Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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Finally, one of the guards came from behind with a baton and struck Matthew across the back of the head. The baton was made of soft wood and wasn’t hard enough to knock the teen out completely, but it rattled his brain in his skull like the contents of a speed bag.
Matthew fell to the side, a flash of light eliminating what little sight he had for a few brief moments. Philippe cried out and was gone from his protector’s arms.
“N-No!” Matthew groaned, his words slurring as he tried and failed to put his frazzled brain back together. “Give him back…!”
“How troublesome,” Mengele sniffed, and took the struggling, crying child from the guard. “Which reminds me. Take care in transporting the other one in here. The last thing I need is for all that effort I put into extending my research to go to waste because that idiot tears open his stitches.”
He turned to leave. Matthew heard the heavy steal toes of his boots scrape across the ground and pushed himself up to lung once more. His efforts earned him nothing but a punch in the gut, and he was deposited, unceremoniously, on of his bunk.
The heavy door slammed shut, and Matthew wept. He hated crying because it made him felt so weak and sickly and now it burned, but the tears forced themselves into existence despite his best efforts. It wasn’t fair - God damn it all, it just wasn’t fair.
Five minutes of silence and sobs later, the heavy door opened and shut one more time. Matthew didn’t bother to look up or even move, burying his head in his arms. But around him, the children gasped in surprise.
“Mister Alfred!” Anastasia gasped, vocalizing it first. “Mister Matthew, Mister Matthew, look! It’s Mister Alfred!”
She ran across the room, her bare feet padding against the hard floor, as Alyshea stayed behind to shake Matthew by the shoulder and repeat her sister’s joyous news. There was a pained groan that could almost be called good-natured. “Hey there, munchkin. Hanging in there?”
Matthew jerked his head up, startling Alyshea. That voice, it could only belong to one person. “Alfred!?”
“Mister Alfred, you don’t look so good,” Anastasia insisted, her voice filled with concern. “Let me help you.”
“I’m okay,” Alfred said, though he didn’t sound like it. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
It took a long time for him to make his way over, his feet scraping against the ground and obviously being rubbed raw in the process. Finally, with a groan, he tumbled onto the bed next to Matthew and just lay there, as though he hadn’t the energy to move.
Matthew scrambled around, feeling with his hands until he found his brother’s body. The sheer amount of heat, radiating from his chest like the range of a stove, made the younger twin draw in a sharp breath.
“Jesus, Al, you’re burning up,” he gasped, running his hand across his brother’s chest. His fingers stumbled on a series of rough, bumpy lines - rows of precise stitches, three of them, forming an “I” across Alfred’s chest - and began to shake. “Oh god. Oh my god. What did he do to you?”
“I said ’m fine,” Al insisted, and Matthew could hear the smile in his voice. “They can’t do anything to me. How’re your eyes doing, Mattie?”
Matthew opened his eyes and looked at the blob of light against the darkness that was his brother. Unsatisfied, he moved his hands to brush Alfred’s face, tracing the familiar shape of his smile. There was something staining his lips, both dry and fresh - blood? “This is no time for that, Al. We have to take care of you.”
“Mattie…” he felt Alfred frown, then fingers brushing over the aching wound on the back of his head. “You’re bleeding, Mattie.”
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God, his voice sounded so weak, and he was so warm. Men and nations were never meant to get so warm, like a stove, like an iron, like the ovens. “Alfred, stop it. I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Alfred insisted with a muffled cough, a bit of something warm splashing against Matthew’s hand. “We gotta get that patched up for you.”
“God damn you, Al!” Matthew shouted, the burning tears coming to life once more. “Why is it the only time you don’t think about yourself is when it actually matters?!”
He rubbed at his eyes painfully, knowing that his tears were full of dye and blood and staining the blankets they slept on, but he didn’t care. Alfred shifted, his weight rolling around the mattress with a great creaking of rusty springs. Matthew expected strong, confident arms to wrap around him and pull him in for soothing words, but the elder twin just couldn’t get up the strength.
“Mattie,” Alfred said, as though he couldn’t quite get a hold on the words. “Mattie, please don’t cry. Please. It’s all going to be okay.”
“Okay?!” Matthew almost laughed at that. “How is this okay? How the hell is this ever going to be okay?!”
“Didn’t you notice?” Alfred grinned and slipped his hand into the one that had been holding his cheek. “He’s scared.”
Matthew’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Scared, who?”
“Mengele. He’s freaking out. He’s terrified.” Alfred insisted, his voice growing animate. “I saw it. They thought I was too out of it to notice, dead or dying or something, but I saw. Everyone was freaking out, talking about bombings and evacuation plans and ripping stuff out of the walls like crazy. Do you know what that means?”
Matthew shook his head. With every word, Alfred’s voice became stronger, but also more hysterical. Matthew wondered if the fever and torture had driven his twin insane.
“It means they’re coming for us. Russian front’s closing in to bite that bastard in the ass,” Alfred laughed, rolling over so that his head was pillowed in his brother’s lap. “Russia’s coming, Mattie, he’s coming to get us. Ivan’s coming to get us and he’s gonna take us home, he’s gonna take us all home and shoot that bastard in the head and he’s scared!”
Matthew sighed, stroking his twin’s hair. “Wow, Al, that’s…that’d be great.”
“It is gonna be great. It’s gonna be awesome!” Alfred insisted, laughing out loud. “He’s gonna come get us, and we’re all going home, and then…then everything will be back to normal! It’ll all go back to normal!”
“Alfred, please, you’re getting hysterical.”
“I’m not getting hysterical!” Alfred crowed, and dissolved into a painful fit of coughing.
In an instant, all the energy that had built up in his body dissolved away. The great hero curled into a fetal position in his brother’s lap, hacking and choking so hard that his entire body shook with the force. A warm and sticky liquid burst from his mouth, splattering Matthew’s shirt, and this time, there was no doubt that it was blood.
For the first time, Matthew was glad that he could not see.
Alyshea tugged at his sleeve from the side of the bed, pressing a wet rag into his hand. Matthew allowed himself of a small, kind smile that he did not truly feel.
“Thank you,” he said, and used the rag to gently clean his suffering brother’s face. “You’re okay, Al. I’ve got you. I’ve…I’ve got you.”
The coughing faded away soon enough, leaving a trembling, crying America in Canada’s arms. He clung to Matthew’s clothes like a child to the apron of its mother, a few desperate tears of pain mixing with the blood. They would be joined soon enough by the dye that polluted his own.
“They’re coming for us, Mattie,” Alfred said, his voice so soft it could barely be heard. “They’re coming. We’re all gonna be free. Free.”
Matthew wiped his burning eyes on his sleeve and pulled his brother into an embrace. “Whatever you say, Al,” he whispered. “Whatever you say.”
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I hope they find the bastard. I really want to see france and england beating the crap out of this guy >_<
oh, poor matt and al. just...wow...
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So... I suppose America and Canada can take some small comfort in that they outlived the bastard. ;_;
(This continues to be a most amazing fill by the way. <3)
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Seriously? Could've sworn they found the bastard... That's scary. Who knows where he went and what he did after that...
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Don't know if or when I'm going to use that particular factoid. Feel free to reimagine it anyway you see fit, anons. :3
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And Al's so sick that...gosh, it's one of those cases that immortality would be so painful DX Especially if it really is still going on in "present" time... /-\
Excellent job, writernon.
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Yaaaaaaaaaay! Oh yay. Bravo, Anon.
This is the anon who requested rescue by the Russian Front, and I am now giddy with glee.
Another wonderful chapter... Oh the horrors... This fill makes up for the lack of fill on my WWII POW request too. Hoorah
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