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Chapter 60: What They Dreamed Of—The Prophecy (BoB Fanfiction)

A/N: I promise we're getting more actual plot soon haha. In the meantime, enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think!

Chapter Text

Dear Roo, 

I’M SO GLAD THAT I HEARD FROM YOU!�� I was pulling all my favors with the intelligence community and don’t mind the fact that I actually wrote to your pal Winters.  I just needed to make sure that you were alive since you hadn’t written in months.  But I was so glad to get your letter a few weeks ago.  

Things have been interesting, to say the least. I hit 25 missions with Rosie lately, but I don’t want to go home. Nothin’ to go home to if you’re not there, you know?  And besides that, I can’t go home without the rest of our brothers too.  I’m glad Nate has Buck and Bucky, they’ll keep him from going too crazy (though the imaginary baseball games that both Nate and Bucky seem to be having are worrying, Major Cleven wrote to me and told me about those). 

I’d like to think that things are winding down.  Our intelligence keeps coming in and things seem to be getting better.  We’re flying fewer and fewer missions.  In fact, we just ran a mission last week for food and relief in some of the countries that have been liberated already.  I like helping people.  Guess I get that from you. 

Winnie, I get the sense that something sorta awful happened to you and you’re not sayin’ something about it.  Which I understand, because you’re everything to everyone in our family.  But if you’re not okay, it’s our job to take care of you too.  So please, if there’s something I can do to take care of you in any way, please let me know. 

Your loving little brother, 

Charlie Allen 

Winnie could confidently say that she was more than proud of Charlie.  25 missions meant that he had beaten the odds. She knew from Nixon that the statistics for flight missions didn’t tend to end well. Now he just needed to continue beating the odds and then Winnie could breathe easier. 

She remembered when he had told her about some Captain Dye that had done it back when he was flying with Cleven’s fort and Winnie had been shocked to learn that so few, if any, ever made it to 25 missions.  So the fact that her baby brother, the one that she had raised from birth all the way to adulthood, had made it, had beaten the odds, had given her a huge glimmer of pride that was just blooming in her heart. 

“You seem unusually happy.  Did the German Army surrender or somethin’?” Liebgott questioned as Winnie pocketed the letter and approached one of the trucks. 

“Pretty sure you’d find out before medical does,” Winnie retorted with slight amusement. 

“Probably,” Liebgott grinned, chewing on a toothpick.  “Need a hand up?” 

Pausing for a moment, Winnie gratefully gave a nod and then accepted his hand up into the truck.  “Thanks,” she replied, taking a seat next to him.  She glanced over at him for a moment, noting the fact that he had found something to clean Eileen’s locket.  It was shiny and the silver now gleamed. 

“What?  I got somethin’ on my face?” Liebgott questioned, rubbing a hand over his jaw in a panic. 

“No,” Winnie reassured him.  “I just…you cleaned it,” she said in a gentler tone, glancing at the locket. 

His eyes flicked down to the locket, the only thing that he carried with him of Eileen.  “Yeah.  It got kinda rusty in Bastogne and it didn’t feel right to do that to her.  She was too clean cut, you know?  Bows and makeup and shit?” 

At that, she gave a smile.  “Yeah, she was.  You should’ve seen her hair-care routine.  An hour at least.” 

“Makes sense.  She had the best hair.  It always smelled like champagne.” 

“That’s just because you would get drunk on her,” Winnie murmured softly.  

Silence for a heavy beat.  And then Liebgott forced a smile onto his face.  “Yeah, I did.  Guess I just forgot what that felt like for a while there.” 

“You know, I’m not…one to dwell on…hard things,” Winnie said carefully, trying to figure out how to form the sentence she wanted to express.  “But if you ever want to talk about her, I miss her too.  And I know she’d be happy that we’re keeping her memory going.  And then probably swat at us both for cryin’ so damn much.” 

“True,” he said in a bittersweet sort of tone.  He paused for a minute. “Sometimes…I think she was lightning in a bottle.  No way it was going to last.  She was too…brilliant and beautiful and great for this world.” 

“Lightning in a bottle.  Maybe the poets of today aren’t all gone,” Winnie nudged his elbow with a warm sisterly smile.  

“God, you two are disgusting,” Webster mumbled, taking a seat across from them and giving them a look. Whether he meant that they were too warm and affectionate or whether he meant that he thought of them as a couple, neither one was sure of.  They were both just extremely sure that they did not like his tone.  

“Shut up,” Winnie and Liebgott chanted at the same time, giving him the same annoyed face of disgust.  

Webster’s retort died in his throat as the trucks began to roll out and singing began to overtake the trucks.  Winnie just leaned back in her seat, enjoying the dulcet tones of the men of Easy Company. 

“Wow, you guys should start some sorta choir or somethin’,” Winnie said, a shit-eating grin covering her features.  “I had a neighbor who used to live in Utah and she was part of some sort of Tabernacle Choir thing and man, it sounded fancy.  I’m sure you all could start some sort of group too.” 

“We’re no Sinatras,” Webster deadpanned. 

“No, Sinatra is a hell of a fine man and the rest of you…well…” Winnie trailed off, grin getting wider by the second.  

“You’re horrible, you know that?” Liebgott chuckled. 

“So my brothers have always told me.” 

The truck’s topic of conversation soon turned to more normal topics, which seemed a strange thing to Winnie. Though, considering that they were so close to the end of all of this, she supposed it was only natural for the men to start thinking about home and what their lives after this would look like. 

When Webster asked Liebgott what his plans were, Liebgott mumbled something about cab-driving, and then clammed up.  Eileen seemed to still be on his mind, and how do you even begin to say anything about losing the love of your life? 

Janovec was reading an article, and Luz kicked Winnie’s foot lightly.  She raised a brow, looking at him in confusion.  He merely gestured at Janovec with his head and a look that screamed, Watch this .  

“Hey Janovec, what ya reading?” Luz asked, bouncing his baseball up and down in his mitt.  

“An article.” 

“No shit.  What’s it about?” 

“Why we’re fighting the war.” 

At that, Luz gestured emphatically at Winnie and she had to try not to crack up horribly.  “Why are we fighting the war, Janovec?” Luz questioned. 

“It seems the Germans are bad.  Very bad.” 

“You don’t say,” Luz deadpanned. 

“And yet that doesn’t stop you all from getting into the local German girls’ beds and spreading all sorts of diseases,” Winnie stated dryly—causing almost every head to swivel over to hear with wide eyes.  “Oh don’t give me that look.  I treated two cases of STD’s yesterday alone.  I don’t care if you’re conquering heroes, wrap it before you tap it.  And God forbid you get one pregnant and she decides she wants child support.” 

“We…had not considered that angle,” Janovec stated, stiffly placing his article in his pocket. 

“No, I didn’t think you were considering much, according to Speirs,” Winnie grinned. 

“HE TOLD YOU?!” 

“We confer about potential medical concerns when necessary,” came the all too-innocent reply from Winnie.  

“Bullshit,” Liebgott grinned with a laugh. 

“I guess you’ll never know.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they came into a new town and took over an apartment, Winnie found the place still in commotion when they entered.  The mother of a particular apartment was arguing in German rapid-fire, tears in her eyes and there were still young children inside.  It clawed at her insides and at her heart unfairly and she watched as Speirs and Liebgott went back and forth with her for a minute. 

“We are not Nazis!” Came the reply from the woman as they were forced out of the house.  Winnie’s eyes lingered on the little girl carrying a teddy bear and tears streaming down her face. 

Winnie scowled after a moment and then shoved her way upstairs and into the little girl’s room, where Babe Heffron, Perconte, and Janovec were rifling through the room. “Oh hell no,” Winnie stated sternly in the doorway.  “Hands off the little girl’s stuff.” 

“Oh Winnie—” Perconte started. 

“No, do not break a little girl’s shit or I will personally screw you up,” Winnie said in a tone that eerily reminded each of them of their own mothers.  She stomped on over to the bed, grabbed the little girl’s blanket that seemed rather well-loved, and then marched back down the stairs. 

“Where are you—” Luz started at the doorway. 

“One minute!” Winnie snapped.  As soon as she was out the door, she found the little girl and her family crying down the hallway and being escorted out of the apartment building.  “Wait, wait—” She called, stopping the sergeant that was ushering them quickly.  She came to a stop in front of the little girl, handing her back the blanket. 

The mother seemed to stare at her as though she were a foreign angel and this was her ministry.  And then they were ushered away.  Winnie just stared at the empty spot, shaking her head.  She knew this was necessary, but she hated how it made her feel inside. 

“You know, you’re entirely too compassionate for this invasion.” 

“I’ve been told I’ve got shit bedside manner, actually,” Winnie said, turning to find Speirs leaning in the doorway. 

“It’s the kid thing, right?” 

“Women and kids, yeah.” 

He gave a nod.  “But you understand why we needed them out?” 

“Yes,” Winnie said with a nod.  “I just…couldn’t send a little girl out without her blanket.  I’ve been that kid too many times under my own father’s roof.” 

Silence for a long minute and Speirs furrowed his brow.  “That happen a lot when you were a kid?” 

“Too often for my liking,” Winnie replied, crossing back over to the apartment that Easy and its NCO’s had taken over.  “Not that it stopped me.  But it wasn’t necessarily character building, you know?” 

“No, I imagine it wouldn’t be.” He paused for a moment, appraising her with a look.  “You don’t…think I’m a monster, do you?” 

“Lipton and I are well aware you’ve got a heart of gold and that you care.  You just keep that tightly under lock and key,” Winnie replied in a reassuringly warm tone.  “It’s not a bad thing.  I just hope that when this is all over, you’re able to remember that it’s okay to let that out a little.” 

“And you?” 

“What about me?” 

“When this is all over?  You’re going to do the same thing?” 

“I’m going to do what I always do.  Help the wounded and the bleeding.  Save lives.  Try to make things better in some small way.  You know, same stuff I’m doing now.” 

Speirs just stared at her for a long minute.  At the delicate eyelashes and the rosy cheeks that were starting to come back after that brutal winter.  At the fact that she could remain so kind and be so cold externally like he was.  “You know, I don’t think there’d be any war if people were all like you.” 

At that, Winnie felt her face get slightly hot.  “Oh I don’t know, I’ve got a mean streak. I pulled a gun on my old man, you know.” 

And for the first time in a while, Captain Ronald Speirs threw his head back and he gave a laugh, shaking his head at her.  “That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.  God, you’re….” He paused, trailing off. 

“I’m what?” 

“I don’t know yet.  I’ll let you know when I figure it out.” 

“And you?  What are you going to do?” 

And Ronald Speirs just stood there, unsure of how to answer.  Because he was beginning to figure out that his future had to include Winnie Allen in it or he wasn’t sure that he wanted to have a future back in the states at all.  

“I think I’ll stick with the military.  I’m good at it.  Or so they tell me.” 

“I think I agree with them,” Winnie grinned.  “Well goodnight, Captain.” 

So why then, did her calling him Captain make his heart pang and hurt so damn much?  Oh yes, he was more ruined than he thought when it came to her.  

[luminouslywriting]

turn it up 🔊🔊🔊🔊

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TV tag game

Rules: without naming them, post a gif from ten of your favorite television shows, then tag ten people to do the same.

Thanks @dolphdrago for the tag :)

No pressure tags: @lambcow @hesbuckcompton-baby @ktredshoes @leopard-skin-pillbox-hat-ok @prettyinlimegreenboots @thedeviltohisangel

TV tag game

Rules: without naming them, post a gif from ten of your favorite television shows, then tag ten people to do the same.

Thank you so much for the tag, @fantasyquests! <3

Zero Pressure Tags: @ailendolin @radiant-sunlight-blueberry @thephoenixandthecrocodile @illegalcerebral @janacariad @acenby1999 @gauntletgirlie @wowstrawberrycow @themalhambird @valar-did-me-wrong @varda-star-queen @baddybaddyadardaddy @xximmortalkissxx @nekroticism @makeshiftdraco and whoever else wants to play <3

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Chapter 59: Stradivarius—The Prophecy (BoB Fanfiction)

A/N: As a bonus chapter for today since I'm in the car for 7+ hours, please have an entirely self-indulgent chapter since I'm a violinist myself haha. Enjoy and as always, let me know what you think!

Chapter Text

“For the love of God, do NOT get a German girl pregnant.  I swear to God, I will not let you live it down.” 

Winnie really hadn’t thought that a recent lecture would have been necessary for the men, given her passionate opinions about safe sex that were widely known throughout the ranks of Easy Company.  And given the fact that Colonel Sink had given a lecture to the men about spreading diseases or getting them very early on in the campaign—and Luz had the entire thing memorized too—

But upon the fourth time Winnie had accidentally walked into medical to find some random private with his pants down, half-inside a local German girl, Winnie had seen enough . 

She had kindly gathered them for mess, wherein she got atop a table and lectured the hell out of them, citing she would send letters to their mothers if she found another man in medical committing sexual acts.  

Needless to say, the story had spread around the group like wildfire and Winnie was back to being the terrifying doctor that Easy knew and loved (most of the time anyway). 

The push into Germany continued with Winnie being entirely underwhelmed by the stupid decisions of the men in their personal time, which seemed much more frequent now.  She supposed she could hardly complain about that, given the fact that she too had personal time and could write letters to her brothers and actually had time to heal up from her injuries which had been so grievous in the first place. 

Germany was beautiful.  It was wrecked and hollow.  And it was sad. 

Everywhere Winnie went, there was wreckage.  Homes torn apart.  Families separated or destroyed by war. 

But the weather was warming up.  Spring was practically here, minus the chill that seemed to linger and occasional bout of snow.  Such were winters.  Winnie wished she could remember the Georgia winters better, but after Bastogne, she didn’t think she’d ever want to live through another winter so long as she lived. 

The farms were endless and didn’t have a lot of food—but the men saw fit to take what they needed as needed. 

Such were the spoils of war. 

And looting— god the looting, she despised it .  Winnie hadn’t stolen a damn thing the entire time she’d been in Germany.  And everywhere the men went, they’d find silverware or jewelry or something to nick.  Multiple people had mentioned to her that she should take what she felt she deserved. 

She hadn’t touched the damn things. 

They were cursed in her mind and what use did she have for Nazi silverware in the first place? 

It was one such moment that they had reached a particular German town that was full of wealth and this was Winnie’s one moment of weakness.  They had just (peacefully, mind you) kicked a German family out of their home and the house was practically being ransacked.  Winnie paid no mind to it, not one to get involved in such juvenile behavior.  

“You’re really not gonna take something?” Liebgott asked her, pocketing a solid gold pocketwatch. 

“No,” Winnie said sharply.  “My pastor back home already thinks I’m going to hell and he and God don’t need another reason to support that.” 

“Worrywart,” Malarkey mumbled, shaking his head at her. 

“I’ll stick to my morals, thanks.” 

Her morals, admittedly, did not last very long. 

When Talbert came down the stairs, carrying a long case that he thought for sure must have some sort of a weapon in it— and it was violin shaped —and he started beating at the lock, Winnie nearly bit his head off, moving faster than anyone had seen her move in weeks. 

“Not a weapon, not a weapon!” She snapped quickly, shoving his hands out of the way. 

Everyone turned to see the situation as she pulled a hair clip from her hair and began to pick at the lock. “Shit, Roo, when did you learn that?” Liebgott questioned, leaning over her shoulder in a nosy manner.

“I was 10 and my dad had locked us out of the house when a hurricane hit,” Winnie retorted, not even batting an eye as she answered it. 

Dead silence.

“Your dad sounds like a deadbeat,” Luz deadpanned. 

“He’s a piece of shit, that’s for sure,” Winnie said. 

“Who?” Speirs questioned, entering the room and surveying the scene ahead of him.  

“Roo’s dad,” Luz, Liebgott, and Talbert said in unison. 

“Shut up,” Winnie insisted, finally getting the lock off. 

Almost instantly, everyone had crowded around the case and Winnie just stared at the gorgeous piece inside.  “A….mini-cello?” Talbert asked, voice sounding glum and full of disappointment. 

In response to that, Winnie flicked him upside the head.  “It’s a violin, you dunce.  And not just any violin,” she murmured, studying it closely. “Holy shit, this is a Strad.” 

“Isn’t that an STD?” Luz mumbled to Liebgott. 

“No,” Speirs said in a deadpan.  “It’s a make of violin.” 

“What’s the big deal?” 

Winnie was still just staring at the thing.  “Stradivarius.  There’s only, like, 500 in the world.  It’s the best violin that exists,” she mumbled, hand running over the smooth wood and nearly shuddering at the sensation. 

“Say, Winnie, how do you know so much about violins in the first place?” Liebgott questioned, giving her a look. 

“My mother used to play.  She had a violin and she’d play every Sunday for us kids.  Best part of the week.  Then she died and I kept the violin.  Stupid of me, I know.  It could have been sold for money or to feed my brothers.  But it was all I had left of her.  I kept it hidden.  My old man sold all of her clothes and everything else that was hers,” Winnie murmured, hand straying to the bow now. 

“So you play?” 

Winnie was silent for a long minute.  “I used to.  And then he found it when I was 13 and broke the thing into pieces to make a point.” 

Silence for a long and heavy moment. 

“You should take it,” Speirs said, still standing a few feet behind them, eyes locked onto Winnie. 

She paused, feeling the lump in her throat more presently than before.  “I couldn’t,” Winnie murmured. “It’s…too…I don’t—” 

“So help me if you say that it’s too good to be owned by you, I’m gonna shove another Hershey bar in your face,” Luz retorted, this time flicking her on the head. 

That caused her to elbow him, giving him a firm look.  “It’s a Strad. It’s meant to be played by someone who knows how.” 

“So play us something?” Speirs suggested, hands straying to his pockets. 

Everyone swiveled to face him, trying to determine if he was joking or not.  Which would have been ridiculous.  Winnie knew that Speirs did not joke.  And if he did, he’d never done so in front of her.  She tended to bring out a more serious side of him anyway.  “I…I don’t know,” Winnie murmured, trying to close the case. 

“Oh you cannot just drop more Winnie backstory on us and tell us that you knew how to play the violin, get presented with a golden opportunity, then not play for us,” Talbert pointed out. 

Winnie shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “I haven’t played since I was 13.” 

“So?” Speirs pointed out. 

“Fine,” Winnie grumbled, delicately picking up the violin—it was the most expensive thing she had ever touched, after all.  She raised it and tightened the bow, and then set out to play one of the simpler songs that she remembered her mother playing—a church hymn, if she remembered correctly. 

Her fingers fumbled as she went and the song was messier than she remembered her mother ever playing. But the sound, god the sound , it filled every room in the house and not a single person that was scattered in the house made a sound until the piece was over and done. 

And then she stood there for a moment, quietly setting down the violin.  “Shit, Winnie.  That was like an angel,” Liebgott mumbled, shaking his head and blinking back ferociously. 

“Well thank you,” she stated, setting down the violin and firmly closing the case.  “I still can’t take it.” 

That, of course, triggered an argument.  But she left the violin behind.  And unbeknownst to anyone, Speirs took the violin straight to the mail station, marked the box carefully, and then told the private running it that if anything happened to the violin, he’d hold the man personally financially responsible. 

Stradivarius violins happened to be worth more than anything they had thus far found.  Including a house likely.  

And then he went about his business.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that afternoon, Winnie found herself on a singular assignment.  She had been pulled aside by Dick for the first time in a long while.  They had spoken in quiet and low tones about the fact that Lewis Nixon was not, in fact, doing well at all.  Winnie had known this.  

She just hadn’t been able to do anything about it until she was breathing steadily herself and felt as though she wasn’t going to drop dead. 

He had been on a jump into Germany earlier that morning.  And he had been one of perhaps three men who had survived the jump.  The entire plane had gone up in flames and they had all died horrifically violent deaths.  That was the sort of thing that tended to stick with someone like a ghost in a graveyard.  

Besides, they had sat in silence for too long.  

Winnie knew it was time to stop avoiding it.  Time to actually say what they had been avoiding and skirting around for months now.  

It wasn’t hard to find him.  He was sitting where Dick had left him in one of the houses, nursing a headache and drinking alcohol.  None of that surprised her.  Winnie was quiet for a long minute as she lingered in the doorway, keeping her gaze on him and trying to figure out how to untangle her feelings from what was needed right now. 

Finally, she pushed off from the doorway, crossed over to him, and took the bottle from him.  “Cutting me off now?” Nixon’s voice was near to a slur and she just stared at him. 

She didn’t like hearing his voice so slurred that he didn’t seem himself. 

“Yes.” 

“What are you, my mother?” 

“No,” Winnie slammed the bottle back down on the table and pulled the chair next to his right up next to him, so close that their knees knocked together.  “I’m your friend.  And I’m done not talking to you.” 

Silence for a moment. 

He just looked up through pained eyes.  “Winnie—” 

“I’m sorry,” Winnie said quietly.  

“You don’t have to be—” 

“Not that it happened.  I couldn’t have controlled that.  I’m sorry that it is hurting you so much.  I know…that we could’ve had a great life.  It would’ve been good.  But Lew, it wasn’t meant to be.  And I’m sorry that a second chance got taken from you.  For what it’s worth, I think you would’ve been great.” 

He fiddled with his dog tags for a moment, just staring hollowly at the nearly empty bottle of alcohol.  “You think so?” 

“I know so,” Winnie said softly, placing a gentle hand on his. 

Nixon didn’t flinch away from that, and he just let out a shaky breath.  “You know I love you to death, right?” He mumbled, wiping a hand over his face. 

“Yeah, I do.  And I love you to death too.  It’s just not like that for us.” 

“No, it’s not,” he agreed tiredly.  “I shouldn’t have been….so bitter.  It just hurts.” 

“I know.  Believe me, I know.  I can still feel it.  It hurts me too,” Winnie said.  

This time, he gave her hand a squeeze.  “We’re not too good at this whole handling it on our own thing, are we?” 

“Hell no,” Winnie gave a half-laugh.  “Are we good?” 

Silence again.  “We’re good.  And for what it’s worth, you would’ve been more than great at it too.  Just for the record.” 

“Well I don’t know about that—” 

“Well I do.  So shut up and take the compliment,” he said, giving her a slight elbow to her arm. 

“Come on,” Winnie said, giving him a hand.  “Don’t you have announcements to give?” 

“As a matter of fact, I do.” 

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 58: A Rose By Any Other Name—The Prophecy (BoB Fanfiction)

A/N: Kicking my feet, giggling, twirling my hair for this chapter. I'm on vacation and I have elected to give you a nice little breather before we launch into some of the heavier stuff yet again. But man...the crashouts that are coming? Chef's kiss. As always, let me know what you think and please enjoy!

Chapter Text

Winnie wasn’t sure how she had gotten elected to have the master bedroom and the actual bed—except for the fact that there was no argument over it and dead silence when the room was assigned to her.  She knew that she had come in late when they were assigning things throughout the houses they were staying in for the night, but the master bedroom was almost always reserved for the Captain or someone higher up. 

That being said, Liebgott immediately turned to her, gave her a crooked smile and patted her uninjured shoulder.  “I guess it pays to have a shoulder wound and breasts.” 

It was that particular line that earned him a sharp punch from her uninjured arm.  “Shut up,” Winnie hissed.  

Still, Luz chuckled and it was a withering look from Winnie that got him too to shut up.  Naturally, Roe had been right and boobs were a sign from God amongst these men, evidently.  Winnie was more than tired when she ended up in the room, and though this was war and she felt entirely justified being in the house, she felt entirely guilty about keeping a whole elderly couple out in the barn for the night. 

The room was warmly lit and actually had a decent enough fire in the corner, so cold wouldn’t be a problem for Winnie tonight.  But it was the sight of the bed itself that nearly undid Winnie Allen right then and there. 

She took her time undressing down to her underthings, carefully given her shoulder injury.  Winnie slowly peeled out of the uniform, letting out a heavy breath and letting her shoulders relax.  She crossed the room and took the pitcher of the water that she had brought with her, dousing a towel into it. 

Gently, she began to wipe the grime from her neck and shoulders and face, feeling clean once again. 

Winnie found herself pausing to glance in the mirror for just a moment.  Call it vanity or selfishness, but for whatever reason, Winnie wanted to see if she still resembled the woman that she had been before all of this.  Before the miscarriage and the violation and the starving and looking so frightfully thin and sickly. 

And to her surprise, she was still there. 

Still with fire in her eyes. 

Some color slowly returning to her face.  Still thin and bonier than she would have liked.  

But alive, nonetheless.  

Taking great care to unbind her bun from her head, Winne let her mangled mess of a mane down from its nest.  She carefully picked through the hair and its yarn-like mess of knots until soft and thick curls had replaced the knots. 

Yes, still alive. 

Still a woman. 

Still me.  

And yes, she locked the door and went to bed after that. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In her dream, Winnie was being held down, crushed into the dirt of the earth. She could still feel the pressure of her face being forced into the mud, could hear the sound of clothes ripping, could feel the violent entry—

She sat up with a sharp gasp, immediately slamming her arm into her mouth and biting down on it like she was some sort of dog.  Toccoa’s ears perked up and in seconds, the dog was at her chest, nuzzling into her as Winnie let silent tears of panc and forgotten pain stream down her face. 

Her teeth gnawed into the arm and it wasn’t until Toccoa barked that Winnie realized that she had broken skin. 

For a minute, she didn’t do anything, she just sat there in the bed.  The bed that was too soft, the pillows that actually let her rest, the blankets that actually gave warmth—and all of it just felt wrong .  Her heart was rapidly beating so fast that she thought it might beat right out of her chest.  She was not one to panic.  Not one to lose her composure like this. 

But it had come clawing into her dreams, flashes of the nightmarish hell that she had survived.  She could still feel what had been done to her, right down to her bones and the fleshy tables of her heart. 

The blood streamed down her arm—a light gash from where she had bitten down to keep herself from screaming.  Winnie just sat there, tucking her legs up to her chest and rocking back and forth for a minute.  She felt no better than a little girl who wanted and needed someone to comfort her. 

Which was ridiculous, given her near 29 years of life on this earth. 

She was a grown woman and she didn’t require coddling or infantilization. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” she murmured to herself, voice barely above a whisper.  

It took her another fifteen minutes to have the strength to pull herself out of the bed.  Her body still felt utterly wrecked, but it was starting to feel like hers again.  Minus this damn shoulder wound—and as she was dressing in her uniform, she found herself staring at the ugly wound that it had left.  

Hadn’t she agreed to not be a hero?  Hadn’t she agreed to not be self-sacrificing?  Hadn’t she promised her brothers that she’d put her own survival first? 

So why then, had she so foolishly taken a bullet for Ronald Speirs?  And why then, was she so sure that she would do it again in a heartbeat if necessary? 

The thought gave her a strange feeling in her chest.  Like she was winding up her organs and twisting them into knots.  It was an unfamiliar feeling, one that she didn’t altogether like and wasn’t sure she was ready to face. Because the fact of the matter was that she would have done it for most of the men in Easy Company without a moment of hesitation. 

It’s just that Ronald Speirs happened to be different in her mind and she wasn’t quite sure why. 

After that nightmare and feeling the weakness in her shoulder, Winnie didn’t have the energy or strength to actually pull her hair back into its normally wound tight bun.  She let her mess of rather large curls just sit there—determined that after having breakfast, she’d get some energy from that and then she would do her hair. 

Now Winnie didn’t think that this was such a big deal. 

And normally, she would have been right. 

But the fact of the matter was that even though she was with Easy Company day in and day out, they hadn’t seen another woman besides her in weeks or months.  And it just so happened that most of the time, they forgot that Winnie was, in fact, a woman.  So the minute that Winnie descended the stairs and entered into the kitchen where mess was being served, she hardly noticed the dead silence. 

She made her way to the coffee, pouring some into a mug for herself and taking a sip of it.  And it was at this moment that Malarkey crossed himself rather pointedly, shaking his head at the ceiling. 

“Shit, Winnie, you’re gonna give us all heart attacks,” Luz piped up from his spot at the table. 

At that, she turned and piqued a brow at the men, giving them her best deadpan expression.  “Excuse me?” 

“Your--your hair?” Liebgott gestured at the mess of curls. 

“Yes, I know.  I’m going to put it up as soon as I’m done with breakfast—” 

“Oh don’t do that!” Shifty blurted out. 

Now this was the moment that Winnie set down her coffee, crossed her arms, and gave them all an annoyed expression.  “Oh please don’t tell me that you’re all having a moment with God because of my hair,” she stated in deep distaste. 

A nervous laugh spilled from a couple of them and Winnie just rolled her eyes.  “Can you blame them?  With your hair down, they’re reminded that you’re a woman,” Liebgott pointed out  in amusement. 

“That’s it—when we get to a good stopping point, you’re giving me a haircut and I’m never taking my helmet off again,” Winnie stated dryly.  

“Now that’s a damn shame,” Webster mumbled. 

Winnie’s sharp gaze turned onto him and she nearly grabbed the nearest spoon to smack him with it, but thought better of it as Lipton and Speirs entered the room.  Winnie just turned back to her coffee, took a bite of the oatmeal that Malarkey had cooked up, and stayed leaning against the wall as everyone returned to their own conversations. 

“Well boys, we’ve got mail call for the first time in a while,” Lipton announced with a warm and weary smile. 

Almost immediately, morale jumped up at the thought and everyone perked up in the room.  It had been too long since they had had a normal mail call like this, but no one would be complaining about that right now. 

“Talbert, Randleman, Spina, Perco, and Martin, you’ve all got mail,” Lipton said, holding up the letters for them to come and collect from him. 

Excitement spilled through the room and Wininie gave a half-smile at the warmth in which the excitement was creating around the room.  It had been a long while since she had seen any of the men this happy or joyful about anything, and though it was simple as mail, it was something from home and it made a difference. 

“Toccoa, come on,” Winnie gave a short whistle, leading Toccoa out of the kitchen.  

She had gotten no further than the front entryway to the home, intent on heading up the stairs to go and finish getting her hair up, when footsteps sounded behind her.  “Winnie,” Speirs had appeared behind her and she turned to face him, pausing near the stairs. 

“Yes?” 

For a moment, he just seemed frozen—staring at her for a few seconds, eyes lingering on her mess of curls that had fallen around her shoulders.  He blinked, jaw setting back into place and then straightened up.  “This came for you,” he said, holding up a letter. 

“You always do personal mail deliveries?” Winnie asked in slight amusement. 

“Only for people who take a bullet for me,” Speirs retorted without missing a beat, giving her a half-smile of his own. 

At that, Winnie couldn’t help the grin on her face.  “Well that’s good to know.  Thank you,” she said, accepting the letter from him. 

“It’s not from the war department, so…good news probably,” Speirs added. 

She glanced down at the letter, lighting up as she opened it—realizing it was from Robbie and she hadn’t heard from him since before even October.  “It’s from Robbie,” she said.  “So yeah, definitely good news,” she breathed out. 

“Good.” 

Winnie was scanning the letter for any news of injuries and she had hardly noticed that a rather curly strand of hair had fallen in front of her face.  She was in the process of folding the letter back up when something flickered in her vision and she froze—Captain Ronald Speirs was tucking the damnable strand of hair back behind her ear. 

He seemed to realize the same thing—that he had done it without thinking—and he froze too. 

Clearing his throat and hands dropping to his sides, Speirs just gave a tight smile.  “Your hair’s not regulation this morning.”  

“No, it’s not,” Winnie agreed evenly.  “I was just about to get it up,” she promised. 

Speirs shifted uncomfortably.  “See that you do.” And with that, he had disappeared back into the kitchen for breakfast. 

Winnie just stood there for a minute, trying to process what the hell that entire thing was.  Her face felt flushed and hot and it was entirely too girlish and stupid in her opinion.  So she glanced down at Toccoa, who was looking up at her with rather large eyes.  “Oh don’t give me that look,” she chided the dog. 

They headed upstairs and back into the room that she had taken for the night, where Winnie did, in fact, quite quickly, get her hair pulled back into its normally tight bun. 

Much better.  

The last thing she needed was men getting weird about the fact that she was a woman this far into the war. 

It took her a couple minutes of getting the room cleaned up before Winnie felt like she could process what had gone on down in the entryway of the home and could even think about opening the letter.  She wasn’t about to leave the elderly couple’s room a mess.  That would have been too unkind for her taste. 

She sat back down on the bed, hand smoothing out her hair, wondering what the hell had gotten into Speirs and just what had possessed him to do what he had done.  The best she could figure is that even men like him tended to forget what it was to see a woman. 

Ugh, men. 

Winnie turned her attention to the letter in her lap, forcing any thoughts of Speirs and his hands from her mind.  

Dear Winnie, 

It feels like it’s been a lifetime since we’ve spoken.  I’m exhausted, Win.  I don’t know if there’s ever going to be an end to any of this.  I’m writing to you from a hospital aboard a ship somewhere. I took shrapnel to the back after an explosion and thought for sure I’d die. 

It’s the strangest thing to say, but while I was lying there, I tried to remember what mom looked like.  I couldn’t though. I could only imagine you.  I guess that’s part of why I’m writing.  I know I’ve been shit at it.  I know you’ve deserved more letters than you’ve gotten from me. 

But I also haven’t heard from you in months and even with the backlog of mail, that’s just not like you.  I’m worried.  I heard about Nate.  Got word to both Richie and Josh.  None of us are particularly taking it well.  But I think that being a prisoner of war over there is probably better than over here.  Maybe someday I’ll tell you about what I’ve found out about it.  Maybe I won’t.  

I wish we were all together again.  I’d very much like for all of us to be back in our house when all of this is over.  Maybe watch a baseball game and make fun of dad.  Anyway, I hope this letter finds you well.  I hope that you’re doing okay.  

I miss you, 

Robbie Allen 

Winnie just let out a heavy breath.  Injuries meant he wouldn’t be in the field for a while.  And she’d take that as a tender mercy as sure as she knew the Lord meant it as one.  Down below, she could hear people grabbing their stuff and the trucks getting ready to start off again.  

“Stay safe,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the folded letter, then shoved it into her pocket and grabbed her pack.  

On to Bavaria. 

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 57: Poor Wayfaring Stranger

A/N: I like to call this one I'm doing worse because I have blood clotting apparently, but this is my aggressive way to cope. And in case you're wondering how Winnie is handling her trauma from men in a group that consists only of men, here's a clue. Enjoy and as always, let me know what you think!

Chapter Text

Dear Nate, 

I’m sure mail isn’t getting to you well and well, to be honest, mail hasn’t really been getting here either.  I just barely got your letter that you had sent--though I’m not sure when exactly you sent it.  Things have been cold.  We were in foxholes and that’s all I’ll say on that matter.  I haven’t heard from anyone else in months.  And to be honest, I haven’t had a second to write.  It hasn’t been safe enough. 

I’m alive.  I’m doing well, minus a few injuries here or there.  Nothing serious, I promise.  I’d tell you if it was.  I’m glad that you’re with some friends of Charlie’s at the very least.  I’m sorry that I don’t have much to say, but here’s some proof of life.  I’m alive.  I’m okay.  I think things are going to be okay.  I hope to see you soon. 

All my love, 

Winnie the Roo Allen

Winnie stared at the letter at which she had penned for Nate.  It was pathetically short, something she thought was honestly a waste of paper.  But she supposed that if she was sending proof of life to her brother and giving him peace of mind in the Stalag, as well as fulfilling a request from Speirs (who had insisted that writing was a good idea), then it was worth it. 

They had rolled out from Hagenau the day prior and Winnie was fairly neutral about the entire thing.  Of course, getting shot had not been on her list of plans.  Neither had losing a patient after already performing a surgery that should have saved him. 

Entering Germany felt as though they were standing at the jaws of hell itself. 

She wasn’t sure if they were going to be swallowed whole by it or if they would destroy the beast from the inside out. 

That remained to be seen. 

The intelligence was that the war was winding down and that surrender was certainly on the minds of the German high command.  Still, fighting till the last possible second seemed like a good waste of lives, especially if surrender or an official end to the fighting was in sight. 

Human nature tended to be confusing in that way. 

She remembered a story from when she was a little girl.  Before her mother had died.  Back before her father had turned into the monster that he was. An old war buddy had come to see him and her mother.  Winnie had only been about five, so the entire memory was a little fuzzy in the first place. 

But the story had gone like this: Winnie’s father had been in France when the official surrender was announced.  But rather than just have a ceasefire immediately because of the entire thing, they were all going to fight until the last second.  And Winnie’s father had been in the trenches at the time.  He watched one of his best friends get shot right through the head right in front of him. 

The war had ended not even five minutes later. 

Winnie didn’t forget that story.  Couldn’t erase it from her mind. She had spent the next week and a half with nightmares, dreaming of trenches and seeing her baby brothers, all toddlers at the time, dying from the gas and bullets.  

Irony was a bitch, she supposed.  

And she prayed to God that history would not repeat itself with some sort of sickening ceasefire or peace that would still be bringing in bodies and calling the reaper himself to come and collect. 

They were so close. 

She could feel it in her bones. 

Sitting next to Don Malarkey and Joe Liebgott, Winnie listened as they counted until they had passed over the threshold and into Germany.  The entire company had seemed to be holding their breaths.  But once they had crossed the line, nothing had happened.  The forest still remained still and Winnie just gave a look to Liebgott and Malarkey. 

“Well that was entirely anticlimactic,” Malarkey mumbled out. 

“Would you have preferred sniper fire?” Winnie shot right back at him.  

“No, ma’am, I would not,” Malarkey said wisely. 

“Good.  Don’t jinx us,” Liebgott warned sharply, elbowing Malarkey slightly.  

It may have well been too late for that. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first day into Germany wasn’t bad at all.  In fact, they met little to no resistance as they continued forward, trucks chugging along and into one of the more secure border-towns.  Winnie wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but finding a perfectly normal-looking town wasn’t it at all. 

Though, she supposed, the war department was doing its job correctly if she was thinking they would find medieval death traps and whatnot.  The fact of the matter was that Winnie was acutely aware of what was propaganda and what was not.  She didn’t put much stock in whatever material was sourced to the military to give it its intelligence.  Everything was at a bias anyway. 

One of the worst things about war? 

You forget that everyone in it is human.  Even the ones who have lost their humanity retain the simple fact that they are human too. 

How did Winnie Allen retain her humanity when so much had been done to strip her of dignity and humanity itself? 

She was a healer.  A doctor.  

And that meant that she saw the worst of mankind and their lowest lows—the moments right before death stole you away with a kiss in the middle of the night.  But she also saw the moments where humanity built its resilience.  The man who continued breathing through the night against all odds.  The person who woke up even when the odds were stacked against them. 

If everyone in this world was a healer, then perhaps it would be a kinder world. 

When they came to a stop in a small town just on the edge of everything, Winnie was aching from head to toe and Toccoa was rubbing her head against her leg.  As if even the dog knew that Winnie was hurting . 

Dogs had a way of knowing things, Winnie supposed. 

As always, Winnie waited until she was the last one still on the truck.  She had every intention of climbing down herself, but Toccoa giving a bark soon lent itself to Roe appearing like some sort of panicked guardian angel and giving her a look that read absolutely do not step down off of the truck without help . 

“Before you start complainin’,” Roe drawled, giving Winnie a sharp look.  “You’re much worse off than the other men, so I will be helpin’ you down.” 

“Such a Southern gentleman,” Winnie deadpanned. 

Still, she allowed him to carefully take her elbow and help her down.  As soon as she was on her own two feet again, Toccoa started licking at Roe’s knees.  The dog particularly seemed to like Roe, and Winnie could hardly blame her for that. 

“I think she likes you more than she likes me,” Winnie observed with a half-smile. 

“I’m nicer than you are,” Roe cracked a grin.  

“I’m afraid I’ve set a pathetically low bar and precedent for that, so it’s hardly an accomplishment to be nicer than me,” Winnie retorted. 

The two of them began to walk towards one of the homes that Easy Company was taking charge of.  It was unfortunate, seeing the elderly couple that lived there being pushed from their home—Winnie felt a deep discomfort over the fact.  But no one else in the company seemed to find a problem with it. 

Winnie likely would have walked into the home without a single problem— but she noticed a gash on the old man’s forehead and the wife weeping over it .  

Something seemed to stir within Winnie.  Likely some sort of righteous anger at mistreatment that easily could have been them as prisoners of war.  So before Roe could even stop her, Winnie dashed into the home, grabbed Liebgott by the elbow.  “I need you for a translation.” 

“What—” Liebgott barely got a chance to bite the words out before Winnie was whisking him back outside into the cold and Roe was still standing there with the dog, dumbfounded by the turn of events. 

Winnie dragged Liebgott over to the old couple.  Upon further inspection, the elderly gentleman was bleeding from a gash right above his eye and clutching at his head.  “Tell them I’m a doctor and I want to know what happened to him,” Winnie insisted.  

For a moment, Liebgott just looked between Winnie and the old couple.  Then he gave a deep sigh, realizing that Winnie was not about to just let this one go.  He crouched down in front of the old woman, beginning to speak with her—and when the old couple turned their stares onto Winnie, Winnie moved with her medical kit, carefully cleaning up the gash around the man’s eye. 

“Well?” Winnie questioned. 

“Their names are Heinrich and Lizelle Becker.  He’s 87 and she’s 82.” 

“And?” 

Liebgott just shifted uncomfortably, turning to face her as she finished cleaning up the cut around the eye.  “One of the men did this.” 

“Our men?” Winnie asked sharply.  He gave a nod of discomfort and then Winnie just straightened as though she had been struck by lightning.  “Tell him it won’t happen again and that we’re sorry to put them out of their home,” she instructed, before turning to head into the house. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To chew out the son of a bitch that did this!” Winnie called back. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To say that Winnie was a woman scorned or angry would have been a gross understatement. No, she was a woman with storm under her skin, crackling and coming to life with thunder booming from her chest and lightning in her eyes.  She looked crazed.  She looked maniacal. 

She looked alive for the first time in weeks. 

So when Winnie stormed straight into the company mess and just slammed her medical kit down on one of the tables—the entire company shut the hell up quicker than you could say flash or thunder.  They all just sat there and Winnie stared at them, steam practically spilling from her ears. 

“Uh, Winnie—” Malarkey started. 

“Can it!” Winnie snapped, gaze sharply turning to him for a brief moment.  

The words died in Malarkey’s throat and everyone just sat there for a second, trying to figure out where the icy fire had come from.  Liebgott arrived a second later, with Roe hot on his heels.  “Winnie, maybe you should—” Liebgott abruptly cut himself off, sensing the amount of anger that was just bursting from her.  

“I’m going to ask this once and only once,” Winnie said in a tone of steel.  “Who the hell decided to hit the old man in the face on their way in?” 

You could have heard a pin drop.  The silence was so thick, so tense, so utterly uncomfortable, that no one felt quite safe at this moment.  

“Either someone fesses up or I’ll bring the man in and let him identify you in front of the company,” Winnie deadpanned. 

There was some slight shuffling in the chairs and then Cobb stood up.  Winnie could have guessed that it was him.  He was still upset over what had happened to Jackson—not that Winnie could blame him for that—and his rage had been spilling out a lot lately.  “It was me.” 

“And just what in God’s good name compelled you to hit an 87 year old civilian?” Winnie hissed. 

“He’s a German—” 

“ SO?! ” Winnie snapped so fast and in a tone unbeknownst to any of the men.  

“So I thought—” 

“If you had been thinking at all, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Winnie cut him off.  “That old man had nothing to do with Jackson’s death!” 

“He—” 

“He had nothing to do with it!” Winnie snarled out.  “So let me make myself perfectly clear to every single person in this damn room.  Yes, we are in Germany now.  And yes, the Germans have killed a lot of good men.  A lot of our friends.  But taking that out on German civilians is unacceptable.” 

“Winnie—” Luz started. 

“No, I mean it.  Unacceptable.  Because once you start doing that, then you make yourself no better than they are.  One minute it’s hitting an old man in the face and thinking that you’re such a man for doing it, and the next it’s chasing a thirteen year old girl through the woods and raping her,” Winnie finished in a heavy breath. 

Dead silence. 

Horrified complete silence . 

Horror in Roe’s eyes as he realized just what Winnie was afraid of.  

“So no, I don’t care if you think they were involved in something.  I don’t care how old they are or what gender they are.  Unless you see them explicitly trying to hurt you, pull a gun on you, or informing on you, you leave the civilians the hell alone.  Do I make myself perfectly fucking clear?” 

Silence again. 

And then the door creaked open and Speirs stepped into the room, taking in the scene in record time.  “Do we have a problem here?” He questioned, eyes lingering on Winnie for a second. 

Lipton, who had heard the entire thing, just leaned forward and whispered into his ear.  Then Captain Speirs straightened up, and the expression on his face matched the one on Winnie’s.  “The next man who harms a civilian will find himself getting court-martialed and on latrine duty.  Understood?” 

Silence, shaky nods, panicked expressions. 

And then Winnie stormed from the room, unable to even stomach being in the same room as Cobb anymore.  It was nearly an half hour later when Speirs came walking out of the mess with a bowl of soup and took a seat beside Winnie and Toccoa. 

“I hear it was quite the impassioned speech you gave,” he stated dryly, pushing her the bowl. 

“Thank you,” Winnie murmured, pinching the bridge of her nose.  She exhaled and then gratefully took the soup.  “I didn’t mean to get so angry.” 

“I think you’re perfectly justified in it.” 

“I just think…” Winnie paused for a minute, looking at him intently.  “That we have to be better than what we suffer.  Or none of this is worth anything.” 

“Thought you were against moral high ground.” 

“That was before I was ruined.” 

“You’re not.” 

“Not what?” 

“Ruined,” Speirs said quietly, hand stroking over Toccoa’s fur.  Toccoa leaned her head onto his lap and Speirs just sat there beside her in silence for a moment.  “I think you’re steel, Winnie Allen.” 

And for Winnie?  That was enough. 

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 56: Last to Wake—The Prophecy (BoB Fanfiction)

Notes:

A/N: Admittedly, I like this chapter a lot. And admittedly, there's a lot here to unpack and lot's of symbolism and foreshadowing, oops. So please, enjoy a mid-week surprise since I think I've got a cyst growing in my stomach and I need a distraction. Enjoy and as always, let me know what you think!

Chapter Text

When Winnie finally roused from the depths of her sleep, it was around chow-time for the men and the sun was beginning to dip over the horizon.  There was something she hated about winter and it was the fact that it got dark so quickly.  No, Winnie much preferred the sweltering heat of summers and the days that stretched on forever with the sun daring to stay out as long as it could. 

Winter was grimmer. 

And she was certain that she was going to hate winter for the rest of her life because of what she had survived in the winter of 1944 and the early winter of 1945.  

She slowly sat up, took her time getting dressed again.  The last thing she needed was to rip a stitch.  The truth of the matter was that she was feeling much better after all of this rest.  She was certain that it was the most rest that she had received since joining the military as a doctor in the first place—which wasn’t necessarily a good sign, but what was a woman to do?

Her shoulder was tender and it took much longer than she found necessary to get her shirt actually over her bandaged shoulder and cover herself up again. 

But once it was done, Winnie felt much more secure about her chances of venturing over to the makeshift mess.  She had no sooner made it towards the front of medical that she found herself cornered by Roe. 

“Goin’ somewhere?” He questioned, arms crossed and brow furrowed at the sight of her. 

“Well I was hoping you’d escort me to mess,” Winnie replied evenly. 

She could see the gears turning in his head, the way he was trying to figure out what she was really up to.  And the fact of the matter was that very pathetically, Winnie just didn’t want to be alone again.  So she just stood there and waited for him to piece together the dots. 

“Seriously?” 

“Well I figure that seein’ me alive will help quell nerves before the mission tonight,” Winnie replied, clutching the blanket around herself and giving Roe a look.  “Plus, Speirs saw fit to promote me, so if I give an order—” 

“You’re entirely manipulative, you know that?” 

“And you’ve gotten too bossy,” Winnie gave a dry smile. 

Roe stood there for a moment more, considering her words.  Then his shoulders deflated and he just glanced down at the ground, then up at the sky as if to ask the good Lord how he got saddled with babysitting his CO—and then looked back at her.  “Fine, let’s go.  But if you rip those stitches, I’m tellin’ ya’ that I told ya’ so.” 

“Fair enough,” Winnie murmured, giving a half-smile.  

With that, he began walking beside her, albeit slowly, to escort her to mess.  “Malarkey’s cookin’ again,” Roe said after a beat of silence. 

“Damn, not the Irish kid,” Winnie groaned.  “Remember D-Day and that damn stew?” 

“It was disgusting,” Roe deadpanned. 

“I hope he’s gotten better at it,” Winnie said, trying not to laugh—the action would’ve hurt her lungs too much at the moment. 

“One can only hope.” Roe paused as he walked alongside her, glancing over and studying her intently.  “You seem….I don’t know—lighter?” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

“I think so,” Roe said with a half-smile.  “Any reason for it?” 

Winnie was quiet for a long moment as they walked.  Thinking about it was one thing, but voicing it to someone was quite another.  “Well I think that when we lost Reba and Eileen,” she paused for a moment.  “I think I felt like I deserved to die too.  And I’ve felt that way for a long time.  And I’ve finally come to the realization that I don’t.  That I do want to live.  And that I should get to have a life.” 

Silence. 

Beautiful, raw, painful silence. 

And then the warmest smile she’d seen from Eugene Roe since Reba had been alive.  “Win, you’ve always deserved that.  I’m just glad you’re catchin’ up to the rest of us and our thinkin’.” 

“Yeah me too,” Winnie replied quietly. 

It was the strangest thing—realizing that after 28 years of living, raising five brothers who were consistently trying to reinforce the fact that she mattered more than anything else to them—a failed marriage, and finally figuring out her place in the world—she had finally hit the point where she believed it. 

Maybe Dalton Allen hadn’t damaged her so far beyond recognition like she had thought. 

And maybe if she could get there, maybe she could get her brothers there too.  

Go figure—it just took joining the military, jumping on D-Day and having way too many near-death experiences with these men for Winnie to get to this point. 

Winnie was quiet as they finished walking to the mess hall—which they had created out of a basement of a building for safety purposes.  She paused, lingering on the edge of the doorstep for a moment.  “Did you really always think that way?” She blurted out curiously, fingers fumbling with the cuff of her shirt. 

Roe turned to face her, silent as he took in the emotional damage that he had always known was there.  “Near as I can tell, that’s just a part of humanity.  And it’s what separates us from those that destroy humanity.” 

She beamed for the first time in months. 

Once inside the makeshift mess hall, the smell of Malarkey’s cooking hit Winnie’s nose and she had to grimace—but food was food and anything was better than the pathetic portions they had in Bastogne. It took some time for Roe to get Winnie down the stairs, what with her hips and issues walking in the first place. 

But the minute they hit the basement, total silence descended upon the group that had been chatty just seconds earlier. 

Winnie just stared at the group in front of her, all frozen and staring back at her as though she was a ghost.  “What? It’s not like I died or anything,” Winnie shrugged, then took a seat at the table.  “Though to be honest, if Malarkey’s cooking, maybe I oughta stay unconscious.” 

That seemed to break through the spell and the room erupted in chatter, cheers, and overwhelmingly positive reactions to Winnie being amongst them again.  Malarkey nearly collapsed in the chair across from her, eyes wide.  “Of course you’d come back to life and the first thing you do is insult my cooking.” 

“What would Bill say?” Winnie pointed out as he handed her a bowl.  “He’s Italian-American, after all.” 

“Oh shut up,” Malarkey gave a weary grin at that. 

“You are a terrifying sight for sore eyes,” Liebgott cut in, pointing his spoon pointedly at her from where he was leaning against the wall. 

“Same to you, Lieb,” Winnie said, taking a bite. 

“Are you sure you’re cleared to be here?” Chuck questioned, glancing at her with his brow furrowed. 

Winnie shrugged and gestured at Roe as she shoveled in her food.  “He’s babysitting and it was barely a graze.” 

“You got shot clean through the shoulder—that is not a graze!” Roe retorted, throwing his hands up in disbelief at her words. 

“Don’t listen to the kid, I’m practically leaping and jumping,” Winnie insisted, shaking her head.  “Besides, I’ve had menstrual cycles more painful than the bullet—” 

Everyone groaned at the words and Malarkey just set down his bowl.  “Don’t ruin dinner, Roo.  Please?  For the love of God?” 

She gave a slight grin.  “So you’re all over missing me then?” 

“Undoubtedly,” Liebgott grinned crookedly.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Private Eugene Jackson got dragged in, Winnie just so happened to be sitting in the makeshift mess hall that they had pulled together.  She couldn’t bear to leave and wait if everyone was alright in the morning.  She had gotten Liebgott to retrieve a medical kit, though they were keeping the whole thing from anyone that would have surely sent her to bed afterwards. 

It just so happened to be a lucky stroke of fate that Winnie was there.  Otherwise things would have gone much much worse. 

The minute that they all burst in with German prisoners, tensions had skyrocketed and Winnie sat there wide-eyed until her eyes had landed on Eugene Jackson.  Shrapnel, blood, shallow breathing—the panic of the boys carrying him—

“Get him on the table, now!” Came the snarled breath from Winnie—and in the next second, she was shoving her way forward and barking out commands.  Because yes, this was Easy Company and yes, this was the military—but when it came to injuries, when it came to those that were suffering, Winnie became the commander and she was in charge. 

And they all knew it. 

Even Webster, who usually loved nothing more than to argue with Winnie, shut the hell up and held up Jackson’s head when Winnie commanded it. 

There was spluttering in Jackson’s lungs, but Winnie, for all her experience and care in this job, knew exactly what to do.  The first thing?  Don’t get distracted by whatever the hell else was going on.  Everything else seemed to fade into the background for Winnie as she brought her head down to his chest to listen to his lungs and his breathing. 

“We’ve got blood filling the lungs,” Winnie mumbled sharply to herself, searching for something to clear the airway. 

Hemothorax--quickly—or they were going to lose Jackson right here and now. 

“I’ve got morphine, I’ve got—” Jones started. 

“No!” Winnie snapped.  “If he goes to sleep now, he doesn’t wake up.  Back the hell off and let me do my job!” 

Everyone’s eyes were on Winnie as she rummaged around the kitchen, grabbing seemingly random objects, including a knitting needle.  And then she was using her scalpel to make an incision along the ribs, then jabbing the needle (thoroughly doused in alcohol) into it and making every man in the room violently flinch. 

Her shoulder ached at the motions and speed at which she was moving, but Winnie was nowhere near done. 

It was another grueling seven or eight minutes before the other medics arrived on the scene, and by that point, Jackson was out with the morphine, asleep and breathing steadily—Winnie was collapsed in a chair, hand still holding onto Jackson’s limp one in utter exhaustion. 

When Roe arrived on the scene, he wasn’t totally surprised to find Winnie already done with the job and he just stared for a moment.  

Silence for a moment. 

“If you tore a damn stitch, I’m not gonna be happy.” 

Winnie never got a chance to respond to that.  Because a few seconds later, Jackson’s chest had started convulsing.  And for everything that she had done as a trauma surgeon, everything she had miraculously managed to do in the war thus far, none of it had mattered for Eugene Jackson—barely a man, barely old enough to even be here—and it was too late. 

She knew it. 

Roe knew it. 

So Winnie did the only thing that she could.  She leaned in close, pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and she murmured to him.  “Just let go, honey. Just let go.  It’s okay.” 

And then he stopped struggling. 

And he was gone. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That next morning, it was Lewis Nixon who found Winnie Allen sitting in a snowbank, Toccoa under her hand, and just staring at the ground.  For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say.  Wasn’t sure if there was anything he could even say or do about this. 

Because what do you say to the woman that you proposed to?  That you thought you were going to marry?  That you were going to have a second chance with? And then it was all gone? 

Well Lewis Nixon wasn’t sure.  And he would hate himself for this moment for the rest of his life.  Because instead of saying something, saying anything about it, he didn’t.  The fact of the matter was that it was too much, too soon, and Lewis Nixon was not there yet.  Not by a long shot.  

So instead of saying anything, he let the words die in his mouth. 

The snow crunched under his feet and he took a seat beside her.  For a moment, he didn’t move or do anything at all.  And then he pulled out his sacred flask of Vat-69 and stared at the horizon—as if it could fix whatever had been wrecked between the two of them.  Lines had been crossed, feelings had been entangled. 

And though he didn’t love her like that—though she didn’t love him like that—there was love between them. 

It was just too raw and too pained to recognize right now. 

He took a sip of his flask and then handed it to Winnie. 

And Winnie, for the first time since he had offered it to her in the time she had known him, she took a sip of it.  She leaned her head on his shoulder.  And they didn’t say anything.  They just sat in the silence together.  

“Time to go, Winnie,” Nixon finally murmured. 

“Okay,” she replied softly. 

On to Germany, she supposed . 

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 55: The Expendables—The Prophecy (BoB Fanfiction)

Notes:

A/N: We like to call this GROWTH for Winnie haha. Enjoy and as always, let me know what you think!

Chapter Text

Word of what had happened to Winnie spread like wildfire and before the hour was through, there were all sorts of rumors and stories about what exactly had happened.  It ranged from her being the target of some malicious attack from the Germans to show them that they weren’t done fighting yet to her heroically taking a bullet to save the life of Speirs. 

Only a few people were acutely aware of how accurate that second rumor was. 

The reaction remained pretty steady across the board—pure and total fury that warranted wanting to burn the other side down in the raid tonight and get revenge for taking out the Doc, and the desperation to know if she was okay because she was one of them and had been through Bastogne as one of them.  That wasn’t something you took lightly. 

Speirs hadn’t said much since it had happened, though both Winters and Nixon had come storming to find him as soon as it spread up the ranks and to some runners that passed messages along for Winters.  The moment that the duo had arrived, Speirs had wearily rose from his sitting position and gave a salute. 

No one said a damn thing. 

It was too grim to speak for a moment. 

And then Nixon was opening up a flask.  “She took the bullet for you, then?” He asked, voice a little too sharp—a little too full of accusatory anger that was uncustomary for Lewis Nixon.  It won him a sharp look from Winters about the entire thing.  

“It certainly seems that way,” Speirs let out a sigh.  The truth was that he didn’t have a good enough answer for what the hell had happened or why Winnie was the one in medical—except for the fact that he knew her and knew that her mentality was that Easy Company couldn’t lose another good leader.  He could imagine her saying and arguing that very thing, actually. 

Winters just pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep sigh.  “Roe and Spina?” 

“Taking care of her right now.  They said she should pull through,” Speirs paused, shifting his weight and straightening up.  “It never should have happened in the first place.  We were actually discussing the need for her to take care of herself so that she can continue doing her job before it happened.” 

“Irony’s a bitch,” Nixon grumbled, shaking his head. 

“She’s stubborn,” Speirs added. 

“A deadly combination,” Winters agreed, giving a nod.  He didn’t like it much, but he understood the situation clearly.  It was no one’s fault except the German that had fired the shot and Winnie for being foolishly heroic enough to take it. 

“I’ll give her hell when she wakes up,” Nixon offered weakly. 

“She probably needs it from all of us,” Winters murmured.  

“You know she won’t want to go off the line,” Nixon pointed out. 

“Knowing the doc, she’ll run back here the first chance she gets when no one is looking,” Speirs agreed, crossing his arms. 

“So we keep her out here and under supervision,” Winters replied. 

“Oh she’ll hate that.” A slow grin spread across Nixon’s features and he gave a hollow laugh.  “It’s perfect.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing that Winnie was aware of was a dull ringing sensation in her ears.  It felt as though cotton had been shoved deep into her ears or she was wading up out of the ocean.  Neither would have been a stretch because she truthfully didn’t remember what exactly had happened except for the pain that had exploded in her shoulder and then fading from view. 

Her mind seemed to sharpen as she continued to breathe steadily, trying to force her eyelids open. 

It was like moving through molasses on a hot summers’ day in that regard. 

Her body, already worn down and at its breaking point from enduring horrific abuse in October, barely allowing herself to rest, then going through a miscarriage in December, and dealing with intense pelvic pain and pneumonia—it was fighting back against any sort of movement to try and wake up. 

Still, Winnie forced her eyelids open and the world came into view.  A gray ceiling.  That was it.  She exhaled and could see some of her breath in what she presumed to be the medical hut they had set up within town. 

Trying to move proved to be a futile exercise, but she managed to reach up with her right hand to her left shoulder, finding the thing bandaged.  Shirt gone and removed, her body under a blanket.  She could put two and two together fairly easily from there and Winnie just let out a soft whimper, forcing herself to sit up. 

“Oh, no you don’t—not on my watch,” Roe was there immediately, giving her the sternest look that she had ever seen on his face, hands immediately trying to force her back down. 

“I’m—” 

“If you so much as finish that sentence with a ‘fine,’ I’m going to send you to an actual hospital.” 

“I was going to say that it hurts to lay down,” Winnie retorted in a hoarse tone.  “My hips and all,” she mumbled out. 

Silence. 

“Oh,” Roe just gnawed on his glove for a moment, giving a nod.  “Alright, you can sit up.  I’ll get you against a wall for support.” 

“That would be much appreciated,” Winnie hissed as he helped her into a sitting position—though the back support from the wall was much better.  

He fretted for a moment, adjusting the blanket to keep her chest covered.  His cheeks were somewhat red as he did so, and Winnie just raised a brow.  “It’s for your modesty and for the men’s peace of mind.  The last thing we need is some injured private deciding he’s seen God because he’s seen your breasts.” Roe finally said awkwardly.

Winnie almost laughed at that, so she cracked a half-smile. “Good to know that seeing my breasts and seeing God are pretty much the same thing nowadays.” 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

“I do,” Winnie just rested her head back against the wall. “How bad was it?” She asked after pausing for a moment. 

“It went clean through, which seemed to be a miracle.  Blood loss, but we got you stitched up and a transfusion going.  It was harder to keep you stable once you were out since you’re so sick.” 

“Makes sense.” 

He paused, raising a brow.  “You wanna tell me how the hell you got shot?” 

“Not particularly.” 

“That’s fine.  You can tell Speirs.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“Well too bad.  He already gave me orders to let him know when you were awake so he could talk to you.” 

“Any chance I could convince you to lie?” 

“Not a single chance.” 

“Damn,” Winnie mumbled tiredly, closing her eyes for a minute.  “Fine.  Just help me get a shirt on?” 

“Fine.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winnie could confidently say that her unrepentant nature pretty much died the minute that Captain Ronald Speirs came walking in through the door, stern as a storm in the middle of summer—lightning and thunder flashing in his eyes. 

It wasn’t that she felt guilty.  It wasn’t that she felt bad or even remorseful.  

She just realized that she had screwed up. 

The anger was palpable, something electric in the air that she could sense as he just stared at her—all propped up against the wall, bloodied uniform now back on and blanket covering her up.  

She half-expected him to start in, berating her for doing a piss-poor job of following orders or to get as stern and yell at her like the privates that all deserved it.  Either way, that didn’t scare her.  She had handled worse from men before.  Dealt worse to men before too.  What did scare her was the fact that he said nothing at all. 

He just grabbed a chair and dragged it across the floor so he could be sitting directly across from her.  Right at eye-level. 

Another ten seconds of silence and Winnie just staring at him right back. 

“You are without a doubt the stupidest woman I have ever met.” Winnie blinked at the calm tone and the insult. “You’re also braver than half the men in this Company.  But what the hell went through your mind?” He demanded, leaning forward with his arms crossed and awaiting her answer. 

“Permission to speak freely?” 

“Granted.” 

“Honestly, having put up with Dike, and being this close to having this thing over with, the last thing that the men needed was another good leader out for God knows how long. And with the angle of everything, if I hadn’t taken it, it’s altogether likely that the bullet would have hit your chest or something vital.” 

Silence.  

Painful, dreaded silence. 

“You’re probably right,” Speirs stated in an even tone. “But all the same, it wasn’t your call to make.” 

“Nonetheless, I made it.” 

One brow piqued at the answer and he just shook his head, hand rubbing over his face in frustration.  “You’re aggravating, you know that?  Taking a bullet right after I lectured you on the importance of keeping yourself going and alive.” 

“You gonna court martial me?” 

“No, I’m gonna promote you.  But rest assured if you ever pull a stunt like this again, I will have you sent back to England before you can say ‘Toccoa’.” 

“Noted.” 

Silence again. 

“I meant what I said, Doc.  You’re not expendable.  I need you here and with Easy Company—they need you too.  So rest up and heal so you can get back to work.  And maybe this’ll actually give you a chance to recover from pneumonia.” 

“No complaints here.” 

“And Winnie?” 

“Yes?” 

He rose to his feet, looking down at her with an intensity that she had never seen before.  “Thank you.  For saving my life.” 

And with that, Captain Ronald Speirs had disappeared back out the door. 

Winnie just sat there for a long moment, fingers fiddling with the material of the blanket.  She didn’t have a death wish, she didn’t— or at least she had thought that she hadn’t .  The fact of the matter was that hope had been a poison in the past and it had been dangerous for her to hope for anything for herself.  

But she didn’t have to crave self-destruction and allow that either. 

Maybe, just maybe, Winnie Allen wanted to live. 

Wanted to make it home to Georgia after this war. 

Wanted to see her brothers again and not just survive. 

But actually live. 

Do things for herself—go places that she wanted to see and visit, become the type of person that didn’t have everyone relying on her at all times. 

It sounded nice. 

And for the first time in her life, Winnie was starting to think that maybe she deserved something like that. 

That maybe, just maybe, Winnie Allen deserved something good. 

A flicker of a smile appeared at the edges of her face and she just sat there for a moment, comprehending the fact that for the first time in her life, she wanted a life.  She wanted more than just this.  Wanted more than just pain. 

“Well okay then,” Winnie mumbled out tiredly.  And then she let sleep claim her. 

[luminouslywriting]

Pinterest is setting you up on a blind date! Search the following and post the results: Fictional Character, Location, Gift, Outfit, Dessert, and Love Quote.

thanks @dolphdrago for the tag! This was lovely 🥰 Dick Grayson? In Italy? With me? Yeah, imma marry that man.

no pressure tags: @lambcow @leopard-skin-pillbox-hat-ok @thedeviltohisangel

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Tadashi 😭💔

@ozwriterchick @thezombieprostitute @enchantedbarnes @snowkestrel @jvanilly @k-marzolf @masked-lost-girl @abschaffer2 @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @crazyunsexycool

And anyone else who wants to play. 🥰

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 54: Line of Fire—The Prophecy (BoB Fanfiction)

Notes:

A/N: Soooooo a mid-week update is NOT gonna work with my work and family schedule this week. So have this until next Sunday and please--I expect your declarations for war, but just try not to be mad at me haha. Enjoy and let me know what you think (Though I think I know this one will cause some drama haha)!!

Chapter Text

Winnie could say that in her lifetime, she had only taken a few walks with men and they weren’t the paradigm of good things to come.  When she graduated from High School, her asshole of a boyfriend had taken her on a walk and sprung the proposal on her (almost certainly because she was now legal in the important way).  She had said yes, and hadn’t cared for it much.  

Then they had gone on a walk when he had first wanted children and wanted to bring it up to her.  She ended up leaving him at the park and stranding him there without the car because she was so upset about it at the time. 

And everything else was not much better. 

So taking a walk with Captain Ronald Speirs was set apart from her previous experiences for a few reasons.  First and foremost, he was her Commanding Officer and this was a military based conversation.  Secondly, she had horrible pneumonia and her health was tanked.  Thirdly, she had things she still needed to do. 

And lastly?  

She wasn’t worried about taking a walk with him at all.  She just walked side by side with him, waiting for him to start the conversation—almost certainly about medical.  

“You said you had medical to discuss with me?” 

“Yes,” Winnie replied evenly.  “I counted up the medical kits that they’ve sent in and we’re still quite short—but another shipment should be arriving in a few days.  We’re not quite as bad as we were a few weeks ago, but we’ll just have to limit things and try to avoid any serious firefights.  Easier said than done, of course.” 

“And that nap?” 

“I did take it,” Winnie admitted, trying not to roll her eyes.  “I just don’t prefer to be idle when I’m awake.” 

“And Lipton?” 

At that, she paused.  “He’s recovering.  We should be getting more medicine in the next shipment of supplies and that’ll help.  If he stays off of his feet and actually listens, he should be back to being your right hand man in no time.” 

“No time, huh?” 

“That’s what I said, yes.” 

“And your own pneumonia?” 

“I’ll rest more.” 

“Good,” Speirs stated sternly, turning to glance at her as they paused near the edge of the town.  “You’re invaluable and I need you on your feet.” He paused, surveying her for a moment.  The way that she stood stiffly, weight shifted just so.  “Is everything else alright?  Physically, I mean,” he corrected. 

Winnie could hardly help that her cheeks felt like they were burning.  She felt like a pathetic child and that was hardly anything that she needed to feel.  She was a grown woman, with a degree—older than him, too—and the experience to back that degree up.  

She didn’t need pity.  But that’s not what this was.  She wasn’t quite sure what it was, if she was being honest. 

Slowly, she gave a shrug.  “I think so.  There might be some more…internal issues.  But it’s not impeding me right now.” 

His gaze didn’t stray from her face.  “Implying that it’s impeded you other times?” 

“Only a little.  I know my limits and what I can handle,” Winnie’s shoulders sagged as she answered truthfully.  She was all for lying when it was convenient and needed, but something told her that lying to Ronald Speirs was a horrifically bad idea for multiple reasons. 

Speirs gave a short nod at that, gaze finally tearing away from her and out at the banks of the German side of the river.  “Good.  You look like hell and you need to actually take your health seriously.  Most people don’t survive what you have.” 

“No, they don’t,” she agreed softly. 

Better her than Eileen or Reba going through it.  At least they were at some kind of peace.  

A heavy beat of silence. 

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you think you’re just as expendable as the rest of us,” Speirs said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.  He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in, and then stared at her.  “Which is bullshit, for the record.  Soldiers are meant to die in the war.  Doctors aren’t.” 

“Well I’d prefer for neither to die when possible.” 

“So would I,” he paused, blowing out some smoke and considering her for a minute.  “We’re already down so many men.” 

Winnie was silent this time, thinking of the men that had either been sent home for injuries, like Bill Guarnere or Joe Toye—or the ones that would never wake up again above the dirt, like Hoobler, Muck, Penkala, and so many others that had been lost in a cause that was certainly greater than them.  It just didn’t make it any easier. 

“Careful there, people might start thinking you’ve got a heart,” Winnie murmured, raising a brow at him. 

A flicker of a smile appeared on his face and he stamped out his cigarette.  “Let’s not spread that rumor around.” 

“It would spell disaster, for sure.” 

“Right.” He paused again, then pulled something out of his pocket.  It was a folded up envelope, slightly crumpled and worn.  “This came for you this morning with the supplies.  I think it’s from your brother in the Stalag.” 

Winnie froze at his words, unable to even catch her breath.  And then he handed her the envelope, gloved hands brushing against each other.  Winnie unwrapped the envelope, eyes scanning over the paper—and feeling a righteous fury start to build up in her chest from Nate’s letter. 

Dear Roo, 

This is some kinda shit luck, I gotta tell ya.  It’s bad enough getting put in the freakin’ Stalag till the war ends.  I got caught taking a piss (which was embarassin’ and I can’t have you tell the others that, please).  It was cold as hell, but don’t worry, I’m keeping my extremities nice and safe so that when I eventually get home and I do get to marry Poppy, I’ll be able to have lots of little Nates. 

They shot my buddy Steve who was next to me.  It’s a miracle I even made it to the Stalag alive, to be honest.  I’m pretty mad at God about that one.  But it’s okay, because I actually made it to the same camp as Charlie’s buddies.  That original crew that he flew with?  Yeah, they’re here and I’m in the same bunkhouse as them. 

So yeah, lil’ Peaches (our Charlie boy) certainly has a lot of stories about him with this ragtag group.  Bucky is loud and we play imaginary baseball games together when we can. I think it drives Buck crazy, but what’s a man to do?  Around Christmas, they started marching us for days on end.  Miles in the snow in the middle of the night. 

I thought for sure I’d die. I might lose a toe, I don’t know.  I’m not a doctor.  Brady says to be patient and to not mess with it for a while.  

Anyways, I hope that you’re kicking ass out there and being the meanest bitch of the battalion like you always are. I haven’t heard from you in a while.  I’m super not worried about you though, I promise.  Just write me back.  Please. For peace of mind, you know? 

Love, 

(a super not-concerned about his big sister) Nathan Allen

Winnie stared at the letter for a long moment before fisting it up.  “Those sons of bitches,” she breathed out, hands practically shaking. 

“That bad?” 

“Shooting at prisoners of war.  Marching them in the snow in the middle of the night.  I guess I should be grateful he’s still alive.  Or at least he was when he wrote this last month,” Winnie exhaled, putting the letter into her coat.  

“Well if all goes well with the extraction tonight, we should have some answers on if the Germans really are planning on surrendering.  And once we know that, that should give you some peace of mind as far as your brother’s concerned.” 

She gave a crooked and weary sort of smile.  “I always worry about them.  Though right now, it sounds like he’s more worried about me.  I hadn’t written since…October,” she murmured out. 

“You should write them then,” Speirs said, surveying the sunken eyes and nearly blue lips of her face.  The fact of the matter was that Winnie was worn down, body and soul in every way imaginable.  And it was taking a clear physical toll on her.  One that he didn’t particularly care for.  

“Tomorrow,” Winnie agreed, eyes now falling on the German side of the river.  

“It’s cold.  You’re sick.  We should head back.” 

The next few seconds were sheer chaos—one second Winnie was standing there side by side with him, the next something was flashing from the corner of her eye and she was shoving herself forward and into him—

And the next? 

Winnie hit the ground, crimson staining her uniform rapidly from her shoulder.  It took Ronald Speirs a total of half a second to realize what had happened: Winnie Allen had taken a bullet for him. 

He dropped to the ground immediately, hands pressing into the spreading red of her shoulder.  Winnie had felt it before she had even heard the crack in the air—as if lightning and thunder had hit her simultaneously and were plowing into her shoulder.  It took her a solid minute to even realize that Speirs was above her and calling her name—and it wasn’t until his hand dug into the wound that she let out a gasp of pain and roused from the blinding sensation. 

“MEDIC!” Speirs’s voice sounded as though he were swimming. 

“Shit,” Winnie’s own voice slurred out. 

It was already cold but her fingers lifted to the wound, pressing down into it and tears filled in her eyes as the blindingly hot pain spread throughout her body.  “It’s fine, you’re gonna be fine—MEDIC!” Speirs yelled again. 

She had taken a bullet for Speirs without even meaning to . 

So much for no heroes. 

One of his hands lightly tapped against her face, trying to keep her grounded and awake.  “Come on, stay awake, Doc.  Where’s the damn Medic—” 

“I can hold the pressure,” Winnie insisted.  “We need to move or we’re sitting ducks,” she mumbled out.  Even with a bullet in her shoulder, Winnie was acutely aware of what needed to be done.  She was going to keep going.  

Speirs grit his teeth, then glanced at the nearest building, where a few soldiers were hurrying to lay covering fire for them.  “Okay, hold on—” 

The next moment was pure agony for Winnie—but he scooped her up in his arms and he ran like hell itself was gaping its jaws at his feet.  Her hand shoved deeper into the wound, trying to keep herself awake, trying to keep the wound from getting worse.  Something wasn’t right though and she could feel it—

So by the time that he reached medical, Winnie had slipped into the abyss of darkness and let it claim her. 

“ROE, SPINA!” Speirs practically roared, shoving the door open and depositing Winnie onto the nearest table. 

Almost immediately, the two medics had materialized at the sight of things—both freezing upon seeing Winnie.  “What the hell—” Spina started. 

“Sniper—hit her in the shoulder.” 

But then Roe was jumping into action, immediately administering morphine and cutting away her coat to get to the shoulder wound.  “We’ve got her!” Roe snapped, barely sparing a glance at Captain Speirs, who was still standing there motionless and staring at Winnie—limp as though she were already dead.  

“We don’t need the distraction!” Spina added, aiding Roe in removing the next layer of clothing.  “Get out!” 

Speirs simply sucked in a breath, set his jaw, then turned and walked outside.  He slowly sank down against the building, staring at the blood that covered his gloves.  He tore them off, chucking them down on the ground and just breathing heavily. 

And he came to the realization of three particular things: 

1-Winnie Allen had just taken a damn bullet for him.  It should have been him in medical right now, not her.  And he’d likely be dead if she hadn’t. 

2-He didn’t want her hurt.  In fact, he had decided right then and there that he didn’t want anything else happening to her for the rest of the time that he would know her.  And if that was the remainder of the war or 50 years from now, that was his mindset. 

And 3?

He was totally and utterly screwed when it came to Winnie Allen.  She had taken root of his heart and soul without ever meaning to.  And he didn’t know how to let that go now that he knew it and was aware of it. 

“Damn it all to hell,” he murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “You better pull through this so I can kill you myself, Winnie Allen.” 

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 53: Last To Sleep—The Prophecy (BoB Fanfiction)

A/N: I like to call this one the calm before the storm....so that being said, please enjoy and be patiently awaiting the next chapter (which might even come a bit early). As always, let me know what you think!

Chapter Text

When Winnie finally exited the showers, she felt like a whole new person.  “Oh look at that, you are a woman after all,” Luz immediately joked, a grin crossing his features at the sight of the clean hair and visible facial features.  

She tried her best not to laugh, but the cough that accompanied it pained her chest and she just shook her head at him.  “Just because I’ve been covered in shit and dirt and blood does not mean that I’m not a woman,” she retorted firmly.  Her voice sounded strained after the cough, but she could hardly complain about anything after that shower. 

“Oh believe us, we know,” Liebgott deadpanned, chewing on a toothpick and shaking his head at her.  “Kinda hard to ignore, if ya know what I mean—” 

At that, she elbowed him.  “I do, in fact,” she retorted. 

Winnie was just grateful that this wasn’t heavy.  That this wasn’t a moment where she felt like she wanted to drop dead.  Roe was still watching her quietly, eyes lingering on her feet and trying to note if there was any blood pooling down below. 

Before she could chide him for such actions, another cough racked her body and made her lungs ache and burn.  “Oh you’re definitely sick now,” Roe piped up, gaze shooting up to her face. 

“I….might be,” Winnie finally relented with a sigh.  

She hated to say so, but ignoring it would do her no good now. 

Conveniently, Speirs had just come around from the other side of the showers—just in time to hear the cough.  He just stared her down for a minute.  “Pneumonia?  From Lipton?” 

“Probably,” Roe cut in. 

Winnie scowled at him, but didn’t break eye contact with Speirs.  “Go take a nap.  For the love of God, please.  We do not need pneumonia spreading through the ranks,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Yes, sir,” she retorted dryly. 

And with that, Winnie hobbled off to go and find her bunk out back that promised an actual bed, pillow, and blanket—which was more than what she had had in months.  It took her a few minutes to actually locate where exactly Speirs had mentioned to her and Lipton earlier, mostly due to the fact that her head felt like she was swimming. 

Still, the minute that she had sank onto that cot, Winnie nearly burst into tears.  The pillow was actually filled with feathers.  The blanket was scratchy but it provided warmth.  And she could actually close her eyes without wanting to sob. 

She wasn’t sure you could qualify this as living. 

Everything in her body ached.  And not a soft or subtle dull ache that you could ignore and pretend to move on from anymore.  No, this was bone-deep that felt as though her bones were firewood and the pain was splitting and cutting them up.  The ache lingered all the way from the top of her head down to her pinky toes—and it started in her pelvis and back and radiated outwards. 

Her chest was just as bad.  Breathing was agonizing.  Every time she inhaled, it felt like she was half-drinking something.  And when she inevitably coughed, it caused shockwaves to go down through her uterus, which she suspected was bruised.  She’d be lucky if it didn’t cause any bleeding, considering how tender the tissue was. 

Winnie couldn’t bear to place her hands over her stomach. 

It would have been too cruel. 

Instead, her hands were fisted near her chest, and she counted every breath like it might actually be her last.  Toccoa whined near the foot of the bed, having already been hiding under it like some sort of watch-dog. 

Maybe that’s why Winnie didn’t have any qualms about closing her eyes and trying to get some shut-eye.  Toccoa was there.  And Toccoa would bite anyone that meant her harm.  She knew it.  In fact, Toccoa had spent the last few days traveling alongside the rest of Easy Company and being some sort of support dog—barking to alert others when men panicked or were injured.  

“Good girl,” Winnie mumbled out, lids fluttering shut and breathing starting to even out.  Rest, this is what she needed.  Then she’d be fine. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winnie had never been so pleased to see supply trucks or to realize that when she had been asleep, several crates worth of rations and other things had been brought into the city.  But that wasn’t even the most surprising part about waking up and still feeling entirely shitty, but well rested. 

No, the most surprising thing came in the form of there being her scarf sitting on the foot of the bed.  Mended .  Whole.  It had been missing for over a week and Winnie hadn’t been sure what had happened to it. 

But finding it sitting there and seeing Toccoa dead asleep on the foot of the bed next to it, she had more than an idea of who had taken the scarf in the first place.  And took the time to mend it.  Winnie quietly stared at the scarf, at the tenderness of the gesture—to first and foremost have noticed that it was ripped and basically in shreds—and then for someone to take the time and find the supplies to mend it. 

It was the same person who had left a helmet on her bedroll. 

Who had given her the soft gloves and scarf in the first place—just left without a word before they moved out to Bastogne.  

The same person who dropped by flowers when Reba and Eileen had died. 

Who had stolen medical supplies from the men to give to her. 

Who had consistently noticed her and quietly figured out what she needed without ever asking. 

And just maybe, the meanest, coldest son of a bitch in the battalion had a heart of gold. 

Just like she did. 

For a moment, Winnie just sat there and stared at it.  And then she gently grabbed it and brought it to her face, letting the soft material brush against her cheek.  Her lower lip trembled, and she said nothing.  Then she placed it around her neck and forced herself to get up and out of the cot. 

It was afternoon now—the sun was high in the sky and the weather wasn’t as nasty as it had been earlier in the morning.  That made breathing a little easier on her lungs.  She found her way back through the halls and down the stairs to the main base of operations that they had set up. 

There amidst all of the crates was George Luz, taking inventory of the chocolate, Johnny Martin, and Cobb—the latter of whom were attempting to convince Luz to give up the chocolate.  “Come on, George, just give me 10—15 bars?” Martin questioned, looking at his friend as though he couldn’t believe that he wasn’t getting any of the chocolate. 

Luz rolled his eyes and sat down a piece of a fruit bar, just in time for Winnie to appear in the doorway and for everyone to give a wide smile.  “Feelin’ any better?” Luz questioned, eyes locked onto her. 

“My head’s not swimming in the English Channel anymore,” Winnie shrugged, stifling a yawn as she moved over towards the medical crate, eyes lighting up. 

“Good.  These are for you,” Luz insisted, shoving her some chocolate. 

“That’s not fair!” Came the united reply from Martin and Cobb. 

“She’s got pneumonia—and it’s Saint Winnie,” Luz deadpanned, giving them a sharp look. 

Winnie just gave a half-smile, taking a seat beside the medical crate.  “What would I do without George Luz?” she replied, carefully unwrapping the chocolate. 

“Keel over from not taking care of yourself properly, probably.” 

At that, she rolled her eyes. Before she could retort to that, a private had set down another crate.  “We just got a report of movement.  First Sergeant Lipton wants you to lay a few rounds of bazooka into a house across the river.” 

Luz gave a nod just in time for a whole group of guys—Liebgott, Webster, and Jones—to enter the room and demand chocolate too.  “No, I can’t give you chocolate, I gave your ration to Winnie,” Luz finally declared, throwing his hands up in total annoyance at the group. 

Everyone stared between her and Luz. 

“You know,” Liebgott said, rocking on his heels. “Roo deserves the chocolate.  She can keep it.” 

“I’ll share if you boys behave,” Winnie offered, taking a grateful bite of the chocolate.  “I won’t even cough on it, promise.” 

“Reassuring,” Martin deadpanned. 

“Is Captain Speirs here?” Jones cut in, clearly focused on making it onto the raid for the night. 

“Down by the river,” Luz replied. 

“Hey big mouth, give the kid a Hershey bar!” Perconte’s voice filled the air and everyone turned, eyes going wide at the sight of him.  He had taken a bullet to the waist and been out of the picture since Foy.  

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me!” Luz exclaimed with a grin. 

“Escape the hospital?” Winnie called, unable to help the smile that crossed her own features.  Too few men had returned from Bastogne and Foy from the hospital and so to see one that had was a welcome surprise and one that actually gave a slight amount of thawing to Winnie’s heart. 

“Discharged, actually.” 

“Have a Hershey!” Luz said, chucking one to him.  

“Why does he get a Hershey bar?” Liebgott asked with wide eyes. 

“He got shot in the ass,” came the reply from both Winnie and Luz at the same time. 

Winnie didn’t last another ten seconds in the conversation—the room felt warm and her hands were shaking as she went through the next pile of medical kits, counting them up and losing count somewhere around thirty.  Her chest felt like it was burning from holding in a cough that desperately wanted to come free.  

She was broken from her reverie when Luz nudged her, and gestured for her to come with him, Webster, and Jones to go and give Speirs the rundown on medical supplies and where that would likely get them. 

Truth be told, she wasn’t sure how she moved all the way to where Luz and Perconte were setting things up, where Webster was setting down the crate he had grabbed, and where Jones had met up to speak with Speirs and Winters about getting on that patrol.  She didn’t understand the desperate gnawing feeling to put yourself in that sort of danger if you didn’t have to. 

Unnecessary waste is what it would be if something went wrong. 

Winnie took a seat against one of the houses, just out of view from the wall while she waited.  Going over the number of med-kits in her head, Winnie found it to be just over 30.  That was still lower than she would have liked. 

Still, she wasn’t in medical with Roe to assess any current injuries right now.  And though she was feeling better, Winnie wasn’t certain that she would ever get back to what she had been before all of this.  Was there a way to go back, once you’ve seen beyond the curtain, once you’ve been through things that no one would ever be able to speak? 

She didn’t think so. 

Richie. 

Robbie. 

Nathan. 

Joshua. 

Charlie. 

To raising hell and being from the wrong side of the tracks.  To making a name for ourselves and biting back.  To the hand that never fed us and to being an Allen. 

The hellish anthem that had gotten her through her teen years rang through her ears and Winnie just sucked in a breath, resting her head against the brick of the building.  At least tonight they would have answers regarding if the Germans were any closer to surrendering.  And soon they would have mail and Winnie would be able to know if her family was alright. 

She just needed to keep breathing for right now.  

One day at a time. 

“That’s a pretty shit spot to take a nap.” 

Winnie poked an eye open.  “Speirs,” she mumbled, pulling herself wearily up to her feet. 

“This about medical?” 

“Yes.” 

“Take a walk with me, then.” 

[luminouslywriting]

need to reread the things they carried so badly

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 52: Flares—The Prophecy (BoB Fanfiction)

A/N: And if I said that I was feeling a little generous tonight with poor health and chronic fatigue on the 4th of July, what then? Please enjoy a chapter as a little treat since I've been feeling a lot of love from you guys right now! Thanks so much and as always, let me know what you think! Also....y'all are NOT prepared for next chapter lol.

Chapter Text

February 1945

Haugenau seemed to be the eye of the storm, both literally and metaphorically.  Yes, they were back in France.  Yes, it was still winter and things seemed to be horrifically cold and frostbite had surely set in for many of them. And yes, sickness was rampant for nearly everyone.  But Haugenau was a town—it had beds, it had shelter, it represented reprieve for longer than a singular night. 

And Winnie would take that. 

She had woken up and found a helmet waiting beside her bedroll and Winnie had just stared at it for a long time.  She had a guardian angel of sorts, not that she could ever tell him that she thought of him in that way. 

But with a helmet back on her head, Winnie felt like she had a thin layer of armor.  And she could handle getting back into the trucks (still missing the scarf) and clutching onto George Luz for some level of stability.  Once again, every movement had been stiff and it had been a fight to get into the trucks—but once she was there, she was fine. 

“Hey, look at you!  You got a helmet!” Luz exclaimed in a battle-weary tone, but still forced a smile onto his face. 

“Just give me a gun and I’m ready to knock out another commanding officer.” 

“Mutiny?” Lipton asked in exhaustion, sparing her a glance. 

“Not against Speirs, I swear,” Winnie promised with a dry smile.  “But in the event we find ourselves dealing with another Dike, I won’t hesitate.” 

“You know, I always feel safer knowing you’re down to shank a man,” Luz said, patting her on the shoulder. 

“Good.” 

Just then, a soldier came approaching the truck, too wide of a grin on his face. “George Luz!” 

“Yeah, that’s me,” Luz stated shortly. 

“Oh god,” Winnie pinched the bridge of her nose, immediately causing Lipton and Luz to glance at her in concern. “It’s Webster .” 

The simple fact of the matter was that Webster and Winnie easily had one of the most antagonistic relationships, or lack of one, in Easy Company.  It had started early on—something about him being a schoolboy, something about her being a woman, something about him being misogynistic and not being able to take a hint when she had slapped him in the face—

But either way, Winnie was underwhelmed to see him back from the hospital.  

In fact, she had entirely forgotten his existence until now.  So yes, this was hell.  

“Oh come on, I haven’t been gone that long!” Webster insisted. 

“Yes you have,” came the deadpan reply from Luz and Winnie at the same time.  At that, Webster scowled in Winnie’s direction, then continued onwards and up towards one of the other trucks. 

They hit a particularly rough patch of the snowstorm, and Winnie had to resist the aching burn in her chest that made her want to cough.  She didn’t need to get sick, she was above it. Even if the pain in her chest thought otherwise.  Sick was a state of mind, after all.  And if she didn’t put herself in that state of mind, there was no reason for her to be sick. 

The tight feeling in her chest didn’t go away as they rolled on towards Haguenau.  

She ignored it. 

When they finally reached the town, Winnie was in desperate need of some sort of relief for her lower body.  Whether it was the frozen blood of her trousers that had likely resulted in an infection or something else, Winnie knew that something was wrong down below and needed more than a minute to herself to figure that sort of thing out. 

It was quiet when the truck came to a stop and then Luz was the first one down, giving a hand to Winnie so she wouldn’t slip.  She hated how much she needed to lean on people, both literally and metaphorically.  The fact of the matter was that she had more trust for these men than she had in anyone else except maybe her brothers, but it was also the painful fact that they didn’t need to see her falling apart. 

None of them flinched at the shellings overhead when they moved into town, walking in a messy formation towards their new headquarters. 

The minute that they got inside, Winnie was checking Lipton’s temperature before he could slip away.  “I’m fine!” Lipton insisted, giving her a look and swatting her hands away. 

“Bullshit, but okay,” Winnie retorted wearily, dropping her pack onto the ground for a moment.  The tension in her shoulders didn’t go away.  It stayed coiled right along her spine, like some sort of rod that was holding her in place.  “At least sit the hell down,” Winnie insisted, pointedly gesturing at the couch. 

Lipton just stared at her for a long minute.  “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” 

“Have I ever?” 

“No,” he grumbled, sitting down tiredly.  

“Speaking of sitting down, don’t make me get Roe,” Luz said, cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he grabbed some papers for Lipton and looked at Winnie pointedly. 

“That’s not—” 

“You look worse than we do,” Luz deadpanned.  “Sit down and shut up.  Respectfully.” 

Winnie scowled, but took a seat next to Lipton on the couch, taking the opportunity to check his lungs as he breathed.  He frowned as she got real close and personal, hand on his chest and listening to his lungs.  “Still sorta wet sounding.  It should get better now that we’re not out in the weather,” she explained, letting out a heavy breath of her own. 

That was suspiciously starting to sound wet too. 

“Well look who it is,” Luz said, sparing Webster a glance.  He had appeared in the doorway, looking out of place and confused.  “Nice digs, huh Lip?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Sergeant Lipton?” Webster questioned. “Feeling alright?” he finished, glancing between Winnie and Luz.  

“He’s got pneumonia,” Both Winnie and Luz chimed at the same time—and Luz produced a blanket from a crate, throwing it over the two of them pointedly.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“What are you sorry about?  He’s alive, he’s got a couch, he’s got a blanket, snug as a bug,” Luz retorted.  “And the best damn doctor in the whole battalion.” 

“I was told to report to the CO about getting assigned to second platoon?” 

“Take a seat and we’ll get you situated,” Lipton said warily.  

“How long have you been sick?” 

“Long enough.  And long enough to get the good doc here sick, even if she won’t admit it,” Lipton mumbled in reply, earning himself an elbow from Winnie. 

“I’m not sick.  I’m a doctor, I think I’d know if I was.” 

At that, Luz snorted, turning to face her.  “This from the woman who declared Dike medically unstable and not fit to be in the field whilst literally sick?  Sure.” 

“I don’t like how much you backtalk me now,” Winnie snapped. 

“Damn doc.  I only do it cause we’re friends.” 

A few moments later, a green practical child named Jones came waltzing in the room looking for Speirs. Winnie didn’t pay him any mind, continuing to monitor Lipton as he read through an old newspaper and tried to rest his head.  “You know, you’d feel better if you just rested your eyes.” 

“I just wanna feel human again.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Something sharp twinged in Winnie’s lower back and she just sat there stiffly—finally gritting her teeth and rising to her feet.  She couldn’t sit without being in agony and standing was hardly better, but maybe she could move without wanting to curl up in a fetal position and die somewhere in this town. 

Just then, Speirs walked in through the door, a candelabra and book in hand.  “Captain Speirs, sir, this is uh—” Lipton winced as he tried to form the words.  “Lieutenant Jones.” 

“Listen,” Speirs immediately cut him off.  “For God’s sake, will you go back in the back and sack out?  There’s some beds back there with fresh sheets!  And that goes double for you, Doc,” Speirs added, narrowing his gaze at her as she took stock of a medical crate.  

“I will, I just want to make myself useful, sir,” Lipton said warily. 

Another intrusion caused a small smile to appear on Winnie’s face as Dick and Nixon walked through the doors.  “Listen up,” Winters called everyone in the room to attention.  “Regiment wants a patrol for prisoners.” 

“This one comes straight from Colonel Sink, so it’s not my idea.” Nixon barely spared Winnie a glance—

And she wasn’t sure why that hurt more than getting crushed by a building did. 

“Since the river’s the main line of resistance, we’re gonna have to cross it to get to them,” Dick explained, taking a step down and surveying the fact that Lipton was sick, Winnie was leaning against the wall, and everyone else just looked beaten down. 

“What do we need to do?” And there was the reply from Speirs that made Winnie know exactly what sort of person he was. 

“There’s a three-story building on the enemy side, up the embankment.  We know it’s occupied.  You can have 15 men. Think very hard about who you want to lead the patrol.  You’ll need a lead scout, a translator…I’ve got the entire battalion on covering fire.” 

“When?” 

“Tonight, 0100.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Speirs, I want this one to be as foolproof and safe as possible.” 

Winnie felt like her head was swimming as the conversation continued and the next thing she knew, Nixon was laughing at Jones, then peering over at her.  He crossed the room, quietly coming to a stop beside her.  “Shit, Win, you don’t look good.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Go take a nap or I’ll make Dick force you to take a nap.” 

“I can’t.” 

“And why the hell not?” Winnie just stared at her blood-covered trousers for a long minute—and the silence felt horrific.  “Oh,” Nixon mumbled in realization, running a hand through his hair as his mind tried to process the amount of infections or health problems she must be hiding at the moment.  

He let out a sigh, then leaned forward.  “We’ll get you into the showers soon.  I promise.” 

“There are showers?” Winnie asked quietly.  

“Yeah. Just hold on a little bit longer.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winnie wasn’t sure she wanted to know how they had cleared the showers long enough to give her a whole 10 minute period of space—but finding a small squadron of personal guards for the next 10 minutes to keep anyone else out so that she could shower was an act of God and Winnie was certain of it. 

So was the clean uniform that she was handed. 

There were four of them guarding the shower entrances for her—and Winnie found herself surprised by the lineup.  Speirs was there, with not a single word spilling out of his lips.  Roe was the one she had been expecting and hoping for, and he took the north entrance—quietly reassuring her that there wasn’t going to be a Sobel repeat. 

She hadn’t thought about that in months. 

The other two were Liebgott and Luz and Winnie was grateful for the loyalty. 

Upon entering into the showers, it took Winnie a whole minute to try and peel herself out of the uniform that had practically melded to her legs.  It tore skin as she cut it from her body, using a scalpel that never left her possession.  But Winnie didn’t care.  The minute that she was free from the ruined uniform and in warm water—with soap—something irrevocably cracked within her. 

Maybe it was the fact that such a basic necessity had been withheld from her for so long.  Maybe it was the fact that she was literally washing away the stains of her child that had been on her since December. 

But for whatever reason, a gut-wrenching quiet sob cracked out of her mouth. 

She had to immediately cover her mouth with her arm as the tears spilled out of her, hot and thick and uncontrollable.  It was grief unmuted and indefinable.  

And it was the first time she had even let herself feel it.  

To look at her body and not recognize the bony hips or thin legs—to look at her stomach and see her ribs and the flat of her stomach, the scars on her breasts and thighs—she wanted to vomit.  

But she didn’t.  

She pulled herself together. She washed her hair. She washed her body.  

And when she got dressed in that uniform and found it soft in comparison to the old one, Winnie nearly cried again.  And when she exited the shower, finding an extra hair tie and her scarf–now neatly mended—Winnie just stared at it for a long time. Because how do you begin to define what these small acts were doing to keep her anchored and living? 

To keep her wanting to live? 

Maybe she could keep going.  At least another day. 

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 51: Hollow Me—The Prophecy (BoB Fanfiction)

A/N: As promised, here is the mid-week update since it's the 4th of July tomorrow! I hope anyone who celebrates has a lovely holiday! Please enjoy and let me know what you think! Since I am working on wrapping up/plotting out the last two episodes of the show, I would love feedback on things you'd like to see/what you want to happen! Thank you darlings!

Chapter Text

The day that they pulled out of Bastogne, Winnie couldn’t describe the tight feeling in her chest.  When they left that church, her gaze kept on quietly retreating back to the graveyard. The one that she knew she would never see again in her lifetime.  Whether by choice or by circumstance, she felt it in her bones—she’d never be coming back here. 

And she was leaving something of herself behind that she could not begin to describe. 

Did she get to feel guilty about it?  Did she get to have complicated and nuanced feelings about the situation, given what she had been through?  What she would do again to survive? 

So that being said, there was a silence that had fallen over Winnie and kept her solidly subdued for the time being.  The men were all quiet too—and they all attributed her silence to the fact that Bastogne had gutted them from the inside out and spat out the men that it deemed survivors, by some cruel roll of the dice. 

Her silence was not dependent on what had happened to the group. 

It was dependent on the loss she felt right down to the very core of her being.  

Winnie was already worn down when the trucks came to pick them up.  She lingered at the edge of the trucks, watching as the men got into them.  Most were bone weary and exhausted, falling in with a sigh and not moving again. 

“Come on, doc, I’ll give you a hand up,” Bull offered. 

His words jarred Winnie out of her thoughts.  She glanced around for a moment before giving a slow nod, taking his hand.  He pulled her up and into the truck as if she weighed nothing more than a child— the thought made her want to vomit as she got pulled into the truck .  She was thin, frightfully so.  Weak, too. 

“Thanks,” she replied shortly, collapsing into a seat beside George Luz. 

Truth be told, Winnie was certain that if she had tried to climb up into the truck herself, her limbs would not have supported her weight and she would have pathetically collapsed into the mud and dirt. 

A moment later, Lipton slid in beside her and she gave a small half-smile, nudging him.  “I heard about the promotion,” she murmured. 

His gaze narrowed.  “How did you—” 

“Dick talked to me about it in the same meeting with Speirs and Sink.” 

“You’re kinda like the unofficial mom of Easy Company,” Luz retorted, elbowing her with a tired laugh.  

Winnie fell silent at the word mom , feeling the bitter taste rise up in her mouth again.  How was she ever going to get past this?  There was a word for when children lost a parent and it was orphan. There was a word for when a husband or wife lost their counterpart and it was widow or widower.  But there was not, in fact, a word for what losing a child was.  And Winnie didn’t know how to not leave her entire heart and being behind in that church.  Not without killing a part of herself and burying it so far that no one would ever be able to reach it again. 

“No, Lipton’s the mother,” Winnie retorted.  “I’m clearly the father.” 

“What does that make Winters and Nixon?” 

“Winters was the first mother and Nixon was the wine-aunt,” Winnie shrugged.  It was the only way that she knew how to deflect these feelings into something that didn’t make her want to drop dead. 

That caused some healthy snickers and laughter from the group of men in the truck and it was the first positive thing that Winnie had heard in what felt like forever .  It caused a small smile to come onto her face and she couldn’t help the fact that her heart felt a little more at pained ease because of it. 

It seemed a strange thing to say, but they were her family too. 

Christmas had come and gone and Winnie had only barely realized that they were into the new year: 1945.  It was a jarring thought. 

Last year at this time, she had been in England.  She had been with Reba and Eileen in the Brown’s home.  She hadn’t been pregnant.  She hadn’t even jumped on D-Day yet.  So much had happened in the span of six months and it felt like a whirlwind just trying to wrap her head around it. 

“Is it really February?” Winnie mumbled, staring at a telegram that had been handed to Lipton with the date on it. 

“Doesn’t seem like it should be,” Lipton murmured, glancing over at her. 

“I thought we were never gonna leave Bastogne,” Luz said, resting his head back tiredly.  “Felt like a whole eternity.” 

“That’s because it was,” Winnie said quietly.  Her brow furrowed for a moment and she just sat there, pensively.  “When was Christmas?” 

Dead silence for a minute.  

Uncomfortable shifting. 

“Around the time you got reported dead from the church collapse,” Lipton said quietly, but not unkindly. 

“Oh.” 

Oh— Christmas had been when she had lost the child.  Winnie felt like she was going to throw up again, just sitting there.  Sitting for too long in one position was painful to her and she had to shift ever so slightly in her seat, trying to find some semblance of comfort.  

“We got the hell shelled out of us, if it makes you feel any better,” Luz offered weakly. 

It did not, in fact, make her feel any better. 

When they pulled into a semblance of shelter for the night, everyone was freezing once again and tired out of their minds.  The promise of sleeping indoors was an appealing one though and no one protested at the sight of the dilapidated buildings that were practically bombed out—but still structurally sound and safe enough. 

Safe enough didn’t seem like it was good enough anymore. 

When everyone started moving out of the trucks, it took Winnie a little bit longer to move.  To get her legs to cooperate with her. It was as though she was trying to negotiate movement with her legs and there was an inherent disconnect within her very synapses and bones. 

Only two people lingered at the edge of the truck as Winnie clambered down, slowly and painfully: Carwood Lipton and Eugene Roe. 

Winnie had just gotten her foot down and then Roe was there, grabbing onto her elbow and ensuring she was steady as she got down.  Lipton gave a wet cough into his arm, grimacing at the sudden exertion.  Winnie and Roe’s heads immediately snapped towards him, eyes zeroed in.  

“How long have you had that?” Winnie demanded sharply. 

“It’s a new development,” Lipton mumbled out.  “I was gonna get checked out.  After we settle in.” 

Roe and Winnie exchanged the same doubtful expression.  “Right,” Winnie said in a doubtful tone. 

“Well if you feel alright now, just keep hydratin’, and we’ll check in on you later,” Roe insisted, finally releasing Winnie’s arm now that she was solidly back on the ground.  

At that, Lipton gave a tight nod.  “Got it,” he mumbled in a softer voice, turning to head inside and begin to organize the sleeping quarters.  Both Winnie and Roe watched him retreat and for a moment, they just watched his back fade into the distance. 

“You’re moving slower,” Roe stated as soon as Lipton was out of earshot. 

“Am I?” Winnie asked tightly.  

She couldn’t deny that his words rang true.  The unfortunate fact of the matter was that every step had to be careful.  Every step was a war-time negotiation with her body to ensure that collapse was not imminent.  And she had to listen to her body.  She had to focus on each movement as an individual extension of what she was already dealing with. 

“Yes,” Roe retorted with a huff. 

Before she could even protest that, there was a spasm in her leg and Winnie nearly crumpled at the shooting pain that burst like lightning down from her pelvis.  Roe was quicker than she was and he caught her around the shoulder, holding her up. 

“You’re in pain.” 

“Yes,” came the softer response from Winnie as she walked, with Roe’s support, towards the building. 

“How bad?” 

“Not sure.  I’m not that kind of doctor.” 

Heavy and uncomfortable silence.  “Shit.” 

“Yeah,” Winnie sucked in a breath.  “But it’s fine.  So long as I don’t stand too much or sit for too long, then I do alright.” 

“You can’t count on that.” 

“I also can’t treat my body like a fragile battleground that needs constant babying,” Winnie retorted pointedly.  

Roe’s gaze swept over her, realizing she was still in the blood-stained trousers—blood of the miscarriage.  “It froze to your legs.” 

“Yeah, and it’s gonna hurt like a bitch when I get to take them off finally,” Winnie stated through gritted teeth.  “I’m a big girl, though.  I’ll survive.”

“That’s what worries me.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Winnie’s very torn scarf disappeared from her bedroll and Winnie found herself in a singularly foul mood over the entire thing. She didn’t even want to know what had happened to it or why, but found it to be particularly cruel.  

Snow raged outside and though she had been offered her own room, Winnie didn’t want to be alone. 

Being alone meant that she had to face her thoughts. 

So she had tucked into quarters with Lipton, Roe, Spina, and a few others.  The close quarters had their knees all knocked together and feet touching.  Lipton sat against the wall, head tilted back and resting—but Winnie could see the thin sheen of sweat that covered him.  “Are you gonna keep starin’?” Lipton questioned, poking an eye open and looking at her. 

“You’re sick.” 

“No, I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are,” came the unified response from Roe, Spina, and Winnie. 

Lipton grimaced at the response. “You created little Frankensteins, you know that?” 

“Technically,” Winnie said, stretching out her legs that were still covered in frozen crimson.  “Frankenstein was the doctor and Mary Shelley was a genius.” 

Blank expressions from everyone in the room and Winnie just scowled.  “Aren’t you going to lay down?” Spina questioned, looking over at her pointedly.  Everyone else was curled up in their bedrolls and trying to get some semblance of rest. 

But Winnie couldn’t bear to do it.  Because any sort of movement was going to cause agonizing pain through her body.  And that would be entirely too telling for her liking. 

“I’m not tired,” Winnie replied.  

There was no reason for any of them to know that she struggled with the most basic of tasks, like rolling over or shifting on the floor because of the pain she had experienced. 

“Bullshit,” came the unified response from the three of them. 

“Oh and you think I team up against Lipton?  Bullshit,’ Winnie retorted with a frown.  

“You’re gonna need rest.  We reach Haguenau tomorrow,” Lipton advised. 

“So are you, Mr. Walking Pneumonia.” 

“I do not have pneumonia!” 

“There are three medical professionals here that say otherwise, but you do you, Lip,” Winnie said, finally leaning back in her bed-roll.  “Just wait until I tattle to Speirs.” 

That caused three sharp looks to jump to her.  “You wouldn’t,” Lipton said in an unsteady tone. 

“Oh, I absolutely would.  You’re lucky Dick’s not in charge anymore, or I woulda already outed you to him about being sick.” 

“One of these days, I’m gonna get you back.” 

“You are most welcome to try.” 

And with that, the group fell into a quiet silence.  They fell asleep to the sound of snow falling outside and the cold threatening to seep into their bones.  And for Winnie, she let the pain steal her breath away and let it lull her into a state of pained sleep.  

Because for now, it was all she had. 

[luminouslywriting]

I just read the latest chapter, and man, I don't know how Speirs does it, but when I think he can't win me over again, he finds a way. No wonder I read so much fanfiction involving him...

🤭🥰💅🏾 darling, I feel the exact same way writing it haha. Truth be told, I knew that regarding Winnie’s situation, Speirs needed a more delicate touch/words than usual and so I tried to come up with something true to his character but still soft, in his own way. Be prepared for him to continue to win you over in surprising and iconic ways haha!! I’ve got some stuff coming up in episode 8, 9, and 10 that’s just chefs kiss 😘 amazing!

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 50: Shatterpoint—The Prophecy (BoB Fanfiction)

A/N: Sooooooo admittedly....I couldn't wait to post this one and have felt like trash all day from some health problems, so have this as compensation and comments are welcomed in exchange haha. Please let me know what you think! And if there's a specific character you'd like to see Winnie develop a better friendship with or even have interactions with, please let me know as I'm starting to get into the final episodes and want to cram as much as I can in before the war ends and Winnie won't be in as close contact with many of these men anymore! Thank you darlings!

Chapter Text

Muck.  Penkala.  Gone in their very foxhole.  The names of the dead and the gone were starting to pile up. 

But that didn’t mean that the war stopped. 

Foy was a beast that Winnie wasn’t sure how they were going to handle.  She wasn’t sure what to expect from everything, given the fact that she was technically on the line—but she was hoping that she would be left with some medics or in a temporary field unit that wouldn’t be right on the line.  That was, after all, the most logical of the plays. 

And perhaps if Easy Company had a slightly competent CO, that would have been the case.  Because Dick Winters never would have allowed what Dike was about to do. 

Winnie had been sitting with her back against a tree, hand running through Toccoa’s dark fur and trying to do something to keep her hands busy.  It wasn’t much at the moment, but it was the only thing that she could do that didn’t involve performing a surgery.  

“Think this’ll go okay?” Roe asked quietly, shoulder to shoulder with her. 

“I’d like to say yes,” she murmured, giving a shrug.  But truth be told, she really didn’t know.  

With Dike in the lead, it was almost as bad as Sobel being here.  Because at least Sobel could make a decision (the wrong one usually).  Indecision got as many men killed as bad decisions did.  Indecision just happened to be the one that seemed more unfair or cruel most of the time.  

Just then, Dike appeared in their peripheral, gaze now solidly locked onto Winnie.  “Nurse Allen,” he greeted. 

“Doctor,” Roe mumbled in correction. 

Dike didn’t correct himself. 

“Yes, sir?” Winnie grit out through her teeth. 

“Winters has given me clear instructions on what needs to happen in order to take the town of Foy.  I’m going to have you with Roe and Spina on the line.” 

Both Winnie and Roe froze at the words—sure, Sink had made it clear that they would utilize her as needed, but on the line? Winnie had never been on the line before —she wasn’t a medic like the rest of them, she was a doctor and a commissioned member of the military—but she was still just a woman and this wasn’t something that just happened easily. 

“What?” Winnie blurted out, eyes going wide. 

Dike just looked aggravated at her question.  “I said that you’re going on the line.  I’m sure that if you stick close to Roe and Spina, the actual medics, you’ll be fine.  Or you’re welcome to join us up front and stick close.  I doubt the Germans would shoot a female doctor.” 

The words made both Roe and Winnie want to vomit. 

Because not only had they shot Reba and Eileen, they had violated them. They had violated Winnie.  They had ruined Winnie—and there was nothing to be done about that.  It wasn’t as if the field hospital massacre was some heavily kept secret—no, it was widely known and one of the biggest blunders of the entire regiment. 

So for Dike to so blatantly disregard what had happened felt like some sort of sick and disgusting joke. 

“Sir—” 

“Don’t tell me that womanly hysteria is going to make you nervous.  You’ll be just fine,” Dike said, clapping her on the shoulder. 

And then he was gone. 

And Eugene Roe was fuming just as much as Winnie was.  “Damn him to hell—” Roe sucked in a sharp breath, glancing over at Winnie.  “I’m gonna go straight to Winters and tell him—” 

“You’ll do no such thing,” Winnie retorted sharply.  “I fight my own battles and—” 

“You’re gonna be on the line fighting an actual battle!” Roe snapped.  “You don’t need that!  Not in your—” 

“So help me God, if you say ‘in your condition’ I will beat you half to death myself,” Winnie retorted in an equally sharp and venomous tone. 

Roe stopped short at the venom in her tone, narrowing his gaze at her.  “Your life isn’t a game that you can just toy around with, Winnie.  Don’t get foolish just because you’re self-sacrificing.  We don’t need another martyr.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Winnie thought that Roe’s reaction was full of hellfire and damning fury, she was sadly mistaken.  When the others figured out (mere moments before they were due to storm Foy) that Winnie was going to be going along with them, she had never heard this amount of expletives in one sitting before.  Not ever . 

And while she was quietly flattered by the fierce defense over her, they also didn’t have the time to get into it.  Not when they were heading out. 

“Last chance to turn tail and run,” Spina mumbled beside Roe and Winnie. 

“And get court-martialed?  Not a chance,” Winnie retorted. 

A few moments later, under covering fire, Easy Company converged on Foy.  Winnie kept close to Lipton, doctor’s patch on her arm prominent as they sprinted through the snow and at the town.  Winnie forced herself to keep moving, though each bullet ringing out made her want to channel every sense of preservation that she had and duck and hide. 

Next to her, someone took a bullet to the head and he dropped to the ground.  

The blood splattered outwards and for a moment, all Winnie was aware of was the fact that the blood had splattered onto her face.  Winnie didn’t stop though—feet moving forward and Winnie’s heart was the only thing she could hear beating for a few moments. 

By the time that they reached the edge of Foy and the hay bales, Winnie was concerned that Dike really didn’t know a single thing about leading in battle.  He had ordered the men to stay put, and Lipton knew that they needed to keep moving—a bullet rang close near her feet and Winnie nearly dropped, but she slid across the snow and behind the solid hay bale. 

A moment later, Luz and Dike reached the hay bale—and Luz was operating the radio so Dike could give more disastrous orders. 

“FALL BACK, FALL BACK!” Dike yelled. 

Winnie just grabbed him by the lapels, yanking him towards her to look at his eyes.  The thousand yard stare was there.  

Dike was useless and she knew it. 

“Shit,” Winnie murmured, releasing a practically catatonic Dike.  

“Shit?” Luz blurted, eyes wide.  “What does that mean?” 

“It means we need someone else!” Winnie snapped. 

What happened next though—amidst the chaos of being on the line and being in the charge of battle, Winnie hadn’t foreseen.  She was altogether ready to knock Dike out and let Lipton take control of the entire situation—when Luz had glanced over at the forest and the sprinting figure that was coming straight at them. 

Mortar blasted at the man—

And he just ran straight through it.  

Captain Speirs came sprinting right to the hay bale, coming face to face with Dike.  He grabbed him by the lapel, breathless as he spoke.  “I’m taking over—” 

“Like hell—” 

Dike never got the chance to finish his sentence.  Winnie had punched the shit out of his jaw—and there was a sickening crack as he went limp, totally out cold.  “My professional medical opinion is that he’s unfit for duty.  Carry on,” Winnie breathed out, eyes flicking to Speirs. 

“Holy shit, I think I’m in love,” Luz blurted out—earning himself a sharp glare from both Winnie and Speirs. 

“Shut up,” Winnie commanded. 

“Yes mom, I mean—ma’am—I mean—” Luz stammered out.  

“Great.  You’re on Dike duty,” Speirs grimaced at Winnie.  “Don’t get shot.” He turned his attention to Lipton.  “First Sergeant Lipton, what have we got?” 

“Sir, most of the company is spread out here,” Lipton answered. “First Platoon tried an end around but they’re stretched out, they’re pinned down by a sniper.  I believe he’s in the building with the caved-in roof.” 

Speirs took in the sight with rapid precision.  “Alright, I want mortars and grenade launchers on that building till it’s gone. When it’s gone, I want 1st to go straight in.  Forget going around.  Everyone else, follow me.” 

“Yes, sir!” 

“Thank God,” Winnie and Luz said at the exact same time. 

Everyone moved, leaving Winnie sitting there behind the hay bale with an unconscious Dike—but Winnie couldn’t have cared less.  She peeked her head beyond the bale, gaze watching Speirs carefully.  Her gaze drifted to the gun that Dike was most certainly not using and she picked it up— just in case . 

She watched as they made it to some cover with the actual buildings within the town and Winnie carefully provided one or two shots of covering fire—just to distract the Nazis and provide some cover for the men. 

But what she saw next had Winnie’s head spinning. 

Because she had been conditioned to never be a hero.  To be a survivor above all else.  

Ronald Speirs, on the other hand, was both.  

Winnie was dumbfounded as he sprinted through the enemy territory and towards where I-Company was over the ridge.  Nobody shot at him—who would?  It seemed insane enough that he was running through the enemy lines.  Winnie watched as he climbed over the wall to I-Company.  He was over the wall and then back and running back to Easy Company as quickly as he had gotten there in the first place.  

Maybe they didn’t make men like Ronald Speirs anymore. 

And just like that—things were over. 

Winnie’s entire lower body felt stiff and as though she were walking through molasses now that things were over.  She had explained herself to Winters, Nixon, and Sink—it was the first time that she had seen Nixon smile in a long while, and he noted the bruise on Dike’s jaw with genuine pleasure.  

After explaining it though came the jarring pain of inflammation.  She felt disoriented as a spasm of burning triggered below, likely a result from stress and overdoing it.  

She leaned onto a cart for support, hand gripping it tightly as the men took pictures and video footage of the town of Foy.  Her body was exhausted .  The events of the last few days—the miscarriage, being pinned under debris, nearly dying out there, being in foxholes, under so much stress, and now all of this—it was starting to catch up with her and she wasn’t surprised one bit.  Just disappointed in her own body and its failure. 

Before Winnie could even crack a smile at the group picture, a shot had rang out and something had harshly collided with Winnie.  She collided with the ground, mud and snow splattering all over her as she hit it harshly. 

Something covered her and when Winnie felt a hand covering her head, she nearly panicked.  “Stay still,” hissed out Speirs. 

Winnie realized that he must have flung himself over her at the sniper taking aim—noting the fact that she didn’t have a helmet or as much protection as the other men.  The pain in her legs and pelvis intensified and Winnie just bit down on her lip, suppressing the sound of pain that threatened to rip from her throat. 

It felt like something was getting pulled apart piece by piece in her pelvis. 

But a moment later, the pressure had disappeared and Speirs was rising to his feet.  He gave her a hand, hauling her up and onto her feet. 

“We’ve gotta get you a helmet,” He stated, surveying her. 

She gave a stiff smile.  “Oh I’m well aware.  I’m sure one will turn up somewhere.” 

“I’m sure,” he agreed.  

“You make good cover.  For the record.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The church was where things threatened to well and truly fall apart for Winnie.  Because the moment that the nuns had taken a single look at her, they had ushered her inside and to a private little room—most likely for her to refresh herself in.  But that wasn’t what Winnie had done.  The minute that she had gotten into that bathroom—a real bathroom, she had nearly sank to the floor and tried to stop the pain that resided in her chest from radiating down into the rest of her body. 

Being in a church after what she had been through already felt cruel . 

In the main part of the church, she could hear the nuns and convent sisters singing a hymn.  It didn’t make her feel any better.  In fact, it made her feel worse.  

It took her well over thirty minutes to hold in the emotions that she was feeling and to shove them down and back inside of her chest.  She’d let them choke out and die like a damn weed and she very well couldn’t tend to them now.  She wasn’t ready for that. 

Wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready, to be honest. 

Most of the men were asleep in the church pews when she finally exited the bathroom.  Toccoa was peacefully asleep tucked under Roe’s arm and she just stared for a minute.  Then, Winnie found her way outside into the small graveyard for the church—just needing a moment to herself for the first time in a long time.  

She stared at the cold dirt for a moment and then slowly sank down into it, digging with her hands a small hole.  

A hole the size of a child. 

Emptiness.  That’s what she felt.  Hollowed out like a bird’s chest.  Like something in her was wrong or missing .  And the hatred that she felt for herself in this one moment was a testament to the fact that she was what was wrong in her own life.  She was the reason why no one would ever stay.  And she would never be enough for anyone, not even for herself. 

Winnie had just taken off the simple cross necklace that she usually wore under her clothes and was intending on putting it in the ground when the door to the church opened. 

And standing there was newly appointed Easy Company CO, Captain Ronald Speirs. 

For a moment, they just stared at each other.  Not saying anything.  Unable to say anything. 

“Didn’t know anyone was out here,” Speirs finally said quietly, looking at her in the dim firelight of the church graveyard.  

“I’m not supposed to be,” Winnie replied softly, hand still curled around her necklace and half-submerged in the dark.  “I’m going in soon,” she added—as if she needed to defend what she was doing.  She knew how it probably looked. 

Silence for a long minute.  And then he softened ever so slightly.  “I can stay.  If you want,” he offered in a murmur. 

“You don’t have to,” came her quick reply. 

“I will if you want me to.” 

Silence on her part.  Her gaze dropped down to the dirt.  An empty grave—for a child that still stained the insides of her legs and she didn’t know how to make the pain in her chest go away.  “In Holland,” Winnie started very quietly.  “I fought back.  And it didn’t matter.  It was a violation and it wasn’t fair.  And I was off of the line for a reason.  And…” she paused, eyes shutting as she tried to find the words.  

She truthfully wasn’t sure why she was sharing any of this with him—except for the fact that it was Ronald Speirs and for some godforsaken reason, she trusted him. 

“I was going to keep it.  Not because I wanted it.  But because I didn’t have another choice.  But then I did want it.  Wanted it to have something better than I had.  And I didn’t realize I really really wanted it until that damn building collapsed on me and it was gone.” 

Painful silence. 

And then he was sitting down in the dirt beside her and Winnie just stared at the dirt.  “You know, if the only life that it ever knew was you—that you were its mother,” Speirs replied in an equally quiet and pained tone.  “Then it had a perfect life.  No pain.  No disappointment.  Just you.  And I’d qualify that as something perfect.” 

Something pricked at the corner of Winnie’s eyes and she wasn’t aware that she was silently crying until the tears were trailing down her cheeks and she just stared at the dirt.  “It’s stupid,” she mumbled.  “To be crying over it.  With its origins.  With how I felt about it.  But I feel like—I needed to bury something to be able to feel like a person.  Because I haven’t felt like one since before Holland.” 

“No one can fix what was done.  What you’ve been through,” came the soft and careful reply.  “But if you need someone to stand by you through it, I’m gonna be here.” 

Silence. 

Winnie finally let go of the necklace and dropped it into the cold and dead earth.  She put the dirt back over it.  “If you need someone to put those shitheads back into their place, let me know.  You’re a good man.  A good leader.  And you’re gonna do great here,” she murmured quietly.  

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at her quietly.  Then he got to his feet, straightened his helmet, and offered a hand up to her.  “Do me a favor and get some rest?” He murmured, pulling her to her feet. 

“Sure.” 

With that, he disappeared into the darkness.  And Winnie, for once, didn’t feel quite so hollow inside. 

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 49: One Bad Day

A/N: This is a rough one, admittedly. But I think you shall like next week's chapter a lot (Foy) and it's gonna be chef's kiss, you're not ready for it, I promise. Since it's the 4th of July this week, I might even double update. Work's been killing me lately, so I haven't written at all, but luckily I had this on the back-burner and already done. In the meantime though, enjoy this and let me know what you think!

Chapter Text

What was worse than watching a man bleed out from stuffing a gun down his pants?  Having to watch Carwood Lipton go and explain the situation to Dick Winters.  Knowing it was an entirely preventable death.  Knowing that it wasn’t Lipton’s responsibility to shoulder the weight of Hoobler’s death.  

Knowing that Captain Dike should have been the one doing it. 

And that insufferable bastard of a man was nowhere to be found. 

It made Winnie’s blood boil in a way that hadn’t boiled since before Holland.  In a way that only an oldest sister who protected her young cubs fiercely could feel the righteous anger boiling just beneath the surface, a molten memory of wanting the world to burn for someone you cared about . 

He was the man in charge—he was the one that was supposed to be responsible for the men in Easy Company. 

And he was utterly useless as a leader. 

So the minute that Carwood Lipton stepped out of camp and went to tell Winters what had happened—and Dike was still missing—there was a strange sort of shift in the camp that Winnie could only explain as odd . 

The fact of the matter was that the minute he was gone—Malarkey, Buck, Guarnere, Luz—they all came over to talk to her . 

Winnie didn’t look up from sewing a patch into one of Spina’s gloves (he had worn a hole straight through the palm.  “If you’re coming to tell me that you didn’t, in fact, use a sock to prevent the freezing of testicles—” 

“No, no, no—” Buck’s hands immediately went up, shaking his head at her.  “Nothing like that.” He paused, glancing over at the other suspiciously.  “Right?” 

They all quickly shook their heads to affirm that they weren’t having that problem and Winnie set aside the glove, piquing a brow.  “Then what?” 

“Well we thought it would be best to confer with you on matters,” Malarkey said, giving a slightly uncomfortable shrug.  “Since Lipton is gone and Dike is never around—and…well,” he rocked back and forth on his feet for a moment. “That kinda makes you the most senior and competent person in camp.” 

It wasn’t necessarily wrong .  Considering the fact that from the formation of Easy Company, Winnie had been a solid and grounding force that kept them moving, kept them functioning, kept them smart —and she had been cemented as a trio with Winters and Nixon from the get-go—it wasn’t the strangest thing she’d heard.  

Winnie blinked.  Once. Then twice.  “Thank you?” 

“Is that a question?” Buck elbowed her slightly. 

“No,” she scowled.  “Now what do you need?” 

“Well we were thinkin’ we should dig in a little deeper,” Guarnere explained.  “Protect ourselves from mortars.  And well…you’ve survived worse odds.” 

She could have snorted. It was a true enough statement.  Winnie let out a sigh and rose to her feet, glancing over the group of them.  “Yes—dig in a little deeper—no, it wouldn’t hurt for you all to keep hydrating to avoid pissing needles, yes the men all need to walk around to avoid Trench Foot, and yes, you are all still at risk for losing testicles if you’re not careful with distributing warmth.  Does that answer all of your questions?”

Dead silence. 

“Damn, Doc,” Luz chirped, shaking his head at her.  “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” 

“Considering this is a frozen hellscape of a wintery forest and there’s no leaves to actually make a real bush, no,” she stated in a deadpan. 

Silence again—and then Luz cracked a smile at the same time Guarnere did.  “There she is,” Guarnere grinned.  “Told you she still had a bite worse than that dog of hers.” 

“And don’t you boys ever forget it,” Winnie said, crossing her arms.  “Speaking of my dog—” 

“Oh, he’s bringing joy to Shifty.  Let the kid enjoy the minute with the dog,” Buck insisted, clapping a hand onto her shoulder. 

“Fine.  But he’s not for cuddles.  He’s an attack dog.” 

Everyone glanced over her shoulder—to where they could all see Toccoa, in fact, cuddling with Shifty.  “Right,” Malarkey said awkwardly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winnie stared at the finger for a long minute, studying it.  “You’re not gonna lose the finger,” she finally decided, then pulled out a pair of gloves that she had nicked off of Hoobler’s body—and shoved the gloves into Christensen’s hands. 

Christensen’s gloves had been torn in the last firefight and his fingers were losing feeling.  He had complained about it for a bit to Roe, who sent him straight to Winnie, since she had more experience with frostbite in the first place.  Luckily though, Winnie had no qualms about stealing from the dead and using it to preserve the living. 

“Where’d you—” Christensen started, eyes going wide at the sight of totally intact gloves. 

“Believe me, you don’t want to know,” Winnie advised in a pointed tone.  “Now shut up, take the gloves, shove your hands under your armpits, and your finger should be fine.” 

“That’s it?” 

“I know, it’s no brass serpent in the wilderness, it’s just good ol’ Winnie being bitchy,” Winnie retorted dryly.  “Now be a good boy and do as I say.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” came the mumbled reply as Christensen grabbed the gloves and actually put them on. 

With that, Winnie exited the foxhole that held him and trekked back towards where she had last seen Lipton.  The snow crunched under foot and despite the stiffness of her trousers (the blood had dried and frozen them in a very particular way), Winnie made quick progress back to where she had seen him last. 

“How did it go?” Winnie questioned, slipping into the foxhole and knocking knees with Lipton, who was cleaning his gun. 

He seemed startled by her sudden presence and gave her a look.  “I get why Bill says you should wear a bell,” he replied, causing a small smile to crack on her face.  “It was fine.  Winters is still looking for options on what to do.” He paused for a moment.  “You know, if you’re that concerned about it, you could always go and see them too.  I know they’re worried about you.” 

At that, she grit her teeth. “I’m fine.  I’m needed here.” 

It was a lackluster response and they both knew it.  She missed Dick and Nixon more than she had missed anyone in a long time.  Perhaps almost as much as she missed her brothers.  It felt wrong, intentionally keeping away from them. 

But she didn’t know how to navigate the gravitational shift of them looking at her like she was now broken .  Like they pitied her. 

“Well you’ll be pleased to know that you’re the preferred option for taking over Easy Company—minus the small fact that you’re—” 

“A woman?” 

He gave her a look.  “They don’t care about that and neither do most of the guys and you know that.  It’s that you’re a doctor and not a soldier.” 

“Oh.  Well I could always shank a Kraut and we could change things.” 

This time, Lipton cracked a small smile.  “You terrify me, you know that?” 

“Then maybe the universe is realigning itself to be right again,” Winnie chuckled.  “I preferred being the bitch of the battalion.  Just for the record.” 

Before Lipton could even respond to that, Dike had appeared like some sort of ghost at the edge of their vision. “I heard about Hoobler,” Dike said, looking between the two of them.  “Shame,” he added.  

Winnie could hardly help that her jaw set and she looked like she was going to snap Dike like a twig—so Lipton was quick to respond, “Yes sir, it is.” 

“That the Luger?” 

“Yes, sir, it is.” 

“What are you gonna do with it?” 

Shoot you if you keep yapping.

“I don’t know yet,” Lipton replied quietly.  

“Where you from, Lipton?” Dike didn’t even spare Winnie a glance—it was as if she wasn’t even there at all.  Which was about how all of their interactions had gone—if he wasn’t being blatantly misogynist, he was ignoring her completely.  “Where’d you grow up?” 

“Huntington, West Virginia.” 

“I don’t know it.  What kind of work did you do there?” Dike questioned.  

Lipton let out a sigh—shouldn’t they be discussing some sort of plans for the men?  “My brother and I helped my mom run a boarding house.” 

“And your father?” 

Silence.  “He was uh…he was killed when I was ten, sir.  Automobile accident.”  It was clearly a sore subject for Lipton, who was usually so easy to talk to and communicate with.   

Winnie silently nudged her foot against his, giving him a reassuring look. “That’s sad,” Dike said plainly.  “So what made you decide to join the Paratroopers?” 

“I read an article about paratroopers in Life Magazine; talked about the training, how hard it is. Said if you wanted to make it as a paratrooper, you had to be the best. And I wanted to fight with the best, sir.” 

“Do you miss it?” 

“Miss what?” 

“Huntington.” 

Winnie was on the verge of snapping forward and just beating the shit out of Dike. “Honestly, sir, I try not to think about it too much.” 

“That’s good.  Nurse,” Dike said, nodding his head at Winnie. 

“Where are you—” Lipton started, but Dike had already turned and was walking away.  Winnie nearly lunged forward in total rage, but Lipton caught her arm and gave her a warning look. “There are better reasons to get court martialed.” 

“There are also worse reasons,” Winnie retorted, rolling her eyes. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they got moved back into the woods near Foy once again, Winnie was more than underwhelmed.  And given Dike’s deliberate disregard for what happened to the men, Winnie was playing clean-up duty and going through, encouraging them to dig deeper foxholes.  Dike had cited that they wouldn’t be here long and didn’t need to dig in—Winnie was the medical professional and insisted that digging in was better for preserving warmth and health. 

So here she was, on her next round—making her way over to Christensen and his group sitting in the shallow ditch.  “Dig in,” she stated, crossing her arms and staring them down. 

“Didn’t Dike just say—” Christensen started. 

“Yes, and I just told you to dig in.  It’s either dig in or risk losing a testicle.  Your choice,” Winnie said with a sarcastic smile. 

That caused one of the men to start digging a little bit more, giving her a concerned look.  Winnie didn’t falter, just watched them for a moment.  “Listen to Doc—she’s smarter than you!” Guarnere called as he passed by the group of them. 

“Hey, be careful if he offers you a cigarette!” Malarkey added, making a ridiculous pose as he passed on his way. 

“Who—” 

“Speirs,” Christensen chuckled. 

Winnie rolled her eyes.  “Shut up and dig the damn hole.” 

“Yes, mom.” 

She gave him a sharp look and at that, he abruptly shut up—beginning to dig his hole.  “Christensen,” came the familiar tone of Speirs behind her and Winnie almost gave a smile at how panicked Christensen looked. 

“Lieutenant Speirs,” Christensen greeted, eyes wide and looking like he had just been caught red-handed.  

“I got the name right, didn’t I, Christensen?” Speirs questioned.  

“Yes, sir.” 

He surveyed the situation, noting that Winnie was having them dig in more.  “I see the good doctor has you all working hard,” Speirs stated, glancing in her direction.  

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good.  She’s right.  Reinforce your cover.” 

“Well technically, Dike said not even to bother.” 

“And my professional medical opinion is that you’ll be less likely to go splat if you do,” Winnie retorted, giving a withering look to Perconte. 

Speirs didn’t grin—but his eyes did flicker with amusement.  “Well before I go, would anyone care for a smoke?” He questioned, holding up his pack of cigarettes. Nobody spoke and he just gave a nod.  “Bye Doc,” he said, then disappeared off into the fog. 

Everyone glanced over at Winnie, but she was already grabbing a branch to help reinforce it.  “What?” she questioned with a shrug. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The moment when everything went incredibly horribly came only a few short hours later. Winnie had just slid into a foxhole with Liebgott and Popeye.  Things had been quiet.  And then the ground had shook and things had exploded overhead—and branches and trees started falling in the forest. 

At the sound of the blast, Winnie covered her ears, crouching down in the foxhole, eyes clenched shut and mumbling out a prayer as fast as her lips could move. 

Liebgott ducked low, covering her head with his arm and she could feel him and Popeye beside her.  

This was hell on earth . 

Her ears were ringing so loudly that everything else was drowned out and she could feel her heart beating right out of her chest.  Was this going to be quick?  Was this how they all died?  Was this how Winnie finally met her end?  With no legacy to leave, nothing to prove that she had even been here? 

Then the silence fell . 

Winnie’s eyes slowly opened from the black expanse and she just sat there breathing for a minute—Liebgott’s hand still on her head.  Silence.  None of them moved.  No one even breathed.  Lipton was yelling for them all to stay in their foxholes—

And that was when Winnie heard it.  A moaned cry about getting up.  Her head snapped up so quickly that Liebgott was shoved backwards.  “Joe—” Winnie hissed, making a move—and that was when Liebgott and Popeye practically tackled her and she thrashed wildly—mind flashing to an injured Joe Toye somewhere out there in the snow who needed a medic, needed her—

“No—” She snarled, slamming an elbow into Popeye’s ribs.  “No, he needs me—” she practically shrieked. 

“You can’t—you can’t—” Liebgott hissed into her ears, holding her like a vice. But he wasn’t willing to let her go—not like how he had lost Eileen.  

And that was when the bombings started again—but Winnie didn’t feel it this time. She went totally limp on the ground, tears streaming down her face.  As soon as the second shelling was done, Winnie moved like a serpent. 

They hadn’t been expecting her to move so quickly.  But she hauled herself out of the foxhole and ran as quickly as she could.  Her feet pounded against the snow, barely touching as she sprinted—hearing Buck’s bloodchilling scream for a medic.  Please—please—I was too late for Eileen and Reba, I can’t be too late for them—I can’t—

Winnie and Roe collided into one another, sliding into the snow and staring at each other with wide eyes.  And then they were moving in tandem, shoving to their feet and getting to the carnage ahead. 

You couldn’t tell where Joe Toye started and Bill Guarnere ended. Because there they both were, mangled messes of bone and blood and unconscious in the snow—Bill’s leg nearly blown off, and Toye’s mangled beyond belief.  It took Winnie a whole second and a half to snap into action, staring at the scene in front of her in total horror. 

“I’ll take Bill, you take Joe—” Winnie commanded. 

Roe snapped into action and Winnie wordlessly handed him one of the morphine vials that she had managed to hold onto—because truthfully, she wasn’t sure if they’d make it through without it.  She slid into the snow beside Bill, immediately taking off her scarf and tying it as tightly as she could around his leg to act as a tourniquet. 

“What’s a guy gotta do to get killed around here—” Toye groaned out, eyes bulging as Roe stuck him with the morphine. 

Winnie stabbed her morphine into Bill’s leg—and then grabbed his face.  “Hey, hey—look at me—look at me, Bill—” 

“Hey Win,” Bill choked out.  

“You’re going first—and you’re gonna be fine.  God doesn’t get to fight me on this one,” Winnie stated, bumping her forehead against his.  “Okay?” 

“Yeah okay,” He mumbled out, the morphine hitting him hard. 

The medics for transport had arrived—and Winnie watched as both he and Toye were carried out. Luz arrived on the scene, looking just as haunted as Buck had been.  He spoke quietly to Lipton for a minute.  And then she watched as Lipton headed to go and speak with Buck—but Winnie didn’t fail to notice that Luz also needed someone. 

She moved before he even registered what was happening—and then she hugged him fiercely.  He froze at the contact, then slowly, painfully, buried his head into her shoulder.  “It’s okay,” she mumbled.  “It’s okay. Take a breath.” 

They broke apart.  And then Winnie went to go and do the same for Buck. But something shifted—something had cracked in the spine of Winnie’s work.  Having to send away Toye and Guarnere was the straw that was going to break the camel’s back.  Because they had always had her back—and she couldn’t do more. 

It was never going to be enough.