Call of Duty Oneshots

Never Ruined (Requested Frost)

"Did they make it out?" 

"I don't know, I can't see them!" 

"Shit!" you swung around and tried to see the screens in the command room.

"There they are!" 

Your eyes narrowed in on the group of American soldiers coughing their way out of the debris of the bomb. The entire building was rubbish and now their mission had to end early. 

"They have wounded," a man on a headset was communicating with them. 

"Get them home," Overlord ordered, leaning on the edge of the table. "Y/L/N, get ready for the wounded." 

You nodded briskly and then hustled towards the left wing of the base, a place of sickness and blood and odd cleanliness. Your heart went out to the other teams trampled under the building, but it mostly wavered for the men you knew. 

Frost was your main concern. You hoped he hadn't been wounded in the collapse and that he was helping others onto rides home. If he was one of the ones who was near-death, you didn't know how you would be able to handle it. 

The clusters of broken and bleeding men came in less than an hour. Other doctors came to help, as did medics from the field. They were many wounded, but it was something the base could handle. 

You helped roll patients into operating rooms or simple one-night stay ones, keeping your eyes open for any you recognized. 

"Get this little one in the ICU," you ordered, seeing the first and only civilian: a young boy with a crying mother at his side. 

You turned to face down the short hallway to where soldiers were entering and your heart stopped. A doctor passed temporarily through the sight, but other than that you saw the four men clearly. 

Sandman and Grinch were supporting Frost while Truck brought up the rear in panic. Frost was sweating, his eyes opening and closing in pain. When they saw you, and you them, relief was mutual. 

"What happened?" you demanded, feeling Frost's forehead and peeling his helmet back. 

Frost groaned something, but Sandman answered. "A piece of rebar struck his thigh. We pulled it out, but he isn't doing good." 

"Don't pull shit out!" you scolded, bringing them into a smaller operating room...your operating room. "It can damage more." 

"He was going to die if we didn't," Grinch winced as you cut away Frost's pants to reveal a nasty little wound. 

"And your head wound?" you pointed at Sandman.

"Nothing important at the moment." 

You nodded in agreement and then got to work on Frost. He was fading in and out of consciousness, his eyes opening and closing. He was a strong soldier, trying to hold on for as long as he could. 

"Tell us he ain't gonna die," Truck breathed, pacing. 

"No," you promised. "I won't let that happen. Sandman, hand me that stitching."

You stuffed the wound with a special dressing, making sure that no flakes of the rebar had gotten in the wound. Gauze helped with the blood enough to let you stitch Frost up. 

"Gross," Grinch turned in a gagging sound. 

"Then leave! The others need help too," you snapped and the three moved to exit. "Not you Sandman, I'm going to fix your head as soon as I'm done." 

The master sergeant promptly sat down on the small bench in the corner of the room. While the other two soldiers listened to your commands, you wiped up the mess from Frost.