[Fanfic] Dragons
Title: Dragons
Author/Artist: Me
Character(s) or Pairing(s): UK, mentions of USA and Canada
Rating: PG-ish
Warnings: Completely unbeta'd drabblefic.
Summary: He drinks to forget his dragons. Very angsty birthday-fic.
Words: 525
Sometimes, Arthur wakes up, cold sweat dripping from his body. In his mind’s eye, he still sees the famous hero, Saint George. His patron saint. He sees the dragon, dying and still breathing the last remnants of fire. Of course, this was back in 303 AD, back when he was still pagan and strongly so. But he remembers now exactly why Saint George is the patron saint of England.
Even though they never met- they can’t have done, Saint George was raised with Christian beliefs, and Arthur was resolute in his paganism until the late 6th century (has he really been around that long? It appears so). But inside, he sees what they believe. His people, that is. He sees the epic fight. He is sure no one else has nightmares over this like he does.
Tonight the nightmares will be especially bad. So he drinks. He trawls from bar to bar, until not a single barman will serve him anymore. He is grateful for 24 hour opening though, it is 3AM before he bangs at the door, pushing his key into the wrong place. He is failing to be quiet, but the neighbours won’t mind.
They never do. They don’t listen. If he is lucky, they may pick up the note in the stairwell, which flutters in the early morning breeze, and stuff it into the full mailbox. He falls into bed after being sick into the toilet noisily, manages to place a plastic washing up bowl by his bed just in case. Even so, he falls into a deep sleep where the dragon aims fire at him, threatening to destroy him. Some part of him realises it is all the threats that have ever been, from the icy colour that makes him think of the Norsemen to the familiar blue of Francis’s eyes. A new addition is the swirling, continuously changing colour of the terrorists. It is an unknown colour, the breast running to its tail.
When Arthur wakes up with a cold sweat tonight, he will throw up into the plastic bowl beside his bed, and stare himself in the eyes. The fluttering note in the stairwell will be gone, carried to the bottom by that breeze, and out into the wet, rainy night.
Another birthday.
Another forgotten birthday.
The next time he feels well enough to venture round the house, he will check the mailbox. But cards aren’t the same as someone being there. He misses the people who can chase away the dragons.
***
America taps his phone, passing a glance to Canada.
“Do you think he got my note?”
Canada shrugs, but Alfred can see the worried gleam in his eyes.
“I hope he calls soon. I dread to think what could happen to him.” America fidgets slightly. He is used to being the hero, not the one waiting by the phone.
“He probably forgot.” Matthew reassures, a hand on Alfred’s shoulder. Secretly, he fosters the same intense dread. But he is the voice of reason. He has to be.
“Happy birthday, Arthur.” They whisper together, eyes fixed on each other. Alfred picks up the phone and dials hopefully.
Author/Artist: Me
Character(s) or Pairing(s): UK, mentions of USA and Canada
Rating: PG-ish
Warnings: Completely unbeta'd drabblefic.
Summary: He drinks to forget his dragons. Very angsty birthday-fic.
Words: 525
Sometimes, Arthur wakes up, cold sweat dripping from his body. In his mind’s eye, he still sees the famous hero, Saint George. His patron saint. He sees the dragon, dying and still breathing the last remnants of fire. Of course, this was back in 303 AD, back when he was still pagan and strongly so. But he remembers now exactly why Saint George is the patron saint of England.
Even though they never met- they can’t have done, Saint George was raised with Christian beliefs, and Arthur was resolute in his paganism until the late 6th century (has he really been around that long? It appears so). But inside, he sees what they believe. His people, that is. He sees the epic fight. He is sure no one else has nightmares over this like he does.
Tonight the nightmares will be especially bad. So he drinks. He trawls from bar to bar, until not a single barman will serve him anymore. He is grateful for 24 hour opening though, it is 3AM before he bangs at the door, pushing his key into the wrong place. He is failing to be quiet, but the neighbours won’t mind.
They never do. They don’t listen. If he is lucky, they may pick up the note in the stairwell, which flutters in the early morning breeze, and stuff it into the full mailbox. He falls into bed after being sick into the toilet noisily, manages to place a plastic washing up bowl by his bed just in case. Even so, he falls into a deep sleep where the dragon aims fire at him, threatening to destroy him. Some part of him realises it is all the threats that have ever been, from the icy colour that makes him think of the Norsemen to the familiar blue of Francis’s eyes. A new addition is the swirling, continuously changing colour of the terrorists. It is an unknown colour, the breast running to its tail.
When Arthur wakes up with a cold sweat tonight, he will throw up into the plastic bowl beside his bed, and stare himself in the eyes. The fluttering note in the stairwell will be gone, carried to the bottom by that breeze, and out into the wet, rainy night.
Another birthday.
Another forgotten birthday.
The next time he feels well enough to venture round the house, he will check the mailbox. But cards aren’t the same as someone being there. He misses the people who can chase away the dragons.
***
America taps his phone, passing a glance to Canada.
“Do you think he got my note?”
Canada shrugs, but Alfred can see the worried gleam in his eyes.
“I hope he calls soon. I dread to think what could happen to him.” America fidgets slightly. He is used to being the hero, not the one waiting by the phone.
“He probably forgot.” Matthew reassures, a hand on Alfred’s shoulder. Secretly, he fosters the same intense dread. But he is the voice of reason. He has to be.
“Happy birthday, Arthur.” They whisper together, eyes fixed on each other. Alfred picks up the phone and dials hopefully.