This is a fanfic for the TV series Band of Brothers, which is about a company of paratroopers in World War II. Noah Emerson is a medic. He and his company are in the forest of Bastogne in the winter of 1944 during the Battle of the Bulge.

Then someone else started screaming. I set Spitzer gently on the ground and ran towards the sound. I found Sullivan crouched over Walker, who was lying in the snow with a leg broken so badly that two bones were sticking out of the skin. I sent Sullivan to radio for a truck while I began cutting away the fabric around the wound and applying sulfa. Of course, being in a war zone meant I couldn't work in peace, so I alternated my gaze between Walker and the surrounding forest praying I wouldn't get shot. And that was when I saw him. The person was tall and had a masculine face. His long robe was white as pure snow and belted around the waist with equally white rope…and he had wings. Huge white wings spread from behind his shoulders, twice as long as my arm span and so large they trailed on the ground. He looked at me with an expression I could not read. But if he was an angel, that could only mean one thing.

"Don't you dare take him," I growled, as tears sprung to my eyes. "He's mine!"

The angel took a step forward and I glared at him as if he were the devil himself. Which he could have very well been. Krauts had been known to disguise themselves as Allied soldiers for devious purposes. Perhaps demons could do the same. But whether Walker's soul was bound for Heaven or Hell didn't matter to me; I wouldn't let him go to either.

"Stay back!" I screamed. " I won't let you take him. He's mine! Mine!"

I was crying, I was hysterical, but I didn't care. I had already lost Spitzer and Whitman and O'Brien and so many others to this God-forsaken forest. I wasn't about to lose Walker too. The winged man continued his approach. I gripped Walker's shoulders tight and laid my body over his, tucking my head into his neck as I braced for the inevitable grip of hands on the back of my shirt that would drag me away and take the life they had come to collect. Though Death may be inexorable, I wasn't going to make it easy for him.

But the hand on my shoulder was gentle, and the voice that belonged to it was kind. "Be not afraid. I am the Archangel Raphael."

I looked up at him through eyelashes flecked with blood and snow. "The angel of healing."