Re: Blindsided 2a/?
anonymous
July 26 2010, 18:37:29 UTC
1817
Matthew hasn't forgiven him.
England couldn't remember the exact moment that he realized that Canada was angry.
Sweet, innocent Matthew holding a grudge, but still obedient. At least until now.
Arthur had been so distracted by France's pitiful attempts at conquest, that he'd missed the fire in those violet eyes. His troops had been paying for it-- England's soldiers had been attempting to squash America's attempts to gain more territory. To force Arthur to acknowledge again what he hadn't been able to articulate that day nearly forty years ago before-- And Matthew's people had barely aided them. It almost looked as though they wanted to be a part of America.
And now this meeting a final setting of terms between all countries involved-- hopefully they could put an end to the fighting and soon.
“Angleterre, mon ami, it looks as though your American boy is striking out blindly--” Arthur flinched as the words came from the Frenchman. Tentative peace between them kept him from outright strangling the frog most of the time, however the choice of words.... “You should have left his people alone.”
“False documentation is not a proof of citizenship, and you bloody well know it.” The argument was halfhearted. The icy chamber that they waited in made England doubt his sanity at asking Francis' along for anything, let alone moral support.
“What is wrong?” Francis was draped across a chair, casually watching Arthur pace the office. “This is not like you to ask a favor from me...”
“I needed someone around to translate just in case Matthew lapses into that bloody language you taught him.”
“That is a lie,” Francis was smiling. “You have people who know the language. Is it the possibility that petit Alfred might be here in a moment?”
“You annoy me, Frog.” Arthur couldn't quite control the tic at the mention of the name. Of course he knew that Alfred would be there. All countries involved would be represented. But as an ally of America, perhaps France had seen him... “How long has it been since you've seen him?”
“Around '77,” The reply coming more easily than Arthur had expected, “After that I was... how shall I put it. Busy.”
Of course. His own revolution had been sneaking up on him for some time. It might have been years after the American one had ended, however...
“Angleterre, I have heard many rumors. I know that he was wounded in his last battle with you...” Francis had risen, slipped his arms around England.
Arthur froze for a moment, and jammed his elbow into the other man's ribs.
“I'm surprised that you didn't do that sooner,” Francis said after his yelp of pain, and withdrawal . “Are you going to tell me why you really invited me along?”
“Matthew is very angry.” England admitted reluctantly, “Very angry. With me. I thought having you here might temper that.”
“Pourquois?” Francis said the word low and in his ear. Arthur didn't bother fighting off the arm that was slipped around his shoulder. “Why? He has always been a biddable boy--”
“So gentle and obedient that I never noticed when he began to slip away from me, just like--”
The sound of a door opening and closing interrupted England before he could say the name. France's arm fell away as they turned as one to face the men who had just entered.
Re: Blindsided 2b/?
anonymous
July 26 2010, 18:38:40 UTC
But only Matthew, precious Matthew stood before them.
His build and face were so much like his twin's-- like Alfred's-- that Arthur started. It had been the same look of fierce determination on another boy's face, as he told his guardian that he wanted to be independent. But the cold amethyst eyes told him that this was Matthew, and England had better listen.
“England, I choose liberty.” The words echoed, a hard edge to them. Francis made a little noise of surprise, “I choose to be independent. What do you say?”
“Where is America? How is--”
“He and I have come to an agreement, which is none of your business anymore.” The cold anger had been cemented. “What is your answer?”
In that look, Arthur-- England-- saw the promise of another long and bloody war, culminating in another gunshot, another boy in his arms, bleeding and forever crippled--
He couldn't do that again.
“I will acknowledge it.” He ignored Francis' startled gasp. There would be no battle, however the anger still had not left Canada's eyes.
Re: Blindsided 2b/?
anonymous
July 26 2010, 23:08:28 UTC
Woooah! The earlier emancipation of Canada totally makes sense but it's sad to see Mattie hate Arthur ;__; I look forward to seeing Alfred's side to this !
Re: Blindsided 3a/?
anonymous
July 27 2010, 04:38:32 UTC
December, 1940
London was burning.
In some moments, England could draw breath, and think about what was happening, and attempt to implement solutions. Others, he was gasping for breath, as new burns started eating at his very flesh. On those nights, he prayed for an end, for help-- though he truthfully did not expect aid from anyone. His allies were busy fighting their own battles, the countries who had declared neutrality were carefully avoiding all contact...
Then came the miracle.
Despite the past, Canada had stepped in to help.
Matthew's eyes had lost a lot of the coldness and anger that had been very much evident the last time Arthur had seen him, and as he personally came in with his pilots to survey the damage, his greeting was almost friendly.
“Arthur.” said Matthew, “Holding up then?”
“Some nights better than others,” Arthur replied. “How is--”
“Where would you like your munitions and medical supplies stored?” Matthew asked abruptly, “I've got to get my squadron billeted, and help prepare defenses.”
“The what?” Arthur blinked unintelligently. He'd been radioed about the military actions, the aid that was being sent-- but munitions and medicine... Well, he supposed that Canada would help supply their own.
Matthew gave a shrug, gesturing to a cargo plane taxiing to a halt on the besieged runway.
England gaped at the familiar red, white and blue flag on the nose of the craft, temporarily speechless. He knew the markings, but he'd never expected to see them here. On his own land.
“America is still neutral.” Canada said shortly, “You can pay the idiot later.”
Matthew marched away before Arthur could ask him anything more.
But that had been this morning. This evening was proving to be quieter than usual. Half- seven, and no sirens. Those would come later. Instead of hunkering down in a shelter to let his wounds heal and get some rest, Arthur went out to spend time among his people. He would not let that bastard run him down, and keep him cowed. He was England, damnit. He would not be trampled so easily.
Next thing he knew, it was half- nine, and the people in his company were laughing. He could've been drunk on their high spirits alone, let alone the two pints he'd consumed. A group of pilots, most likely one of the group of Canadians were leading a drinking song as he slipped out of the pub to head back to his quarters.
Arthur had seen enough to know that he was not alone, and that made him just a little less morose than he'd been this morning.
Less than halfway there, the sirens screamed.
With his system fogged by alcohol and the remnants of the camaraderie of his people, Arthur pressed onwards, certain he would make shelter long before the bombs started hitting his city again. It was a mistake that he didn't realize until the first bombs caught him, shaking him to the core.
Blindsided 3b/?
anonymous
July 27 2010, 04:41:49 UTC
So quickly. He thought, falling to the pavement in front of the building. The pain was dulled by the booze, but it still would not allow him to take those final steps, to call out for aid...
If there were an explosion too close...
“Fucking /hell/.” The faint sound of voices was coming closer-- from outside? But everyone was supposed to be - “I told you to stay in the shelter, you fucking moron.”
Accented. Familiar.
Another voice replied, presumably, but Arthur couldn't hear the voice over the sound of fire and explosions. His eyes closed as another stripe of pure fire rolled over him.
“Fine. Stick close, and as soon as we make sure he's in the shelter, we'll get back to the base. I've got to get my ass in the air. I don't have time to be-- Shit.”
Canada.
Matthew.
England tried to open his eyes, and failed.
“Shit. Shit--” Arthur tried to summon up the effort to tell his former charge to stop swearing.
Failed.
“I don't know how we're going to get him--”
A soft reply.
“I don't-” Matthew sighed, the soft reply apparently continuing. “Okay. You win. You carry him, but you're still shipping out in the morning. Allons-y.”
Awkwardly, England felt himself lifted, held carefully.
Another hand groped past his back, to the arm of the man carrying him, as they moved forward.
“Steps.” Matthew's voice again, “Six.”
Somewhere between the first step and the last, Arthur lost consciousness, and fell back into a nightmare.
The figure stood over him, blood-soaked and torn, a gaping wound where his eyes used to be. As he fell, Arthur reached out to catch him.
“You did this...” the whisper came to him, “You did this to me--”
“I didn't mean for this to happen-” Arthur protested, “I didn't want this--”
“I know.” The voice said softly, the dream changing, “I understand.”
Halfway between waking and unconsciousness, he felt a hand touch his forehead, his cheek. So gentle.
Re: Blindsided 3b/?
anonymous
July 28 2010, 06:22:06 UTC
This is gorgeous, and painful, and I love the changes in the character dynamics, the way Canada is having to take the lead, England's guilt, it's really well thought out.
Re: Blindsided 3b/?
anonymous
July 29 2010, 02:02:53 UTC
December 7, 1941
With bombs no longer dropping on his heart, his London, Arthur had made more of a recovery than he could have dreamed on the nights when the fire ate at him. Thanks to Canada's propping up of his battered defenses, England and his people had been able to pull themselves together, and would live on for another day.
Little victories. Arthur told himself, temporarily back from the front, where his men were sometimes holding their own, sometimes giving ground. Little victories, like knowing who is on your side.
Like Matthew.
For a change, the tall lanky pilot was cleaned up (A miracle in this broken city, in this broken time), and sitting across the table from Arthur, pint in hand, and a hint of his old shy smile starting to break through.
Despite his curiosity as to the identity of Matthew's drinking partner last year, England never asked him any questions about it. The moments when he thought of satisfying the itch, and find out why exactly the two of them had been out wandering the streets during an attack left as soon as Arthur caught a glimpse of Matthew's scowling face.
But he wasn't scowling now.
“Everything will be okay, Arthur.” Matthew told him, faint blush of alcohol touching his face. He wondered for a moment, if this boy still looked like his brother. Matthew had grown-- but had Alfred? The country had grown, he reasoned with himself, so the youth had most likely grown into a man. Guilt washed across him, as Matthew spoke of plans and rebuilding what had been destroyed. “Bastards will wish they'd never crossed the channel.”
“Thank you,” Arthur could only manage, focusing on the conversation. But he knew that they were losing more ground than they were gaining the past month. Francis had given up already-- and Arthur couldn't quite forgive that.
Never a mention of Alfred to Matthew, lest those eyes harden, and the openness of the face close up. It was as close to peace as England could personally gain with Canada right now, and he didn't want to spoil it.
This was as close to forgiven as he would likely ever come.
So lost in those thoughts, in the pleasant moment of sitting with his former colony without bearing the brunt of a glare, Arthur missed the exact moment that the pub's radio had been turned up, and the music had died.
He didn't miss the blood draining from Matthew's face, however, leaving him nearly as white as his shirt. Nor the spark of absolute fear and horror that flashed through violet eyes, leaving the boy gasping for breath.
“Fuck.” The boy breathed, “They didn't-- they couldn't-- he was NEGOTIATING-- Fuck, fuck FUCK!”
Panic. Fear. Pain.
The chair that the other had been sitting in crashed to the ground in the eerie silence of bar patrons as Matthew ran out the door.
Leaving England with the echoes of the broadcast that had provoked his drinking partner to flee.
“... devastating attack on the American base at Pearl Harbor, details are ...”
Arthur didn't hear the rest, as he chased Matthew.
Re: Blindsided 4b/?
anonymous
July 29 2010, 02:05:56 UTC
Crap. Part above is 4a. Forgot to change the title. Sorry. ReCaptcha darling, 'Twelve-inch running' /what/??
He didn't have far to run-- as the echoes of Canada yelling came from the alley next to a bombed out building. And an echo of something soft hitting something hard. England frowned, and dove down the narrow street, afraid for a moment that Matthew had run into some idiot looking to steal ration cards.
He needn't have worried on that account, but the tall blond youth was punching the crumbing wall.
“Damnit. You idiot. I told you this would happen.” There was something strained, raw and to a point of breaking in that voice. “I fucking told you not to--”
Words broke off into a sob as Arthur halted beside Matthew. Another fist struck the wall, brick cracking from the force-- but in the faint light of the moon, he could see blood on the bare knuckles. This had to stop.
“Matthew.” England grabbed the next hand before it could be launched at the wall. Struggled against the strength, “Please, Matthew. Hurting yourself is not going to help. If you need something to punch, hit me, and we'll get on with doing what needs to be done.”
Silvery wet tracks showed clearly against the young man's cheeks, and both arms suddenly dropped, as though all of the energy had just been released.
“Iggy...” Matthew whispered through another little hiccuping sob. England tried not to wince at the nickname that Alfred had given him so long ago. “Arthur, I--”
And suddenly, somehow, the taller boy was clinging to him like a lifeline, face buried in his shoulder and crying. The only thing he could do was wrap his own arms around the broad shoulders, and muffle his own tears. He had never been good at comforting.
“We'll go to the base,” His voice was a bit choked, and he struggled to control it. “So you can call-- and get ready to fly to America. ”
It took them both a few minutes to pull themselves together, but in the end, Matthew with his worried violet gaze was connected to his brother, nearly a half a world away.
Arthur gave him privacy, returning just as Matthew was replacing the receiver.
“Will you be leaving in the morning?” England asked carefully.
“No.” Matthew said slowly, giving one of those rare half-shy smiles that Arthur hadn't seen for years. “He said he'd kick my ass if I left before the job was done. He'll be fine. He's... tougher than that.”
Arthur nodded, a faint smile of his own.
“I have to go talk to Eagle Squadron though. Let them know.”
“Oh?” England frowned, puzzled. All the Canadian fliers had squadron nicknames. Bear. Eagle. Hawk. Why would that one--
“Because there will be a declaration of war tomorrow. And most of Eagle are American.”
His mouth must have dropped open, because Matthew laughed, (When was the last time that had happened?) patted him on the shoulder, and walked out.
The little 'Thank you,” dropped in his ear didn't register for a good twenty minutes.
Re: Blindsided 4b/?
anonymous
July 30 2010, 06:18:51 UTC
So the other guy was American? I knew it! I wonder how America will feel (war and fighting+blind...welll...I've heard of people doing it legless (fighter pilot) and partially blind due to G forces (again fighter pilot) but full out blind from the start?) Well they did use to (so IVE HEARD)make pilots learn how to fly blindfolded ...
God this needs a trillion more reviews your style is beautiful and the way things are describe <3 I love it.
Will America ever win his eyesight back?Why DIDNT it come back? What did that represent for the country during the revolution and beyond (as in America having a fever = forest fire)..???
Re: Blindsided 4b/?
anonymous
August 1 2010, 06:54:47 UTC
Thank you for your kind words, Anon. I'm used to having very little attention paid to me. (Yes, I'm just like normal universe Canada sometimes) There are some things that I'm working with that I can't put up just yet, because I haven't gotten there yet.:) And who knows who the other guy was (Besides the author)-- Iggy couldn't hear him talking, just Matthew.
If I recall correctly, a fever means economic recession/depression. :)
Re: Blindsided 4b/?
anonymous
August 1 2010, 01:03:45 UTC
This is awesome! I feel so anxious to see England's reaction once he knows. The build up is great.
One question, is this a history AU? Aka did Canada break away from England in the second chapter? Sorry, I don't know my history very well and I am easily confused.
Re: Blindsided 4b/?
anonymous
August 1 2010, 06:50:15 UTC
It's a history AU. Canada broke away from England about 50 some years earlier, and cut all ties-- whereas in regular history, their declaration was around 1867, but were still tied up with the UK enough so that when WWI was declared, Canada automatically got pulled in. Things are different here, obviously. :)
Matthew hasn't forgiven him.
England couldn't remember the exact moment that he realized that Canada was angry.
Sweet, innocent Matthew holding a grudge, but still obedient. At least until now.
Arthur had been so distracted by France's pitiful attempts at conquest, that he'd missed the fire in those violet eyes. His troops had been paying for it-- England's soldiers had been attempting to squash America's attempts to gain more territory. To force Arthur to acknowledge again what he hadn't been able to articulate that day nearly forty years ago before-- And Matthew's people had barely aided them. It almost looked as though they wanted to be a part of America.
And now this meeting a final setting of terms between all countries involved-- hopefully they could put an end to the fighting and soon.
“Angleterre, mon ami, it looks as though your American boy is striking out blindly--” Arthur flinched as the words came from the Frenchman. Tentative peace between them kept him from outright strangling the frog most of the time, however the choice of words.... “You should have left his people alone.”
“False documentation is not a proof of citizenship, and you bloody well know it.” The argument was halfhearted. The icy chamber that they waited in made England doubt his sanity at asking Francis' along for anything, let alone moral support.
“What is wrong?” Francis was draped across a chair, casually watching Arthur pace the office. “This is not like you to ask a favor from me...”
“I needed someone around to translate just in case Matthew lapses into that bloody language you taught him.”
“That is a lie,” Francis was smiling. “You have people who know the language. Is it the possibility that petit Alfred might be here in a moment?”
“You annoy me, Frog.” Arthur couldn't quite control the tic at the mention of the name. Of course he knew that Alfred would be there. All countries involved would be represented. But as an ally of America, perhaps France had seen him... “How long has it been since you've seen him?”
“Around '77,” The reply coming more easily than Arthur had expected, “After that I was... how shall I put it. Busy.”
Of course. His own revolution had been sneaking up on him for some time. It might have been years after the American one had ended, however...
“Angleterre, I have heard many rumors. I know that he was wounded in his last battle with you...” Francis had risen, slipped his arms around England.
Arthur froze for a moment, and jammed his elbow into the other man's ribs.
“I'm surprised that you didn't do that sooner,” Francis said after his yelp of pain, and withdrawal . “Are you going to tell me why you really invited me along?”
“Matthew is very angry.” England admitted reluctantly, “Very angry. With me. I thought having you here might temper that.”
“Pourquois?” Francis said the word low and in his ear. Arthur didn't bother fighting off the arm that was slipped around his shoulder. “Why? He has always been a biddable boy--”
“So gentle and obedient that I never noticed when he began to slip away from me, just like--”
The sound of a door opening and closing interrupted England before he could say the name. France's arm fell away as they turned as one to face the men who had just entered.
Rassafrackin character limits
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His build and face were so much like his twin's-- like Alfred's-- that Arthur started. It had been the same look of fierce determination on another boy's face, as he told his guardian that he wanted to be independent. But the cold amethyst eyes told him that this was Matthew, and England had better listen.
“England, I choose liberty.” The words echoed, a hard edge to them. Francis made a little noise of surprise, “I choose to be independent. What do you say?”
“Where is America? How is--”
“He and I have come to an agreement, which is none of your business anymore.” The cold anger had been cemented. “What is your answer?”
In that look, Arthur-- England-- saw the promise of another long and bloody war, culminating in another gunshot, another boy in his arms, bleeding and forever crippled--
He couldn't do that again.
“I will acknowledge it.” He ignored Francis' startled gasp. There would be no battle, however the anger still had not left Canada's eyes.
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I look forward to seeing Alfred's side to this !
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London was burning.
In some moments, England could draw breath, and think about what was happening, and attempt to implement solutions. Others, he was gasping for breath, as new burns started eating at his very flesh. On those nights, he prayed for an end, for help-- though he truthfully did not expect aid from anyone. His allies were busy fighting their own battles, the countries who had declared neutrality were carefully avoiding all contact...
Then came the miracle.
Despite the past, Canada had stepped in to help.
Matthew's eyes had lost a lot of the coldness and anger that had been very much evident the last time Arthur had seen him, and as he personally came in with his pilots to survey the damage, his greeting was almost friendly.
“Arthur.” said Matthew, “Holding up then?”
“Some nights better than others,” Arthur replied. “How is--”
“Where would you like your munitions and medical supplies stored?” Matthew asked abruptly, “I've got to get my squadron billeted, and help prepare defenses.”
“The what?” Arthur blinked unintelligently. He'd been radioed about the military actions, the aid that was being sent-- but munitions and medicine... Well, he supposed that Canada would help supply their own.
Matthew gave a shrug, gesturing to a cargo plane taxiing to a halt on the besieged runway.
England gaped at the familiar red, white and blue flag on the nose of the craft, temporarily speechless. He knew the markings, but he'd never expected to see them here. On his own land.
“America is still neutral.” Canada said shortly, “You can pay the idiot later.”
Matthew marched away before Arthur could ask him anything more.
But that had been this morning. This evening was proving to be quieter than usual. Half- seven, and no sirens. Those would come later. Instead of hunkering down in a shelter to let his wounds heal and get some rest, Arthur went out to spend time among his people. He would not let that bastard run him down, and keep him cowed. He was England, damnit. He would not be trampled so easily.
Next thing he knew, it was half- nine, and the people in his company were laughing. He could've been drunk on their high spirits alone, let alone the two pints he'd consumed. A group of pilots, most likely one of the group of Canadians were leading a drinking song as he slipped out of the pub to head back to his quarters.
Arthur had seen enough to know that he was not alone, and that made him just a little less morose than he'd been this morning.
Less than halfway there, the sirens screamed.
With his system fogged by alcohol and the remnants of the camaraderie of his people, Arthur pressed onwards, certain he would make shelter long before the bombs started hitting his city again. It was a mistake that he didn't realize until the first bombs caught him, shaking him to the core.
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If there were an explosion too close...
“Fucking /hell/.” The faint sound of voices was coming closer-- from outside? But everyone was supposed to be - “I told you to stay in the shelter, you fucking moron.”
Accented. Familiar.
Another voice replied, presumably, but Arthur couldn't hear the voice over the sound of fire and explosions. His eyes closed as another stripe of pure fire rolled over him.
“Fine. Stick close, and as soon as we make sure he's in the shelter, we'll get back to the base. I've got to get my ass in the air. I don't have time to be-- Shit.”
Canada.
Matthew.
England tried to open his eyes, and failed.
“Shit. Shit--” Arthur tried to summon up the effort to tell his former charge to stop swearing.
Failed.
“I don't know how we're going to get him--”
A soft reply.
“I don't-” Matthew sighed, the soft reply apparently continuing. “Okay. You win. You carry him, but you're still shipping out in the morning. Allons-y.”
Awkwardly, England felt himself lifted, held carefully.
Another hand groped past his back, to the arm of the man carrying him, as they moved forward.
“Steps.” Matthew's voice again, “Six.”
Somewhere between the first step and the last, Arthur lost consciousness, and fell back into a nightmare.
The figure stood over him, blood-soaked and torn, a gaping wound where his eyes used to be. As he fell, Arthur reached out to catch him.
“You did this...” the whisper came to him, “You did this to me--”
“I didn't mean for this to happen-” Arthur protested, “I didn't want this--”
“I know.” The voice said softly, the dream changing, “I understand.”
Halfway between waking and unconsciousness, he felt a hand touch his forehead, his cheek. So gentle.
“Rest now.” someone told him.
And he did.
When Arthur awakened next, he was alone.
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With bombs no longer dropping on his heart, his London, Arthur had made more of a recovery than he could have dreamed on the nights when the fire ate at him. Thanks to Canada's propping up of his battered defenses, England and his people had been able to pull themselves together, and would live on for another day.
Little victories. Arthur told himself, temporarily back from the front, where his men were sometimes holding their own, sometimes giving ground. Little victories, like knowing who is on your side.
Like Matthew.
For a change, the tall lanky pilot was cleaned up (A miracle in this broken city, in this broken time), and sitting across the table from Arthur, pint in hand, and a hint of his old shy smile starting to break through.
Despite his curiosity as to the identity of Matthew's drinking partner last year, England never asked him any questions about it. The moments when he thought of satisfying the itch, and find out why exactly the two of them had been out wandering the streets during an attack left as soon as Arthur caught a glimpse of Matthew's scowling face.
But he wasn't scowling now.
“Everything will be okay, Arthur.” Matthew told him, faint blush of alcohol touching his face. He wondered for a moment, if this boy still looked like his brother. Matthew had grown-- but had Alfred? The country had grown, he reasoned with himself, so the youth had most likely grown into a man. Guilt washed across him, as Matthew spoke of plans and rebuilding what had been destroyed. “Bastards will wish they'd never crossed the channel.”
“Thank you,” Arthur could only manage, focusing on the conversation. But he knew that they were losing more ground than they were gaining the past month. Francis had given up already-- and Arthur couldn't quite forgive that.
Never a mention of Alfred to Matthew, lest those eyes harden, and the openness of the face close up. It was as close to peace as England could personally gain with Canada right now, and he didn't want to spoil it.
This was as close to forgiven as he would likely ever come.
So lost in those thoughts, in the pleasant moment of sitting with his former colony without bearing the brunt of a glare, Arthur missed the exact moment that the pub's radio had been turned up, and the music had died.
He didn't miss the blood draining from Matthew's face, however, leaving him nearly as white as his shirt. Nor the spark of absolute fear and horror that flashed through violet eyes, leaving the boy gasping for breath.
“Fuck.” The boy breathed, “They didn't-- they couldn't-- he was NEGOTIATING-- Fuck, fuck FUCK!”
Panic. Fear. Pain.
The chair that the other had been sitting in crashed to the ground in the eerie silence of bar patrons as Matthew ran out the door.
Leaving England with the echoes of the broadcast that had provoked his drinking partner to flee.
“... devastating attack on the American base at Pearl Harbor, details are ...”
Arthur didn't hear the rest, as he chased Matthew.
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He didn't have far to run-- as the echoes of Canada yelling came from the alley next to a bombed out building. And an echo of something soft hitting something hard. England frowned, and dove down the narrow street, afraid for a moment that Matthew had run into some idiot looking to steal ration cards.
He needn't have worried on that account, but the tall blond youth was punching the crumbing wall.
“Damnit. You idiot. I told you this would happen.” There was something strained, raw and to a point of breaking in that voice. “I fucking told you not to--”
Words broke off into a sob as Arthur halted beside Matthew. Another fist struck the wall, brick cracking from the force-- but in the faint light of the moon, he could see blood on the bare knuckles. This had to stop.
“Matthew.” England grabbed the next hand before it could be launched at the wall. Struggled against the strength, “Please, Matthew. Hurting yourself is not going to help. If you need something to punch, hit me, and we'll get on with doing what needs to be done.”
Silvery wet tracks showed clearly against the young man's cheeks, and both arms suddenly dropped, as though all of the energy had just been released.
“Iggy...” Matthew whispered through another little hiccuping sob. England tried not to wince at the nickname that Alfred had given him so long ago. “Arthur, I--”
And suddenly, somehow, the taller boy was clinging to him like a lifeline, face buried in his shoulder and crying. The only thing he could do was wrap his own arms around the broad shoulders, and muffle his own tears. He had never been good at comforting.
“We'll go to the base,” His voice was a bit choked, and he struggled to control it. “So you can call-- and get ready to fly to America. ”
It took them both a few minutes to pull themselves together, but in the end, Matthew with his worried violet gaze was connected to his brother, nearly a half a world away.
Arthur gave him privacy, returning just as Matthew was replacing the receiver.
“Will you be leaving in the morning?” England asked carefully.
“No.” Matthew said slowly, giving one of those rare half-shy smiles that Arthur hadn't seen for years. “He said he'd kick my ass if I left before the job was done. He'll be fine. He's... tougher than that.”
Arthur nodded, a faint smile of his own.
“I have to go talk to Eagle Squadron though. Let them know.”
“Oh?” England frowned, puzzled. All the Canadian fliers had squadron nicknames. Bear. Eagle. Hawk. Why would that one--
“Because there will be a declaration of war tomorrow. And most of Eagle are American.”
His mouth must have dropped open, because Matthew laughed, (When was the last time that had happened?) patted him on the shoulder, and walked out.
The little 'Thank you,” dropped in his ear didn't register for a good twenty minutes.
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God this needs a trillion more reviews your style is beautiful and the way things are describe <3 I love it.
Will America ever win his eyesight back?Why DIDNT it come back? What did that represent for the country during the revolution and beyond (as in America having a fever = forest fire)..???
Reply
There are some things that I'm working with that I can't put up just yet, because I haven't gotten there yet.:) And who knows who the other guy was (Besides the author)-- Iggy couldn't hear him talking, just Matthew.
If I recall correctly, a fever means economic recession/depression. :)
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One question, is this a history AU? Aka did Canada break away from England in the second chapter? Sorry, I don't know my history very well and I am easily confused.
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Things are different here, obviously. :)
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