Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
Thanks to anon's suggestions we are now enforcing a past-part fills post
Fresh past-part fills post HERE
Comments and Suggestions go here
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill index over here.
Remember though that you need not post your updates unless you posted in a new part
Keep yourself up to date -- check out the NEWS HERE
"Alfred dies to save Matthew."
If the sky wasn’t so overcast, the sun would have been setting. The clouds cover everything now. Matt hasn’t seen the sun in weeks. He doesn’t even care, only he thinks it would be fitting if there were dying rays of sunlight or something. This should be an epic moment, after all.
“Tabarnak!” he can hear himself yelling.
“It doesn’t matter,” Alfred is telling him. His voice is barely above a whisper, and there’s blood trickling from his mouth, but he’s still grinning as if the sky doesn’t rain fire and the soil hasn’t turned black with poison. As if he isn’t lying there gasping out his last words, as if he didn’t just stupidly throw himself in the line of fire, as if the entire world hasn’t ended.
“Yeah. Yeah, it does matter,” Matt replies, tears streaming unchecked down his face. He drops to his knees and cradles his brother’s head in his lap.
Five years and still the war drags on. It had all seemed so silly at the beginning, nothing more than a spat between two small nations. The first year had changed all that; when the bombs fell on Moscow, they had known it for what it was.
Russia was the first to go in this disgusting third war. Matt knows Alfred was there, but he won’t talk about it. Not unless he’s sleeping, and the things he says about it then make Matt wish he was deaf. The subsequent months had taken more of them; first the Italian brothers, then eternal China. After that they hadn’t heard much. Radios started going dead around the third year, and since then they only concerned themselves with their own personal hell.
Now, Alfred is dying and Matt has no idea what to do. He can’t do this alone.
“You’re an idiot,” he scolds, wiping as much of the blood off Alfred’s face as he can. He pointedly looks anywhere but at Alfred’s stomach, anywhere but at the gaping wound that’s killing him.
“Yeah, well. Never said I wasn’t.” Alfred’s laugh comes out more like a cough.
“Uh, I’m pretty sure you did.” Arguing was so stupid right now, so pointless, but he couldn’t stop himself. Anything to make it seem like this could all be normal again. He’d known for years it never would be.
“Whatever,” Alfred returns. “My plans were always more awesome than anyone else’s anyway. Guess the world’ll lose its hero now...”
“Al, come on...”
He shakes his head and puts a shaky hand on Matt’s arm.
“Don’t beg, Matt. We both know I’m not gonna get up this time.”
“.....yeah. I...I know.”
“S’weird. Maybe I’ll see Ivan, huh?”
“Maybe,” Matt answers quietly, soothingly. He brushes his hand across Alfred’s cheek.
“Don’t give up.” Alfred’s eyes focus and lock with Matt’s. For a moment he’s almost his old self, clear-eyed and bright-faced and eternally optimistic. “Don’t you ever give up, Matt.”
“I won’t,” he promises, but he doesn’t know if he can keep it. He isn’t even sure he wants to live in this dark, desolate world. The war might be drawing to a close, but it wouldn’t matter if there was nothing left to live for at the end. Pulling out a small American flag pin he’s been keeping to give Alfred for what passes for Christmas in their world, he puts it in Alfred’s hand and helps him close his fingers around it.
Alfred dies with his eyes open, looking up at the sky. The expression on his face is almost one of relief.
Midnight comes and goes before Matt even thinks of moving. He holds Alfred’s lifeless body close, silently shaking. Eventually, though, he has no choice. If he stays here he’ll die, and as much as he doesn’t care, Al wouldn’t want that. Before he goes, he pulls Alfred’s jacket on. It’s probably just his mind playing tricks, but he thinks he can still feel his brother’s lingering warmth.
Dragging himself to his feet, he stumbles forward into the cold, empty night.
Reply
Walking down the sunny path, he smiled at the new growth in the forest. Life endured, it seemed, even after everything should be dead and gone. The leaves on the maple trees were coming out, brilliantly green or deep red. He plucked a few, then dropped them and watched them float aimlessly to the ground, carried by the light breeze.
As usual, he was wearing a patched-up, faded and worn brown jacket. Sometimes people told him he should take it off, but he never did. It reminded him - to live every second no matter what, to be stupidly optimistic, to laugh as loud as he could at every opportunity.
From somewhere off to his right came a crackling noise, of twigs underfoot. He followed it until he reached a small stand of dogwood saplings. Peeking through, he smiled at the sight that greeted him.
A little red-haired boy was looking up, wide-eyed and staring. Freckles dotted his cheeks. And even though his eyes were scared, his stance was bold. Unafraid. This was who would replace America, then. This tiny boy.
“Hey there. What’s your name?” Matt asked, kneeling in front of him. Pulling out a pair of glasses from his pocket, he gently placed them on the boy’s face.
“Charlie,” the boy offered timidly.
“Hi Charlie. Nice to meet you. I’m Matthew, but you can call me Matt.” Reaching out, Matt took Charlie’s hand and led him away from the grove. He idly dusted the leaves and dirt off the child’s head.
“Can we be friends?” Charlie inquired.
Smiling brightly, Matt squeezed his hand. When he spoke, his voice nearly broke.
“Tell you what. You’ll be my little brother.”
Matt swore he could feel a warmth that wasn’t coming from the sun. They set off down the path together, hand in hand, and he was glad to be alive.
Reply
Reply
I. LOVE. YOU.
Reply
Leave a comment