The Ghost of Him |WWII Frerard AU|

-42-

"How are you holding up, Josh?"

I wince as Ryan presses a cold antibiotic cloth to my forehead, my old bloodstained bandages in the trash at my feet.  I knew I couldn't avoid this check-up forever, but hey, at least it's better than getting a terrible infection, right?

Across from me, Josh sits up on his rickety cot, a faint smile adorning his pale face as he watches Ryan clean up my injury.  I'm glad he's still smiling, despite everything he's been through.  He deserves happiness after the harrowing months he's battled, but because of that, I'm not sure if I've met anyone braver.

I'm proud of him.

"Oh, you know,"  he says, his frail grin spreading.  "I'm just peachy.  Thanks for asking."

"He's definitely faring a lot better than you right now, Gerard,"  Ryan interrupts.  With a shake of his head, motherly disappointment glimmering in his eyes, he steps back to grab a fresh roll of bandages.  "You have stop running headfirst into explosions."

"Hey,"  I retort, unable to bite back a smile when I see Josh snickering to himself.  "I didn't run this time.  I was just sitting there.  It wasn't my fault."

"Sure it wasn't."

I don't appreciate the sass he's giving me right now.  All I asked for was for him to clean my wound again, not get reprimanded for my extreme clumsiness and misfortune.  I didn't ask for this.  Not today.  I can't control the explosions that just so happen to strike directly next to me.  It's not my fault.

Thankfully, though, Josh seems entertained by the whole conversation.  His tired eyes shine with amusement as he absentmindedly picks at a loose thread on his own bandages.  They still coat nearly every inch of his body, but he's healing.  Slowly but surely, he's getting better; I can't be more grateful that he's recovering as well as he is.  I don't know what I would've done if he'd been closer to that bomb that day.

I don't even want to think about it.  The thought of it alone is enough to make me sick to my stomach.

Heaving a sigh, Ryan finishes wrapping up my head and gives it a gentle, yet incredibly awkward pat.  "There you go,"  he says, a weak half-smile adorning his face.  "You should be fine for a few more days.  Just don't go running into any more explosions, you hear me?"

"Can't make any promises,"  I reply with a smirk.

I'm honestly not surprised when he rolls his eyes at me and turns on his heel to leave the room.

Now only Josh and I remain, and the heavy silence that hangs over us claws at my chest like a hungry predator.

The warm smile that shined on his face mere moments before has vanished without a trace, leaving nothing but a solemn and melancholic expression in its wake.  His gaze cast down, he picks at the threads on his bandages, the old fabric of his rickety cot.  Seeing him so somber makes me wonder how he's been sitting here for the past few days, all by himself, while the rest of his company fought another battle in the hills.  The poor thing's probably been so lonely; my heart aches for him.  I hope he's doing okay.

Then, his shoulders heaving with an unsteady sigh, he tears his dismal gaze away from the loose threads and spares a glance at me.  "So how did the counterattack thing go?"  he asks, his voice soft.  "Ryan told me a little bit--mostly about how he punched Brendon for being an idiot and drawing attention to you guys--but otherwise, I don't know much."

I can't swallow a laugh at the image of Ryan punching Brendon for his wild behaviors out in the field.  I swear, Ryan might as well be his mother with how he acts sometimes.  He sure has some maternal qualities to him.