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.”
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.
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.
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.)
Re: Blindsided 5b/?
anonymous
August 1 2010, 21:35:04 UTC
I really really like this! It's fantastic so far, the emotions have been great. I like that Canada seems to have become the dominant twin. :D And I am really looking forward to America's appearance. (psst, don't forget to post updates on the fills list so everyone can find this. ;) )
Re: Blindsided 5b/?
anonymous
August 3 2010, 20:33:00 UTC
Thank you. :) I hope I updated in the correct place-- I was confused before, and went to an alternate FF.net account with a different fill. Which also will be finished... someday.
Re: Blindsided 5b/?
anonymous
August 3 2010, 04:50:33 UTC
Anon, I hardly know what to say to you. This is--it's--well, it's left me speechless with admiration and adoration. I love alt histories and this one is pushing all my buttons. This might be my favorite alt history in Hetalia fandom, in fact. II have no idea who you are but I most sincerely hope you'll deanon once this is finished, as I would like nothing more than to read your other stories.
Re: Blindsided 5b/?
anonymous
August 3 2010, 20:36:48 UTC
*blush* Thank you. I love alternate histories as well, and honestly, blind kink requests usually just scream at me to fill them. (only been reading this site for a couple of weeks now). This and the one that I have on my 'secret' FF.net account are the only Hetalia fics that I have put up anywhere. :) When I get this finished, I'll post the link to the other story.:)
Re: Blindsided 6a/?
anonymous
August 3 2010, 22:17:59 UTC
May 8, 1945
War is hell.
Arthur wasn't entirely certain just who had made that statement, or when at the moment, however he could testify that it was true in many ways. He couldn't force the images from his memories of the things that had been happening to his neighbors by his neighbors.
Buchenwald and Belsen alone would always make him nauseous and angry, and to the point of wanting to grab Ludwig by the collar and screaming 'WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU THINKING?' in his face.
But as with his own country, he didn't know absolutely everything that went on in it. If Arthur were privy to every single conversation that went on in his own boarders, he would be a raving lunatic. Germany was responsible, ultimately, and the consequences of everything that had set the whole of Europe into a bloodbath would begin, but--
Right now it was all over.
At least for this continent. Japan was still refusing to surrender.
Things had gotten so hectic after the meeting last February, that England had been launched into plans and preparation and transport off to battles-- at least that's what he told himself. He wasn't afraid of meeting America. There just was no time to listen for a familiar laugh, no time to look for the spot of sunshine-coloured hair in the hallways.
There were signs of passage, however.
On occasion, he would need to stop at hospital, to find one of his men, or one of his leaders who had been wounded, or was visiting comrades that were trapped within battered brick walls. The American soldiers who were there were usually in good spirits-- as were the few children who had been unable to escape London. The nurses and orderlies told England of a young blond man-- American-- who would come in to visit them all, always cheerful, and happy, despite the fact that he seemed to be blind himself- always had an escort, and a large white dog to guide him. He soothed the youngest patients, and encouraged those who needed it.
The children loved that dog, who was almost big and fluffy enough to be a giant teddy bear, almost as much as 'big brother'.
The word 'blind' alone put another knot in England's stomach. There really was no question in his mind as to who would be making the rounds like that in a ward full of American pilots.
He had done it himself, often enough.
Arthur avoided the American wards, and got Francis' scorn once more-- however it hadn't lasted long in the furious days of fighting that led up to this perfect moment, where a new peace was forged on the ashes of Germany's surrender.
Blindsided 6b/?
anonymous
August 3 2010, 22:20:48 UTC
Celebrations were well underway, as he stood in the middle of the square near the hospital's drive. People-- his people-- joyous at the ceasing of hostilities, of the end of war, of families to be reunited, of no more young men being sent off to die in a foreign land. People. His people were happy.
There were other allied troops within the mix, but Arthur could only feel his own., and they were intoxicating.
His smile didn't falter, even as Francis came to him for a celebratory embrace-- however, Arthur drew the line at groping-- which surprisingly didn't seem to bother the Frenchman one bit.
A glimpse of a familiar face in the crowd made him pause-- Matthew had returned to London, apparently, however before Arthur could attempt to call to him, he saw the young man's face light up, and Canada pushed his way through the crowd towards the archway of the hospital, yelling something.
And then England noticed the quiet figure in the shadow of the arch-- and whatever he had been going to call Canada with died in his throat.
A slender young man, with blond hair, and dark glasses that overshadowed a far too pale face-- grinning that familiar silly grin. Not much older than he'd been the last time that Arthur had seen him. As Matthew approached, the ridiculous grin grew wider.
There was a ferocious hug, and Matthew was spun around by the shorter boy, and they were animatedly yelling at each other, while a white animal-- good lord, was that a bear?-- sat quietly watching them.
Arthur felt something catch in his throat.
Alfred.
He'd stopped shooting up like a proverbial weed, England noted, trying to keep a detached view no matter how it wasn't working. Still strength enough to nearly push Canada over, but...he was nearly the same as he had been back then.
This was the first time Arthur had seen America-- Alfred-- in over a hundred and fifty years, and even with the celebrations going on around him, he had to fight to keep the tears from coming.
“Angleterre?” Francis had noticed his sudden freeze, and laid another casual arm across his shoulder, rubbing his arm. “What is--”
England didn't trust his voice not to shake, his arm not to tremble, so he said nothing, just drinking in the way the sunlight was still in the boy's smile despite the wars on two fronts.
“Ah. I see.” France had followed the direction of his stare, “He still has that air of innocence, does he not? Even through battles lost and battles won, he will smile as though it were nothing.”
“Yes.” Arthur managed to say, the drunken happy feeling now only a mild buzz in the back of his mind. The pair were embracing again, and then linking arms. The white bear followed them, as they disappeared into the crowd.
“And yet, you still have not found the courage to face him.” Arthur flinched.
“Is it cowardice?” he wondered, “Or is it that he might not wish to see--” the word got caught. Words had been doing that a lot these days.
“You do not know his mind, mon cher.” Words were breathed into his ear. “You do not know his heart. Look at his people, here to help us in our hour of need. Look at him, here with his people-- he did not have to come. Perhaps he was hoping to find you.”
The fragile hope that Francis was offering was almost more than he could handle.
England-- no-- Arthur, closed his eyes, trying to keep a grasp on the golden threads of fancy.
Re: Blindsided 6b/?
anonymous
August 4 2010, 09:06:07 UTC
Aw, your characterization of Arthur fits in so well with canon (and my head-canon); I'm thinking of the way he silently watches Alfred disappear into the crowd, yes, but especially of the way he desperately, fearfully clutches onto the shred of hope Francis offers him. It seems like something he didn't dare to hope for himself, really.
Pessimism is like that-- you desperately /want/ to believe in good things, but somehow the bad things that have happened in the past keep throwing themselves at you... But then again, there's always a ray of sunshine that pops in that gives a moment of bliss...
Re: Blindsided 6b/?
anonymous
August 6 2010, 00:42:04 UTC
I love this fic. The characters are so IC, even for such a prompt...I specially like the way ou write England's avoidance and reticence and America's subtle changes to his personality due to the accident. I actually squeed when Matt revealed where the munitions and medical supplies came from. I just can't wait for the confrontation! And that little scene with Russia gave me hope that perhaps America strengthened his friendship with him out of loneliness for being isolated for so many years from his father figures. France is an awesome character so far! IC as by the strips, but also wise, patient and truly well-meaning, in the end. Waiting for the next chapter here! ^^
Blindsided 7a/?
anonymous
August 7 2010, 23:56:07 UTC
August 17, 1945
By the time Arthur had screwed up his courage to go find the former colony, it was too late. Standing on the doorstep of the house that he had been sent to by one of Canada's people, he was told “Both of those nice young men had to leave-- they were needed elsewhere, they said. Something about a project. They looked rather unhappy about it, especially the younger one.”
And the fragile hope was neatly crushed under the weight of understanding. England had dithered like an idiot, avoiding the meeting, and America hadn't been able to just sit around waiting for him to come to his senses.
And the war hadn't truly ended when Germany had surrendered. Not when Japan's depleted fleets were flailing and striking-- each and every man fighting to their last breath for home and crown.
But that had been three months ago, and the rumors about the events surrounding Japan's surrender were still murky.
Arthur swiftly strode the crowded corridors of another crumbling hospital-- this one in Tokyo-- in answer to a request from the injured nation. Japan-- Kiku-- wanted to speak with him before his Emperor and his generals signed the damned surrender documents.
Enemy or no, Arthur would be damned himself, before he'd let Kiku convince him of something to add to the document, or persuade another nation to give quarter to a reckless gamble-- no matter what soft words were used. The other nation had hurt too many of his people-- of his allies' people.
Standing in the doorway to the hospital room, he saw Kiku first-- the old nation's youthful form bandaged, and propped up in a bed looking pensive as he toyed with a small object. After a moment, the worn red, blue and white paint struck a familiar chord. A wooden soldier-- one that he'd made for Alfred so long ago, but what was it doing here, and why-- oh why did Japan, of all nations have it?
Japan's gaze met his, and before he could ask-- no, demand an answer, the man put fingers to lips in a gesture of 'please be quiet' while gesturing him to come closer. England almost ignored the movements, but then realized several things simultaneously.
First, this wasn't a private room, as he had expected of one with a nation's status, even a defeated one.
Second, that the other bed in this suddenly too small room was occupied.
It was the surprise of seeing messy golden-blond hair against a white pillow that made him pause, and the shock of realization as to who was actually in that other bed that froze him in his tracks, causing the instinct to flee to clash with the instinct to run forward. His heart raced.
Arthur wasn't ready for this.
One arm carelessly flung over the head, the other flung outward as though to offer an embrace to the entire world. The old familiar sprawl that spoke of a deep, exhausted sleep. The hints of old scars poked out from where pajamas gaped, and newer ones along the hand that rose and fell with the rhythm of sleeping breath.
And the face... not as peaceful as those times of happy memory, yet somehow managing to keep the youthful (Oh God, so young) innocence despite the ancient scaring marking the now unshielded eyes. It wasn't as pronounced as England had feared, however it was terrible all the same, how the fingers of old wounds had left their mark along the left temple, across the bridge of the boy's nose, and lightly touched the other eye in some obscene kiss. His boy, but-- not his any longer.
And he hadn't realized-- known that America was hurt in the last battle.
Blindsided 7b/?
anonymous
August 8 2010, 00:00:27 UTC
“Ingurando-san,” a voice whispered, and England was forced to rub his stinging eyes with the back of his sleeve before he could respond to the call that he knew was not the first. “Please, come sit with me.”
In the awkward silence that followed, Arthur tried, and failed, to keep his gaze from landing on the sleeping figure.
“Why... is he here?” Finally, the silence was broken with a harsh whisper, Arthur couldn't keep the questions from being asked. “In this room--”
“He insisted upon it.” the answer sounded almost amused “And I cannot find it in myself to refuse him.”
“He always did have a persuasive way about him. When he was small, he would get his brother to go along with him, and they'd both finish up either in trouble, dirty and exhausted, or both.” Arthur smiled faintly, remembering. “But how did he get hurt? Matthew wouldn't have let him get anywhere near the combat himself.”
“Perhaps he convinced his brother that it was absolutely necessary,” Japan said softly, drawing Arthur's attention away from the sleeper with a gesture. The toy soldier lay in his hands, as he held it up. “And perhaps it was necessary. He came to speak with me almost two weeks ago. I do not know how he and his brother found me through my own defenses, but they came, and perhaps...”
“Perhaps?” England repeated, wondering why sensible, protective Canada would have brought America through danger to meet with more danger. “He was always so reckless--”
“However, he did convince me to surrender. America told me of a weapon so powerful that entire cities would vanish-- But he did not tell you of this.”
“No... “ Arthur frowned. “But it exists?”
“I have seen its scar. We are connected to the land and its people. When the brothers completed their weapon, Alfred insisted it be tested within his boundaries. He told me that when the bomb was triggered, it burned-- but not just that. They may have chosen the coldest most abandoned place within America's boarders, but once the destruction began, there was a great emptiness that swelled up from the epicenter, and consumed everything in its path. Matthew told me of the great flash, and the trees vanishing, and the shadows of animals that had gotten caught up in the blast...”
Arthur was chilled by the description, and Kiku seemed to sense it, because he stopped.
“He found me, and told me this, and more. He begged me me not to make him use this against me and my people. He showed me the scar, and told me that if I did not surrender, his people would use this, and people would die. I could die.
“I was … unsettled. Why would one Western nation risk himself in such a way, let alone two, if there were no truth behind their words. My people were already weary of war, so I surrendered. There would be time later to atone for cowardice. To regain honor with blood, as my people were absorbed by another country. It is the right of the victor to dispose of the defeated.
“And then he presented this to me” Kiku indicated the wooden soldier in his hands. “With both hands, and a soft smile. 'Japan-san,' he said, 'Please accept my gift. Although it looks old, it is still very precious to me. I would like you to take it, and remember that the only gift that I wish from you is your life. Do not leave. We will help you rebuild, if you will allow it, just no more fighting. I want to be friends.'
“He knew our custom, and the obligation that accepting his gift gave me.”
“And?” Arthur asked, trying not to show a reaction to the revelation that the toy soldier had meant anything to Alfred.
“I find that my heart desires peace as well. I will not follow the sunset path, nor will I continue to fight needlessly.” Kiku smiled.
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.”
Reply
“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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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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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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I hope I updated in the correct place-- I was confused before, and went to an alternate FF.net account with a different fill. Which also will be finished... someday.
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I love alternate histories as well, and honestly, blind kink requests usually just scream at me to fill them. (only been reading this site for a couple of weeks now). This and the one that I have on my 'secret' FF.net account are the only Hetalia fics that I have put up anywhere. :) When I get this finished, I'll post the link to the other story.:)
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War is hell.
Arthur wasn't entirely certain just who had made that statement, or when at the moment, however he could testify that it was true in many ways. He couldn't force the images from his memories of the things that had been happening to his neighbors by his neighbors.
Buchenwald and Belsen alone would always make him nauseous and angry, and to the point of wanting to grab Ludwig by the collar and screaming 'WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU THINKING?' in his face.
But as with his own country, he didn't know absolutely everything that went on in it. If Arthur were privy to every single conversation that went on in his own boarders, he would be a raving lunatic. Germany was responsible, ultimately, and the consequences of everything that had set the whole of Europe into a bloodbath would begin, but--
Right now it was all over.
At least for this continent. Japan was still refusing to surrender.
Things had gotten so hectic after the meeting last February, that England had been launched into plans and preparation and transport off to battles-- at least that's what he told himself. He wasn't afraid of meeting America. There just was no time to listen for a familiar laugh, no time to look for the spot of sunshine-coloured hair in the hallways.
There were signs of passage, however.
On occasion, he would need to stop at hospital, to find one of his men, or one of his leaders who had been wounded, or was visiting comrades that were trapped within battered brick walls. The American soldiers who were there were usually in good spirits-- as were the few children who had been unable to escape London. The nurses and orderlies told England of a young blond man-- American-- who would come in to visit them all, always cheerful, and happy, despite the fact that he seemed to be blind himself- always had an escort, and a large white dog to guide him. He soothed the youngest patients, and encouraged those who needed it.
The children loved that dog, who was almost big and fluffy enough to be a giant teddy bear, almost as much as 'big brother'.
The word 'blind' alone put another knot in England's stomach. There really was no question in his mind as to who would be making the rounds like that in a ward full of American pilots.
He had done it himself, often enough.
Arthur avoided the American wards, and got Francis' scorn once more-- however it hadn't lasted long in the furious days of fighting that led up to this perfect moment, where a new peace was forged on the ashes of Germany's surrender.
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There were other allied troops within the mix, but Arthur could only feel his own., and they were intoxicating.
His smile didn't falter, even as Francis came to him for a celebratory embrace-- however, Arthur drew the line at groping-- which surprisingly didn't seem to bother the Frenchman one bit.
A glimpse of a familiar face in the crowd made him pause-- Matthew had returned to London, apparently, however before Arthur could attempt to call to him, he saw the young man's face light up, and Canada pushed his way through the crowd towards the archway of the hospital, yelling something.
And then England noticed the quiet figure in the shadow of the arch-- and whatever he had been going to call Canada with died in his throat.
A slender young man, with blond hair, and dark glasses that overshadowed a far too pale face-- grinning that familiar silly grin. Not much older than he'd been the last time that Arthur had seen him. As Matthew approached, the ridiculous grin grew wider.
There was a ferocious hug, and Matthew was spun around by the shorter boy, and they were animatedly yelling at each other, while a white animal-- good lord, was that a bear?-- sat quietly watching them.
Arthur felt something catch in his throat.
Alfred.
He'd stopped shooting up like a proverbial weed, England noted, trying to keep a detached view no matter how it wasn't working. Still strength enough to nearly push Canada over, but...he was nearly the same as he had been back then.
This was the first time Arthur had seen America-- Alfred-- in over a hundred and fifty years, and even with the celebrations going on around him, he had to fight to keep the tears from coming.
“Angleterre?” Francis had noticed his sudden freeze, and laid another casual arm across his shoulder, rubbing his arm. “What is--”
England didn't trust his voice not to shake, his arm not to tremble, so he said nothing, just drinking in the way the sunlight was still in the boy's smile despite the wars on two fronts.
“Ah. I see.” France had followed the direction of his stare, “He still has that air of innocence, does he not? Even through battles lost and battles won, he will smile as though it were nothing.”
“Yes.” Arthur managed to say, the drunken happy feeling now only a mild buzz in the back of his mind. The pair were embracing again, and then linking arms. The white bear followed them, as they disappeared into the crowd.
“And yet, you still have not found the courage to face him.” Arthur flinched.
“Is it cowardice?” he wondered, “Or is it that he might not wish to see--” the word got caught. Words had been doing that a lot these days.
“You do not know his mind, mon cher.” Words were breathed into his ear. “You do not know his heart. Look at his people, here to help us in our hour of need. Look at him, here with his people-- he did not have to come. Perhaps he was hoping to find you.”
The fragile hope that Francis was offering was almost more than he could handle.
England-- no-- Arthur, closed his eyes, trying to keep a grasp on the golden threads of fancy.
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By the time Arthur had screwed up his courage to go find the former colony, it was too late. Standing on the doorstep of the house that he had been sent to by one of Canada's people, he was told “Both of those nice young men had to leave-- they were needed elsewhere, they said. Something about a project. They looked rather unhappy about it, especially the younger one.”
And the fragile hope was neatly crushed under the weight of understanding. England had dithered like an idiot, avoiding the meeting, and America hadn't been able to just sit around waiting for him to come to his senses.
And the war hadn't truly ended when Germany had surrendered. Not when Japan's depleted fleets were flailing and striking-- each and every man fighting to their last breath for home and crown.
But that had been three months ago, and the rumors about the events surrounding Japan's surrender were still murky.
Arthur swiftly strode the crowded corridors of another crumbling hospital-- this one in Tokyo-- in answer to a request from the injured nation. Japan-- Kiku-- wanted to speak with him before his Emperor and his generals signed the damned surrender documents.
Enemy or no, Arthur would be damned himself, before he'd let Kiku convince him of something to add to the document, or persuade another nation to give quarter to a reckless gamble-- no matter what soft words were used. The other nation had hurt too many of his people-- of his allies' people.
Standing in the doorway to the hospital room, he saw Kiku first-- the old nation's youthful form bandaged, and propped up in a bed looking pensive as he toyed with a small object. After a moment, the worn red, blue and white paint struck a familiar chord. A wooden soldier-- one that he'd made for Alfred so long ago, but what was it doing here, and why-- oh why did Japan, of all nations have it?
Japan's gaze met his, and before he could ask-- no, demand an answer, the man put fingers to lips in a gesture of 'please be quiet' while gesturing him to come closer. England almost ignored the movements, but then realized several things simultaneously.
First, this wasn't a private room, as he had expected of one with a nation's status, even a defeated one.
Second, that the other bed in this suddenly too small room was occupied.
It was the surprise of seeing messy golden-blond hair against a white pillow that made him pause, and the shock of realization as to who was actually in that other bed that froze him in his tracks, causing the instinct to flee to clash with the instinct to run forward. His heart raced.
Arthur wasn't ready for this.
One arm carelessly flung over the head, the other flung outward as though to offer an embrace to the entire world. The old familiar sprawl that spoke of a deep, exhausted sleep. The hints of old scars poked out from where pajamas gaped, and newer ones along the hand that rose and fell with the rhythm of sleeping breath.
And the face... not as peaceful as those times of happy memory, yet somehow managing to keep the youthful (Oh God, so young) innocence despite the ancient scaring marking the now unshielded eyes. It wasn't as pronounced as England had feared, however it was terrible all the same, how the fingers of old wounds had left their mark along the left temple, across the bridge of the boy's nose, and lightly touched the other eye in some obscene kiss. His boy, but-- not his any longer.
And he hadn't realized-- known that America was hurt in the last battle.
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In the awkward silence that followed, Arthur tried, and failed, to keep his gaze from landing on the sleeping figure.
“Why... is he here?” Finally, the silence was broken with a harsh whisper, Arthur couldn't keep the questions from being asked. “In this room--”
“He insisted upon it.” the answer sounded almost amused “And I cannot find it in myself to refuse him.”
“He always did have a persuasive way about him. When he was small, he would get his brother to go along with him, and they'd both finish up either in trouble, dirty and exhausted, or both.” Arthur smiled faintly, remembering. “But how did he get hurt? Matthew wouldn't have let him get anywhere near the combat himself.”
“Perhaps he convinced his brother that it was absolutely necessary,” Japan said softly, drawing Arthur's attention away from the sleeper with a gesture. The toy soldier lay in his hands, as he held it up. “And perhaps it was necessary. He came to speak with me almost two weeks ago. I do not know how he and his brother found me through my own defenses, but they came, and perhaps...”
“Perhaps?” England repeated, wondering why sensible, protective Canada would have brought America through danger to meet with more danger. “He was always so reckless--”
“However, he did convince me to surrender. America told me of a weapon so powerful that entire cities would vanish-- But he did not tell you of this.”
“No... “ Arthur frowned. “But it exists?”
“I have seen its scar. We are connected to the land and its people. When the brothers completed their weapon, Alfred insisted it be tested within his boundaries. He told me that when the bomb was triggered, it burned-- but not just that. They may have chosen the coldest most abandoned place within America's boarders, but once the destruction began, there was a great emptiness that swelled up from the epicenter, and consumed everything in its path. Matthew told me of the great flash, and the trees vanishing, and the shadows of animals that had gotten caught up in the blast...”
Arthur was chilled by the description, and Kiku seemed to sense it, because he stopped.
“He found me, and told me this, and more. He begged me me not to make him use this against me and my people. He showed me the scar, and told me that if I did not surrender, his people would use this, and people would die. I could die.
“I was … unsettled. Why would one Western nation risk himself in such a way, let alone two, if there were no truth behind their words. My people were already weary of war, so I surrendered. There would be time later to atone for cowardice. To regain honor with blood, as my people were absorbed by another country. It is the right of the victor to dispose of the defeated.
“And then he presented this to me” Kiku indicated the wooden soldier in his hands. “With both hands, and a soft smile. 'Japan-san,' he said, 'Please accept my gift. Although it looks old, it is still very precious to me. I would like you to take it, and remember that the only gift that I wish from you is your life. Do not leave. We will help you rebuild, if you will allow it, just no more fighting. I want to be friends.'
“He knew our custom, and the obligation that accepting his gift gave me.”
“And?” Arthur asked, trying not to show a reaction to the revelation that the toy soldier had meant anything to Alfred.
“I find that my heart desires peace as well. I will not follow the sunset path, nor will I continue to fight needlessly.” Kiku smiled.
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