Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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He dreamt of a sunrise that heralded the arrival of the Soviet army from the northeast, their red banners dancing in against a Technicolor sky as they stalked their enemy like the wolves who ruled their snowy woods. The SS guards scattered in their wake like frightened rabbits, their order and discipline shattered by fear.
Some of the braver, nobler guards threw themselves at the advancing wall in a final burst of effort for their twisted, misguided cause. The rest, including Mengele, turned tail and ran, only to be cut off by the English and French forces advancing from the opposite side.
Alfred leapt from his bunk, empowered and healthy, snatching an abandoned gun to lead the charge from within. Matthew was at his side, violet eyes clear and vision restored. They took their rightful place alongside their allies, rallying the prisoners into revolt and glory of their own. From within, they broke down the menacing walls and shattered the wrought-iron gates to the sound of liberated, energized cheers.
Freed from their bunker, the children ran and played and laughed honestly for the first time in many long months. They clustered around Alfred and Matthew, clinging to them, calling them heroes, because that’s what they were.
Philippe appeared from nowhere, giggling in Matthew’s arms. Anastasia and Alyshea clung to Alfred’s waist happily. Alfred laughed, exchanging a grin with his brother before turning back to the ruined gate. Arthur and Francis were there with Ivan, waiting for them, smiling. Alfred brandished the gun above his head and let out a victory yell.
Alfred dreamt this, and in his dreaming, he smiled. But when he woke, all that he knew was heat.
“Mah…Mattie?”
“Hush, Al,” Matthew soothed, mopping the sweat from his brother’s fevered brow. “I’m here.”
Alfred didn’t and couldn’t know how long it had been since he had returned to the bunk. He remembered having his blood drawn three times, but Matthew insisted it had been at least five. Alfred had spent all of the time, however long it had been, fading in and out of consciousness with the highs and lows of his fever.
Now, he found himself half-curled in his brother’s lap, his head pillowed against Matthew’s chest. The sheet was wrapped around his body like a baby in a bundle, keeping him from trashing too much in his sleep. Matthew had a wet wag, one of many provided by the worried and frightened children, and was using it to keep his brother’s face cool and clean.
Around them, the bunk was quiet. The children were huddled under their beds in silent fear. Outside, a siren roared through the camp like a living being, echoing from bunker to bunker.
“Another one?”
“Yeah,” Matthew sighed. “Another one.”
Alfred chuckled and, even with his rough and abused throat, it sounded quite maniacal. It made Matthew nervous, and he paused in his care cautiously. “Al?”
“They’re scared.”
“Of course they’re scared,” Matthew said, trying to be reasonable. “We’re all scared. They’re bombing us”
“That’s not why he’s scared,” Alfred continued, snuggling against his brother like a child to their mother. “He’s scared because they’re coming. They’re coming for us.”
“Alfred…”
“They’re coming to get us.”
“Alfred, stop it!”
Alfred did so, his jaw clanking together with a boney little click. He twisted out of his cuddle and looked up at his brother hesitantly. “Mattie?”
“Just stop it,” Matthew insisted. He kept his eyes closed and turned his head away, not looking at his twin even if he couldn’t see him. “Please, please stop it. You keep saying that, and you always seem to believe it, and then it just gets worse. You get worse. Everything just keeps getting worse and worse and I just…you have to stop it Al. Please.”
Alfred’s face fell and his bottom lip began to quiver like a child. “Matt…”
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The door burst open with more force than ever before, leaping off the wall when it smashed into it. Mengele stormed in, bristling with energy and accompanied by an entire platoon of guards.
“Get them out of here,” he snapped without pleasantries, and the guards obeyed.
Unceremoniously, the children - all of them - were pulled from their various hiding places and herded out the door like a flock of sheep being led to a slaughter. Matthew still couldn’t see but, when the butt of a guard’s gun found its way into the small of his back, he got the hint and stumbled to his feet. He tried to wrap the sheet around Alfred, but the cloth was snatched away and the two were shoved out into the frozen January cold.
Alfred wobbled unsteadily, his bare feet scraping against the ground as his aching muscles protested. He sagged against Matthew for much -needed support, directing his brother into line with gentle prods and shooting the Nazi guards a dirty look every chance he got.
The bunch of twins - seven pairs of children, one abandoned straggler and the prisoners of war - were lined up along the side of their bunker, their backs shoved roughly against the cold tin walls.
Around them, the camp was falling apart. Slowly but surely, the soldiers that manned the area were pulling down the established buildings with demonic efficiency. On the far edge, the towering smokestacks that had, since the beginning, belched putrid smoke, were empty and silent. The factory that surrounded them was being dismantled brick by brick, the materials of which were spirited away by a row of massive dump trunks. As for the other prisoners, the few who weren’t locked up in their barracks were being herded back into the crowded, disgusting boxcars that had brought them all here in the first places. And the ones who…weren’t prisoners anymore…were piled in huge ditches across the camp. Several of the children began to cry in fear.
“Shut up!” Mengele snapped. The children choked on their sobs.
The doctor strutted in front of them like a drill sergeant assessing his troops. Occasionally he stopped, grabbed the arm of a subject and checked their number, cross-referencing it with the notes on his assistant’s clipboard. For a long while, he worked in silence. No one dared to speak.
“These two,” Mengele finally announced, pointing to a pair of dark-skinned gypsy boys. “And those girls as well. They come with us.”
The SS saluted and plucked the chosen pairs from the line. Those on either side of the lucky - unlucky? - chosen ones huddled against each other in fear. Mengele passed over them with barely a glance, pausing for only a moment when he came to the almost full-grown prisoners of war he had tortured so readily from the moment of their arrival. His face was drawn and his hands were shaking slightly. His eyes darted around, unwilling to look directly at any of them, always drifting back to the sky.
Alfred smirked, even as his head sank against Matthew’s neck. “What’s the matter, doc? Nervous?”
Mengele twitched. With one hand, he attacked with a downward blow and struck Alfred across the cheek. Thrown from his brother’s support, the American tumbled to the ground.
“Alfred!” Matthew gasped, and dropped to his knees to find his brother once more. Alfred was coughing so hard that it wasn’t difficult in the least.
Mengele regarded them as scum on the bottom of his boot, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Them,” he barked to the SS. “Bring them too. Transfer the rest.”
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“Where…where are you taking them?” he demanded through his coughs. He lurched in the SS guard’s grasp, nearly falling again, but Matthew tugged him back to his feet. Alfred glared at Mengele savagely. “Tell me where you’re taking them. Just what do you think you’re going to do to them, you bastard?”
“You don’t have to worry about them anymore,” Mengele said coldly. With that and a sniff, he turned his back on them and lead the way to his lab.
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Oh, poor Al!! Waaah! Mengele you bastard! DX Oh Iggy he cares so much for his boys <3
I agree with the anon that wants this to last longer! I'm a sadist sorry >.> WriterAnon this is just AMAZING! I love it!
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I really can't wait to see Arthur's and Francis' reactions when they find out what fully happened.
Matt won't be able to see properly, will he? I mean, with one of the eyes they'd be able to get the dye off the eye and put the swelling down but the other. They'd have to drain the other somehow, how would they have done that without removing the vitreous humour?
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By the way, this is kind of an odd question, but... where's part six? I've found parts 1-5, and if this is pary 7, then I missed one, unless there was a miscount somewhere.
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