougal with shaking fingers. Dougal patted his hand reassuringly.

"Both, I think," Newt agreed quietly.

Niffly, perched on Newt's shoulder, rummaged in his belly pouch for a moment. Finally, he procured a thin golden chain and draped it over Newt's shoulder. He patted it once, twice, thrice – almost possessively. With an affectionate sigh, Tina fastened it around Newt's neck, complicating the Niffler's desire to ruin his well-intentioned gesture. From Newt's hair, Pickett trilled happily.

Up above, Samantha screamed again.

Newt stiffened, squeezing Tina's shirt in his fist, clenching his eyes shut as he tried to banish of Dougal and Niffly and Pickett and Jane and Tina and Jacob and Queenie lying dead on the ground, eyes wide and scared and sightless, bloody gashes tearing down their sides.

"Shh," Tina whispered. "Shh."

Jane cawed, soft and gentle, snaking her head around to rest on Newt's other shoulder.

"Never go to war," Newt rasped.

Tina leaned back a little. "Newt, I'm a pregnant woman. I can't."

Newt shook his head. "I mean- just don't- never-"

"Die?"

He nodded.

Tina placed a gentle kiss on top of his head, careful of Pickett. "Newt, I have every intention of watching over you, our child, our creatures, and the Kowalski family for a long, long time yet."

"I know, but-"

"Things happen," Tina finished. "I know. But wasn't it you who told me that worrying only means you suffer twice?"

Newt found the strength to flash a smile. "Don't quote me to me."

Tina laughed a little. They lapsed into silence, broken only by Dougal's continuing faint purr.

"You never did talk about what happened in World War I," Tina eventually broached.

"It's not exactly light dinner talk," Newt muttered.

"Well, if you're going back-"

Her voice hitched. She paused, taking a moment to regain control. Newt found her hand and squeezed it, resting them on her stomach.

"If you're going back," she managed to continue, "you'll need to come to terms with what happened the first time."

"I guess I should," Newt agreed evasively.

Seeing exactly what he was doing and having none of it, Tina pushed him. "How long were you in the war?"

"Almost all of it," Newt reluctantly replied. "Got my draft letter just after I turned 18, back in 1915. They only sent me home when-"

His voice hitched. Refused to say the words. Even almost two decades later.

Tina saved him – sort of. "What did you do over there?"

"Worked with dragons – Ukrainian Ironbellies – on the Eastern Front. I had… There were five."

"What were their names?"

"Samantha – she was the largest, and therefore the leader. Then there was Jo, Tim, Jack, and Misty. Misty was the baby of the group; Jack was pretty protective of her. I think… I think that's why he got… got killed – protecting her. And then she missed him so much that when the next battle came… I should've been up there with them!"

"Newt, I'm sure you-"

He straightened up, leaning away from Tina, breaking her hold on him. Guilt's unique agony burned his soul, slipping out through his tongue, attacking her. "If I had done everything I could've done, I would still have five dragons," he snapped.

He was avoiding her gaze, but he could feel her searching his face. "What happened to the others?"

"There was a food shortage," he began, his sentences short and clipped. "It left Tim weak and sick. They made him fight anyway – easy pickings for German dragons. A year later, planes took out Jo. Two months before the war ended, Samantha was outnumbered. They melted her face. Tore her wing off. She was dead before she hit the ground. I ca-"

His voice broke. His body shook and he coughed as he tried to take a deep breath. And another. And another. Tina's hand squeezed his, still resting against her belly.

"I can still hear them," he finally choked out. "Their last screams."

Careful not to pinch or pull fur or feathers from the creatures resting on them, Tina gripped his shoulders. She held him at arm's length, tilting his torso to face her. "Look at me."

Newt shook his head.

"I will shake you. Niffly and Jane won't like that."

He forced his eyes to meet hers. She waited until she was sure she had his attention before speaking again, her voice stern and sharp.

"None of that was your fault."

"But-"

"No buts. Jack died for love. Misty and Tim died because your superiors didn't see dragons like you do, and there was no way for you to convince them that they weren't ready to fight. No-Majes killed Jo. Statistics killed Samantha. None of that was your fault. War doesn't care about feelings, war just takes, regardless of what any one person thinks or says or does. You did your best. You did everything you could, and I won't hear you saying otherwise ever again. Understood?"

Newt longed to believe her. "But if I had just-"

"No. You talked to your superiors, I know you did. I know you begged them for more food for Tim, to let Tim and Misty out of the battle, to not send Jo out against planes or Samantha out against superior numbers. I know they didn't listen, told you that dragons didn't get depressed, that a sick dragon was still a powerful war machine, that planes couldn't touch them, that experience would trump numbers. But you knew those things weren't true and did everything you could to get your dragons out of the fight, and then did everything you could to support them when you couldn't do that. The war just didn't care, because there are no winners in war, only survivors. So blame the war, not yourself. Understood?"

Slowly, hesitantly, Newt nodded.

"Good," Tina sighed, her voice abruptly gentle again. "Now come here."

She pulled him close, tucking him against her, holding him tight.

Newt didn't fight her this time.

"Remember them happy."

Jack shyly nudged his favorite rock towards Misty. She tucked it close to her heart, giving Jack an affectionate nudge.

Jo went cross-eyed trying to watch a vibrant orange butterfly land on her snout.

Tim puffed smoke out of his mouth, batting at it with his wingtip and watching it dissipate.

Samantha rested her head on the ground, watching Newt draw a picture of the quintet. He talked as he drew, telling her about his mother and her Hippogriffs, about his brother, about Leta, his expulsion, the creatures he'd researched and discovered. She listened attentively to every word.

Newt smiled.

-FBAWTFT-

"I'm fine. Why are you fussing so much?"

Dougal was hugging him, clinging to Newt like a monkey would cling to a tree. It wasn't uncomfortable for Newt, though it did make walking a bit awkward; Niffly further complicated the simple action by deciding to sit on his foot. Pickett was still nestled firmly in his hair, not that that was really unusual. Jane had draped herself around Newt's neck like a short scarf.

Tina wasn't much better. She had even recruited Queenie to follow him around, too.

"You are not fine," Queenie retorted. "You're doing that thing you do."

Newt raised an eyebrow at her. "Looking after my creatures? That thing?"

"Hiding in your creatures," Tina corrected. "Burying your emotions in your work."

Newt threw some food to the Mooncalves. "What am I supposed to do? I'm going to war in a couple weeks."

"I don't know," Tina began sarcastically. "Talk to your wife? Your sister-in-law? Your brother-in-law?"

"I'm talking to two of those people right now," Newt replied cheekily.

Tina slapped his arm.

Newt began inspecting his water habitats, making sure none of the water-breathers had gotten loose. Queenie bent down to help, but Tina stood by in a purely supervisory position, her arms crossed.

"Newton Artemis Fido Scamander."

Newt winced. She rarely broke out his full name.

Slowly, he straightened up and turned to face her, trying to put on his brightest, most disarming smile.

Unsurprisingly, it didn't work.

"Newt, you are going to war in a couple weeks. I didn't know you until years after the first war, but I get the feeling you didn't do well over there. You're an outcast, and the baby brother of a war hero. Soldiers don't care about your creatures – which will still be here in America, by the way. You're going to be alone again. You're going to get dragons, and you're going to lose them again. You might be fine for a day, maybe even a few weeks. But I don't- I don't want to imagine- you're not meant for war, Newt."

Tears shimmered in her eyes, her beautiful eyes. She bit her bottom lip to hide its tremble, turning her head away.

"You won't even get to see the birth of our child."

Working around his clingy creatures, Newt stepped forward. Gently, he wrapped Tina in his arms, rested his forehead on hers.

"I have something beautiful to come home to this time."

He smiled through his own tears as the baby kicked.

"I have something worth fighting for."

A/N: I like that ending. I think. Maybe. I dunno if I wrapped everything up with a neat little bow... Also, if you want to know why the Occamy's name is Jane, read my other Fantastic Beasts one-shot Never Alone.