HELLO! The following collection of stories are from various and different Tumblr prompts via "Tumblr Fic War"-basically this is a collection of one-shots that cover a wide range of settings, genres, and ratings. The only thing they have in common is the ship: Sybil Crawley-Branson and Tom Branson. Some are emotional, some filled with angst, some filled with fluff, ALL filled with Sybil/Tom feels. I'll be sure to post with each "chapter" the prompt to give you an idea as to what its about. I hope you enjoy these little stories; they certainly are fun to write! And as always, VIVA LA BRANSONS!


We Are the Bransons!
by The Yankee Countess

"A Simple Word"

Prompt by kinghanalister

Prompt: Robert finds about how close Sybil and Tom became in S2 and fires Tom - forbidding him to come back to Downton. All this happens whilst Sybil is in Ripon becoming a nurse.

Rating: K+

She bites her lip, nervously glancing down the road as she waits for the car to come and take her back to Downton. It's been a tumultuous two months, training, attending lectures, taking notes, studying, and of course working at the hospital along with her fellow nurses. In two months, her life has changed in so many ways. When she told her cousin that she wanted to do "real work" she had no idea how *hard* that work was going to be, and there were times when she wanted to break down from the stress and curl up and cry, calling out for her mother like she used to when she was a child.

But she's not a child. And she did this because she wanted to prove herself, not just to her family and not just to the world that despite her "aristocratic upbringing" she is a strong, capable woman—but also to herself. Especially to herself.

It's time to put those ideals to practice; it's time to prove all those pep talks she gave Gwen about women making a difference. So that's why she came, and that's why she stayed, even when the temptation to reach for the nearest telephone and ask Carson to send Branson to fetch her and bring her home.

Branson. She swallows the nervous lump in her throat and glances down the road again. She hasn't heard from him since their parting encounter in the arch outside her dormitory. She's wanted to write to him, she's started several letters and has gone through several drafts, but…what can she say? I'm sorry I broke your heart and couldn't give you the answer you wanted? She's not even sure what she thinks! What she feels for him! He's her dearest friend, yes, and the only person who really seems to understand her…who she can talk to about anything…who outside of her cousin Isobel, really seems to believe that she is capable of making a difference…

…BUT MARRY HIM? Runaway and leave everything she's known behind? It's far too frightening! She's just left home for the first time, EVER, and…and to take such a drastic step like that? Can she?

The only thing she is sure about is that she can't stand the thought of him leaving, hence why she all but begged him to not hand in his notice. It's selfish, she knows, and a part of her hates herself for causing further awkwardness between them by asking him not to leave, but…no, she's not ready to lose him, not yet (not ever, perhaps).

A car finally arrives and she takes a deep breath, wondering if it's him, hoping it is, but also dreading this meeting too. What should she say? How should she behave? What if he asks her a second time? What if he HATES her? He has every right to, but—

It's not Branson.

Her brow furrows as she is greeted by a new face, one she's never seen before.

"Milady," the chauffeur bows. "My name is Pratt; are these all your bags?" he asks, going about the task of picking up her trunk and strapping it to the back of the car. Sybil stares the man, both in confusion and horror.

A new chauffeur. Why is there a new chauffeur? Where's Branson? WHERE'S BRANSON?

"What happened to Branson?" she manages to ask, not caring if the question sounds rude, she needs to know. Did he leave? He said he wouldn't! Well, he didn't really say he wouldn't, but…oh God, he's left. He handed in his notice, he couldn't bear to see her again, she broke his heart and now her dearest friend is gone. Who will listen to her stories about nursing school? Who will answer her questions about Irish politics and the latest news from London? Who will recommend books for her to read? Who will care about the possibility if women ever get the vote? All these questions swirl through her head, as well as the realization that she will never see his beautiful blue-green eyes, she will never look upon his handsome smile, hear his deep laugh, his heavenly brogue…

I love him. Now, nowat the reality of having lost him, NOW she realizes how dear he is to her, how much her life depends on having him present in it, a part of it, and despite the differences in their families and backgrounds, he is more her equal than any posh son of an English lord; he is her likeness, her second-self.

And her heart shatters that she has lost him. And she knows it's all her fault.

Pratt doesn't answer her question; in truth he looks wary when she asks it. She is silent on the drive home, missing these moments in the car with Branson—Tom. She will never know that simple joy ever again, of sitting and talking to him with the wind rushing past, sharing themselves in a way that the world can't understand. She wants to cry, but she doesn't—by some miracle she holds back her tears until much, much later, after her welcome home reception, after her mother hugs and kisses her cheeks, telling her how happy she is to have her baby back. She tries to smile, but can't, so instead she does that thing Mary can do, which is force a smile and puts on a façade throughout dinner. It's not until later, when Anna comes to her room to help her out of her dress, that she learns the truth.

"When did Branson leave, Anna?"

She looks nervous, and Sybil can tell she's keeping something. "Anna? Please…" she begs, her eyes imploring into those of the housemaid's.

Anna sighs and finally tells her the truth. "Mr. Branson was let go, milady—"

"LET GO?!" Sybil gasps. "Why?"

Anna looks so nervous and uneasy. "It's not my place to say milady—"

She doesn't have to; Sybil pushes past Anna and leaves her room, marching to her parents bedroom, not even bothering to knock and bursts in, much to the shock of them both.

"Sybil dear, what's wrong—"

"DID YOU SACK BRANSON, PAPA?"

"Sybil, get a hold of yourself—"

"ANSWER ME!" she demands. The tears she has been fighting ever since Pratt came to bring her back to Downton are flowing freely down her face, but there is venom in her voice too. She is angry, she is bitter that these people whom she loves have done this to her, have taken away her dearest friend; the other half of her heart!

Her father stands up and looks back at her with a stern gaze. "Yes, he's gone. And for good reasons, too—"

"GOOD REASONS?!" she gasps. "WHAT good reasons?!"

"IT'S NOT APPROPRIATE, SYBIL!" he roars, causing her to jump and her mother to gasp. He takes a deep breath and tries to speak in a softer tone, but his eyes are still blazing. "This…this 'friendship' that the two of you have…it's not appropriate," he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I should have stopped it after that incident in Ripon, but…" he shakes his head. "It's done. Branson is back in Ireland by now, where I'm sure he's much happier, back with his family and with the so-called 'Irish cause' I've been told he can't stop talking about," he mutters.

She's shaking as she stares at her father. Shaking and absorbing the information he's just told her. He's back in Ireland; Tom is from Dublin, he once received a letter from his family, and it got mixed up with the upstairs mail—I saw the address; I gave him the letter; I think I remember the street, yes, I know I do!

"Sybil?"

She looks back at her parents and realizes that her decision has been made. Perhaps this call to become a nurse had another meaning? Maybe it wasn't this War she was meant to serve, but a different one? Away from Downton? Maybe that desire to prove herself, to do real work, to make a difference wasn't lying here…but somewhere else? Maybe God has been calling her like the boy prophet Samuel, repeatedly in the night, and only now, NOW…she finally understands?

"Goodbye," she murmurs to her parents, a sense of determination and understanding filling her now. She doesn't look back as she leaves, nor does she answer them as they call out to her in confusion by her simple parting.

Early in the morning, before even Daisy is awake to light the fires, Sybil packs a simple suitcase and takes a final look around her room. She wonders if she will ever see this place again? If she will ever be allowed to return? But despite the fear of the unknown she is venturing into, and despite the sadness of the possibility of never seeing her home or family again, she cannot stop her heart and her mind nodding in agreement, telling her over and over "this is right. You *can* do this."

And so she does.

She walks the lane to the village, and takes the first train to Liverpool. She finds her roommate Susan, who told her where she lived (only two streets away from the station), and after the initial shock of what Sybil is doing, accompanies her to the dock to purchase her ticket to Dublin. They hug, and Susan tells her she's always welcome to visit her if she ever wishes to return. Sybil is grateful for this friend, realizing that in the short time they have known each other, Susan has been more of a sister to her than either Mary or Edith. With a deep breath, she boards the boat…and never looks back.


"Branson!"

He looks up from the desk where he's working. It's only his second week at this new job, writing articles for a miniscule left-wing paper. He's hopeful the job will grow as political climate continues to heat up, and that he can eventually quit his other job at his uncle's garage.

"Your sister is here," his boss tells him. "And she's not alone."

He doesn't understand. What does that mean? He leaves the office to see what this is all about, wondering why Kathleen is there and who could be with her, but the second he enters the lobby, he freezes at the sight before him.

She's there. Wide-eyed and pink cheeked, looking both frightened and relieved. He never thought he would see her again. He never thought she would want to see him again after…after…

"Sybil?"

A strange sound escapes her throat, and without warning, she comes barreling towards him, throwing her arms around him and burrowing her face against his shoulder, sobbing and gasping his name over and over. He's so shocked, he just stands there for several seconds, before his brain finally wakes him up and soon his own arms are enfolding her, holding her tight, never letting her go.

How long they stand like that, with his sister and others looking at them strangely, he's not sure. It doesn't really matter in the end. He should be asking her a million questions: what are you doing here? How did you get here? How did you know where to find me? Where are your family? WHY did you come? But he doesn't have a chance, because he's distracted by what she says.

"Yes."

"Yes?"

She nods and lifts her face away from his tear-soaked shoulder. "Yes," she repeats, smiling through the tears on her lovely face.

She doesn't need to explain what she means. He knows. And his heart soars at the simple word.