#another fic written in the library let's gooooo

[softguarnere]

Hi! not sure if this is cool but I'm so soft today 😭one shot where winters meets a girl who dreams of becoming a teacher and living in a little farm?

Guardian Angel

Dick Winters x reader

A/N: Dear Anon, it's definitely cool, don't sweat it 😉 If you've been around for a while, you know that I have a special love for soft!Easy men. Thank you for the request, and I hope you like this! (As always, this is written for the fictional depiction from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) 💕🕊️

Warnings: mentions of blood and war, talk of religion

"Is this seat taken?"

Dick hadn't realized how fast his mind had been running until the gentle voice interrupts his thoughts, causing them to come to a screeching halt as he tries to puzzle through what's just been said to him.

"I'm sorry?"

The pretty woman gestures to the church pew beside him. "Is this seat taken?"

He's seen countless Red Cross nurses throughout the war - bravely running to and froe as they rush to men's aid. Their uniforms and smart looking caps have become blurs in his memory, punctuated by the brilliant red crosses on their arms. They're everywhere. Yet this is the first time that he's ever spoken to one directly.

He gestures at the vacant spot next to him. "Be my guest."

The young woman offers him a smile, and something in his chest stirs at the sight. She's got a pretty smile - one of those genuine ones that reaches her (Y/E/C) eyes and lights them up with the action. Her smile would be a sight on it's own. But in this moment, it's a stark juxtaposition to her state.

Her hair is only half held out of her face, which is streaked with sweat that she wipes at with chapped hands. When she takes a seat, those same hands clutch fist-fulls of her uniform skirt like she's hanging onto the blood and dirt soaked fabric for dear life.

Yet despite all of that, there's a gentleness about her. She stares at the cross on the altar in front of them with reverence. In the candlelight, with the soft voices of the nuns singing, he can't help but wonder if she's some sort of angel that's been sent to watch over them all.

It's really none of his business, and he stops himself from asking several times.

"Have you come to pray, too?" His voice feels like barely a whisper. She continues to stare straight ahead, but she must hear him, because she replies just as softly.

"Yes. And you?"

"Yes." No restraint, he shifts down the pew so that he's a little closer to her. "I've spent this whole war praying. Usually in the foxholes. It's easy to find God there. But it's nice to be in a church."

She hums, sparing a glance at him. "What do you pray for?"

"For my men. For all the men. That I get home safely." He bites his lip in hesitation, then admits what he's been thinking since D-Day, but has never said aloud to another person. "That I never have to fight again after this."

That same smile appears again, her eyes dazzling in the candlelight. "That would be nice, wouldn't it? To know nothing but peace after this." She let's out a shaky breath and leans forward, elbows on her knees. She buries her face in her hands for a moment and takes a deep breath before clasping her hands in front of her, so hard that her knuckles turn white.

"Back in the States, I heard about the war and wanted to do something," she admits, biting her lip. "I wanted to help people. And now . . . Being a nurse is heartbreaking. There must be other ways to help people without holding their life in your hands and having to worry about dropping it."

She sits up straight now. She swipes a finger under her eye before she continues. "Every time, I pray that God will get me out of here and let me go somewhere quiet. Somewhere where I never have to hear the rumble of trucks and wonder if they're tanks coming for us."

He knows the feeling. He's travelled on that exact same train of thought before. Often, really - but he's been so busy looking out the window that he never took note of the other passengers.

"A little farm."

Her eyes snap to him, her expression softening as she takes in his words. "Yeah. A little farm. Somewhere close to the middle of nowhere. And I'll teach."

"Teach?"

"Yes." She nods. "That sounds like helping people. I'll teach children and I won't have to worry about cradling their lives in my hands - only their futures."

"That sounds nice."

"It's peaceful." She smooths her skirt. This time she looks at him head-on. "Is that what you want, too?"

"Yes."'

"Well - " She stands, offers him one last smile. "Then I hope and pray that we both get what we want."

And just like that, she leaves him, like a guardian angel that he didn't even know he had disappearing into the candlelight as she shows herself out the door of the church, leaving their brief moment of peace to head back into the chaos and horrors of the war.

He doesn't even know her name. Yet he feels like he's seen a reflection of his own soul.

He bows his head, and this time, he prays that she will find her own peaceful place after the war, and that her little farm is the same one as his.