It was raining. Again. Usually Arthur didn't mind the rain. But it was raining. On the battlefield. Again. The rain was something Arthur always loved outside of war, for it reminded him of home. Of the simple days, sitting beneath a tree with his rabbit, stroking its soft fur as he watched small pellets of rain hit the grass beneath a calm sky. But this was different. It was raining on the battlefield, something that Arthur always hated. He hated his feet getting soaked in brown water that would come up to his ankles. He hated how his body would slightly sink into the mud and make it that much harder to move. He hated the earthy smell of mud mixing with the copper smell of blood. Rain on a battlefield was something Arthur always dredded. And it was raining. On the battlefield. Again.
Despite the rain, and despite the hatred towards the element that fell limitlessly from the sky, Arthur lead the battle. Thunder cracked overhead, but he didn't even flinch, he barely even noticed. The sound of gunfire put a rhythm in his head. Focusing on that rhythm kept him from going mad. The rhythm no longer sounded like gunfire, for Arthur had gotten too used to the sound. It was like a song. An endless song that had no lyrics, and had no meaning.
Arthur felt nothing towards explosions, towards gunfire, towards death. He had experienced them too much. Living for centuries would really get a man used to the feeling of the flame of an explosion, the pain of a bullet, and the emptiness of death. But the pain Arthur could never block out, was the slight, small, simple stab of pain he'd get in his heart every time a fellow Briton would be killed. That filled Arthur with hate.
Despite his hate, and despite his pain, Arthur lead the battle. He fired his machine gun, and helped add sound to the rhythm that lived throughout the battlefield. He took cover behind a half blown up Jeep, and actually took a second to breathe. Every few seconds, the stabbing pain would return to his chest, marking another soldier as dead. Arthur grit his teeth, even more hate washed over him. Arthur, the representation of England, ran out from behind his cover and shot the first enemies he saw. He was closing in on the base, and he knew he had these Germans outmatched, all he had to do was get a little closer.
Arthur shot more men, not caring who fell to the ground dead, he only cared about getting into that base. He didn't know who was there, he didn't know if any prisoners were there, but he needed to get this base. He closed in on the door that he was going to enter through. He hid behind the cover of random metal from a tank or Jeep. He took a second, inhaled, exhaled, and pulled his last grenade off of his belt. He bit the pin, and took a second, inhaled, exhaled, and turned, throwing the grenade at the base. He hid back behind the piece of metal.
The grenade exploded, fire dancing through the air, smoke traveling about, and shrapnel seeking a victim to injure. Arthur hesitated before he went running to the smokey doorway. He fired his weapon into the dark smoke as he heard the sounds of men dying. At the same time, Arthur felt even more intense of pain in his chest. It got worse and worse with each second. His chest was tightening, and he knew what it was. Another bombing. Another bombing of London. That filled Arthur with hate. He entered the base.
.
Alfred yelled after his older brother that ran through the smokey doorway with no backup. Arthur could really be a pain sometimes. Alfred sprinted after Arthur, shooting down Germans as he did so.
"Kirkland!" Alfred called out once the Brit was in sight. Alfred saw Arthur shoot down two SS members without hesitation. Arthur didn't even give Alfred a glance as he continued to run down the hall. Yes, Alfred knew that leading and winning this battle were the two most important things right now, but seriously? Arthur couldn't even ask what Alfred wanted? Alfred ran faster.
With being taller and younger than Arthur, Alfred had a faster running pace, so he eventually caught up to his determined, angry older brother, and caught him by the shoulder. "Arthur!" Alfred demanded.
"What?" Arthur snapped loudly, his eyes blazing in hate before he winced in pain.
"What the hell, Arthur?" Alfred questioned angrily, "You blindly walked into a SS Army base?"
"It wasn't blindly!" Arthur argued.
Alfred felt the cold stab of pain in his chest as more American soldiers died. "You ran straight through smoke without any backup!" Alfred continued to nag.
Arthur scoffed with a roll of his eyes, turned around, let out a small hiss of pain, and continued running. Alfred followed.
This SS base was in a perfect location that they would strategically need, so obviously, they had to take it, even it that meant killing every last German in the place. Arthur seemed to favor that thought, which concerned Alfred. His older brother had been nothing like his usual self the whole year Alfred had been in this war, but then again, war changes everyone. But Alfred didn't understand how Arthur couldn't feel guilt. Not even a little. Arthur only seemed to feel hate.
Arthur came to an abrupt stop, which made Alfred almost trample over him. "What's wrong?" Alfred asked.
Arthur replied with reloading his machine gun. The Brit scanned the two hallways that they stood in front of.
"Jones." Arthur said with an emotionless voice.
"Yeah?" Alfred questioned, reloading his rifle.
"Take the hallway to the right." Arthur ordered, running left.
"Wait!" Alfred called.
Arthur failed to listen and disappeared around a corner.
Alfred let out a loud sound of frustration before turning to the right, and jogging down the hall. He was being more cautious this time, making sure that no one jumped out of the rooms to the sides of him. Alfred watched his own back, while the sound of the outside battle grew closer. British and American soldiers were in the base.
An SS officer appeared, and Alfred shot him without hesitation. A German bullet flew past his head, slicing his left cheek. Too close, Alfred, shoot faster. He ordered himself.
No one else appeared in this hall, although he could hear loud machine gun fire coming from Arthur's direction. As long as Alfred still heard the gunfire, Arthur was still alive. Alfred turned a sharp corner, and saw no one. There was a staircase instead. One leading upstairs, one leading downstairs.
Alfred knew what was downstairs, that was the prisons. He wanted to run down there and help everyone who was locked up, whoever was alive, that is. But he had to take the base first. Letting injured people out of their cells while a battle was still going on was more dangerous than keeping them in there for a few more hours. He'd have to go upstairs before he could go downstairs. More pain in Alfred's chest marking more soldiers as dead. Something was telling him to go down there right now, but he couldn't. He had to take the base first.
Alfred sighed and ran up the stairs, although he felt like he was leaving something behind.
.
Arthur paced through the base, irritation flowing through his veins. He was in the middle of calming himself down from the earlier battle. Arthur stopped his pacing and crossed his arms, tapping his foot on the floor. He glanced down at his watch, then back around the room he was standing in. Where the hell was America? They were supposed to meet here at the end of the battle. So where the hell was his past colony?
The personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland let out a loud sound of frustration, and began storming back through the base. He came to the hallway where he had last seen Alfred. He turned down the hall that America had turned down hours before. Arthur only hesitated when he came to a staircase. He glanced at the set of stairs traveling underground, and went in the opposite direction.
Walking slowly up the stairs, Arthur called out his brother's name. "Jones!"
No answer. So, Arthur walked even slower when he came to even ground. He saw dead SS members lying motionless in pools of their own blood. That brought a smile to Arthur's face. He continued walking around the upper level, one that he hadn't been up yet. The entire base was secure, and there was a staircase that Arthur himself had gone up, but this was a different place.
The hallway was narrow, so only a few people could fit in it at a time, which was strange. It seemed like it wasn't meant for multiple people to go running down, shooting at their enemies. Arthur glanced in a room on his left, where he saw only boxes. He entered it slowly, the dead SS member being the only sign of life, or lack thereof, in the room. He exited and returned to the hallway.
"Alfred!" Arthur called out in a worried voice.
"In here!" Alfred called back.
Arthur jogged in the direction, still watching his own back, just in case. When he entered the room, he saw soot and ash on the walls, then he saw his brother. Alfred didn't seem too badly hurt, although there was blood coming from beneath his hairline, and his left cheek.
"What happened?" Arthur demanded.
"An explosion." Alfred replied, "I'm not that bad, though, I just woke up."
Arthur scanned America's body again, checking for any bad injuries. His uniform was burnt a little, but nothing too serious. "Can you stand?"
"Yeah." Alfred said, repositioning himself before standing. "I'm pretty dizzy, though." He commented.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Can you walk?"
"Of course, dude." Alfred reassured, walking forward.
Arthur watched his younger brother walk, he swayed a little, but he always caught himself before he fell over.
"Did you go down into the prisons?" Alfred asked.
"No, not yet, I wasn't able to find it, until now."
"What do you mean?"
"The staircase leading underground." Arthur reminded Alfred.
"Right!" Alfred exclaimed, speeding up his pace. "Oh! Are you hurt?"
Arthur shook his head. "No, I'm fine."
Alfred gave him a suspicious look. "Alright." He shrugged.
Arthur stepped over a German corpse, feeling nothing towards them. He walked down the first set of stairs, then the second, into the prisons. Going into war prisons always depressed Arthur, but he also loved it. He loved going in there and saving the fellow soldiers, Britons or not. He loved helping them heal, he loved telling them that they'd be fine, that he's here to help, although it did pain him to see the tortured souls. The poor men who have gone through so much, just to rejoin their army.
To help people was the only reason Arthur ever went down into war prisons. He'd been in enough of those, being tortured, dehydrated and malnourished for information that he'd never spill. Prisons used to give him flashbacks, but he'd gotten used to repressing them.
Arthur and Alfred made it to even ground, and they walked cautiously, just in case an SS member decided to come out from around a corner. Arthur made a left, and saw the prison cells. He turned around, searching for a key. After looking through desk after desk, and drawer after drawer, he found one. Arthur began opening cells, allowing whoever could walk to leave, and anyone who couldn't he'd come back and help.
"Jones," Arthur began, "run up and get some troops down here to help those who can't walk."
"Yes, sir." Alfred said teasingly before jogging off.
After all the cells were empty, Arthur had a smile on his face. Helping the injured prisoners of war was something that he always loved. But there were still a few rooms he had to enter. The interrogation rooms.
The first one he entered was empty except for an iron table and a cart of torture instruments. The second and the third were exactly the same. But the fourth and last interrogation room Arthur entered shattered his heart. He saw someone lying on the table, motionless and covered in their own blood. Arthur continued walking, the figure becoming more and more clear.
Arthur gasped. Francis! He thought. Francis had been working with the French Resistance for just over a year now, and Arthur had no clue that Francis had even been captured. Arthur walked closer. But there was something off, Francis' hair was too dark, and he seemed too tall.
"Oh, no…" Arthur breathed when he finally noticed who it was.
"Mattie!" Alfred exclaimed, dropping everything, and running to his brother's side.
.
Alfred sprinted across the small room, the sound of his rifle and pack hitting the ground, echoing through the room. He stood beside his twin, holding back tears at the sight. "No..." Alfred breathed.
Alfred looked back to Arthur. "Wasn't he moved to the Pacific?" Alfred asked desperately, but Arthur failed to answer. Alfred's older brother only stared at Matthew, who laid motionless on the table.
"Arthur…" Alfred said cautiously.
Arthur walked forward, and stood on the other side of the table, staring down at Matthew with broken eyes.
"Arthur." Alfred restated.
Silent tears rolled down Arthur's face.
"Arthur!" Alfred yelled.
Matthew's body tensed and he yelled out in a slurred mixture of French and English.
Alfred looked down to Matthew. "No, Mattie, it's okay. It's Al."
Matthew continued his slurring.
"Mattie, look at me." Alfred ordered desperately.
Matthew followed Alfred's order. He slurred again.
"Matthew…" Arthur said in a broken tone.
Matthew quickly turned his head to Arthur with a threatening glare.
Alfred placed his hand on Matthew shoulder gently. Matthew winced in pain before he gave Alfred the same glare. The look in Matthew's eyes made Alfred know that Matthew had no idea who Alfred was, or Arthur for that matter.
"Mattie," Alfred began reassuringly.
"I'm not talking!" Matthew hissed, closing his eyes, "I don't care if you kill me again!"
Again? Alfred asked himself. "Mattie, it's Alfred and Arthur, your brothers." Alfred attempted to explain.
"Fucking Kraut…" Matthew trailed off.
"Matthew... It's Alfred." Alfred said loudly.
"He doesn't have his glasses." Arthur said.
Alfred gave his older brother a look. "No shit!" Alfred exclaimed, making Matthew tense.
"Maybe he doesn't recognise us because he can't see us." Arthur replied calmly, although he was scowling.
Alfred began looking around for a pair of glasses. He saw them sitting on the cart that held bloodstained torture instruments. Alfred grabbed it by the handle and drug it towards him, the wheels squeaking loudly,
"I don't care what you do, I won't talk!" Matthew screamed loudly.
Alfred stared back at his brother, and he saw a few tears roll down his face and disappear into his hairline. "Arthur, untie him." Alfred ordered.
Quickly, Arthur followed the order, while Matthew cursed at him. Alfred walked back over to his brother and tried to put the glasses on Matthew's face, but Matthew refused, pushing against Alfred with his free hands.
"I won't let you hurt my eyes! Not again!"
Again? Alfred asked himself as a few silent tears rolled down his face. "Mattie, listen, it's Alfred. Your brother. America."
Matthew still held onto Alfred's wrists, but he was no longer fighting against him. He saw slowly processing the information that he was given, and he finally spoke in a calm voice. "Al?"
Alfred smiled. "Yes, Mattie, it's me. Arthur's here too."
Matthew turned his head to Arthur. "Arthur…" He trailed off.
"Matthew, let Alfred put your glasses on you." Arthur ordered in a composed voice.
Matthew lowered his hands cautiously. "What if this is a trick?" He said, catching Alfred's wrist again.
Alfred smiled reassuringly. "Mattie, I would never hurt you."
Matthew's grip on Alfred's wrists tightened, although it didn't hurt due to his weakness. "What if you're not Al."
"Mattie, it's me." Alfred said.
Slowly, Matthew let go of Alfred, and Alfred placed the glasses over Matthew's eyes. "There." Alfred said.
Matthew opened his lavender eyes and stared upward blankly. "Thank you, Al." Matthew mumbled, falling back unconscious.
Alfred was confused at Matthew's words. All he did this time was give him glasses, Arthur was really the one who did everything. Arthur designed and explained the plan, then lead the entire battle. If it wasn't for Arthur, Alfred would still be thinking Matthew was in the Pacific fighting Japan, and Matthew would still be in torture.
Alfred sighed and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Mattie."
.
It had been a week since the events at the SS army base, and Alfred was walking into Matthew's hospital room. He stood in the doorway, deciding or not he wanted to enter, since Matthew looked asleep. He walked in anyway, trying to make his footsteps silent. Alfred was succeeding until his boot slammed into the radio to his right, making a loud sound. Alfred thanked God that he was wearing steel-toed army boots, and he didn't have to feel his stubbed toe.
Alfred saw Matthew jerk awake with a loud gasp before he groaned in pain. He quickly began scanning the room, trying to find the source of the sound. Alfred understood his brother's alarm, for he didn't remember much. Also the sound of Alfred's boot on the radio could've sounded like a door slamming closed.
"Al?" Matthew questioned slowly, drawing his eyebrows together.
"Yeah, Mattie, it's me." Alfred began, walking further in the hospital room. "I didn't mean to wake you, I accidentally hit my boot on the radio." Alfred said, pointing to the radio.
Matthew nodded, closing his eyes.
Alfred was now standing next to his twin. "How ya feeling?"
Matthew's eyes reopened. "Uh…" He trailed off.
Alfred stared at his brother. "Uh…?" Alfred echoed.
"I don't want to say." Matthew replied slowly.
Alfred groaned. "Now I'm worried."
"I feel like shit, Al."
Alfred chuckled at his brother's words. "I'd bet, you looked pretty bad."
"Yeah…" Matthew trailed off.
There was a silence between the two, and Alfred wanted to talk to his brother. He's had a few questions that have been on his mind the past week, and he needed to know. "Mattie?"
"Hm?"
Alfred hesitated. "Weren't you going to the Pacific to fight Japan?"
Matthew stayed silent.
"Matthew?" Alfred questioned.
Matthew closed his eyes tightly. "Yes. What about it?"
Alfred sat down in the chair beside Matthew's bed. "How are you still in Europe? I mean, did Japan really send you all the way here?"
"No. I was captured on my way out." Matthew explained.
"And none of your soldiers cared to tell us that you went missing?" Alfred asked angrily.
"Apparently not." Matthew mumbled.
Alfred huffed in frustration. He still had two questions to ask Matthew, even though they were a bit more sensitive of a topic. "When I found you in the prison-"
"Do we really have to talk about this?" Matthew interrupted, his body tensing.
Alfred leaned forward a little. "Can I just ask you two questions?"
"Depends on the question."
"Okay." Alfred began, "When Arthur and I found you in the prison, I went to give you your glasses and you said something that confused me."
Matthew opened his eyes, looking up at the ceiling. "And what was that?"
Alfred hesitated before speaking. "You said that you would let me hurt your eyes again. What did you mean?"
Matthew closed his eyes again. "Chemicals, Al."
Alfred's eyes widened. "Oh!" He exclaimed.
There was a silence between the brothers, the only sound made was the sound of Matthew shifting uncomfortably in his bed. Matthew sighed impatiently. "What's your other question?"
Alfred opened his mouth to ask, but then closed it. "You know what? Nevermind."
"Are you sure?" Matthew asked, opening his eyes and turning his head towards Alfred.
"Yeah, I'm sure." The truth was, Alfred wanted to ask, but he also wanted Matthew to keep his mind off of it. Besides, Matthew's doctor told him that he had trouble remembering that he was in a hospital, and not the war prison. Alfred didn't want Matthew to recede back into that mindset.
When Alfred glanced up to his brother, Matthew had been staring at him. "Well," Matthew began, stretching slightly then grunting in pain, "I'm not going to object, I really don't feel like talking about it."
"I can understand that." Alfred commented. He leaned back in the chair he was sitting in with a loud yawn, before he closed his eyes tiredly.
"You alright?" Matthew asked.
Alfred chuckled. "Yes, Mattie, I'm fine. Just tired."
Matthew shrugged slightly. "Well, take an hour. What else are you doing right now?"
"I can't, I actually have to get going." He said with a groan, pointing over his shoulder.
Matthew nodded.
Alfred stood, ready to dismiss himself.
"Al." Matthew said.
Alfred looked down to his brother. "Yeah?"
Matthew stared down to the foot of his bed. "I'm sorry."
"Why are you apologising this time?"
"I told you that I wouldn't get captured again."
"You never-" Alfred cut himself off at the realisation. Matthew did say that. That was the day Matthew showed up at the docks, half conscious. Alfred recalled Matthew promising that he would never get captured again. Alfred remembered thinking that Matthew couldn't promise something like that. He shook his head. "It's okay, Mattie, sometimes you can't control things. It's not like you got captured on purpose."
Matthew didn't reply.
"Hey," Alfred began reassuringly, "you don't need to apologise for it."
"I shouldn't have promised that." Matthew replied.
"You were trying to reassure me." Alfred argued, "It's fine."
Matthew only sighed.
"I'm sorry, though." Alfred said.
Matthew drew his eyebrows together. "What are you sorry for?"
"I'm sorry this happened to you. I'm sorry I didn't know. I'm sorry I-"
"Alfred, you had no control over it. You didn't capture me, and unless you're a psychic who can tell the future, you wouldn't have known." Matthew reassured, "But if you were a psychic, then we would've already won the war." He added.
Alfred chucked at that last part. "I guess you're right."
"Of course I'm right, I'm always right." Matthew joked.
Alfred rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Mattie."
Matthew chuckled before clearing his throat. "See ya, Al."
"See ya." Alfred said over his shoulder as he left the room. "And feel better!" He yelled to his brother.
"I will!" Matthew promised.
Although Matthew's reassurance, Alfred couldn't help but feel guilty. He should've helped sooner, he should've known. He sighed and shook his head. Just focus on the war. Think about the guilt later, just focus on the war.
The End.
Sorry, this had feels in it, but it's not as bad as I originally planned, so it could've been worse.
Thanks for reading and please review!
~Feliks Out! (^J^)