𝙷𝙱𝙾 𝚆𝚊𝚛 𝙸𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜

Stab Wound | Ron Speirs

Sarcastic reader. Mentions of knives, stabbing and blood. No real plot as far as I know, just a little scene blurb.

~~~

You didn't ask to be dragged into this. The war, yes; you signed up for it. But getting stabbed? Definitely not. Fortunately, it wasn't too deep of a wound. Unfortunately, it was a good enough of a wound to keep you grounded and out of doing too much.

As soon as Easy had reached Haguenau, Winters and Speirs (especially Speirs) had insisted that you go to a hospital to rest and recover from your stab wound, much to your chagrin. To satisfy them, you agreed and shipped off, coming back after a two day stint in the hospital.

Seeing Ron's livid face when you rolled up two days later was absolutely worth the trouble you ran into while breaking out of the hospital.

"(Y/N), I love you, but sometimes, you're just so infuriating." he had said as Winters walked off after berating you.

"Back 'atcha, honey." you winked. "Besides, the hospital was too boring. Where else am I gonna be kept on my toes, huh?"

"I'd think you were kept on your toes enough for the time being."

You snorted. "Getting stabbed does not warrant 'being kept on my toes enough.' That was a one-time situation. Which, by the way, happened to last a full three seconds before I yanked the knife out and used it on the Kraut. Three seconds is not nearly enough time to keep me on my toes."

"(Y/N), I think that you would do a lot better if you had recovered fully."

"I wanted to be with the guys, Ron. Is that a crime?"

You turned away from Ron and limped the rest of the way to Battalion CP, getting greeted with a warm hug from Luz and a friendly wave from Lipton. Webster was sat in the corner by the piano, offering you a smile in greeting.

"Look who decided to join us! How's your leg?" George grinned, patting your shoulder and grabbing a Hershey bar from the crates.

"Don't tell Liebgott." he whispered as he stuffed it into my pocket.

"Nice to see you too, Luz." you smiled, stretching out on an unoccupied armchair in the room. "My leg is killing me, though. Hurts to walk."

"Yeah, I'll say. Speirs'll probably have you benched from anything we do."

You shrugged. "As long as I get to be with you guys instead of at a drab hospital, I'm fine. How're you, Lip?"

"Pneumonia."

"Gee, Lip. Hasn't this war thrown you through enough?"

Lipton laughed. "Don't I know it."

The conversation continued, only stopping momentarily when a Lieutenant Jones arrived. You tuned everything out, snagging a bit of random newspaper off the ground and reading its contents. They were all French, of course. But you could still appreciate the photography in it.

You were jolted out of your thoughts when Speirs came marching back in with a clock and a book in each of his hands.

"Listen, Christ's sake. Will you go back in the back and sack out? There's some beds back there with fresh sheets." he scolded Lipton.

"I will, sir. Just trying to make myself useful, sir."

You looked back down at your paper, pretending to not notice Ron as he bustled about the room. You wondered how long it would take until he noticed you and told you to use one of the beds in the back like he told Lipton.

Winters walked in with Nixon, explaining that Colonel Sink wanted a patrol for prisoners across the river. You tuned out the conversation again, going back to trying to decipher the French text. You had no idea how long you'd been working at it until Ron yanked the paper out of your hands and held it out of your reach when you tried grabbing for it. Your leg almost buckled from under you as you stood up too fast.

"What a low move, Ron. Using my handicap against me." you grumbled as Ron steadied you.

"You heard me earlier, (Y/N). There's beds with fresh sheets out back. I want you to rest up, make sure your leg is recovering properly." he told you sternly.

You frowned. "What's wrong with recovering in this armchair? There's practically no difference. I'm already here, it doesn't make sense to make me get up and move."

"Would you rather go back to the hospital? At least there you might not be so adamant about disobeying orders."

"Oh, I'm sorry, is this OUR stab wound?" you asked, poking a finger at his chest. "No? Okay then, stay out of it."

Ron shook his head. "Hup, hup, let's go. Off to bed with you."

"Jesus Christ, you sound like my mother."

"BED, Corporal."

"Fine, fine, I'm going, I'm going." you sighed, dramatically making your way to the beds.

You made a show of flopping onto the bed very visible from the doorway, spreading out your arms across the bed.

"Happy now?" you called from the room.

"Very."

"Good. Mother-hen Speirs is happy. Now go do your Captain thing. Come back to me and give me cuddles when you're done."

The blanket did nothing to soothe the cold that seeped through your bones. You had laid there, wishing you had an extra blanket with you. Or even Ron. You could do with some of his cuddles right about now.

"How long have you been shivering there?" Ron's voice broke through your thoughts.

You turned to see Ron standing in the doorway, and you held out your arms to him. You didn't know how long it had been since he left, but you had spent long enough in the cold.

You grinned. "Come. Warmth."

He smiled as he climbed into the bed with you, pressing himself against your back and wrapping his arms around you.

"Better?"

"Better."