𝙷𝙱𝙾 𝚆𝚊𝚛 𝙸𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜

In the Dead of Night | Dick Winters

dick and the reader have a moment. had similar vibes and felt a lot like Warmth with wild bill while i wrote this. also felt kinda static and flat in a way.

~~~

Richard Winters was not a man of grand gestures. Nor did he ever look anything but calm and composed--albeit a little smile here or there. His men respected the collected man, but you knew better. Dick Winters just didn't feel the need to show his emotions. Crying for a fallen comrade was useless on the battlefield; it wouldn't bring them back.

Richard Winters held those sorrows deep down. He pushed them aside in battle, but when the bullets stopped flying and the adrenaline rush was gone, he was left with the thought of the dead. And oh, the letters home...there were always so many letters to write home telling the family that their son had died a hero.

You watched as Dick walked off after sending the patrol into the woods, his shoulders hunched as if he held the burdens of the world upon them. You grabbed Nixon's cup of coffee, smiling slightly at his protests as you followed Dick to his foxhole.

He was bundled in a blanket when you slid in, shivering and looking like he could use a good nap, but otherwise okay.

"Coffee?" you offered him.

He took the cup gratefully, but didn't drink.

"Can't sleep." he said after a moment.

"Cold?"

"Among other things."

You nodded, then scooted closer to him, taking the cup from him. You caught the attention of a passing Liebgott, handing the cup to him and telling him to give it back to Nix. He nodded and set off as you turned back to Dick.

"Well, you've got some time before you need to send out the next patrol. How about you get some rest now?"

He nodded and closed his eyes, leaning back against the dirt and snow. You studied him, watching his frown gradually disappear as the sleep began to fall upon him. You wondered exactly how much sleep he had been getting since arriving in the Bois Jacques. You sat back and held his hand, hoping it was a small bit of reassurance for him in the cold and fighting. 

As the time passed and the snow kept falling, you found yourself being lulled to sleep. You let the sounds of the falling snow and idle chatter fade into the background as your exhaustion took over. 

A sudden tight grip ripped you from your sleep and you jolted awake. You looked over at Dick, who seemed to be wrapped up in a nightmare. You smiled sadly, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

"What's wrong, Dick?" you asked softly. "Are you okay?" He wouldn't answer, you knew that. But maybe, just maybe, your voice was loud enough for him to hear in his sleep.

"Dick, baby, you gotta tell me what's wrong."

He inched closer to you in response, his grip on you tightening as if you were his lifeline. You sighed; nightmares were hell to sleep through. It was no wonder that Dick barely got sleep every other night. He made a sound like a pitiful whimper, and you pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. 

"Shhh, it's okay, Dick. I got you. I'm not going anywhere."

You held him closer and wrapped your arm around him a little more. You stared out at the treetops, whispering reassurances in his ear. There was a long road to the end of the war, and an even longer one to the end of the nightmares.

When you woke up a few hours later, Dick was still fast asleep and his grip on you was still tight. He looked at peace--if only for a few hours. You wrapped your blanket around you a little more and waited for him to wake up from his much-needed sleep.

You lost track of time again as you let your mind wander. It seemed that was the only thing that you could do in these woods: endless daydreaming and pondering accompanied by idle chatter and the occasional exploding tree.

A muffled gasp broke you out of your thoughts. You turned to see Dick looking around with wide eyes, only calming down when he remembered that he was in a foxhole, in cold forest in Europe, with you.

"Are you okay, Dick?" Your tone was tentative.

"Yeah," he nodded, his gaze growing pensive. "Yeah. I'm good."

You waited a beat, then asked, "Wanna talk about what happened earlier?"

"What? What happened?"

You opened your mouth and almost told him, but then thought better of it. Instead, the words that left your mouth were ones that brushed away your previous question.

"Must've been some trick of the eye; it's nothing important." you shrugged.

He nodded absentmindedly, then slowly climbed out of the foxhole.

"Need to send something to Battalion." he muttered.

You stayed where you sat, replaying the night's moment over and over. Dick hadn't remembered what happened. He didn't realize that he had fallen asleep with a nightmare. He hadn't realized that he had clutched you like the Devil was trying to pull him from the arms of Life.

Richard Winters was not a man that wore his emotions on his sleeve. He was a composed man, one that stayed cool under pressure. But underneath his calm exterior, you saw a more vulnerable side, a side that could only be seen in the dead of night.