Past-Part Fills Part 3 -- CLOSED

Feb 26, 2011 13:34



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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.

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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.

“Rest now.” someone told him.

And he did.

When Arthur awakened next, he was alone.

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Re: Blindsided 3b/? anonymous July 27 2010, 05:00:16 UTC
I was hoping this one would be filled! Author!anon, this is awesome, and I can't wait to read more.

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Re: Blindsided 3b/? anonymous July 28 2010, 02:46:18 UTC
Aaaah, I need more. I love blind!fics and this is beautifully sad.

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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.

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Author!Anon anonymous July 29 2010, 13:59:36 UTC
Thank you. The kind words are flattering-- and I am very happy people like this.

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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.

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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.

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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)..???

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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. :)

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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.

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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. :)

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Re: Blindsided 5a/? anonymous August 1 2010, 19:47:40 UTC
February, 1944

Matthew hadn't been exaggerating.

Eagle company had sprouted those crazy little red-white-and-blue marks on their jumpsuits where the Canadian flags had been only hours before. Fresh young faces, all, had stood at attention on the field while it was announced that America was officially siding with the Allies.

England recognized a few of the faces as regular patrons at the pub he had been frequenting for a year or more. One in particular, as the most likely to burst into song when he'd had a few drops of alcohol in him. (Canada had been often in his company, when not on a mission, or with his own squadron.)

He wasn't the pilot from the Blitz, however-- to start with, he was shorter than England.

Their chatter had mostly subdued, and his own RAF pilots acknowledged them as 'damned good fighters' who took risks that nearly always paid off-- and yet were not as prone to showiness as their Canadian counterparts. They were a somber bunch, at times, who opted to remain in the background-- even after their true allegiance was revealed.

(“Best fucking radar and sonar equipment in the world--” Matthew had offered once as they sat in the same pub after the fresh troops arrived. “I would have had to be an idiot not to use what was offered.”)

Neither mentioned the alley.

But if one of them mentioned Alfred's name the anger no longer clouded Canada's face as it once had. Arthur didn't want to see it return, so he refrained from asking questions.

England was also surprised one morning, to turn from drawing his usual chalk figures and diagrams, and find a heavily bandaged Francis leaning in the doorway to the Allied meeting room.

“Angleterre,” was his greeting, as though he had never been absent.

“You look a sight, Frog.” returned England, “I thought you'd given up.”

“A mere moment of weakness.” The easy smile spread across Francis' face, “Besides, if America can fight, despite the handicaps he's been given, I would look a true fool not to make any effort.”

“And we know you don't need any help there.” Arthur sniped automatically. “Perhaps I shouldn't have confided in you. ”

But he had, one drunken rainy night in the trenches during the last war, he had broken down and told Francis about that last battle, about the rain, the blood--

“Has the America been to any of the Allied forces meetings? If he--”

“No.”

“Has Matthieu told you nothing about America?“

“No, and I... haven't asked.” England scowled, turning back to the board and redrawing a few lines that might have been perfect already. “He's not as angry as he was then, but I don't want to risk it.”

“You're a coward.” The insult was delivered in a mild tone, as France took a seat. “You're afraid to find out for certain.”

“In the years that you have been alive, Francis, have you ever heard of a country healing from an injury like ..that?”

“Surely you've seen such things in your days as a delinquent, Arthur.” France leaned back in his chair. “Didn't you subjugate nations, conquer countries and rule the high seas with mayhem?”

“I have not, which is why I was asking you, idiot. In time of revolution, we're more succeptable to injury. I've destroyed nations, and seen them destroyed-- “ England paused for emphasis, refusing to rise to whatever bait that the word 'delinquent' had been in the past, “Never have I seen one of us survive a crippling blow like the one-- I blinded him, for pity's sake.”

“Not you personally, cher Angleterre.” France reminded him, “He is a nation, however, and his wounds would have healed long ago. So, he's fine, just --”

“The last blow was struck in that nebulous time period between my surrender, and his acceptance. He was a nation as I laid him down. And even if-- ” England carefully replaced the chalk on the edge of the blackboard. “Just remember.... how many scars do you carry from your battles that will never vanish?”

“I see.” the serious expression was completely out of character for France. “However, he has survived whatever has been thrown at him with Matthieu's support, and his people are from what I gather, very competent.”

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Blindsided 5b/? anonymous August 1 2010, 19:50:19 UTC
“Competent.” England sighed, and slouched into a chair. He should get some tea before the meeting, but he couldn't be arsed. “I've been living with rumors. My representatives have dealt with American officials-- however none have seen anyone matching his description at functions where it would make sense for one of us to be present.”

“Nor have mine.” France winced as he shrugged, “Nor did I, when I visited to complete a land deal with him.”

“When was that?”

“Years ago. The point is, Matthieu has been the only one of us to see him in the past hundred and fifty years. If you want to know how he is, and if he is still angry, you know who you have to talk with-- and ce n'est pas moi.”

Voices in the corridor gave England enough time to pull himself together. Not that he would admit to having been that close to weeping in frustration. He straightened up in time to see Matthew bounce into the room, a bright smile upon his face as he saw Francis sitting across from Arthur.

“Bienvenue!” he almost glowed, letting forth a stream of rapid French to France. Too fast for Arthur to follow. Francis responded in kind, and the pair seemed to ignore him.

He could hear the voices in the corridor getting closer, and as the large and familiar shape of Russia paused outside the door, he could see that Ivan was deep in conversation with someone who lingered out of sight.

But they were both speaking Russian, and Arthur could only wince in frustration. It might just be one of the Baltic states, but not understanding a word going on around him was annoying.

The laugh that preceded Ivan's entry stopped England cold.

Alfred.

For a moment, he considered jumping up and running, however his legs betrayed him by not moving.

America.

Here.

At a glance, he could tell Francis either didn't recognize the laugh, or was too embroiled in his conversation with Matthew. Was Alfred going to come in for the meeting? A shorter figure followed close behind Russia. Was it--

“Canada,” Ivan was saying, “I would like to reassure you that I am not planning on invading you any time in the near future. Siberia is cold enough-- and your brother is Злющий. How do you say-- full of fire?”

“That he is.” Matthew paused to smile at Ivan. “You should take him seriously.”

The figure behind Russia proved to be Yao-- which Arthur should have known by virtue of his height, dark hair, and the very fact that China was supposed to be there.

“All right then, shall we begin?” Matthew stepped to the front, making it obvious to England that America would once again, not be attending.

England let himself be distracted, watching the open doorway, almost expecting the slender blond figure to step in at any moment with the biggest smile on his face, apologizing for being late because he overslept, or some nonsense. Arthur's stomach tied itself in a knot. In his imagination, Alfred looked exactly the same-- a sixteen year old body, a few inches taller than England-- and a bright blue gaze looking down at him with all the joy-- except....

“... how does that sound to you?”

“It sounds unbelievable.” Francis was saying. Arthur had missed something important, most likely. “And incredibly generous, it would hearten my people beyond what I could ever expect-- Matthieu--”

“It was America's idea.” Matthew said gruffly, “He figured that your people needed some morale right about now-- and there are French people outside of France who are already coming together to put this into action. We're hoping that it we can get there by this fall.”

America's idea? England knew that some of the plans that Matthew had been presenting had been partially someone else's idea, as he usually began 'we think', but he'd assumed that it was his own generals, and perhaps America's generals--

“Unless someone has an objection, your own people will be the ones to liberate Paris” A faint smile, as Canada refused to meet England's questioning gaze. “Now, onto the next item--”

Those questions and queries would have to wait-- there was still a war on, and that had to come before personal concerns.

Still, Arthur found himself glancing towards the door more frequently, not certain if he was hoping to see America enter, or afraid that he would.

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Re: Blindsided 5b/? anonymous August 1 2010, 20:31:29 UTC
Holy shit, I just discovered this fill and it's amazing. I don't even know what to say; I mean, this prompt could have ended up as cheesy melodrama (think "Lifetime movie" D:), but instead it ended up moving, with believable emotions on everyone's parts. Even though England's emotions and reactions were believable, I was afraid Canada's would be too forgiving; but you really stepped up to the plate, Anon. <3

And now I can't wait to see America and how he's changed. And how he and England interact. ... Someone just linked me to this fill without explaining what it was, so I don't even know if it's a shippy (USUK) story or not. I think I'm happier to leave myself in the dark until that's revealed, for once, because this is going to be interesting either way. <3

Honestly, the most moving part so far was how America's laugh instantly struck a chord in England as if he'd last heard it the day before.

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Re: Artist!Anon anonymous August 1 2010, 23:51:57 UTC
<3 Thank you. You just made my day. :)
And Hell is a beautiful surround-sound system with a brand new beautiful widescreen television stuck on Lifetime. For eternity.
(I cringe at that channel.)

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