A Different Kind of Hero (1b/2)
anonymous
December 16 2010, 21:22:34 UTC
Still nothing. America’s face creased into a serious frown, and with forced determination, he gently took England’s shoulder and rolled him onto his back.
The sight that greeted him was nothing he hadn’t seen before, but not pretty nonetheless. England’s entire chest and down to his hips was coated in blood that soaked through his uniform, which was torn around the edges and had one sleeve burned off altogether. His skin was covered in ashes and soot, but when America tried to brush it off, he found the natural skin underneath was pale and ashen anyhow, sticky with sweat and blood.
“I-Iggy?” America tapped gently at the side of his bloodied cheek. “H-hey, Iggy, I know you think it’s bad but it’s really not that bad and I think you should wake up now…”
Nothing.
America forced down his panic and tried to think reasonably. What was he supposed to do? They were still five miles from their escort, and he could already tell that England would be in no shape to walk anytime soon, if he even regained consciousness. He was lucky he wasn’t human, or the damage from the plast might have killed him.
America swallowed at the thought. England… dying… no. England couldn’t die, he reassured himself. He would just complain about how much being blown to smithereens hurt like hell when he woke up. Yeah, when he woke up…
Blinking back what could not have been tears, America unbuttoned England’s military jacket with as much care as possible and peeled it off his bloodied limbs. The dress shirt beneath - oh England, wearing a dress shirt in the middle of the Iraqi desert - was plastered to his skin with both sweat and blood, and rather than risking hurting him further, America sliced it off along the seams with his pocketknife. England’s bare skin was a mess, peeled to bits as though shredded through a cheese grater, his angry red sores blackened around the ages and oozing with fiery crimson blood.
America couldn’t help but wince. “Damnit, Arthur…”
He shouldn’t have let England push him aside. He was the hero, wasn’t he? He was supposed to… supposed to… he didn’t even know anymore.
He buried his face in England’s matted hair, allowing the dirty locks to soak up his tears. “Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ve got you. Just hang in there, kay?”
He took a breath to compose himself then stripped himself, momentarily tossing aside his bomber jacket and then removing his own military coat and top to use as a makeshift bandage. He sliced it into strips and tied it tightly around the abused torso, then wrapped his trademark jacket around the thin, pale shoulders.
“There we go,” he murmured as he pulled the fragile arms through the sleeves. “Fits you nicely. You should wear jackets like this more often…”
England’s eyes remained closed, his eyebrows furrowed slightly even in his sleep, perhaps in unconscious pain.
“You’re not going to respond, are you,” America whispered, more to himself than to his former brother. “Th-that’s alright, I know you don’t like my jokes anyways, and that once wasn’t even any good so save your laughter for later, right?” He gave a forced, sob-choked laugh of his own. “Now don’t kill me, but I think I’ll have to carry you now.”
As gently as he possibly could, he wrapped England’s limp arms around his shoulders and hoisted the rest of his body up onto his back, like a broken ragdoll. He pulled his thighs around his hips and secured a grip on his ankles, then shifted him up once more into a more sturdy, comfortable position, and letting his head fall limply onto his shoulder.
He felt the singed blond hair tickle at the back and side of his neck, and fought the urge to let go of his angles to run a hand through it and hold a cool hand to his cheek. “Hang on, Arthur. I’ve got you. We’re going back.”
Re: A Different Kind of Hero (1b/2)
anonymous
December 17 2010, 07:13:03 UTC
When I realized it was done for now I swore a blue streak that would have made a sailor blush. In three languages, no less. Serious!America being a hero makes me squeal and fangirl so much.
And that England automatically went to protect America also made me squee and fangirl all over the place. You are obviously doin something right here. Looking forward to the rest. *sets up tent*
Re: A Different Kind of Hero (1b/2)
anonymous
December 22 2010, 00:43:00 UTC
I'm so glad he wasn't Chuck Norris-heroic, but actually having a hard time and repressing sobs and tears and swallowing his fear and need to cry to be heroic...real heroism is fantastic 8)
The sight that greeted him was nothing he hadn’t seen before, but not pretty nonetheless. England’s entire chest and down to his hips was coated in blood that soaked through his uniform, which was torn around the edges and had one sleeve burned off altogether. His skin was covered in ashes and soot, but when America tried to brush it off, he found the natural skin underneath was pale and ashen anyhow, sticky with sweat and blood.
“I-Iggy?” America tapped gently at the side of his bloodied cheek. “H-hey, Iggy, I know you think it’s bad but it’s really not that bad and I think you should wake up now…”
Nothing.
America forced down his panic and tried to think reasonably. What was he supposed to do? They were still five miles from their escort, and he could already tell that England would be in no shape to walk anytime soon, if he even regained consciousness. He was lucky he wasn’t human, or the damage from the plast might have killed him.
America swallowed at the thought. England… dying… no. England couldn’t die, he reassured himself. He would just complain about how much being blown to smithereens hurt like hell when he woke up. Yeah, when he woke up…
Blinking back what could not have been tears, America unbuttoned England’s military jacket with as much care as possible and peeled it off his bloodied limbs. The dress shirt beneath - oh England, wearing a dress shirt in the middle of the Iraqi desert - was plastered to his skin with both sweat and blood, and rather than risking hurting him further, America sliced it off along the seams with his pocketknife. England’s bare skin was a mess, peeled to bits as though shredded through a cheese grater, his angry red sores blackened around the ages and oozing with fiery crimson blood.
America couldn’t help but wince. “Damnit, Arthur…”
He shouldn’t have let England push him aside. He was the hero, wasn’t he? He was supposed to… supposed to… he didn’t even know anymore.
He buried his face in England’s matted hair, allowing the dirty locks to soak up his tears. “Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ve got you. Just hang in there, kay?”
He took a breath to compose himself then stripped himself, momentarily tossing aside his bomber jacket and then removing his own military coat and top to use as a makeshift bandage. He sliced it into strips and tied it tightly around the abused torso, then wrapped his trademark jacket around the thin, pale shoulders.
“There we go,” he murmured as he pulled the fragile arms through the sleeves. “Fits you nicely. You should wear jackets like this more often…”
England’s eyes remained closed, his eyebrows furrowed slightly even in his sleep, perhaps in unconscious pain.
“You’re not going to respond, are you,” America whispered, more to himself than to his former brother. “Th-that’s alright, I know you don’t like my jokes anyways, and that once wasn’t even any good so save your laughter for later, right?” He gave a forced, sob-choked laugh of his own. “Now don’t kill me, but I think I’ll have to carry you now.”
As gently as he possibly could, he wrapped England’s limp arms around his shoulders and hoisted the rest of his body up onto his back, like a broken ragdoll. He pulled his thighs around his hips and secured a grip on his ankles, then shifted him up once more into a more sturdy, comfortable position, and letting his head fall limply onto his shoulder.
He felt the singed blond hair tickle at the back and side of his neck, and fought the urge to let go of his angles to run a hand through it and hold a cool hand to his cheek. “Hang on, Arthur. I’ve got you. We’re going back.”
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And that England automatically went to protect America also made me squee and fangirl all over the place. You are obviously doin something right here. Looking forward to the rest. *sets up tent*
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