Work Text:
The bullet hit Lew in Nuenen like an inconvenient reminder that life, much like enemy fire, rarely misses an opportunity to knock you flat. One second, he was running through the street, trying to look like he had everything under control, and the next—bam. The universe, with impeccable aim, decided it was time for Lew to meet the ground. Helmet? Gone. Clearly, it had decided to abandon him right when he needed it most, off to take a scenic holiday somewhere. And because no good disaster is complete without a little extra flair, his head found the one rock in all of Holland that was perfectly shaped to make things worse.
When he finally came to, everything felt… wrong. Like he’d woken up on the wrong side of reality. His eyes fluttered open to the delightful scene of a makeshift hospital, filled with groaning men, missing limbs, and bullet holes galore. Lew blinked, trying to figure out if he was still alive or if this was some kind of afterlife designed by someone with a very dark sense of humor.
He didn’t recognize anyone. Which, in itself, would have been fine if it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t recognize himself either. His mind was a blank slate, like someone had taken an eraser to the chalkboard of his life and left him standing in front of it, holding a piece of chalk he didn’t know how to use.
A nurse appeared, looking like she had seen this scene play out a hundred times already today. She glanced at him with the tired eyes of someone who had long since given up on pleasantries. “Captain,” she said in a tone that suggested she didn’t really care one way or another, “you’re awake.”
Lew stared at her. Captain? Was she talking to him? Captain what? Captain of confusion? Captain of lying flat and not knowing what the hell was going on? It felt more like he was captain of a sinking ship and no one had bothered to tell him until it was half underwater.
He tried to say something—a question, maybe, like, “Where in the fresh hell am I?”—but what came out was a dry croak that was about as useful as his memory right now. He managed to mumble, “Huh?” which was the intellectual high point of his day so far.
The nurse wasn’t fazed. “You took a knock to the head. You’re in a field hospital.” She said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, like waking up in a building full of mangled soldiers with no memory was just your average Tuesday.
Lew’s brain tried to catch up, but it was running on fumes. Captain? Field hospital? It all sounded important, but in the same way algebra was important in school—abstract, confusing, and not helpful at the moment.
Before he could muster up the energy to ask her where exactly he’d gone wrong in life, the guy in the bed next to him started screaming. And not just your garden-variety scream. No, this was a full-blown, blood-curdling wail that shook the walls. The guy was thrashing about, yelling something incomprehensible, and generally acting like he’d just discovered a particularly personal betrayal from the war gods.
Lew winced. His head, already pounding from the bullet and the rock, throbbed in time with the man’s screams. Great. Now his thoughts, which had been hanging on by a thread, were officially drowned out. The nurse rushed over to try and calm the guy down, but it was clear this was a lost cause. The man was committed to screaming, and Lew—well, Lew wasn’t committed to anything anymore. Not thinking, not figuring out who he was, and certainly not being this so-called "captain."
With a deep sigh, Lew lay back down on his cot, deciding that whatever was going on could be someone else’s problem for now. Captain or not, he was clocking out of this disaster for a little while longer. Maybe, if he just stayed still, the world would stop spinning long enough for him to remember his own name.
But for now? Nah. Too much work.
—
The next time Lew opened his eyes, he found himself staring up at a kid who looked like he had no business being anywhere near a battlefield, let alone diagnosing patients. The boy, who couldn’t have been older than 18, hovered over him with the kind of authority that only comes from someone trying way too hard to pretend they knew what they were doing.
"Captain Nixon?" the kid asked, peering at him like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult math problem.
Lew blinked. Captain? Ah, right, him. That word bounced around his head, rattling in the empty spaces where useful information should be. “Yeah, I guess?” he said, more of a question than an answer.
The kid nodded, but not in a reassuring way. "Okay, Captain, what regiment are you with?"
Lew stared at him. Regiment. That was a word. A word that meant… something military, probably. "Uh… navy?"
The kid's expression didn’t change, but the little sigh that escaped him spoke volumes. “Right. Who’s your CO?”
Lew considered that for a moment, but his brain came up with absolutely nothing. "My what?”
“Your commanding officer," the kid clarified, like that was supposed to clear everything up.
“Oh. Uh… probably someone in charge, I’d imagine.”
The kid blinked, clearly wondering what he’d done to deserve this. “What camp did you get your jump wings at?”
Lew gave him a blank stare, like a cat who just knocked over a glass of water and couldn’t figure out why it was on the floor. Jump wings? "I dunno… Camp Wing-it?"
The kid closed his eyes for a brief second, as if summoning the patience of saints. “I’m getting Lieutenant Winters,” he muttered to himself, already turning away.
Winters. That name landed in Lew’s brain like a rock in a pond—no splash, just a slow sinking feeling that he was supposed to know who that was. “Yeah, sure, bring on this Winters guy,” Lew muttered, because at this point, why not? He felt fine—which he made sure to tell the kid.
The kid just shook his head, clearly over this whole interaction. “Lieutenant Winters will kill me if I let you out of this bed, sir.”
Lew raised an eyebrow at that. “Sounds like a charmer, this Winters.”
The kid gave him a look that said ‘You have no idea’ and walked off to go fetch this mysterious figure.
Left alone, Lew stared at the ceiling, the name Winters circling in his head like a lost plane looking for a place to land. Whoever Winters was, he was apparently important enough that people thought he’d kill someone over a missing bed-ridden soldier. Maybe he was this coveted CO the kid was asking him about?
Honestly, Lew couldn’t be bothered to care right now. Whoever Winters was, he sounded like the kind of guy who would show up and make a whole bunch of things complicated—and Lew wasn’t in the mood for complications.
So instead, he lay back and wondered if maybe he could just sleep through the rest of this and let Future Lew deal with whatever or whoever this Winters person turned out to be.
—
Lew had been drifting off into another uneasy sleep when he felt a firm hand shake him awake. Groggy, he blinked his eyes open and stared up at a man who looked like he had just crawled out of a trench straight from hell. Grime caked his face, his uniform was stained with dirt and blood, and his eyes—those eyes were so tired they seemed to carry the weight of a thousand sleepless nights.
The guy stood over him, looking a bit like he'd just been handed the worst news of his life. "Lew," he said, his voice low, soft, like it was something he’d said a thousand times before.
Lew squinted, trying to place the face, the voice, anything, but his mind was still a mess of static. Lew. Right, that was him—he’s Lew. But this guy? He had no idea who he was, or why he looked like seeing Lew in a hospital bed was somehow worse than the battlefield he’d just crawled off of.
“Do I… know you?” Lew asked, his voice sounding weak, even to himself. His head was throbbing again, and the last thing he wanted was more questions he didn’t have answers to.
The man—Winters, maybe? The kid doctor had said something about a Winters—looked at him like the world had just fallen apart. There was something deep in his eyes, a kind of sadness that felt heavier than the grime covering his face. “Yeah, Lew,” Winters said, and his voice was rough, like he’d swallowed glass. “We’re friends.”
Lew blinked, processing that. Friends. Friends. Right. That’s what this guy—this dirty, broken man—was to him. But it didn’t click. Nothing did. He just stared at the man standing over him, and despite all the sadness in Winters' face, none of it registered with Lew.
“Winters?” Lew asked again, a little more confused now. He watched the way Winters flinched, like the words had actually hurt.
"Yeah," Winters said, his voice softer now. “You usually just call me Dick.”
"Dick," Lew said slowly, trying out the name that felt both foreign and strangely familiar. “Man, you look like you’ve been rolling around in a pigsty. What, lose a bet?”
To his surprise, Dick, who had looked about as cheerful as a funeral when he walked in, shot back without missing a beat. “Had to. You weren’t there to lose it for me.”
That caught Lew off guard. He felt a laugh bubble up, almost instinctively, as if his body remembered something his brain didn’t. He chuckled, the sound rusty but real, shaking his head. "Damn, if that's your comeback, I must be doing all the heavy lifting in this friendship."
Dick cracked a smile then, a small one, but it reached his eyes just enough to break through the grim mask he'd been wearing. It was like he couldn’t help but slip back into their usual act, even if Lew had no memory of it. The moment felt oddly natural, like they’d had this exact back-and-forth a thousand times before.
“Alright, Dick,” Lew said, still smiling a bit as he leaned back into his pillow, “when the hell can I get out of here? Because seriously, the smell of rotting flesh is getting old, and your face isn’t helping.”
Dick gave him a look that was half amused, half exhausted. “Soon, Lew. But if you keep running your mouth, I might leave you here just to spite you.”
Lew grinned, feeling the strange pull of camaraderie despite his blank memory. “I’ll take my chances.”
–
A couple of hours later, just as Lew was starting to think he might actually get some real sleep, Dick showed up again, looking only slightly less like a walking disaster. Without a word, he tossed something at Lew’s chest—a tattered, dog-eared novel that looked like it had been dragged through the mud right alongside him.
Lew picked it up, blinking at the worn-out cover. “What’s this?” he asked, squinting at the title like it might somehow be in another language.
“Something to keep you busy,” Dick replied. “It’s either that or you sit here coming up with more insults about my face.”
Lew flipped the book open and immediately regretted it. It wasn’t exactly literature—more like the kind of pulp novel someone would pick up for a dime just to pass time in a train station. He shot Dick a look. “You’re giving me this? What, you afraid I’m gonna remember who I am if you give me anything with substance?”
Dick shrugged, completely unbothered. “Well, it’s either that or you start working on your memoirs. Figured this would be less painful for both of us.”
Lew snorted, half-amused despite himself, and let the book fall into his lap. "Sure, Dick. I’ll treasure this. Really. It’s gonna change my life."
"Good," Dick said, deadpan. "Just make sure that by the time I come back, you’re ready to get out of here. I’m not hauling you out if you’re still lying around like royalty."
Lew rolled his eyes, flipping open to the first page with a resigned sigh. “Fine, fine. But if this novel rots my brain, that’s on you.”
“Lew, I think we’re well past that point.”
Lew couldn't help but chuckle as Dick walked away, shaking his head. The novel in his hands felt like a bizarre peace offering, but at least it was something. He glanced back down at the book, sighed, and started reading.
“Well, it can’t be worse than the smell of this place,” he muttered to himself.
–
True to his word, Dick came back a few hours later, this time not looking like he was going to take no for an answer. He practically hauled Lew out of the hospital bed, clearly deciding that Lew had overstayed his welcome. Before Lew could even muster a proper complaint, he found himself unceremoniously shoved onto a jeep.
The ride was bumpy, the kind of bone-jarring experience that reminded Lew why he’d been perfectly content lying in a bed doing nothing. He shot Dick a sidelong glance. “You ever think about a more gentle approach? Maybe something with pillows next time?”
Dick, eyes on the road, didn’t even bother looking over. “You’re welcome.”
Lew settled into his seat, grumbling under his breath. “I miss the hospital already.”
They pulled up to a run-down building that looked like it had given up on life sometime in the last century. The windows were dusty, the roof sagged, and the door creaked in a way that suggested it might just fall off if you looked at it too hard. Dick led the way inside, and Lew, still half convinced this was all some elaborate practical joke, followed.
Inside, the decor didn’t exactly scream “welcome home.” Two grimy remnants of what had once been beds sat in the corner, covered in a fine layer of dust and who-knows-what-else. As Lew looked around, trying to decide which was worse—the hospital or this place—he noticed a group of men scattered around outside, nodding and throwing quick salutes in their direction.
“Sir,” came a chorus of greetings, accompanied by respectful nods from soldiers who looked equally as grimy and worn out as the building.
Lew shot a sideways glance at Dick, still feeling like he was playing catch-up in a game he didn’t even know he was part of. “They saluting me or you?”
Dick, with the same dry tone he’d been using all day, replied, “Both. You’re still a captain, Lew.”
Lew rolled his eyes, still not fully convinced. “Sure, Captain of dust and broken beds.”
“Better than a hospital,” Dick shot back, walking further into the room like this was just another day.
Lew huffed, glancing again at the courtyard full of saluting soldiers. He gave them a half-hearted wave, because what else were you supposed to do when you had no idea who you were but people kept calling you "sir"? As far as Lew could tell, his new role was mostly about looking mildly confused while people saluted him and calling Dick out on his nonsense.
He could work with that.
–
Lew quickly found out that Dick was a busy man. It was all "Lieutenant Winters this" and "Lieutenant Winters that." Every time a soldier walked into their little corner of hell, they’d throw a quick nod or "sir" in Lew’s direction, but the real action was happening with Dick. It was like everyone had a radar for where Dick would be standing, issuing orders, pointing soldiers to their next bit of chaos.
Lew, for his part, sat back and watched as men filtered in, nodding at him like he was supposed to be part of the decision-making process. Which, clearly, he wasn’t. He was just sitting there, still trying to figure out why he was getting saluted, while Dick was over here commanding the whole thing like a battlefield maestro.
Dick would send men off—“Get your squad moving to the west,” or “Check the perimeter and report back”—and occasionally disappear himself for a few minutes, only to return, slightly dirtier but no less composed. And every time he came back, he’d give Lew this look. It wasn’t a quick glance; it was more like a searching gaze. A flicker of something Lew couldn’t place—maybe concern, maybe frustration, maybe… something else.
But what really threw Lew off were the nods. Every man who passed through them gave him a knowing look, a nod, or a “sir,” like they were all in on some inside joke he’d forgotten. It was like he was part of a club he had no memory of joining.
He’d finally had enough. After watching Dick bark orders at yet another group of soldiers, and catching yet another one of those glances, Lew couldn’t help himself. “Alright, Dick,” he said, his voice as dry as ever. “Why do these guys keep nodding at me like I invented the concept of leadership? I’m just sitting here, man.”
Dick paused and glanced back at him, his expression unreadable for a second. Then that same sad, quiet look crossed his face again, the one that had been gnawing at Lew for hours.
“They’re nodding because you’re still you, Lew,” Dick said quietly, almost like it hurt to say. “Even if you don’t feel like it right now.”
Lew blinked. “Still me? And what’s that supposed to mean? Because from where I’m sitting, I’m just some guy who woke up in a hospital and apparently forgot how to be whoever the hell this ‘me’ is supposed to be.”
Dick looked away for a moment, exhaling slowly like he’d been carrying that weight for too long. “It’ll come back to you.”
“Yeah?” Lew shot back, half-smirking. “What if it doesn’t? Am I supposed to just wing it, throw a few ‘sirs’ back, and hope nobody notices I’m faking it?”
Dick actually cracked a small, tired smile at that, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve been winging it for years, Lew. You’re better at it than you think.”
Lew chuckled despite himself, but the confusion lingered. The nods, the looks, the whole thing—it was starting to feel like some weird fever dream he couldn’t wake up from. And the worst part? He couldn’t shake the feeling that whoever this “Lew” was supposed to be, he was pretty important to Dick.
And that just made things all the more confusing.
–
Eventually, after exhausting every possible way to stare at the walls—examining the cracks, bullet holes, and the various shades of charred brown that could probably fill an entire artist's palette—Lew realized things had finally slowed down. The steady stream of soldiers needing Lieutenant Winters’ wisdom had trickled to nothing, and the room grew quieter. Dick had tried earlier to explain what they were doing with a few maps he’d tossed Lew’s way, but they hadn’t gotten much further than some general pointing before Dick was called off again.
Thing was, Lew could tell Dick was itching to talk to him about something. Every time he glanced over, there was this tension, like Dick was holding back words he couldn’t quite get out. And now that things had settled for a moment, Lew could see it even more clearly. So, the second there was a break, Lew decided enough was enough.
Dick had just sat down, looking like he was waiting for the next crisis, when Lew reached over and closed the door to the room with a quiet click. No more interruptions. “You alright, Dick?” Lew asked, the dryness in his voice giving way to something a little softer. “Because you don’t look alright.”
Dick blinked, caught off guard, clearly not expecting Lew to be the one asking. He laughed, though it was more of a tired, humorless sound. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” Dick said, shaking his head. “You’ve lost your memory, and somehow, you’re still mother-henning me without even trying. It’s like it’s instinctual for you.”
Lew smirked, but he wasn’t going to let that distract him. “Yeah, well, whatever. I’m cutting to the chase here—what’s going on? What’s between us, Dick? Why do you keep looking at me like that, like I’m a ghost?”
That got Dick. Lew could see the moment it hit—Dick’s entire posture shifted, like all the energy he’d been holding together just drained out of him. He seemed surprised Lew had noticed, maybe even more surprised that Lew had called him on it. He opened his mouth, but no words came out at first. Then, after a long pause, Dick sighed and sunk into himself, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to wipe away the weariness.
“I’m sorry, Lew,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to… put all of that on you. It’s just—” He hesitated, then sighed again. “I’m tired. That’s all.”
Lew rolled his eyes, leaning forward, voice sharp. “Tired, huh? Look, I might’ve lost my memory, but I didn’t lose my brain. I can see you’re more than just ‘tired,’ Dick. I’m bothering you. And not I’m-sad-my-friend-lost-his-memory bothering you, it’s I-am-broken-inside-and-the-one-thing-holding-me-together-is-gone bothering you. So, what is it?”
Dick stared at him for a moment, clearly unsure of how to respond. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words were stuck, trapped behind whatever wall he’d built up inside. Lew could see it now—this wasn’t just about him losing his memory. This was about something bigger, something that had been eating away at Dick long before Lew woke up in that hospital bed not knowing his own name.
After what felt like an eternity, Dick finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not just the memory loss, Lew. It’s… you’re here, but you’re not you. And I can’t… I don’t know how to explain it. I keep looking at you, hoping something will click, that you’ll say something, or do something that’ll make this all feel… normal again.”
Lew raised an eyebrow. “Normal?”
Dick let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah. Whatever normal used to be for us.”
Lew sighed, leaning back in the chair, the weight of the situation settling in around them. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Dick. I don’t remember much, but I can tell that whatever this is… it’s more than just ‘normal.’”
Dick didn’t respond at first, just nodded, the exhaustion in his eyes deeper than Lew had realized. Finally, he just said, “Yeah. It is.”
Lew leaned back against the grimy wall, rubbing his temples like that would somehow sort the mess in his head. He looked over at Dick, who was currently sitting across from him, looking about two seconds away from collapsing. The exhaustion on Dick’s face was starting to grate on him in a way that felt more personal than it should.
“Look, Dick,” Lew started, narrowing his eyes, “I don’t remember a single damn thing about you, but watching you drag yourself around like this, pulling yourself in every direction, makes me want to punch every guy that walks through that door. Why the hell is that?”
Dick gave a small shrug, like Lew had just asked him what time it was, not why he had an inexplicable urge to defend him from everyone in the universe. “You’re smart enough to figure that out by yourself,” Dick said simply.
Lew scoffed, glaring at him. “You petulant son of a—” He cut himself off, letting out a frustrated breath. “Help me out here. The last thing I remember is burning the sleeves off my mom’s coat, and I’m pretty sure that was before this whole army thing. So, you’re gonna have to be the one to say it.”
Dick looked down for a second, then back up at Lew, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You were the one who was good at this, Lew. The talking. You always knew what to say.”
Lew shot him a look that said Really? “Well, considering the fact that my brain’s on a permanent holiday right now, I’m gonna need you to be the one to spell it out this time. Just say it.”
Dick sighed, like he was giving in to some internal battle, and finally nodded. “We’re together, Lew,” he said, voice steady but soft.
Lew raised his eyebrows, taken aback. “Together together?”
Dick, clearly exasperated now, nodded again. “Yes.”
Lew blinked, taking that in, trying to process it. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Huh,” he said, after a moment of silence. “You know, I figured we were fucking, but I never would’ve guessed we were together together.”
Dick ran a hand over his face, half-laughing, half-trying-not-to-lose-it, as Lew just sat there, looking genuinely surprised. “Yeah, Lew,” he said, shaking his head. “Together together.”
Lew nodded slowly, processing that bit of information with a new level of clarity. “Well, shit,” he muttered, a small grin creeping onto his face. “Guess that explains why I want to punch everyone who looks at you wrong.”
Dick let out a tired chuckle. “Yeah. Guess it does.”
Dick leaned back slightly, exhaustion still etched across his face but softening a little. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “it seems like the memory loss hasn’t really changed you. You’re still the same Lew.”
Lew snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, maybe I would’ve recognized you if you didn’t have four layers of the surrounding terrain stuck to you.”
Dick groaned, running a hand over his filthy uniform. “I know. Trust me, I’m itching for a shower.”
Without even thinking, Lew reflexively shot back, “I know you are.”
The tone he said it in didn’t match the conversation. It was softer, almost teasing, and it didn’t take long for Lew to realize that something had shifted. Dick, who’d been deep in his exhausted stupor, suddenly snapped out of it, blinking at Lew with a look of surprise.
“What?” Lew asked, feeling a bit thrown by the sudden change.
Dick just shook his head, looking more awake than he had in hours. “The way you said that,” he murmured, almost like he was processing it in real time. “That’s… that’s a very specific way you used to say that to me.”
Lew shrugged, trying to play it off, though he could feel a weird knot forming in his chest. “I mean, I guess it’s still me in here somewhere. Just need to dig through all this fog and remember it, that’s all.”
Dick nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at Lew. “Yeah, yeah… you’re right. You’ll remember. It’s just… gonna take time.”
Lew met his gaze, feeling a strange flicker of warmth in the middle of all the confusion. For a moment, it felt like maybe things weren’t as hopeless as they’d seemed. “Yeah, well,” he muttered, smirking slightly, “just don’t expect any miracles. This brain’s still a little fried.”
Dick chuckled, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
–
For the next few days, Lew was pretty sure he was going to lose his mind. Not because the war had stopped—oh no, that was still chugging along nicely, with explosions and gunfire constantly reminding him he was very much still in it. No, the real problem was that nothing was happening to him.
Dick had, for all intents and purposes, shoved him into a room with a couple of cans of K-ration like he was putting a misbehaving cat in a time-out. And every time they had to move? Same routine: Dick would waltz in, grab Lew by the metaphorical scruff of his neck, and toss him into another miserable box.
It was getting old. Fast.
When Dick finally walked in with his usual we’re moving face, Lew had had enough. He glared at Dick, arms crossed like a kid who’d just been told he couldn’t have dessert.
“We’re moving,” Dick announced, as if he hadn’t been dragging Lew around like furniture for the past week.
“Could you stop shoving me into a box like I’m some diseased stray cat?” Lew snapped, more out of boredom than anything else. But as soon as he said it, he felt wrong. For the first time, Lew noticed that Dick actually looked—well—human. No layers of grime, no dirt caked on his face. Just a clean, exhausted Dick.
Lew’s anger deflated almost immediately. “Uh, sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean it like that.”
Dick gave him a tired half-smile. “It’s fine.”
Lew looked at him again, really taking him in this time. “Finally found that shower, huh?”
Dick nodded, clearly trying to hide how much of a relief it had been. “Yeah. About time, right?”
Lew blinked, momentarily thrown off by how different Dick looked without a pound of dirt on him. And for some reason, seeing him clean made Lew feel… weird. Like, oddly soft in a way that didn’t quite match the tension he’d been feeling for days. He stepped closer, completely dropping his act, and closed the door behind Dick with a soft click.
Then, before he could stop himself, he reached out and cupped Dick’s jaw, tilting his head a bit like he was inspecting some new artifact. “Huh,” Lew muttered, his hand resting on Dick’s now-clean face. “You know, I don’t remember a damn thing, but I feel like I should remember this.”
Dick, clearly not expecting Lew to get all handsy, froze for a second. “Uh…”
Lew squinted, pretending to scrutinize him like some detective. “It’s weird, right? You’re finally clean, and now I’ve got this strange urge to remember stuff. Maybe the dirt was throwing me off.”
Dick let out a soft, exasperated laugh, but there was something else behind it, something tired and tender. “Yeah. Maybe.”
Lew smirked. “You clean up nice, Dick.”
Dick shook his head, looking a little more alive now. “Thanks, Lew. Real helpful.”
Lew grinned, finally dropping his hand. “Well, hey, you’ve been locking me in rooms and tossing me around like cargo for days. The least I can do is compliment you when you finally stop looking like you crawled out of a ditch.”
Dick chuckled, a real one this time, and nodded. “Fair point.”
Lew, feeling like he’d managed to finally break through the fog of his own confusion and Dick’s exhaustion, took a step back. “Guess there’s still something of me in here, huh?”
Dick gave him a small smile. “Yeah, There definitely is.”
–
Lew found himself once again unceremoniously shoved into another box of a room. This one, at least, came with two sad, creaky beds that looked like they’d been through their own personal war. The few days he’d been under Dick’s unofficial care—prisoner and damsel-in-distress rolled into one—had been a strange mix of staring at maps, trying not to lose his mind, and reading whatever crappy paperbacks he could scrounge up. He’d even started reading some cowboy romance that was, quite frankly, a terrible waste of paper.
But in the middle of one of those melodramatic chapters about a rancher’s forbidden love, Dick stumbled into the room. He looked like he was just about two steps away from complete and utter collapse, barely holding it together. Lew glanced up, instantly clocking the exhaustion on Dick’s face, and before he even thought about it, he was up.
“Alright, alright,” Lew muttered, crossing the room to help. He guided Dick to the other bed, and as soon as Dick sat down, Lew automatically started pulling off his boots, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And strangely enough, it was. Lew’s hands moved on their own, like they’d done this a thousand times before. It was instinctual—boots off, set them aside, and then, without thinking, his hand found its way to Dick’s hair, running through it gently, almost soothingly.
Lew didn’t question it. There was no point. Something deep inside him knew this was just what he did when Dick was like this—completely drained, on the verge of falling apart.
Dick barely made a sound, his head leaning into Lew’s hand, his exhaustion radiating off him like heat. Lew sat down on the edge of the bed, still running his fingers through Dick’s hair, waiting for him to relax. It didn’t take long—Dick’s shoulders sagged, and he started to drift off, his breathing evening out.
Just before Dick fully gave in to sleep, his voice, soft and full of something Lew couldn’t quite place, broke the quiet. “I miss you, Lew.”
The words hit Lew like a punch he hadn’t expected. He sat there, hand still in Dick’s hair, frozen for a second as he processed what Dick had just said. “I miss you.” Not the Lew sitting here now, apparently. The Lew that Dick remembered.
Lew blinked, feeling that same strange tug in his chest he’d felt before—like he was standing on the edge of something just out of reach. He didn’t say anything. What could he say? Instead, he just kept running his hand through Dick’s hair, letting him fall deeper into sleep, while Lew sat there, wondering what kind of man he had been to make Dick miss him like that.
And why, even though he couldn’t remember any of it, it still felt so damn familiar.
—
The first time Lew remembered anything, it wasn’t a slow, gradual return of memories. No, it hit him like a stray bullet in the middle of some random conversation. And to Dick’s visible jealousy, it wasn’t him Lew remembered first.
It happened when the small, gap-toothed man was yapping away between them, his usual stream of chatter filling the room. Lew, without even thinking, blurted out, “Shut up, Harry.”
The words hung in the air, and for a moment, all three of them just stared at each other. Lew blinked, his own surprise mirrored on both Dick and Harry’s faces. Harry, true to form, grinned like he’d just won something.
“Always knew I was your favorite, Nix,” Harry said, far too pleased with himself. He gave Lew a firm pat on the back, winked at Dick—who was very much not pleased—and sauntered out of the room, whistling as he went.
Lew sat there, feeling like he’d just broken some unspoken rule of the universe. The memory hadn’t been forced, or fished out of some deep mental well—it just… popped out. Natural. Like a muscle memory he didn’t know he had.
Dick, on the other hand, looked at him for a long while, a calculating, almost wounded expression on his face, like he was trying to figure out how Harry of all people had gotten to be the one who jogged Lew’s first memory.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Dick asked, “What would help?”
Lew shrugged, utterly frustrated. “I don’t know, Dick. I don’t know anything.” He let out a breath, trying to hold back a wave of helplessness that had been growing for days. “The little that I do know is running purely on instinct. I don’t know where I am, who I am, when I am. Half the time, I don’t even know what the hell I’m looking at.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice dropping. “The only thing I know for sure is my name, a few lines on a map, and that you—” He stopped, hesitating. “You meant something to me.”
Dick didn’t say anything at first. He just watched Lew unravel, the cool and calm exterior finally breaking as Lew’s frustration spilled out. When Lew finished, Dick simply nodded, still absorbing everything.
“Okay,” Dick finally said, his voice steady, like he’d made some kind of decision. “Okay, Lew. Let’s start at the beginning.”
Lew raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure what that meant, but Dick, to his credit, wasn’t phased. He began with small bits and pieces, sharing stories of when they’d met at OCS. He talked about the long days at Toccoa, the brutal runs up Currahee, and how Lew had cursed every inch of that damn mountain. He moved through Camp Mackall, their training at Aldbourne, and their jump into Normandy.
Lew listened, quietly at first, then with growing curiosity. Each story felt like a little spark trying to light something inside him. He couldn’t remember the details—his brain still wasn’t offering much—but he could feel the edges of something familiar, something comforting. Dick’s voice was a lifeline, pulling him through the fog.
Eventually, though, they were both too tired to keep going. They’d talked for hours, maybe longer, and by the time they fell silent, it was more from exhaustion than anything else. Dick’s voice had grown quieter, softer, until it was barely above a murmur, and Lew, for once, didn’t feel the overwhelming pressure of not knowing. He didn’t have to remember everything, not right now.
As they both drifted off to sleep, Lew found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, the pieces would come back. And even if they didn’t right away, he had Dick—and that seemed like enough for now.
—
At some point in the middle of the night, Lew woke up to something that was hard to mistake. Dick had kissed him, and not gently—this was a fevered, desperate kiss, the kind that made Lew’s head spin. It was so intense, Lew could’ve sworn his life flashed before his eyes, like the force of it alone might jolt his memory back into place. His body responded instinctively, a moan escaping his throat as his hands found their way to Dick’s back.
But before things could go any further, Lew pulled back, blinking in confusion, his mind spinning from the sudden intensity. Dick’s face was already flushed, and before Lew could say anything, Dick started mumbling apologies, his voice a wreck of exhaustion and raw emotion. “I’m sorry, Lew. I’m just—” His voice cracked. “I’m so tired. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Lew’s heart clenched. He wrapped his arms around Dick and pulled him close, letting him rest his head against Lew’s chest. “I know, Dick. I know,” Lew whispered softly, running a hand through Dick’s hair in that familiar, soothing way. “It’s okay. I promise, as soon as I can, I’ll find you ice cream so rich it’ll make you sick.”
Dick, still tucked against Lew, paused at that. He pulled back just enough to look up, and there was a soft, almost bewildered smile on his face. “You… you remembered that? Of all the things, you remember that?”
Lew chuckled, surprised at himself. “Of course. How could I forget? You practically dragged me all over England trying to find that damn ice cream.”
Dick stared at him for a second longer, that gentle smile growing, something hopeful and fragile in his eyes. But before Lew could say anything else, before he could even make sense of what was happening, it was like a dam broke inside his mind.
Memories came rushing back. Snapshots of moments with Dick—laughing in the barracks, sitting side by side in Aldbourne, that ridiculous ice cream hunt, the feeling of Dick’s hand in his after a rough day, late-night talks, and quieter, softer moments where the world seemed to fade around them. It all came flooding back at once, overwhelming him.
Lew’s breath hitched as he blinked, suddenly remembering everything—not all at once, but enough to knock him off balance. The weight of it was both comforting and terrifying, like rediscovering a part of himself he hadn’t even realized he’d lost.
Dick watched him carefully, like he knew something had shifted. “Lew?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Lew nodded slowly, his mind still reeling. “I… I got it.” He swallowed, a rush of emotion bubbling up inside him. “Hey, Dick.”
Dick’s eyes widened slightly, that fragile hope turning into something more certain, something real. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. Instead, he leaned back in, resting his forehead against Lew’s, and the two of them sat there, breathing in sync, like they were finally finding their way back to each other after everything.
—
Unfortunately for Lew, remembering had come with a cruel twist. What he wouldn’t give to go back to the days when his biggest problem was being shoved from room to room like a wartime housecat with no memory. Now, fully aware of who he was and where he belonged, he found himself right back in the thick of it. His role in the war had come crashing back, and instead of crappy cowboy romance novels and quiet afternoons staring at walls, he was knee-deep in snow, freezing his ass off in a foxhole in Bastogne.
Lew stared out at the desolate, icy landscape, shivering as the wind cut through him like a knife. A part of him—maybe the part that still craved a little ignorance—looked back on those hazy days of not knowing anything with a strange fondness. He almost missed them, the simpler times when his only job was trying to piece together who he was and watching Dick try not to fall apart in the process. Those cowboy romance paperbacks, once a source of mindless entertainment, now seemed like a distant, warm memory in comparison to this frigid hell.
But despite everything, despite the frozen limbs, the constant shelling, and the sheer exhaustion that threatened to take him down, Lew figured it was a fair trade. Because next to him, bundled up as much as he could be, was Dick. Blue lips, blackening toes, and all, the man was somehow managing to sleep, his soft snores barely audible over the howling wind. It was a pathetic, frozen scene, but in a strange way, it was enough to keep Lew going.