No Known Cure (1/?)
anonymous
August 3 2009, 20:00:09 UTC
On this like England on tea. (Or is it tea on England?) Normally Author!Annon finishes fills in one go, so this will be my first epic!fill. Hope it doesn't epic!fail... I'll try to update regularly.
~
They say that every Nation goes through a Golden Age. They also say that every Golden Age ends.
America's Golden Age ends in a cloud of bombs and a hail of missiles.
No one is completely sure who ordered the attack. Most heads turned to Russia, but he had an alibi. Besides, was it not he who stood toe to toe with America during the Cold War? As much as he hated the capitalist Nation, Russia was wise enough (or at least not crazy enough) to know that any attack he made would be returned threefold. The United States was unable to retaliate...They didn't even know who the enemy was.
America's allies are quick to offer aid. The United Kingdom in particular pumps vast amounts of money and manpower into the shattered country. Canada reminds everyone that he and America were twins and viciously protects what is left of his brother's lands. Canadian and American military close the borders making a North American fortress. Only British soldiers are allowed across, and even then, only after ruthless checks.
The country painstakingly pulls itself together. Cities rebuild. The trauma slowly heals. But there are deep, deep scars. America can no longer stand on its own and relies heavily on its northern neighbor and onetime colonizer.
OP is very happy :)
anonymous
August 4 2009, 07:04:08 UTC
Someone's filling this? Yay!
So no one knows who really attacked America? Interesting twist on it. I especially like it since one of the ways that America tends to metaphorically "heal" (or at least, deal with the trauma) is to unite against the enemy and unleash hell on them. Weakened and with no knowledge of the enemy would no doubt leave an indelible mark on America the Nation-tan/country.
I commend you for not making Russia the attacker. While Russia does make a convenient villain and Russia-US relations in the 20th/21st century haven't always been the best, I agree that Russia would probably know better than to do something like that. They may bitch/compete with each other, but I don't think either of them are dumb enough to literally attack each other.
But I especially like how you emphasized the scars and how America is now in a dependent position. Again, a huge blow. I'm sure Alfred, even though he appreciates the help, hates having to rely on others. It makes the vanishing pretty plausible.
Great start! Thanks for filling this, wonderful Author!Anon! I look forward to future updates and can't wait for more!
reCaptcha: "landlady $19.4-million" -- Poor Alfred. If things weren't bad enough, now his landlady is demanding millions in rent.
Re: No Known Cure (2a/?)
anonymous
August 4 2009, 18:24:50 UTC
I hope no one shoots me for Alfred’s new name…
~
The first thing he ever heard was a voice.
“Dear God, someone get a stretcher! We have a live one!”
His head is foggy and something is obscuring his vision, but he is able to tilt his head up to the voice. A middle aged man, dressed in a white coat (a doctor, his mind supplies) is kneeling before him.
“Young man, can you hear me?” the doctor’s voice sounds distant.
“Ugh…” he is able to mumble out. Part of him distantly informs the rest that he is injured badly and pinned underneath a pile of rubble.
“We’re going to get you out, you hear me?” the doctor stated, trying to get the wounded man to focus, “Now I need you to stay with me, okay?”
“O-Okay,” the injured party is able to croak out. His whole body hurts, oh so badly.
Especially his heart…His heart feels like it’s breaking clean in two.
“Good,” the doctor nods, “My name is Dr. John Tracy. I’m part of a rescue team. What is your name, son?”
The injured man opens his mouth to reply then promptly shuts it. His head is spinning with thoughts, so much so that it clogs his throat.
‘No no no no…It’s not supposed to end this way! It’s not! I’m, I’m Ame-‘
Suddenly, his mind is silent.
“Hey!” the doctor shouts in panic after not receiving a response, “Stay with me, okay? What’s your name?”
Re: No Known Cure (2b/?)
anonymous
August 4 2009, 18:27:19 UTC
Ten years pass since the attacks on the United States. There is still so much damage, though it is concentrated in the urban areas. Thousands of lives were lost. Most of the major American cities are in ruins, though rebuilding is taking place. Disease is running rampant through the country, leading some to suspect biological warfare. In light of this, many mobile medical teams are formed to help combat the sickness and help the wounded. The teams hop from city to city, state to state, offering as much aid as possible. One of the most successful teams is led by one Dr. John Tracy.
Today, Dr. Tracy is grinning like a loon. His overworked team is going to add a new member, a young doctor that apparently Tracy knows quite well.
“So who is this guy, Doc?” one of Tracy’s nurses, a woman named Rose, asked.
“An old patient of mine,” Tracy replied with a fond smile, “I met him during the attacks eight years ago. I was his inspiration in becoming a doctor.”
“You sound like a proud papa,” Tracy’s other nurse, Lily, snickered.
“In a way I am,” Tracy admitted, “When I first met him, the lad had amnesia. Which was sort of funny, since he didn’t have any head injuries…Anyway, I took care of him for a year before we split ways. I’m the only father figure he has ever known.”
“Amnesia, huh,” Rose hummed, “I supposed he eventually got his memory back then…”
“No, unfortunately,” Tracy sighed, “But he doesn’t let the fact bother him. He just goes about living life, trying to make a difference. Now that is courage.”
Tracy smiled as he spotted someone in the distance, “Speak of the devil…”
“Dr. Tracy!” an enthusiastic voice called out before the doctor was suddenly caught up in a bone crushing hug, “It’s been awhile! You’ve got gray hair now.”
“And you haven’t changed a bit, you great lummox,” Tracy laughed, stepping back to get a better look at the younger man, “You still have your baby face.”
The other doctor sticked his tongue out. The rest of Tracy’s team was rather surprised at the new doctor. Blond haired and blue eyed, he was very handsome, but also startlingly young. His face, even with the glasses perched on his nose to age it a bit, was that of a teenager. Baby face, indeed.
“Sheesh,” Lily laughed, “They keep making them younger and younger.”
“Hey!” the blond doctor protested, “I’m at least twenty-five.”
Re: No Known Cure (2c/?)
anonymous
August 4 2009, 18:28:17 UTC
“Well then, I suppose introductions are in order,” Tracy began with a smile, “We’re not a very large team, I’m afraid, but it makes remembering names easier.”
“Not all of us are terrible at names like you, Doc,” Rose teased. Tracy ignored her.
“First off, to my right are the Terrible Twins, Rose and Lily Anderson,” Tracy indicated the two women, “They’re the group’s nurses and naggers. Rose is the dark haired one and Lily’s the blond.”
“Not that the blond is natural, of course,” Rose snickered at her sister.
“Hush you,” Lily sniffed, “And we’re not twins. We look nothing alike and I’m older by two years.”
“To my left is Dan Rosenburg,” Tracy continued, nodding to the quiet redhead beside him, “Dan’s our fix-it person. All the medical equipment and our vehicle are maintained by him.”
“Pleasure to meet ya, Doctor,” Dan greeted quietly in a soft Southern drawl.
“And then, there’s me,” Tracy finished off, smiling at the new addition, “And what about you, son? Last time I saw you, they were still calling you John Doe.”
“I’m going by Alexander Kirkland, now,” the blond man grinned, “Al or Alex for short.”
“I’m glad you finally settled on a full name, Alex,” Tracy nodded, “Where did it come from?”
Al shrugged, “Well, a few years ago I got a glimpse of a memory, nothing complete, just someone talking to me. They called me ‘Al something’ so I rolled with that. Alexander was a common enough ‘Al’ name. I thought about Albert, but that name sounded too stuffy.”
“And the Kirkland?”
Alex blushed, “Itsfromabrandofsoap.”
“What?”
“It’s from a brand of soap,” Alex repeated, a bit more clearly, his face burning red, “Well they do some food too and other things. They’re basically a bulk producer. It just sounded…familiar. And I liked it.”
Rose snickered, “Soap boy.
“Hey!”
Tracy laughed, “Glad everyone is getting along. Well then, now that introductions are over, let’s get this show on the road.”
“Hell, yeah!” Al crowed, his face lighting up like the sun, “Time to be heroes!”
Re: No Known Cure (2c/?)
anonymous
August 4 2009, 19:28:20 UTC
Paging Dr.Kirkland.... I know the paging part won't ever happen but the Dr.Kirkland part sounds undeniabley sexy. Wouldn't Iggy be proud if he ever found out.
Re: No Known Cure (2c/?)
anonymous
August 6 2009, 09:32:13 UTC
Kirkland produces everything. Everything.
Haha, I like it. Alex is a much more common name than Alfred now-a-days so I approve. You wouldn't happen to be a fan of Thunderbirds, would you author anon?
Re: No Known Cure (2c/?)
anonymous
September 30 2010, 02:06:12 UTC
"Itsfromabrandofsoap" FTW. See, whenever I see anything with Kirkland as its logo, I am compelled to point it out. My long-suffering sister now dreads to go into a Costco.
Re: No Known Cure (3a/?)
anonymous
August 8 2009, 20:04:46 UTC
It was no big secret that England loved history. Every Nation did. History was written on their bones, dictated who they were and what they would become. And while England certainly loved his past the most (after all, who wouldn't?) he did adore his colonies' history very much in a strange, not quite brotherly/fatherly fashion. America's especially, despite (or perhaps, because of) their not so perfect, almost sordid past. And now that most of America's historical landmarks had been destroyed or damaged, England had a burning need, almost an obsession, to rebuild as much of them as possible.
He never admitted it, but England had a feverish hope that maybe, maybe America would return once everything was rebuilt.
Ten years was just so long...No one had seen the blond loudmouth Nation after the attacks. Search teams had been sent out, but nothing could be found. And with the way the country had been hurt, the independent government almost nonexistent, its freedom and liberty compromised, America could be dea-No. America was alive. Somewhere. He had to be, the bloody git.
And once England found him, he was going to punch the ungrateful brat for worrying him so. That was, if the island Nation didn't snog the life out of the idiot first.
Rebuilding was slow mostly due to the need to preserve what was left. Washington DC was especially in bad shape. Many historic buildings and monuments were in ruins. Luckily, a great deal of the Smithsonian collection had been stored below ground, keeping the precious artifacts safe. However, nearly all the museums themselves and the exhibits on display at the time were gone. The Archive was one of the few buildings to escape the attack, so the documents housed there were intact. The Tidal Basin was no longer the picturesque landscape of the past, all the trees uprooted and monuments turned to rubble. The Capital Building was in ruins, and the White House had lost a wing. At the moment, England and Canada were overseeing the reconstruction of the White House.
“Not there!” the island Nation shrieked at a nearby worker working on some stone, “Over there!”
“England,” Canada sighed at his frazzled father, “You're going to give yourself a heart attack...”
England glared at the younger Nation.
“I want everything to be perfect when America comes back,” the green-eyed man growled, “He always took such great pride in this old House...”
“England...” Canada murmured sadly, “He might not come back.”
“Don't you dare say that, Canada!” England hissed, “America will definitely come back! He-he's probably gotten himself lost on purpose, the git!”
“England,” Canada whispered as the elder Nation started shaking with suppressed tears. Ten years...ten years was such a short time for their kind, especially for one as old as England. The Briton did not have nearly enough time to mourn.
“St-stupid America,” England muttered, turning away from Canada and trying to collect himself, “He's probably fallen down a hole, waiting for the right moment to swoop in and be the bloody hero!”
Canada bit his lip and stayed silent as England went back to directing the construction crew. The older man had stopped shaking, his voice loud and furious as he barked out orders. But there was a tension in his shoulder blades that Canada did not want to see.
No. England did not have enough time to mourn. And as Canada cried for the both of them (because England refused to...crying meant he accepted it, which he did not) the northern Nation realized that ten years was not enough for him either.
Re: No Known Cure (3b/?)
anonymous
August 8 2009, 20:07:34 UTC
They called it the Red Death.
Named after the Edgar Allen Poe short story, the disease was the biggest after effect of the attacks on America. It was thought to be a man-made disease, a testimony of years of research, and it only made its presence known after the the attacks ten years ago. Everyone agreed that the Red Death had to have been a biological weapon that had been dropped, mixed in with the explosives that tore up the urban areas of America.
Symptoms included fever, bright red sores, and coughing fits. Children were the most susceptible to the disease, but they had a much better survival rate compared to adults. Death was assured in months without treatment. Being viral in nature, the disease was hard to treat, especially with the scant amount of medical care available. Luckily, the sickness had not spread past the continental U.S. due to the closed border. Seeing as they were the prime targets of the attacks in the first place, cities were the areas of highest infected population. One city in particular had been the biggest target of them all.
Washington, DC.
~
“DC?” Dr. Alexander Kirkland questioned out when Dr. Tracy announced their next destination, “The capital?”
Tracy nodded, “The hospitals down there are desperate for some help. We're not much, but it's better than nothing.”
“Why aren't they sending in a larger group?” Lily demanded, “Wouldn't they want more than the five of us? Everyone knows the place is in shambles.”
Al's heart unexceptionably tightens at her words. A flickered memory...
There is a man on top a horse looking across the river at the busy construction. He is dressed in a dark blue military jacket with white breeches and a tricorn hat on top of a powdered wig. The man (GeneralPresidentfather) turns to look at Al, the sun blurring out his features.
“What do you think of your new capital, Ame--”
...is gone before it is even grasped.
“They're will be others coming to DC after us,” Dr. Tracy explained, snapping Al out of his zoned out state, “But our team is the closest and we have a good track record, especially Dr. Kirkland here.”
Said Dr. Kirkland blinked, “Who, me? I just joined you guys...”
“You've distinguished yourself as an excellent trauma surgeon before you joined us,” Tracy pointed out, “And you have a lot of experience on Red Death, as well.”
Al laughed at the praise, “Well, you know, all in a day's work...”
“Anyone ever been to the capital before?” Tracy asked.
“Don' look at me, sirrah,” Dan mumbled. Rose and Lily shook their heads in unison. Al shrugged.
“Red Death is a serious problem there,” Dr. Tracy said, stating a well known fact, “Not as much as New York or Chicago, but pretty bad. They also have been experiencing an increase in work related injuries there.”
“Huh? Why?”
“The British have been pumping money into restoration projects in DC,” Tracy explained, “There's a lot of construction going on there. The Brits figure that not only would the project provide jobs for those who need it, but that it would be a great way to boost American moral if the capital was rebuilt and historic landmarks were restored.”
“Just goes to show that Mommy England still loves us stupid American brats~” Rose singsonged. Dr. Kirkland laughed loudly.
His laughter increased suddenly because, for some reason, Al was positive England was a man.
~
notes: LOL at ninja!George Washington, stubborn!Iggy, and quietly moe!Canada.
You have no idea how hard it was for me to write this. I live in the DC-Metro area, so DC is practically my other state. Love going to the Tidal Basin during the cherry blossom festival. I almost cried when I wrote that it was destroyed. T~T
Al's a trauma surgeon, cause I think America worked as a battlefield medic several times during the American Civil War and the World Wars when he wasn't being a soldier or pilot in the field. Even though he doesn't remember, Al feels comfortable working on trauma patients. His knowledge on the disease comes from the fact that it is the biggest problem in the US in the story and he's had to deal with it before. BTW, sorry for the lame ass name of the disease. I'm bad at naming things.
Um...also hope OP doesn't mind the touch of USUK I have in here. They're my OTP.
~
They say that every Nation goes through a Golden Age. They also say that every Golden Age ends.
America's Golden Age ends in a cloud of bombs and a hail of missiles.
No one is completely sure who ordered the attack. Most heads turned to Russia, but he had an alibi. Besides, was it not he who stood toe to toe with America during the Cold War? As much as he hated the capitalist Nation, Russia was wise enough (or at least not crazy enough) to know that any attack he made would be returned threefold. The United States was unable to retaliate...They didn't even know who the enemy was.
America's allies are quick to offer aid. The United Kingdom in particular pumps vast amounts of money and manpower into the shattered country. Canada reminds everyone that he and America were twins and viciously protects what is left of his brother's lands. Canadian and American military close the borders making a North American fortress. Only British soldiers are allowed across, and even then, only after ruthless checks.
The country painstakingly pulls itself together. Cities rebuild. The trauma slowly heals. But there are deep, deep scars. America can no longer stand on its own and relies heavily on its northern neighbor and onetime colonizer.
And as for the nation's anthromorphic persona?
He vanishes into thin air...
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So no one knows who really attacked America? Interesting twist on it. I especially like it since one of the ways that America tends to metaphorically "heal" (or at least, deal with the trauma) is to unite against the enemy and unleash hell on them. Weakened and with no knowledge of the enemy would no doubt leave an indelible mark on America the Nation-tan/country.
I commend you for not making Russia the attacker. While Russia does make a convenient villain and Russia-US relations in the 20th/21st century haven't always been the best, I agree that Russia would probably know better than to do something like that. They may bitch/compete with each other, but I don't think either of them are dumb enough to literally attack each other.
But I especially like how you emphasized the scars and how America is now in a dependent position. Again, a huge blow. I'm sure Alfred, even though he appreciates the help, hates having to rely on others. It makes the vanishing pretty plausible.
Great start! Thanks for filling this, wonderful Author!Anon! I look forward to future updates and can't wait for more!
reCaptcha: "landlady $19.4-million" -- Poor Alfred. If things weren't bad enough, now his landlady is demanding millions in rent.
Reply
~
The first thing he ever heard was a voice.
“Dear God, someone get a stretcher! We have a live one!”
His head is foggy and something is obscuring his vision, but he is able to tilt his head up to the voice. A middle aged man, dressed in a white coat (a doctor, his mind supplies) is kneeling before him.
“Young man, can you hear me?” the doctor’s voice sounds distant.
“Ugh…” he is able to mumble out. Part of him distantly informs the rest that he is injured badly and pinned underneath a pile of rubble.
“We’re going to get you out, you hear me?” the doctor stated, trying to get the wounded man to focus, “Now I need you to stay with me, okay?”
“O-Okay,” the injured party is able to croak out. His whole body hurts, oh so badly.
Especially his heart…His heart feels like it’s breaking clean in two.
“Good,” the doctor nods, “My name is Dr. John Tracy. I’m part of a rescue team. What is your name, son?”
The injured man opens his mouth to reply then promptly shuts it. His head is spinning with thoughts, so much so that it clogs his throat.
‘No no no no…It’s not supposed to end this way! It’s not! I’m, I’m Ame-‘
Suddenly, his mind is silent.
“Hey!” the doctor shouts in panic after not receiving a response, “Stay with me, okay? What’s your name?”
A pause.
“I-I’m not sure…”
~
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Today, Dr. Tracy is grinning like a loon. His overworked team is going to add a new member, a young doctor that apparently Tracy knows quite well.
“So who is this guy, Doc?” one of Tracy’s nurses, a woman named Rose, asked.
“An old patient of mine,” Tracy replied with a fond smile, “I met him during the attacks eight years ago. I was his inspiration in becoming a doctor.”
“You sound like a proud papa,” Tracy’s other nurse, Lily, snickered.
“In a way I am,” Tracy admitted, “When I first met him, the lad had amnesia. Which was sort of funny, since he didn’t have any head injuries…Anyway, I took care of him for a year before we split ways. I’m the only father figure he has ever known.”
“Amnesia, huh,” Rose hummed, “I supposed he eventually got his memory back then…”
“No, unfortunately,” Tracy sighed, “But he doesn’t let the fact bother him. He just goes about living life, trying to make a difference. Now that is courage.”
Tracy smiled as he spotted someone in the distance, “Speak of the devil…”
“Dr. Tracy!” an enthusiastic voice called out before the doctor was suddenly caught up in a bone crushing hug, “It’s been awhile! You’ve got gray hair now.”
“And you haven’t changed a bit, you great lummox,” Tracy laughed, stepping back to get a better look at the younger man, “You still have your baby face.”
The other doctor sticked his tongue out. The rest of Tracy’s team was rather surprised at the new doctor. Blond haired and blue eyed, he was very handsome, but also startlingly young. His face, even with the glasses perched on his nose to age it a bit, was that of a teenager. Baby face, indeed.
“Sheesh,” Lily laughed, “They keep making them younger and younger.”
“Hey!” the blond doctor protested, “I’m at least twenty-five.”
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Just to clarify, it's ten.
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“Not all of us are terrible at names like you, Doc,” Rose teased. Tracy ignored her.
“First off, to my right are the Terrible Twins, Rose and Lily Anderson,” Tracy indicated the two women, “They’re the group’s nurses and naggers. Rose is the dark haired one and Lily’s the blond.”
“Not that the blond is natural, of course,” Rose snickered at her sister.
“Hush you,” Lily sniffed, “And we’re not twins. We look nothing alike and I’m older by two years.”
“To my left is Dan Rosenburg,” Tracy continued, nodding to the quiet redhead beside him, “Dan’s our fix-it person. All the medical equipment and our vehicle are maintained by him.”
“Pleasure to meet ya, Doctor,” Dan greeted quietly in a soft Southern drawl.
“And then, there’s me,” Tracy finished off, smiling at the new addition, “And what about you, son? Last time I saw you, they were still calling you John Doe.”
“I’m going by Alexander Kirkland, now,” the blond man grinned, “Al or Alex for short.”
“I’m glad you finally settled on a full name, Alex,” Tracy nodded, “Where did it come from?”
Al shrugged, “Well, a few years ago I got a glimpse of a memory, nothing complete, just someone talking to me. They called me ‘Al something’ so I rolled with that. Alexander was a common enough ‘Al’ name. I thought about Albert, but that name sounded too stuffy.”
“And the Kirkland?”
Alex blushed, “Itsfromabrandofsoap.”
“What?”
“It’s from a brand of soap,” Alex repeated, a bit more clearly, his face burning red, “Well they do some food too and other things. They’re basically a bulk producer. It just sounded…familiar. And I liked it.”
Rose snickered, “Soap boy.
“Hey!”
Tracy laughed, “Glad everyone is getting along. Well then, now that introductions are over, let’s get this show on the road.”
“Hell, yeah!” Al crowed, his face lighting up like the sun, “Time to be heroes!”
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I know the paging part won't ever happen but the Dr.Kirkland part sounds undeniabley sexy.
Wouldn't Iggy be proud if he ever found out.
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Soap boy, that's cute! I like his name. jalsk Can't wait to see more of this. :D
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And I have to agree with my fellow commenter-anons: Dr. Kirkland sounds unbelievably sexy. I wonder how Arthur will react to it. ^_~!
Really, I can't wait for more. Update soon, writer!anon, you're killing me!
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Haha, I like it. Alex is a much more common name than Alfred now-a-days so I approve. You wouldn't happen to be a fan of Thunderbirds, would you author anon?
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He never admitted it, but England had a feverish hope that maybe, maybe America would return once everything was rebuilt.
Ten years was just so long...No one had seen the blond loudmouth Nation after the attacks. Search teams had been sent out, but nothing could be found. And with the way the country had been hurt, the independent government almost nonexistent, its freedom and liberty compromised, America could be dea-No. America was alive. Somewhere. He had to be, the bloody git.
And once England found him, he was going to punch the ungrateful brat for worrying him so. That was, if the island Nation didn't snog the life out of the idiot first.
Rebuilding was slow mostly due to the need to preserve what was left. Washington DC was especially in bad shape. Many historic buildings and monuments were in ruins. Luckily, a great deal of the Smithsonian collection had been stored below ground, keeping the precious artifacts safe. However, nearly all the museums themselves and the exhibits on display at the time were gone. The Archive was one of the few buildings to escape the attack, so the documents housed there were intact. The Tidal Basin was no longer the picturesque landscape of the past, all the trees uprooted and monuments turned to rubble. The Capital Building was in ruins, and the White House had lost a wing. At the moment, England and Canada were overseeing the reconstruction of the White House.
“Not there!” the island Nation shrieked at a nearby worker working on some stone, “Over there!”
“England,” Canada sighed at his frazzled father, “You're going to give yourself a heart attack...”
England glared at the younger Nation.
“I want everything to be perfect when America comes back,” the green-eyed man growled, “He always took such great pride in this old House...”
“England...” Canada murmured sadly, “He might not come back.”
“Don't you dare say that, Canada!” England hissed, “America will definitely come back! He-he's probably gotten himself lost on purpose, the git!”
“England,” Canada whispered as the elder Nation started shaking with suppressed tears. Ten years...ten years was such a short time for their kind, especially for one as old as England. The Briton did not have nearly enough time to mourn.
“St-stupid America,” England muttered, turning away from Canada and trying to collect himself, “He's probably fallen down a hole, waiting for the right moment to swoop in and be the bloody hero!”
Canada bit his lip and stayed silent as England went back to directing the construction crew. The older man had stopped shaking, his voice loud and furious as he barked out orders. But there was a tension in his shoulder blades that Canada did not want to see.
No. England did not have enough time to mourn. And as Canada cried for the both of them (because England refused to...crying meant he accepted it, which he did not) the northern Nation realized that ten years was not enough for him either.
~
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Named after the Edgar Allen Poe short story, the disease was the biggest after effect of the attacks on America. It was thought to be a man-made disease, a testimony of years of research, and it only made its presence known after the the attacks ten years ago. Everyone agreed that the Red Death had to have been a biological weapon that had been dropped, mixed in with the explosives that tore up the urban areas of America.
Symptoms included fever, bright red sores, and coughing fits. Children were the most susceptible to the disease, but they had a much better survival rate compared to adults. Death was assured in months without treatment. Being viral in nature, the disease was hard to treat, especially with the scant amount of medical care available. Luckily, the sickness had not spread past the continental U.S. due to the closed border. Seeing as they were the prime targets of the attacks in the first place, cities were the areas of highest infected population. One city in particular had been the biggest target of them all.
Washington, DC.
~
“DC?” Dr. Alexander Kirkland questioned out when Dr. Tracy announced their next destination, “The capital?”
Tracy nodded, “The hospitals down there are desperate for some help. We're not much, but it's better than nothing.”
“Why aren't they sending in a larger group?” Lily demanded, “Wouldn't they want more than the five of us? Everyone knows the place is in shambles.”
Al's heart unexceptionably tightens at her words. A flickered memory...
There is a man on top a horse looking across the river at the busy construction. He is dressed in a dark blue military jacket with white breeches and a tricorn hat on top of a powdered wig. The man (GeneralPresidentfather) turns to look at Al, the sun blurring out his features.
“What do you think of your new capital, Ame--”
...is gone before it is even grasped.
“They're will be others coming to DC after us,” Dr. Tracy explained, snapping Al out of his zoned out state, “But our team is the closest and we have a good track record, especially Dr. Kirkland here.”
Said Dr. Kirkland blinked, “Who, me? I just joined you guys...”
“You've distinguished yourself as an excellent trauma surgeon before you joined us,” Tracy pointed out, “And you have a lot of experience on Red Death, as well.”
Al laughed at the praise, “Well, you know, all in a day's work...”
“Anyone ever been to the capital before?” Tracy asked.
“Don' look at me, sirrah,” Dan mumbled. Rose and Lily shook their heads in unison. Al shrugged.
“Red Death is a serious problem there,” Dr. Tracy said, stating a well known fact, “Not as much as New York or Chicago, but pretty bad. They also have been experiencing an increase in work related injuries there.”
“Huh? Why?”
“The British have been pumping money into restoration projects in DC,” Tracy explained, “There's a lot of construction going on there. The Brits figure that not only would the project provide jobs for those who need it, but that it would be a great way to boost American moral if the capital was rebuilt and historic landmarks were restored.”
“Just goes to show that Mommy England still loves us stupid American brats~” Rose singsonged. Dr. Kirkland laughed loudly.
His laughter increased suddenly because, for some reason, Al was positive England was a man.
~
notes:
LOL at ninja!George Washington, stubborn!Iggy, and quietly moe!Canada.
You have no idea how hard it was for me to write this. I live in the DC-Metro area, so DC is practically my other state. Love going to the Tidal Basin during the cherry blossom festival. I almost cried when I wrote that it was destroyed. T~T
Al's a trauma surgeon, cause I think America worked as a battlefield medic several times during the American Civil War and the World Wars when he wasn't being a soldier or pilot in the field. Even though he doesn't remember, Al feels comfortable working on trauma patients. His knowledge on the disease comes from the fact that it is the biggest problem in the US in the story and he's had to deal with it before. BTW, sorry for the lame ass name of the disease. I'm bad at naming things.
Um...also hope OP doesn't mind the touch of USUK I have in here. They're my OTP.
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