[FIC] Redress
Title: Redress
Author: a_white_rain
Characters: America, England
Prompt: We possess nothing certainly except the past.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Nothing that I can think of.
Notes: This was going to be longer and more involved, but it's not about Children's Card Games so I got stuck but it didn't want to be.
Summary: American and England during The Battle of Britain.
England was wrapping bandages around his wrist when America barged in.
"I know you know how to knock," England said, without looking up.
America laughed. It was a cheerful sound. For a moment, England thought he might cry from it. "You should be thanking me. I'm about to save you."
England's head shot up. "You're joining the war?"
America took a step back. "No. My boss just pushed through some legislation to help any country if it's in our interests to help them." He held out his arms to the side. "'Course you'll have to give back what we loan you..."
England turned back to the bandages. "What exactly is you're reasoning behind this?"
England heard America walk over to a nearby chair, and from the corner of his eyes, saw him plop down. He bit down the urge to scold him for treating the furniture so poorly.
"My boss said it's a bit like helping a neighbor's house that's on fire. You give them your hose to take it out. Then they give it back. Or something like that."
"Roosevelt does have a way with words," England said. He picked up another roll of bandages. He'd planned to redress the wounds around his middle. But, he didn't really want America to see how bad in shape he really was.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
"A penny would be useless to me," England said, dropping the bandage, planning to finish redressing himself when America was gone. He twisted around, intending to thank America, but quickly realized that might not have been his wisest move when jolts of pain swept through his body, he hissed, and instinctively moved his arms to cradle his injuries.
America's hands were on him. England hadn't even seen him get up.
"England?" America sounded young, like a child. "What's wrong?"
England found himself smiling. And then let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Do you think Germany is just coming over a for a tea party?"
"I listen to Murrow's reports," America snapped. "I just wasn't thinking - "
England lifted his head and finished, "That I would be hurt?" America's eyes widened behind his glasses. England thought about taking them off and breaking them. "What exactly did you think, then?"
"You didn't have any injuries in the last war," America muttered. He jerked his eyes to the side.
"It's different this time," England lied. There was no reason for America to know he'd been hurt in the last war. He'd kept them hidden for a reason.
Quite suddenly, America reached over to the end table and grabbed the roll of bandages England had just been holding. "I'll do this for you."
"There's no need - " England started, but his voice died when he saw the look America was giving him.
"I want to see," America said.
Not taking his eyes off of America, slowly England moved to take hold of the bottom of his shirt. It hurt quite a bit when he moved his arms up to take it off, but he had no desire to see how America's expression would change if he showed any signs of pain, so he forced himself to stay as still as possible and not to make a sound.
England didn't get a chance to even let go of the shirt before America's fingers were brushing across the bandage. "I want to see," he said, again.
"You'll have to if you want to redress it," England said. He watched America, with more care than England knew he possessed, unravel the bandages.
England wasn't sure how long America stared at the cuts across the middle of his stomach, but it felt like an eternity. "My boss," America said, sounding like something beyond his control was forcing him to speak, "he wants to go war."
England said nothing.
America continued. "My people want to stay out of it."
America, England knew, neither followed his boss or his people automatically. He was very much his own person, matching the ideals he declared bound his people together. England felt that he probably knew that better than anyone.
England wanted to look away when he asked, "And you?"
He didn't answer.
England closed his eyes when America moved to redress his wounds.
Author: a_white_rain
Characters: America, England
Prompt: We possess nothing certainly except the past.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Nothing that I can think of.
Notes: This was going to be longer and more involved, but it's not about Children's Card Games so I got stuck but it didn't want to be.
Summary: American and England during The Battle of Britain.
England was wrapping bandages around his wrist when America barged in.
"I know you know how to knock," England said, without looking up.
America laughed. It was a cheerful sound. For a moment, England thought he might cry from it. "You should be thanking me. I'm about to save you."
England's head shot up. "You're joining the war?"
America took a step back. "No. My boss just pushed through some legislation to help any country if it's in our interests to help them." He held out his arms to the side. "'Course you'll have to give back what we loan you..."
England turned back to the bandages. "What exactly is you're reasoning behind this?"
England heard America walk over to a nearby chair, and from the corner of his eyes, saw him plop down. He bit down the urge to scold him for treating the furniture so poorly.
"My boss said it's a bit like helping a neighbor's house that's on fire. You give them your hose to take it out. Then they give it back. Or something like that."
"Roosevelt does have a way with words," England said. He picked up another roll of bandages. He'd planned to redress the wounds around his middle. But, he didn't really want America to see how bad in shape he really was.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
"A penny would be useless to me," England said, dropping the bandage, planning to finish redressing himself when America was gone. He twisted around, intending to thank America, but quickly realized that might not have been his wisest move when jolts of pain swept through his body, he hissed, and instinctively moved his arms to cradle his injuries.
America's hands were on him. England hadn't even seen him get up.
"England?" America sounded young, like a child. "What's wrong?"
England found himself smiling. And then let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Do you think Germany is just coming over a for a tea party?"
"I listen to Murrow's reports," America snapped. "I just wasn't thinking - "
England lifted his head and finished, "That I would be hurt?" America's eyes widened behind his glasses. England thought about taking them off and breaking them. "What exactly did you think, then?"
"You didn't have any injuries in the last war," America muttered. He jerked his eyes to the side.
"It's different this time," England lied. There was no reason for America to know he'd been hurt in the last war. He'd kept them hidden for a reason.
Quite suddenly, America reached over to the end table and grabbed the roll of bandages England had just been holding. "I'll do this for you."
"There's no need - " England started, but his voice died when he saw the look America was giving him.
"I want to see," America said.
Not taking his eyes off of America, slowly England moved to take hold of the bottom of his shirt. It hurt quite a bit when he moved his arms up to take it off, but he had no desire to see how America's expression would change if he showed any signs of pain, so he forced himself to stay as still as possible and not to make a sound.
England didn't get a chance to even let go of the shirt before America's fingers were brushing across the bandage. "I want to see," he said, again.
"You'll have to if you want to redress it," England said. He watched America, with more care than England knew he possessed, unravel the bandages.
England wasn't sure how long America stared at the cuts across the middle of his stomach, but it felt like an eternity. "My boss," America said, sounding like something beyond his control was forcing him to speak, "he wants to go war."
England said nothing.
America continued. "My people want to stay out of it."
America, England knew, neither followed his boss or his people automatically. He was very much his own person, matching the ideals he declared bound his people together. England felt that he probably knew that better than anyone.
England wanted to look away when he asked, "And you?"
He didn't answer.
England closed his eyes when America moved to redress his wounds.