Band of Brothers Imagines

Christening Gown - Johnny Martin x Reader

The exhaustion consumed every fibre of your body. Despite the short amount of time since you were last in combat, your brain had allowed you to cloud the memories of just how draining it was to watch your comrades die, scarred by the memories of Normandy, Holland and Bastogne. Jackson's voice repeating I don't want to die, I don't want to die played over and over in your head, seemingly unshakable. You wondered how long it would take for his mother to get the telegram.

You watched the sun rising, colouring the sky in pink and orange hues, as you leant against the wreckage of what was once someone's home. Although you'd spent the best part of a year fighting in Europe, you realised that you'd never once thought about the people who'd occupied these houses. War was the realm of soldiers, not civilians, yet they were suffering in droves.

An icy wind swept across the street, strong enough to make the muddy water ripple slightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed something fluttering in the ruins next to you. Curiosity got the better of you, and you stepped over the rubble to examine whatever it was. Picking it up, you saw it was a christening gown for a baby; despite it being muddied and wet, there were still small patches of white shining through. It reminded you a little of the way that the whiteness of snow still managed to shine through blood.

As gently as possible, for some reason you couldn't quite figure out, you wiped it across your uniform, hoping to restore it, at least in part, to its former glory. To your dismay, the dirt wouldn't budge, in fact it seemed to spread more the harder you tried to rub it off.

"What the hell are you doing?" You heard a familiar chuckle from behind you. You stayed silent, knowing the lump in your throat would betray you if you attempted to speak. "Y/N?" Martin didn't sound so jovial anymore as he came up to you and put his arms around you from behind, pulling you into his embrace. You felt the tears starting to fall, looking down as they trickled onto the tiny dress, finally beginning to remove the filth that you'd been so desperate to get off. Martin felt your body shake slightly in his arms and realised that you were crying. He didn't say anything, just holding you there and pressing kisses into your hair, watching as your fingers gripped the gown tighter and tighter, your knuckles worryingly pale.

"Hey," he murmured softly, pulling his arms away from your torso, and tenderly prising the dress out of your hands.

"Don't throw it away," your voice was shaky. Your swollen eyes pleaded with him, and Martin just nodded, slipping the garment into his pocket. You were relieved that Martin didn't question you. After all, he understood as well as anyone the different ways that war affected people, and it wasn't the first time he'd held you as you cried.

"Have you had anything to eat? Or some sleep?" You shook your head to his questions, and in response he put his rough hand in yours and led you towards the house you were staying in.

You sat on the creaking, makeshift bed once you got there, and its hard pillow and scratchy blankets had never looked so enticing to you. Martin sat down next to you, holding out a couple of stale biscuits. You didn't care for them, no one did, but your growling stomach persuaded you to take them. Martin began to talk to you about the one thing he knew would make you feel better.

Home.

You and Martin had talked of home so much, and you both longed to experience a normal life together. Two years of quick kisses and stolen moments had somehow miraculously sustained your relationship through the hardest of times. You shared stories with each other that ordinarily would have been mundane, but the simple things about life back home were the things you hankered after most. He told you stories about his work on the railroads and the antics of his workmates. You told him stories about your family and about the woods behind your house that you retreated to every time you needed some peace.

As he finished another one of his stories, he stretched out on the bed, holding his arms out for you, returning the grin you gave him. Sleeping was what you struggled with most, but never in the arms of the man you loved. Martin gave an exaggerated groan as you let your head fall roughly onto his chest.

"Steady there, you don't wanna kill me before we've even had a chance to get married." You couldn't see his face, but you just knew that he'd be smirking.

"Yeah, well, you took all the pillows so I'm using you as one," you giggled, burrowing further into Martin's side, finding comfort in hearing the steady beat of his heart.

"What do you mean all the pillows, there's only one," he glared down at you but, looking up, you saw the gleam in his eye. It took you a while to notice it when you first met him, but you know now it's his giveaway, and the way to tell when he's joking or not.

"So? Technically you've still taken all of them," you smirked, and Martin just playfully rolled his eyes at you, bringing his hand to your hair and playing with it, as you returned your head to his chest. Before long, you were asleep, your brain once more allowing you to cloud the pain of watching your comrades die. Until the next time.