It wasn't easy, being all leader-like to a group of terrified Muggles. Ron wasn't like the traditional Slytherin - he liked Muggles, confusing as they were - but he had an odd sort of time relating to them and getting them to clam down. He couldn't use Quidditch references, he couldn't quote Merlin, he couldn't bring up Harry or even Dumbledore. Ron had next to nothing when it came to encouragement. More importantly, he didn't know how to properly help them with their injuries. One of their numbers were badly injured, while he and the other two sported fairly painful wounds themselves. It wasn't easy being a bloody hero, least of all in a fight where the entire world seemed to be standing against you.
Ron knew this from experience. It was part of why he had turned on Harry and Hermione when he had been at home. What a big fucking mistake that had been.
"Stay calm, yeah? Help is on the way," he assured the person that was spread across the ground, half bleeding to death. They had made them as comfortable as possible, but if they didn't get out of here soon? That was it. Anxiously pushing a hand through his ginger hair, Ron paced his way back and forth, keeping an eye on the drive-thru window as he did so. Dick was supposed to be coming. Where was he? Had he gotten hurt? Was he coming at all? Inwardly groaning, Ron flopped against the freezer door and closed his eyes. Trapped in a sodding McDonalds. Of all the places in the world he could have been stranded in, it was the one with the worst food. Go figure.
Ron was halfway beginning to consider trying one of their apple pies when he heard a voice from the ceiling. Ron grabbed at his wand and pointed it at the offending party, then drew in a deep breath when he realized it was Dick. Dressed as some sort of...er, superhero? Ron understood robes and the like. He didn't get the appeal in running around in tights and capes, however.
"We've got one we need to carry out," Ron told him, pointing to the person that they'd set up on the floor. "They're badly hurt."