Silent Soldier| Children! La Squadra x fem!reader

одиннадцать | The Hatch

It happened, and then was done.

Cheers of relief and excitement erupted within the walls of Haven and spread like a wildfire. The muted woman had done as promised, which was confirmed only after someone in the lookout post spotted the massacre that had taken place just beyond their gate. 

What he had seen was something the people in Haven didn't need to know about, let alone have burned into their retina-- so that exit was sealed off, the one on the opposite side temporarily opened to accommodate. 

This was a peaceful place, a quiet place, one that could provide for those with nothing left; That also meant that this was no place for a weapon like (Y/n), whether she had saved their lives or not.

But under the favor of her deed, the people of Haven had no choice but to show their gratitude by offering what little the world let them possess. Every proceed she had received were passed onto the kids; Blankets, food, water, cocoa, shoes, coats, little toys, and much more than they could've ever hoped for. 

Unfortunately, despite having taken such a long journey there, Polnareff was no where to be found. According to some of the people who had been there for a good while, he had passed through a day ago, but never really told anyone where he was heading to next. All that effort for nothing, in the end, and Melone was only getting worse by the day.

With Ghiaccio by his side, it wasn't too bad, the pain growing as dull as a needle's prick with each hug he gave him. But that didn't mean his body wasn't sustaining damage. His veins tinted his skin purple as dehydration became a theme of his with the passing days, tears slipped out of his eyes as he'd clutch his sides in pain and whimper like a kicked puppy, and even worse, he could barely eat.

If Polnareff, or at this rate anyone, didn't help him soon, he was sure to die in the days to come. Melone is a weak kid, his immune system has always been shit according to Ghiaccio... But for what seemed to be a simple flu, it was horrible.

"Hey, miss (Y/n)." Pesci would tug on the soldiers sleeve, drawing her attention from the fire she sat beside and forcing her to look at him. "Do we have any more soup? Melone looks willing to eat."

As usual, she didn't understand a word he said, and as he was about to resort to charades again, as one normally might to get their point across, a voice piped up from the back.

It was Ghiaccio, surprisingly, who seemed always so against even interacting with the soldier from the start. In some strange tongue, he spoke many a word, and with such skill and diligence it was as though he was born speaking it. He probably was.

(Y/n) had become rather surprise, eyebrows flicking up briefly as she smiled, before beginning to pour a steaming bowl of food for the sickly boy, and a second for the one beside him.

From what any could tell, this wasn't the first time Ghiaccio had to care for Melone, the poor child. With a great gentleness, the same as that should be used on a newborn kitten, he lifted his resting head off his lap, and leaned it to the side, pushing a full spoon toward his lips and cooling it down, before carefully pushing it into Melones mouth. A few squeezes on Ghiaccio's arm was all Melone could do to show his gratitude.

While that was happening, with Gelato watching from the side and making idle chat with Risotto, Formaggio and Illuso were busy playing in the snow, painstakingly building a tiny fort a few feet away from everyone else, snickering and whispering among themselves like conspiring devils, for surely what they were up to was no good.

Such a thought was proven right when (Y/n) was abruptly hit in the head with something, the resting Prosciutto leaning on her shoulder snapping awake from the jolt. Just what was that?