Notes:
A/N: I'll just leave this here...just know that even though we're losing some of our faves soon, I've done my best to make up for it with some friendships I wasn't quite expecting but dearly enjoy and think you will too haha. Enjoy and as always, let me know what you think!
Chapter Text
The Bois Jacques forest seemed like a death trap to Winnie, full of foxholes, full of soldiers, full of the dead or ghosts who were haunting them. She kept a steady hand in Toccoa's fur as they trekked forwards, and Speirs kept an iron grip on her elbow. Truth be told, it was the only thing keeping her moving forward.
"When did they move?" Winnie's voice sounded foreign to her own ears. Strained. Dehydrated. Pained.
All of which were true.
"A day ago."
Silence once again fell between the two of them and Winnie just gave a nod, continuing to move forward. She would have much preferred their time together on D-Day—it seemed much less daunting then that it did now.
At least on D-Day, she hadn't been bleeding and suffering from a miscarriage. At least on D-Day, her friends were still alive. At least on D-Day, she didn't feel like she would die.
"You seem to have a knack for coming back from the dead."
Winnie wasn't sure how to respond to that. Wasn't sure what to say. Because the truth was that she didn't feel like she was back from the dead. She just felt hollowed out and empty. And someone who had an empty cup couldn't give water to other cups. But she supposed that he had a decently good point with that, given the fact that she had survived two horrific instances and been the sole survivor twice.
"I think God just has a good sense of humor, that's all," Winnie replied softly .
"You think God's the one doing this stuff?" Speirs shot her a look. "I didn't peg you as someone to superstitiously put everything in God's hands."
"Well I think we have agency and we're the ones who screw the world up. Not necessarily God. But I do think being the sole survivor of catastrophic events twice is no coincidence and there is some divine hand in that."
Silence.
"I don't know about believing in God or anything," Speirs said, glancing in her direction. "But I do believe in you."
Winnie nearly froze at the words. They hit her square in the chest and nearly left her breathless—and not just from the cold. The fact of the matter was that the only people in the entire world who had ever believed in Winnie like that were her brothers, and she had raised them to be like that. So the fact that Speirs had decided to place that sort of faith and belief in her was not only powerful, but intimately touching.
"That means a lot," Winnie finally murmured, glancing over at him.
"Easy Company's just up ahead. Looks like they're having Mess at the moment," Speirs said, gaze trained ahead and through the treeline. True to his word, a few soldiers from Easy Company were up ahead and gathering to eat some food from a makeshift shelter.
"Thank you," Winnie said quietly.
"I meant what I said. You don't ever have to thank me," Speirs retorted firmly. "Now do me a favor?"
"Sure."
"Try not to get yourself killed?" He suggested with a wry half-smile.
"I've been doing my best."
"Try harder," He gave a sarcastic grin—and then he was gone, disappearing off into the woods the way that he had come.
Winnie wasn't sure if he was an Angel of Death or if he was an actual guardian angel—and right now she didn't care much. She was just grateful for the fact that he had consistently showed up, like a saving shadow of grace just when she had needed him.
She had never needed to be rescued. And he wasn't doing any sort of rescuing. But he was showing up. And to Winnie, that was better.
It took her a moment for her legs to start moving again. For her to remember the small pack of morphine vials that she had managed to save. Five measly packets that would likely mean the difference between life and death for some of these men. Winnie had miraculously managed to preserve those—just not the life that she had been carrying inside of her.
The snow crunched under her feet as she entered the clearing, catching wind of Buck talking with some of the others. "Harry's a tough guy, he's gonna be just fine. He'll be okay," he insisted. "He'll be back on the line in no time."
"None of the rest of you better make any stupid decisions regarding a fire," Roe interjected into the conversation. "We don't have the morphine to spare for stupid —"
"Well you do listen when I talk," Winnie's voice cut in through the frigid cold like a ghost materializing in front of them.
And everything in the clearing held its breath.
Everyone froze at the sound of her voice.
"But don't worry, I managed to save some morphine. So you're not as low as you thought—"
"DOC!" Winnie was unceremoniously cut off by Guarnere darting forward and picking her up and crushing her in the fiercest hug of her lifetime. She froze at the contact, letting him clutch her to him like a lifeline of sorts. And that was when the spell in the camp broke and everything burst into chaos.
Wonderful, glorified, undignified chaos.
The next thing Winnie knew, she was getting tugged into a fierce hug by Roe, who immediately was checking her over for injuries. Before he could even ask a question about the blood she was covered in, Winnie was giving him a look that said later .
"Just how the hell are you alive?" Buck demanded, immediately ruffling her hair like an older brother would. "Doc said you were in the church when it collapsed."
Everyone had gathered around Winnie, eyes wide and looking at her as though she were some sort of omen. "Not quite," Winnie stated with a tight half-smile. "I know structural integrity problems when I see them. I was trying to get everyone out when the place came down. Went further into town to seek some shelter when I got pinned under an apartment that collapsed."
"The blood—" Lipton had appeared in the edge of her vision, eyes wide.
"Not mine," Winnie lied like it was her second language. It felt like a poison on her tongue. It wasn't hers . It was her child's. But it was part of her.
"How'd you get free?" Luz asked, jaw nearly gaped at her.
"Toccoa," Winnie said, gesturing at the dog. "She's the smartest one in this company actually."
"Of course," Roe breathed out, eyes flickering between Winnie and the dog. "It would be the dog."
"You got a dog? When did you—how did you—" Guarnere questioned, looking between her and the dog.
"Technically it was the Germans. I just stole it from some asshole soldiers who were gonna kill it. She's my attack dog now," Winnie replied with a shrug. "Now if you don't mind, can I get some water? And maybe some food? I've been pinned for two days without any water or food."
Answering to Dike—who just looked her over and told her to get in a foxhole, nearly made Winnie want to shank him herself. So she did get into a foxhole and the moment that she sat down, it was utter agony for Winnie. She felt warm and feverish but she wasn't going anywhere. Not after what she had been through.
It was quiet as she sat there in the dirt and the snow, trying to process what she had been through. What had happened. And there was an uncomfortable burning sensation in her pelvis and she wanted to burst into tears.
She didn't do that.
Roe slid into the foxhole next, hands immediately going to her face and helping her get some water down into her throat. "Talk to me, Winnie," he murmured, gently pinching at her skin to try and bring some feeling back into it.
"Crushed by debris. Pinned from my hips onwards," Winnie sucked in a sharp breath. "The blood is mine," she murmured quietly.
"You—"
"Lost it, yes."
Silence. "God, Win, I'm sorry—"
"It couldn't be helped," Winnie stated in a flat and emotionless tone. "And anyway, it's done now. No need for me to go away. No need for any of it. Nature corrects things on its own, I suppose."
A heavy beat of silence.
The look of heartbreak.
"Is that what you think happened to Reba and Eileen?"
His words stabbed like a knife straight to her ribs, sinking in deep.
They were sharp. Unforgiving. Almost angry.
"No."
"Then why the hell do you think that of yourself?"
"Because it's the only way I know how to survive," Winnie replied softly. There was another heavy pause between the two of them. "There was a lot of blood. I hit my head. Pretty sure there was a concussion. Dehydration. Hunger. Maybe frostbite on some fingers or toes."
Roe gave a deep sigh. "Let's take a look."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When the morning came, that was when Winnie saw Dick and Nixon again—both of whom seemed in a hurry to come and see her, given her miraculous return from the dead. It had been brief—mostly because Winnie couldn't bear to see pity in their eyes—so she had cut the interaction short.
The minute that Nixon's gaze had met her own, she felt like something had just died in her chest. His eyes scanned over her, onto the blood—
And Winnie just gave a stiff shake of her head— it hadn't made it .
That was worse—because then she had watched something shatter in Lewis Nixon's eyes. His second chance. His chance at a family. The fact that she was going to say yes. The fact that they had talked about it . And she hated herself for it on a deeply religious level that couldn't be described easily.
She watched his eyes die again. And Winnie tore her gaze away, refusing to speak anything more than necessary to Winters or Nixon. Winnie felt like some sort of divide or wall had been put up and it was one entirely of her own making.
Necessary.
There to protect herself.
The way that it used to be.
Self-isolating wasn't a good move and she knew it—but that wasn't going to stop her from trying to protect herself in this way that she knew. She had only ever been able to rely on herself. Only ever been able to take care of herself and not worry about anyone else except for family. Why should this be any different?
"If I have to endure another speech about that damn Luger, I'm gonna use it on the Krauts myself," Winnie stated in a low tone, glancing over at Roe.
He grimaced. Hoobler had wanted a Luger since D-Day and now that he finally had one, he wouldn't shut up about it. "And to think, you missed being on the line."
"My mistake."
"Should you even be digging—"
"I'm fine ," she gritted her teeth at his statement. At the insinuation that she needed to rest, that she needed extra care or help.
She had survived something that women had been having since the dawn of time. That didn't make her special, it just made her average. And she needed to not fall apart at the seams over something like this. Needed to not become a ghost just because she felt like one.
A gunshot rang out clear as day and Winnie flinched violently at the sound—unable to help herself.
For a moment, neither she or Roe moved. They just stared at each other. Like she had been branded by the flinch. Like it said more than she was even able to.
"MEDIC!"
They moved forward in tandem, just as quickly as they had trained. When they reached Hoobler, they found him white as a sheet and Roe immediately got to unraveling his bandages. Winnie immediately dropped beside Hoobler, hands searching for the wound—and when she found it, she froze.
Femoral artery. He had already been bleeding for long enough.
"It's his femoral artery," Winnie breathed out, eyes locking onto Roe. "He's already gone."
And just as she said the words, Hoobler slipped from this life and into the next.
Everyone went silent and Winnie just stared at Hoobler—the way that he had gone ashen gray in the snow. The way that everyone sat around him and tried to not stare. "Perconte, we're going to need a jeep. Lipton, take care of the Luger," Winnie insisted, finding her footing. She refused to let herself be weak, refused to not be the steady doctor that she had always been.
Even if she felt grief like it was losing a limb or carving a place permanently in her chest and on her heart.
"I'll tell Winters," Lipton said quietly.
Winnie just gave a nod, closing her eyes and letting out a breath. There had to be light at the end of the tunnel. Because if there wasn't, she was sure that the only thing left from this war was going to be a shell or ghost of her.