"Of all the days it could've fuckin' rained, Mother Nature just had to be a bitch, didn't she?"
Streaks of bright lightning flash in the dark night sky above. Heavy droplets of rain pour down upon us as we sit in our cover, our makeshift trenches in case the counterattack strikes. Although, we've been sitting here for hours, and nothing has appeared in the field except the occasional rabbit or squirrel. It's been suspiciously quiet for a long time.
Well, until the massive thunderstorm rolled in, anyway.
We're all drenched from head to toe. My hair falls down in front of my eyes, sticking to my forehead and heavy with rainwater. I've never been more uncomfortable in my entire life, nor have I ever been more chilled to the bone. I'm freezing my ass off. At this rate, every single person in Delta is going to catch a fever. I can't stop shivering, and even if the storm blows over soon, there's no way our clothes are going to dry out quickly enough to stop the sickness from attacking us.
This stakeout is going swimmingly.
His teeth chattering like a madman's, Pete squints against the rain trying to trickle into his eyes. "I swear to God, we're all sitting on our deathbeds," he grumbles, his arms tightly wrapped around his abdomen. "If the Nazis don't kill us while we're sleeping, then the hypothermia and fevers will. I'm fuckin' freezing!"
"This is the wettest I've ever been in my whole life," Brendon says; despite his sickly appearance, he can't stop a sly smirk from spreading across his face.
Leave it to him to say something completely immature in a situation as miserable as this.
"Jesus Christ, Brendon, get your priorities sorted out," Dallon gripes, his eyes almost entirely covered by his soaking wet hair. "We're all dying out here, and you're acting like a five-year-old."
"Oh, come on, Dal. I think you know me better than that. I'm actually a three-year-old."
Thunder rumbles through the billowing storm clouds. It rattles deep in my bones, shakes the mushy ground beneath us. Normally I enjoy thunderstorms, but right now, sitting in the pouring rain with no shelter, I'm starting to despise them and everything they stand for. Especially if it gets me sick. A fever is the last thing we need to add to our never-ending list of problems.
Taking a deep, trembling breath, my body shivering uncontrollably, my attention turns to Frank as he suddenly rises to his feet, water droplets dripping from his drenched clothes. Even in the darkness, his skin is starting to look sickly pale.
Well, then again, whose isn't?
"I'm gonna go take the first watch," he announces to the group, his tone deprived of any and all wit he used to have. "If anyone needs sleep, I'd do it now. Come get me when it's someone else's turn."
With that, he ambles off through the bushes, into the darkness of the small forest behind us; I don't even realize I'm watching him leave until Mikey pokes me in the arm.
"What's the solemn look for?" he asks me, a small smile trying to show on his face. His rain-covered glasses are on his lap, far too wet for him to see out of.
All ability to speak has suddenly up and left me, leaving me sitting there like a dumbfounded moron. I open my mouth to talk as I turn to look at him, to see his inquisitive gaze piercing right through me, but I can't bring myself to say a proper answer. Instead, I'm sure I only make him more curious, and myself more frustrated, with what I end up saying.
"Nothing. It's nothing."
"Oh, come on, Gerard." He gives me a gentle shove on the shoulder, his smile only growing larger and larger. "I'm not an idiot. I can tell when something's bothering you, and right now, something's bothering you. So, what is it?"
YOU ARE READING
The Ghost of Him |WWII Frerard AU|
Fanfiction"You are never coming home." * * * There are some days in life you'll never forget. Your first date, perhaps, or even your first kiss. Maybe even your first experience with death, because not all of these days have to be good. Some of these day...
