CoD WWII Oneshots/Imagines

(Zussman/Daniels request) Thoughts

Zussman x Daniels

Zussman's POV

Holy shit. I just watched one of my friends, at least what you could call a friend in this condition, get shot in the head. I'd seen it before, but I was terrified. Now it's just me and the Nazi Officer.

At this point, I'm ready for death. I'm so weak and tired that I can't possibly fight the guy. He yelled something, and yeah, I speak German, but I'm so tired that I have to remind myself to breathe. There's no way that I'm going to be able to put together what he's saying.

A gunshot rang out very close by. I had my head turned and was waiting for the impact, but it never came. I was laying there, unsure what to do. Maybe I was in shock and couldn't feel the bullet. I don't know.

"Zussman."

I choked on my own breath and tried to roll over. My vision was blurry but I could tell that Daniels was crouched over me.

"I thought I was going to die out there," I weakly told him. He propped me up with one of his arms and handed me his canteen of water.

"I know, I know. Hey—don't drink too fast, buddy," he said and took the water away from me.

I'll be honest, that made me mad. I've been on a death march for who knows how long, haven't had any water at least in a few days, but watched the person I'd become closest to in the last month die, and now he's not going to let me drink at all? I could hear others talking, but honestly, I wasn't making sense of any of it.

I was doing a little better, but I still felt awful. I'm in a field hospital and the guys visited me pretty often. Daniels came the most.

"I never thought I'd see you again," I told him. "I honestly thought I'd die."

"I didn't," he shook his head, "I had hope."

"It must be nice to be optimistic," I tried to joke with a feeble smile.

"To be fair, I wasn't being starved to death."

I shrugged, which made me wince. "So... does this mean the war's over?"

"Just have to wrap a few things up and we'll be home."

I nodded and sighed. "You better come visit me if you're ever in Chicago."

"Yeah," he chuckled, "I definitely will."

"I missed you," I weakly admitted to him.

"I missed you too," he nodded and rested a hand on my shoulder.

Anyone else in the tent was sleeping, it was pretty late. "I thought..."

"Don't—" he stopped me, "don't dwell on it, it'll only hurt you more."

"It's been my life for the past—God, I don't even know what day it is." I rubbed my face with my hands and honestly wanted to burst into tears. "I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm—Dirty Jew," I repeated in German, a phrase I'd heard regularly even from other prisoners in the camp who weren't Jewish. "I'm—one of the unlucky few who survived."

"Don't say that, you're so lucky to have survived. Not even lucky—" he sputtered in thought for a second, "you're brave and strong as hell. I don't know anyone else in the platoon or any other we've worked with that could have the willpower to live through all that and come out kicking."

"You're serious?" I asked and looked up to him uncertainly.

"More than I've ever been."

This was risky.

I quickly propped myself up on my elbows and—after I stopped being dizzy—pressed my lips to his quickly.

When I opened my eyes he was smiling.

"What was that?"

"Something I never thought I'd be able to do since I left."