(the line between)
s h i e l d s
(and)
b a r r i e r s
x.
weep for yourself, my man;
you'll never be who you were at the start.
mumford and sons
x. summary
the wounds will fade and turn to scars but the memories won't ever depart.
x.
"Be more careful, Alfred."
The addressed boy pouted at the words, sniffing and fighting back tears even as his eyes stung and his knee hurt terribly. He shifted in his seat and glowered down at the man who was cleaning his wound, folding his arms. "Heroes have no time to be careful when they're saving someone!" he snapped defensively, quickly rubbing his leaking nose before Arthur could see. He froze when warm lips brushed over his forehead and stared at Arthur in shock as he rose, smiling gently at him.
"How can a hero save someone if they don't look after themselves?"
Alfred's eyes widened and the stinging in his knee ebbed as Arthur's words echoed in his mind. He stared at the man for a prolonged moment, a frown slowly coming to his features as he tried to think of a response to fight back. Finally, he looked down, voice sounding weak even to him as he said, "But heroes… are just meant to help other people. They exist to save others."
A small sigh escaped Arthur and he leaned against the table, an exasperated but patient smile tugging at his lips. "They exist," he said softly, "because of their will to save others and to be strong for themselves." He ruffled Alfred's hair and chuckled at his objections. "Don't be a martyr, Alfred," he murmured, "because I wouldn't want to be left alone, even if you did something to protect me. All right?"
Alfred frowned, looking troubled still, and finally met Arthur's gaze. "If you promise to stop being hurt when you come home."
Arthur was silent, astonishment etched clearly onto his features before his expression fell into a pained but defensive scowl. "I have little choice in the matter, Alfred," he said sternly. "I am an adult and a country. I must make sacrifices to ensure you and my other colonies remain safe."
Alfred flinched, those words hurting a lot more than his knee. He stood abruptly, knocking his chair back and glaring furiously at Arthur. "You only want to keep me safe because I'm your colony?" He clenched his fists, unrepentant when Arthur seemed hurt by the accusation. "I'd rather be a martyr than a villain!" he shouted, shoving past a stunned Arthur to escape from the house, running on his aching legs and ignoring Arthur's calls for him.
Arthur always patched him up, but he always tore him down too.
x.
Erratic breathing left his bloodied lips as he fell to the hard ground, inhaling readily and brushing his hair out of his face, grimacing at the feeling of sweat coating his skin. "Can we take a break now?" he gasped, glowering up as the boots of his ally appeared in his vision. Arthur's acidic green eyes bore down into his, highlighted by the sun glaring down at them from above.
"German soldiers wouldn't give you a break," Arthur muttered, practically spitting the words like venom. Despite his harshness, he extracted a box from his bag and knelt beside Alfred, permanent glare etched onto his features as he extracted a bottle of iodine. "This will hurt," he warned, barely waiting a moment before pressing the cloth against the prominent cut on Alfred's arm. He scoffed when the American made a strangled sound, shaking his head and muttering, "Grow up," before removing it and tying a clean bandage around it.
"You can be pretty confusing, you know?" Alfred mumbled, rubbing his arm with a wince before regarding Arthur with a frown. "You rough me up and force me to train even when I'm about to collapse," he said, "and then you patch me up straight after… even if that's kind of painful too."
Arthur averted his gaze, scowling at the ground and blaming the heat for the flush dusted across his cheeks. "I can only push you while you're conscious," he snapped, "so as if I'll let you use passing out as an excuse to stop."
Alfred stared at him for a moment, glaring at the back of the man's head, before shaking his own and rolling his eyes. Falling back and folding his arms behind his head to form a makeshift pillow, he sighed in annoyance. "I don't understand you at all," he confessed.
"I wouldn't want you to."
But although Arthur roughed him up a lot, he always put him together again.
x.
Amidst spirals of smoke and dilapidated buildings, silent footsteps echoed within the darkness. Ripples drifted around him whenever he walked on, but he grew weary with every step. He felt his heart growing heavier with each ticking of the clock, with every second of time wasted, with every detriment to hope that he had been secretly clinging to that was washed away by the everlasting bleakness surrounding him.
He could vaguely hear the distant sounds of voices, of indecipherable words that couldn't reach him and of far-away screams. He felt his heart ache at the pain of his people, and he felt the agony of his homeland being torn apart by war. He was so tired. The days when he readily stood to fight his enemies had not passed, but were fading; he persisted in fighting, spurred mostly by pride and a lingering protectiveness that refused to dissipate.
But he was tired. He sometimes contemplated over being human, considering how easy it would be to die without the curse of immortality. He grew weary of his terrible afflictions physically mending, his pallid flesh moulding together to form a scar that would ignite memories he would prefer to forget. He didn't want to remember this either. He didn't wish to have recollections of training soldiers and watching them die, of pushing Alfred to his limit to ensure he would be well protected, of blowing the heads of off innocent people who shouldn't be involved in this fucking war full of tainted humans and contaminated countries.
He didn't wish to remember. He didn't want the scars.
His eyes fluttered open to the feeling of reproachful fleeting touches drifting over his body, grimacing as the pain returned in a tidal wave and washed over his body, leaving him quivering for a moment. He clenched his fists, gripping whatever he could tightly as possible to prevent any telltale sounds of pain escaping his lips. The hands on his torso froze for a moment and he stilled as well, biting his lip to repress the feelings but fighting to speak.
"It's only me, Arthur," someone said, voice quiet and full of feelings he couldn't presently decipher. "It's Alfred," he specified, sounding less uncertain but still just as lost. "Don't get your—"
"If you tell me not to get my knickers in a twist," Arthur bit out, brows knitting together and sweat forming on his brow as he glared up furiously at the blurred silhouette of Alfred—of his ally. "I will break your jaw."
Alfred cracked a small smile, crooked and broken and not quite meeting his eyes. He chuckled, tightening the bandages on Arthur's chest, apologies in the form of sighs and careful touches after Arthur's back arched painfully. "Even in this state," he murmured softly, "you're still argumentative."
Arthur regarded him for a prolonged moment, something flickering in his smouldering green eyes before he finally averted his gaze. It makes a good shield, he thought, but wouldn't dare let those words become verbalised. He sighed, sounding frustrated, and he muttered, "I may not in one hundred percent health, but that doesn't mean I can't fight back."
Silence reigned for a while, filled only by Arthur's heavy breathing and Alfred's grunts as he toyed with the bandages winding around Arthur's broken body. The screams from his dreams echoed in his head and he fought to keep his eyes open, absently staring at Alfred's concentrated face to anchor him back to earth. He didn't want to think about sinking, about suffocating and drowning in his subconscious's fixation on masochism; he didn't wish to see the mangled bodies of his people littering the streets, didn't want to know how many innocent people had died because of him and his involvement in this fucking war.
Alfred sighed as he at last finished tying the bandages, a ghost of a grimace lingering on his face as he realised how the off-white blended with Arthur's pale skin and how he could clearly see Arthur's collarbone protruding from his flesh, ribs visible beneath the bandages and thin wrists cracking as his spindly fingers gripped the sheets. He mentally cursed the rationing, hating how small Arthur looked. He wasn't one to mess with, he knew that, but he was also aware of just how easy it could be to break this man. The man who he once looked up at, having to gaze at the sky if he was to look at him, the man who returned from unknown battles in far off lands drenched in blood with more monsters in his eyes.
His gaze finally lifted from his thin frame to the man's gaunt face, blinking in surprise when he was met by dazed green eyes looking straight back at him. "Finished," he breathed, licking his dry lips as thousands of thoughts twisted and strung together in his head like a dozen notes on a composition.
It looked almost as if Arthur was fighting to say something, trying to cast away his barriers and shields that he had spent so long building up, battling the demons that held him back from honesty, and then he looked away. "Thank you," he whispered, sounding horribly defeated and weary.
Alfred's shoulders slumped, but he sent Arthur an understanding smile. He had no idea how Arthur thought or felt about things, couldn't comprehend the man's reactions and never reached conclusions on how Arthur justified his actions. But neither could he, really. He couldn't articulate himself properly at all. Sure, he could be charismatic, but when it came to emotional matters he fell short completely.
But perhaps they didn't need to understand everything, he thought as he reached to touch Arthur's hand. Arthur looked at him again, surprised and confused and tired, and he entangled their fingers together in a loose grasp. Arthur stared at him for a long moment, at a loss, before he sighed, closing his eyes and squeezing their intertwined hands.
Their wounds would scar in time and there would be only memories left. Even if they couldn't abandon the memories, they could at least use them to get stronger.
And they'd be beside one another every step of the way.
