(APH fanfic) His Father's Eyes, part 1
This is a sequel to my Hetalia kink meme fill Blue Blanket. It's a dark England-centric fic that will contain mention of rape, flashbacks of rape, male pregnancy, light child abuse, child neglect, psychological trauma, and various other not-fun things. It will also contain the pairing England/France.
Don't like? Don't read. Please don't spam my journal with hate comments.
Arthur woke to hands on him.
He would have lashed out, if he could, but he was simply too weak. He hadn't even the strength to open his eyes. He was drained, drained from days of fighting and... something else.
“Calm down, old man, it's just me.” A voice said nearby. Australia's voice. Safe.
He relaxed, exhaling with relief. “What happened?” He asked. “Where am I?”
“Still on Crete, mate.” Australia said cheerfully. “Don't worry, Cunningham's getting us a boat to take you home.”
“Admiral Cunningham.” Arthur corrected, frowning, though he was fairly certain Australia only did that to annoy him. “How long have I been out? What's happening?”
Australia sighed, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder. “Germany's beating our pants off, is what's happening.” He said. “It's 29th of May. My boys found you this morning- dunno how long you were out before then, but you're in bad shape, England. What happened to you?”
“I don't know.” Arthur said, ignoring flashes of sky and dirt and the sound of tearing cloth and bright, animal blue eyes in his mind. He didn't know, and it was going to stay that way, no matter what he remembered. “Bloody bastards must've ambushed us. Did any of my men make it?” He asked, somehow getting his eyes open.
Australia shook his head. “I'm sorry, England- you were the only thing breathing.”
Arthur nodded, sighing. “Poor bastards. How's the evacuation coming?”
Australia smiled down at him. “All business even when you can't get up, huh?” He said before launching into a detailed description of who was where and doing what and who was likely to be dead. Arthur closed his eyes and listened, glad to have something to occupy his mind and keep him from remembering.
The next time he woke, it was Greece sitting next to him, absently petting a cat and dozing, and the light coming through the window had a morning slant to it.
“You're awake.” Greece said, watching him impassively. “Good. The ship's loading now.”
Arthur nodded, sitting up slowly, and looked around. His uniform was a mix of New Zealander and Australian- his own had probably been in absolute shreds. His rifle was nowhere to be seen, but he didn't need it now. At least he still had his boots.
Greece set the cat aside and stood, helping Arthur to his feet. Much to his embarrassment, Arthur had to lean on Greece just to keep upright. Greece supported him without comment, helping him out of the house and down to the docks.
The docks were crowded to overflowing with men and supplies. “Don't worry.” Greece said, smiling slightly. “They have a place for you.”
“Will they even recognize me?” Arthur asked with a derisive snort. He hadn't even seen a mirror, much less looked at himself in one, but he knew he wasn't his usual self.
“Kirkland!”
“I suppose they will.” Greece said with a somewhat wider smile as a man Arthur recognized came running up to them.
“Kirkland, you English dog, how in Hell are you still alive?” The man was Brigadier James Hargest, a New Zealand soldier with more fight in him alone than in most regiments. “And what are you wearing?”
“I doubt I could have walked through town stark nude.” Arthur said with a genuine smile. He rather liked Hargest- he was loyal, he was fierce, and he was of the leave-no-man-behind sort. “My friend here tells me you've a ship to get us out of here?”
“Yeah, with maybe just enough room for you.” Hargest agreed. “Your friend stays behind, though, crazy fool.”
“Greece is my home.” Greece said, shrugging. He'd somehow acquired another cat, and was petting it. “I can hardly abandon all my mother built for me because of a little thing like war.”
Hargest rolled his eyes and gave Arthur a look that plainly said he felt all Greeks must be insane. “I need to go see to some things. Be on that boat in an hour's time, Kirkland, or we sail without you.”
Arthur sighed, looking back at Greece. “I'm sorry.” He said. “We couldn't hold Crete.”
“You tried.” Greece said with a shrug.
“We failed.”
“But you tried. Now go home, rest up, and try again somewhere else. You'll probably succeed.”
Arthur bit his lip, then drew himself up and saluted. “God be with you, Greece.” He said quietly. “I'll see you when we win this war.”
Greece smiled and saluted back in a way that from anyone else would be offensive in its halfheartedness, but was really just the essence of Greece's character. “To victory, then.”
Arthur let his hand drop and turned. He was sore and hurt, dehydrated, underfed, and weak, but he walked down the dock with his head up. He was retreating, but some day the favor would be returned. This war would be his, even if this battle had been Germany's. He would allow no other outcome.
The Battle of Crete, referenced in this chapter, was a decisive(ish) German victory against British, Greek, New Zealand, and Australian troops on the Greek isle of Crete. It lasted from 20 May 1941 to 1 June 1941, with most of the last four or so days devoted to evacuating troops to avoid capture. It's generally agreed that if the offensive had been handled better, the Germans might have been pushed back early on and never taken the island. Not that it matters, since Crete's strategic value was pretty much ignored by Germany once it was taken.
Brigadier James Hargest was a real person, killed in action in 1944 at the age of 53. He was a tough old guy from New Zealand.
To learn more about the Battle of Crete, check out the wiki page, or look up the rather entertaining book Battle for Crete, by John Hall Spencer. Most of my info came from the book.
Further chapters will be in posted here.
Don't like? Don't read. Please don't spam my journal with hate comments.
Arthur woke to hands on him.
He would have lashed out, if he could, but he was simply too weak. He hadn't even the strength to open his eyes. He was drained, drained from days of fighting and... something else.
“Calm down, old man, it's just me.” A voice said nearby. Australia's voice. Safe.
He relaxed, exhaling with relief. “What happened?” He asked. “Where am I?”
“Still on Crete, mate.” Australia said cheerfully. “Don't worry, Cunningham's getting us a boat to take you home.”
“Admiral Cunningham.” Arthur corrected, frowning, though he was fairly certain Australia only did that to annoy him. “How long have I been out? What's happening?”
Australia sighed, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder. “Germany's beating our pants off, is what's happening.” He said. “It's 29th of May. My boys found you this morning- dunno how long you were out before then, but you're in bad shape, England. What happened to you?”
“I don't know.” Arthur said, ignoring flashes of sky and dirt and the sound of tearing cloth and bright, animal blue eyes in his mind. He didn't know, and it was going to stay that way, no matter what he remembered. “Bloody bastards must've ambushed us. Did any of my men make it?” He asked, somehow getting his eyes open.
Australia shook his head. “I'm sorry, England- you were the only thing breathing.”
Arthur nodded, sighing. “Poor bastards. How's the evacuation coming?”
Australia smiled down at him. “All business even when you can't get up, huh?” He said before launching into a detailed description of who was where and doing what and who was likely to be dead. Arthur closed his eyes and listened, glad to have something to occupy his mind and keep him from remembering.
The next time he woke, it was Greece sitting next to him, absently petting a cat and dozing, and the light coming through the window had a morning slant to it.
“You're awake.” Greece said, watching him impassively. “Good. The ship's loading now.”
Arthur nodded, sitting up slowly, and looked around. His uniform was a mix of New Zealander and Australian- his own had probably been in absolute shreds. His rifle was nowhere to be seen, but he didn't need it now. At least he still had his boots.
Greece set the cat aside and stood, helping Arthur to his feet. Much to his embarrassment, Arthur had to lean on Greece just to keep upright. Greece supported him without comment, helping him out of the house and down to the docks.
The docks were crowded to overflowing with men and supplies. “Don't worry.” Greece said, smiling slightly. “They have a place for you.”
“Will they even recognize me?” Arthur asked with a derisive snort. He hadn't even seen a mirror, much less looked at himself in one, but he knew he wasn't his usual self.
“Kirkland!”
“I suppose they will.” Greece said with a somewhat wider smile as a man Arthur recognized came running up to them.
“Kirkland, you English dog, how in Hell are you still alive?” The man was Brigadier James Hargest, a New Zealand soldier with more fight in him alone than in most regiments. “And what are you wearing?”
“I doubt I could have walked through town stark nude.” Arthur said with a genuine smile. He rather liked Hargest- he was loyal, he was fierce, and he was of the leave-no-man-behind sort. “My friend here tells me you've a ship to get us out of here?”
“Yeah, with maybe just enough room for you.” Hargest agreed. “Your friend stays behind, though, crazy fool.”
“Greece is my home.” Greece said, shrugging. He'd somehow acquired another cat, and was petting it. “I can hardly abandon all my mother built for me because of a little thing like war.”
Hargest rolled his eyes and gave Arthur a look that plainly said he felt all Greeks must be insane. “I need to go see to some things. Be on that boat in an hour's time, Kirkland, or we sail without you.”
Arthur sighed, looking back at Greece. “I'm sorry.” He said. “We couldn't hold Crete.”
“You tried.” Greece said with a shrug.
“We failed.”
“But you tried. Now go home, rest up, and try again somewhere else. You'll probably succeed.”
Arthur bit his lip, then drew himself up and saluted. “God be with you, Greece.” He said quietly. “I'll see you when we win this war.”
Greece smiled and saluted back in a way that from anyone else would be offensive in its halfheartedness, but was really just the essence of Greece's character. “To victory, then.”
Arthur let his hand drop and turned. He was sore and hurt, dehydrated, underfed, and weak, but he walked down the dock with his head up. He was retreating, but some day the favor would be returned. This war would be his, even if this battle had been Germany's. He would allow no other outcome.
The Battle of Crete, referenced in this chapter, was a decisive(ish) German victory against British, Greek, New Zealand, and Australian troops on the Greek isle of Crete. It lasted from 20 May 1941 to 1 June 1941, with most of the last four or so days devoted to evacuating troops to avoid capture. It's generally agreed that if the offensive had been handled better, the Germans might have been pushed back early on and never taken the island. Not that it matters, since Crete's strategic value was pretty much ignored by Germany once it was taken.
Brigadier James Hargest was a real person, killed in action in 1944 at the age of 53. He was a tough old guy from New Zealand.
To learn more about the Battle of Crete, check out the wiki page, or look up the rather entertaining book Battle for Crete, by John Hall Spencer. Most of my info came from the book.
Further chapters will be in posted here.