Disclaimer: I've trailed this story on in mind I guess and realise it might come off as disrespectful - which I don't mean to! I can't stop my mind sometimes :DD this will be long and hopefully fully fleshed taking us right up to the end of the war (yes I plan on bringing these four cinnamon rolls that far) also no disrespect to the LGBTQ community but it was different back then and I'll eventually address those issues so if you don't like that kind of thing , I'll warn you when we get there :) also I don't own the characters but I've sorta developed them /back stories/traits etc. but obviously rights go to Nolan and the film crew :'DD oh I'm sorry that was so long! I'll shush now ;P (THIS IS ALSO NOT 100% CANON TO THE FILM AND WILL BRANCH OFF)

THIS IS THREE CHAPTERS IN ONE (or there about) and I don't want to re-format the whole thing so I had to compile it here. the others are not nearly as long :'DD anyway enjoy (if you want) ~!

20th March 1936~

A spring sky was softened over with dull grey clouds blocking out any early sun rays who had tried to shift their way through; Peter was sure it was going to rain. Pulling out his bike he had gotten for his 11th birthday, rusted in certain places and the baby blue paint mostly washed down, from the shed and throwing himself onto and he began his new morning trip up to Botany Bay. Despite his father's strict warning that he could only travel to Viking Bay and no further, he raced on. As nice as Viking bay was it was small and Peter wanted more adventure and risks, so Botany Bay it was. The bike ride from Broadstairs to the Bay would last at least a couple hours and as long as he got home before lunch he should get away with it. The trip consisted of pulling up lanes dusted in thistles and long grass, tickling his thighs and under his shorts, and through streets where most residents were still sleeping. And with some wind still whipping through the streets pushing through his blue jumper and the occasional bird flying over head, Peter eventually made it to the cross road to the bay. Ditching his bike as to avoid any more of the paint coming off or puncturing a wheel, she was his only bike, after all, he shoved his way down the sandy and rocky slope onto the bay.

And what a sight it was. Even for a fourteen-year-old, he could still admire in awe the smaller white chalk and moss covered boulders littered throughout along with a small tide coming in and rich yellow sand. The trees gripping some of the wind and dancing along as well as the occasional break through of sunlight made the place seem almost ethereal. He had no particular reason for coming other than a small grasp of freedom he felt, maybe try and climb the tall boulders or see how far out into the vast ocean he could go before danger approached.

The smell of salt was thick and as always would follow him home, stuck in his clothes and dusty blonde hair. Spotting a fairly tall boulder he decided he would see if he was still rusty. Grabbing the thin ledges with his fingers he began shifting his weight. Left to right, right to left and so on. However one of his shoes unfaithfully slipped forcing him to grasp the ledge tighter. Knowing there will probably be some scrapes and cuts to follow. Hauling himself up further, Peter flipped himself onto the top of the boulder.

A vast view of the bay and sea followed. He was certain he could see France from here! Taking in the view he noticed tendrils of seaweed poking out of the water now and again and smaller rocks with seashells occasionally thrown in along the beach. Wiping his hands on his shorts; his Dad is probably going to kill him anyway when he finds out he was so far out so some dirty and slightly bloody shorts wouldn't matter, he took another look around. This time, however, he noticed that there seemed to be a wreckage albeit a small one near a rock pool. Planks and tattered sail splintered throughout the rock pool. Probably a small make shift raft that had been torn up by the sea. Poor thing probably sailed too far in and hit the rocks. There probably wasn't anyone there but still, best to check.

Taking a little more care in coming down from the rocks Peter made his way up the beach towards the raft wreckage. Though it was probably nothing to a well-seasoned sailor to a kid like him, it looked horrid. Shifting his weight slightly he checked for anything noticeable. When a hand came into view from behind the wreckage. A hand? Just great. Making his way through the wallowing planks he came across a small, pale boy. Probably younger than him by a few years by the looks of it, he was rather small with a soft face framed by curly hair, whether from the water or natural Peter couldn't tell, and a pair of ruined shorts and a shirt with quite a few holes in it. He should probably check if the fella was dead. How do you do that anyway? He had just left school but still, they don't teach you these kinds of things/ Bringing himself to the level of the other boy he hovered his ear above his face, listening. It was soft but there. A faint inhale and exhale of air. Alright, so the boy wasn't dead. So Peter couldn't really leave him.

Heaving him up, after checking for any visible injuries other than some bruises and bumps, and onto his back, he went back up the bay. Then realising his bike was still here, and he couldn't really handle an extra body on top of his on the old thing he'd have to leave it. His dad was going to utterly murder him. Trekking back onto the main road he began his trip home. Unfortunately this time it would probably take twice as long if not longer the time to go to the bay and he had to stop to check the other boy wasn't dead too. Oh dear. He'd miss lunch and his dad was probably worried sick. With no other option than to continue, he carried on his way.

It was a good hour of noon by the time he got back and he could already make out two police men standing by the door with his dad. Ducking behind the bush Peter realised they'd probably think he'd murdered the boy! He dropped the boy into the under bushes with little grace and made himself look a little more tired. He'd need a cover story or something. Anything! He could just say he went to the Bay and his bike ended up broken, not entirely wrong but. Or he could say he was chasing - a sheep? No. A robber? Even worse. He'd just stick with the bike idea. Pushing the boy's arm away under the bushes and started heavy breathing he came out of the bushes and made a turn towards them.

'Dad!' he called, getting all three men to turn and noticing his dad still in his gown, earning a tug on his lips. 'Peter! What on earth? Where have you been young man!?' oh no dad was mad again. He met up with them and his dad pulled him into a large hug, time to cover up. 'I went to the bay-' Peter started 'better not have been Botany' was the harsh response making him flinch slightly 'Only to check! I just wanted to see the rocks since Dover would be too much, and my bike broke! I ran into a tree stump, scuffed up my hands. see?' he threw his hands in his dad's sight, covered in dried blood and some bruises. 'Peter-' 'well if this is your missing son we'll be on our way now, look after yourself more kiddo' the police man was straight to the point and the two of them turned and walked away. 'thank you officers!' his dad called as they walked off. He was in big trouble now. 'we need a word young man-' 'dad wait! There was a wreckage' his dad's face flickered to one of concern quickly 'not a big one, like a raft, but there was a lot scattered about and I didn't really break my bike I had to leave it there 'cause there was a boy there - I brought him here! He's under the bush!' realising how stupid he sounded Peter flushed in embarrassment. 'which bush? Show me. Now Peter' the tone was harsh but softer than before. He led him to the bush and pulled back some branches 'Peter, gods he looks half dead' 'He's not! I checked his breathing a lot on the way'. His dad picked the boy up and hauled him inside 'get the first aid kit Pete' Ok we were back to his dad's name for him, good.

Inside his dad set the boy down on the settee and grabbed a blanket, Peter passed the kit to him. 'Good, now go brew him some tea' ' you think he'll wake up so soon? 'now Pete'. Shuffling into the small kitchen full of dishes and fishing awards and equipment, he went about brewing the tea. He heard some groans and his dad moving around with the first aid kit in the lounge and decided to wash up some dishes still left behind from last night. Finishing up the tea he went into the lounge to see the little boy open his eyes, tired deep hazel eyes. 'Here dad, still a bit hot. There's some sugar in but not a lot' knowing his dad hates it when he puts too much in. His dad passed the tea to the boy as he lifted him up and put a cushion behind him. He wished his dad was this nice when he was sick. Standing awkwardly by the door his dad just throws a ' go get changed and grab some fresh clothes for the boy' and he was on his way up the happily worn stairs. Throwing on a spare jumper and some trousers he went down with something similar from his wardrobe and went downstairs. He placed them gently on the chair next to the settee and stood there as his dad patched the boy up. 'It's alright, nothing serious. Few wounds here and there but he came out lucky' his dad closed up the first aid kit and passed it to Peter ' go make him something small'. disappearing into the kitchen he came out a few minutes later with a small ham sandwich and passed it to the kid with a short 'its ham'. The boy was a little shaky but nothing too bad and when asked questions he could only respond with 'lost', presumably his name 'George' and what they thought was his age '13' before eating most of the sandwich and drinking half the cup before passing out.

'Leave him be, was there anything else there?' 'not that I could see, Dad what are we going to do?' 'well, the kid has a sense of wanting to sail so why not bring him into our little family'. And that was it settled, Peter would now have this George in his life from now one. Oh, Lord.

A few weeks had gone by and the boy known as George, Peter had to learn to call him that, had grown into their tight little fishing family. He wasn't a big talker and often would ask to be doing something to help out. They found out he had memory loss probably due to hitting his head or something and tried to sail off the shore of his home town long forgotten and had run into a storm, which was unusual so early in March but it could still happen but just unexpectedly. He knew he didn't like sitting around and against his father's wishes, had gone out to sea. He must have drifted along the coast till he ended up at Botany Bay where Peter found him. He was lucky to be alive if they were being honest and decided it would be best to bring him in as an apprentice of sorts, teach him how to properly sail like he was doing with Peter. Unfortunately for Peter growing fond of George was quite difficult as his father had grown quite attached. It also became clear that George was clumsy and his hair must be natural as the curls had stayed persistence in his dark locks. Peter often found he was staring a little too much. His father had also gravitated towards helping George more often than Peter. And he was definitely not jealous. Not at all. Since Peter had just finished school they decided it's best not to bring George into school. The weeks passed with more small voyages out on Moonstone, their girl, and was spent with him and George being taught by his father.

1937~

Eventually, months passed and Peter and he reached fifteen in July and eventually caved and much like his father grew fond of George, usually catching him and preventing him from being clumsy. They spent the fishing season getting better at the craft but understandably George was yet to be allowed to guide the boat like Peter had once or twice. They had gone to get George his fishing license too much like Peter has last year. Which in itself was taxing. He had messed up his test a few times but eventually go the hang of it and passed, his little card shimmering along with his smile. He lost his first tooth while being with them one day at the park.

They had been playing hide and seek and it was mid-summer so it was rather warm, but this was England so it was accompanied by rain and humidity. The park was slightly damp and they had been having fun on the swings and decided to play the next game they could come up with. Leaving the wooden swings behind Peter hid first. He was taller than George and found curling up in a dead tree quite difficult. Curling his legs up and wrapping his arms around himself he listened. Not hearing George softly counting he decided he was either trying to find him or lost. What he wasn't expecting was a blood-curdling scream that sounded a lot like George. He scrambled out and dusted the wet leaves off as he ran after the noise. When he got there, George was slumped by a tree stump with his hand covering his mouth. He made his way over and didn't understand why he had screamed until in his curled hand he revealed a small baby tooth. He laughed and laughed until he chest burned. George didn't seem to like that and got himself off the ground and stalked home. Peter swore he saw a small thundercloud above his head. He tried cheering him up and apologising the whole way home but George was having none of it. When they go home his dad took care of George's tooth and grounded Peter for a week because of his teasing. Eventually, George caved and began talking to him. A cute faint lisp because of the tooth gap.

It came to August when he heard his Dad and brother having an argument downstairs. It was early morning and he and George were in his hammock when the racket began. He strained his ears to try and see what the mess was about. When what he thought was a plate smashed he decided to eavesdrop. Moving to his room door he silently opened it and sat at the top of the stairs. Listening quietly. He peered over at George to check he was sleeping while he waited.

'You're not going James' 'Dad come on, they're going to enlist me, either way, this just bites the bullet' 'No. You need to stay here and be a fisherman, stay where it's safe!' So they were fighting about James leaving or something. Surely he would come back? What was all the hissing about then?

'If I don't go eventually even here won't be safe! You think I'm just going to stand here and let it happen?! Dad comes on, if I go it makes everything easier than it has to be. You can look after Pete and the smaller kid. George? And I can go and train. Nothing is going to happen until I'm deployed, alright?'

Deployed? Was James off to train somewhere? 'You are going to break this family further James. You know it hurt everyone when your mother-!'

'I know Dad, that's why I have to go. If I don't then they'll get to you and I won't be able to stop them. We live on the coast Dad, don't tell me that it will always be safe!' This sounded pretty bad. Dad never brought their Mum up. Ever.

'And what about Pete, What about us?'

'It's fine, I'll come back. Promise. Besides Pete's nearly old enough to do what I do around here, he can help. Not to mention the other boy'.

'You have to trust me that you come back safe. And send letters to us' 'Of course Dad. Love you.'

'Love you too Son' They must have hugged or something before James was out the door, Jacket in hand blonde hair styled back and dressed in a tight uniform. Just like that. Didn't bother talking to Peter or George or looking back. He just left. Didn't even bother picking up the broken pieces on the floor. He probably wouldn't visit mother.

He didn't know when or how but Peter began to resent him for that.

He helped Dad pick up the pieces and make breakfast before waking George. He never mentioned James again. He eventually found out that he had gone to train at an RAF base in Yorkshire, taking the train. He wanted to be a pilot. He left his family and didn't look back. He barely wrote were as his Dad always wrote a Sunday letter at the kitchen table. Or he'd spot his Dad looking at an aeroplane book, learning about it. James eventually went from one letter every now and then to stopping contact altogether. His dad took it pretty hard. His light blonde hair turning greyer and always had a tight lip when James was mentioned as Peter found by talking about him. Peter resented him even more for that. Promised himself he'd give him an absolute punch when he saw him next and that he would look after his dad and George, be the better son.

George's birthday rolled around in November and they spent the day relaxing in the boat. His dad finally letting him man the Tiller, of which he cause to go out of control. But it was ok because he smiled bigger than the sun and was happy. That's all that mattered that day.

Christmas eventually came around and everyone got a few presents including George. They had the extra money since the season had been decent and since his mother wasn't around anymore and his brother was training. The Presents were small, clothes, lures and other things but the three were more content than usual. George got his brother's room but would usually come into Peter's room at night with nightmares. Typical but it had become routine for Peter to leave his door open slightly and George would slip in without waking his dad and they would cuddle in his hammock till early morning. Not to mention breakfasts were always chaos as they all stumbled around to get the three of them fed. But it seemed to work out alright.

1938~

The rest of the year passed by without incident and by June time Peter and George had become quite close. They never really had any other friends as they were all doing something else, and they didn't go to the bar as Dad said they weren't allowed to do such scandalous things at their age. Most days were spent learning about fishing or sailing, stories of Dad when he was younger and those odd days where they could do whatever they wanted.

It was one of those days by the end of June when they decided to go to the orchard off by the train station on a Sunday when they weren't out by the boats. They went on Peter's newer bike which both his dad and George had pitched in to get him, shiny red paint and larger than the last, up through town. Stopping by the ice cream man who, as usual, shouted them down as the 'two boys with the old man's boat' as usual and they stopped to buy some vanilla cones.

And they were on their way. Reaching the orchard was quick and they ditched the bike to go running through the trees. Noticing some ripe apples he grabbed one for him and one for George, 'you shouldn't steal Pete' his tone was mother-hen like and he turned to look at his hazel eyes 'hey, he won't even notice, here they're great'. He passed on to him, red glaze shining in the sun. The apples were eaten with vigour and the two carried on. Up to their secret meadow within the trees. Laying down and rolling around as if to purposefully mess their clothes up. His dads gonna kill 'em. After some more rough housing, they fell on to the grass with a resounding thud and deep breaths.

Usually finding they could talk about anything this time was no different, 'Pete?' 'hmm?'

'What's all this talk of war?' an innocent enough question but Peter didn't have much knowledge of wars and such and found it was mostly adult stuff so that's what he replied with. 'But surely it's really bad news?' 'gosh, Georgie it's like you want there to be a bloody war!' he exclaimed with a laugh earning a giggle and a flustered reply. 'No! It's just your brother and the talk in the newspapers and-' 'nothing bad will happen, alright?' He felt dirty by the way he sounded like James.

'Promise?' 'promise'. the wind was warm and tussled with their shirts and hair along with bringing along the fresh scent of fruit. 'forever?' he was still being stubborn it appeared. 'For forever!' Peter quickly noticed his hand on George's own and sprung up, heading towards the tallest tree. 'Follow me!' was the rushed out reply caught on the wind as he ran through the yellow field. George was quick to follow and soon they were both a laughing mess running towards the tall pine.

Soon it was a race and one foot after another, branch after branch and of course Peter hit the top first. 'look at all this view Georgie!' soon enough he appeared from the branches smiling and sat next to Peter on the other branch. They continued talking and taking in the light on their faces and the wonderful view of the sky and town. 'Hey, you know? there's no other place I'd rather be' seems like George agreed as he exclaimed 'me too!' and both began giggling.

They sat like that for awhile but along the way, Peter must have been blinded by the sharp sun as they both suddenly feel a branch give way. George's scream, the one sound he dreaded, was enough for Peter to panic and start throwing himself down the tree praying as he went. Hitting the bottom he ran over to George's limp form and shook him 'Georgie? George! Hey!' 'Ow' a hiss 'Ow, Pete. I- I can't feel my arm'. Peter looked at both noticing his left arm was bent something horrid. 'Alright, anything else hurt?' 'My back, ah, a little'. Shifting him up was difficult and Peter began remembering the bay but tossed the thoughts aside. Shifting George's injured arm around his shoulders he put George on his back. 'Alright try to stay awake I'll get us to the bike and dad can get a doctor over, alright Georgie?' the response was a head nuzzling his neck and a murmured 'Ok'. The way home was difficult and he swore George would be the death of him.

By the time he got them home it was late sundown and his dad was already at the door. Unlike last time he didn't look angry and only worried at the sight of them. George almost passed out with a swollen and red arm around Peters neck and Peter with a limp in his leg, an injury sustained from the way down the tree. Both covered in little scraps and twigs and leaves alike.

'My lord Pete, what happened?' his father came to lift George off of him and brought him inside with Peter limping in after them. 'We went to the orchard, climbed the tallest tree, I know it was dumb. It was my idea, all my fault dad. I just wanted us to see what it looked like from there' he paused blinking back a few tears for some stupid reason. 'I don't know what happened but he- I couldn't see, he fell. The branch snapped I think. I was quick to getting down to him I swear' he took a moment to breathe and hissed as he moved to sit down.'I think he broke his arm dad, carried us home on the bike, I swear I haven't panicked more in my life' he was basically in tears by the time his dad got him an ice pack and a cloth. 'I need to call a doctor hopefully It isn't as bad as it looks. You need to rest that leg, keep pressure off of it' 'I know' Peter ducked his head to avoid looking his dad in the eye. He had acted so stupidly and that had gotten George hurt.

The incident however eventually came and passed with Peter's Leg healing quite well and George having to have a sling and bandages for a few months, ashamed he was so clumsy and Peter constantly reassuring him he wasn't. Their routines continued but the nightmares this time would be about the boat or about the tree, Peter felt like a prick for giving him nightmares after almost a year of barely any.

The rest of the year passed in similar fashion, both of them laughing as they did stupid things and getting themselves hurt. His dad swore they were going to be the death of him. They shared everything as a small fishing family and they eventually made a good impression on the people of Broadstairs.

1939~

They continued on in their small life when in mid-February they were relaxing at home, Him and George, reading and what not when someone knocked on the door. He got up and put his tea down walking towards the door. He opened it to reveal his father standing with his hands behind his back and a dopey grin on his face. 'Dad what are you-?' 'shush, where's George, you two get in the lounge I have a surprise'. Doing as ordered he pulled George into the lounge as his dad shut the door. He was slightly anxious as to this so called 'surprise' and waited.

'Ready you two?'

'Yeah, sure Dad'.

The two of them waited as George hid slightly behind him, looking over his shoulder. He heard soft padding and sniffing with his dad whispering 'Go on, in there buddy'. And as they waited, around the corner a little bundle of fur came into view, tripping on the carpet. Fur? George squealed in delight and rushed forward picking it up and hugging it. He was sure he was going to suffocate the poor thing. His dad turned the corner laughing and shouting 'Surprise!'. He looked down and noticed the bundle of Fur was actually a dog. A puppy to be more precise.

'He's a cocker spaniel! Daft animal but a great hunter!' his dad and George laughed away.

'Got him from a man at the docks, He was the last on and the man was going to dump the poor thing in the river! I stopped him and asked him why, said something about the dog being useless. Of course, I took him off of him and brought him home. Thought we could use a small friend.' He dad was bloody mental. They couldn't house a dog, surely not. The puppy was rather fat and mostly white, save for the black tear drop on his back and smaller raven dots. He ran around, bumping into the table once or twice but mostly wagging his tail happily along.

'Jasper! let's name him Jasper!' George exclaimed, 'well alright then, Jasper it is, welcome home Jasper!' His dad and George giggling away. Peter just shook his head at the whole thing.

As the months went by without incident Jasper became part of the family, growing into a slim, healthy dog. He couldn't really help that much but was protective and knew some tricks like 'Sit' and could catch fish in his paws sometimes when they walked him by the Bays. They gave him a little bandana, blue with white fishes on it, and tied it around his neck. Along with a collar to house his id behind it in brown, simple leather. And of course, he softened up to George the most.

And of course Peter the least. But he still grew to love the little bugger.

September rolled into their lives and the UK declared war on Germany. His dad grew quieter and it wasn't until towards the end of September that there was a sharp knock at the door one evening. Peter was finishing up washing the dishes and George and his Dad was out walking Jasper and they wouldn't be back for a while. He moved to open the door after putting the kitchen towel down and was met with an officer of some sort.

'Can I help you, Sir?' He had a letter in hand and a very serious look.

'Is Mr Dawson in today?'

'He is put right now, I'm his youngest son, Peter.' He held out his hand and they shook, but the line he said next made a nervous pit in his stomach.

'I'm afraid boy, that your brother. James. Was killed in action a few weeks ago. In the battle with Squadron No.149. The Vickers Wellington he was in was shot and taken down. There were no survivors seen'. He couldn't think straight and there was a ringing in his ears.

'Do you-' he swallowed the hard lump in his throat 'Do you have the body?' he couldn't look him in the eye as he took the letter. 'Unfortunately not as the wreckage has sunk, we can only confirm the death of him in that plane. However we had this at our office' He pulled a smaller letter, slightly worn and dirty, out of his pocket. 'I am sorry for your loss but I must depart'.

'Of-Of course. Thank you, Sir' He struggled to close the door as the man walked away.

He walked back into the lounge and slumped into the settee. His hands trembled to open the letter which was only going to confirm what he just heard. As he read it over and over, hot tears fell from his face, tarnishing some of the ink. He knew his dad was going to be devastated. He turned the smaller, more crumpled letter and saw that it was addressed to 'My Family' in his brother's handwriting. He wasn't coming back. He failed his promise to his dad. He stuffed the letter into his trouser pocket and sat there with the letter in hand. The tears would dry but new ones would appear as he got angrier. He just had to go and bloody die didn't he! The fool. The resentment and malice came back full force and he smashed the cup of tea that had long gone cold on the table with his fist. He ignored the way it stained his hand and table. Dripping onto the carpet. Ignored the red tarnishing the brown and the ceramic littered around the table legs.

The sun fully set and the house was sent into a dull darkness. He stayed sat there, bloody hand set on his leg and the letter in the other. He didn't bother closing the curtains or cleaning up. His head was too muddled up for that. He heard the soft ticking of the clock as a constant sound in his still ringing ears. He sat there a little longer before he heard barking and the front door being unlocked. They had come home. He had to break the news to them. He had folded the letter back into the envelope earlier and kept it in his hands. Jasper ran straight to him, sniffing him and looking at his bloodied hand. George was in next, soft face gasping as he dropped the lead. His dad was the last in and stared wide-eyed at him.

'Peter my god what happened!?'

George was the first to act grabbing the pieces on the floor and getting the first aid kit. His dad came over and tried to grab the letter. He pulled it to his chest and looked down in horror.

'Pete what, who wrote this? What is it about?' His dad was trying the old soft tactic again, like when he was a young boy.

he decided to repeat the words he'd read a hundred times,

'In the Battle of the Heligoland Bight, Squadron No.149, September 4th, 1939. The reported death of James E. R. Dawson after his Vickers Wellington was shot down by the enemy and consequently dived into the ocean beneath. There was no seen parachute deployed. Presumed dead as no bodies were recovered.' His voice was cracked and dry and the face of George and his father fell. He gripped the letter tightly. 'In other words, he didn't fulfil his promise to you Dad'. The room went silent as George cleaned his hand up, saying he was lucky he didn't need stitches and bandaged it and his dad looked down. He passed him the letter with shaky arms and let him have it. As if he thought Peter was lying. 'An officer came earlier and gave it to me. He had nothing else'. He was aware of the letter sitting accusingly in his trouser pocket. He ignored it. His dad read the letter and silently wept. He had never seen him cry before. Jasper went and sat patiently, softly whining in certain intervals. His dad put the letter in a drawer and told them to get some sleep. They went to bed that night with heavy hearts.

There was a funeral for him in October but Peter couldn't stand it. His resentment had never left and the funeral felt fake. His dad gave him a speech and they left with heavy hearts. he hid the letter in a book he barely read and in his private drawer. Left unopened.

And somehow after all that, they kept living. They simply had to.

May 1940~

It was two years after they first picked George up that the war got worse and they were plunged further into the mess along with France. Though nothing had yet to happen to their home in Broadstairs aside from last year. Peter wasn't so sure it would last that way.

One morning and coming in from the docks along with George and Jasper by their feet, wagging his tail along that he saw his dad at the table reading and having lunch. Kicking off their shoes they sat down at the old settee and relaxed. However, Peter managed to see the headline on the newspaper his dad was reading.

The date was 20th May 1940, and the title read 'BEF forces and allies pushed back into Dunkirk and Further out of Calais' and by appearances alone, it wasn't looking good. Food rationing had gotten slightly worse and although Churchill was a good spirit, it looks like this war wasn't happening the way they wanted. Peter decided to confront his father about it. 'what's all this about dad? Dunkirk and all that?' his father looked even older at the mention of it.

'You two best be lucky you were young and to be fishermen at the start of this war so I didn't have to send you off' the silent recognition of James was obvious as he frowned. A sigh. 'It appears we might have to eventually evacuate' George was the first to gasp and half yell 'evacuate!' swatting his arm Peter replied 'and how are we going to do that? They're all the way across the channel, and we don't know the full outcome yet. They could pull through. Right dad?' his reply was gaunt and fairly short.

'I wouldn't bet on it son'.

(AN- UPDATED , finally! :'D we can continue with the rest now! any reviews/feedback are lovely! Xx)