Author's note

Thank you so much to everyone who has read/followed/reviewed/favourited this collection so far! I always love to hear from you.

This story was written for the latest Sybil x Tom Challenge on Tumblr - Rock the WWII AU. It also gives me my first opportunity to look further down the road into Sybil and Tom's future life in Dublin with their children.

Like father, like son

Dublin, 1940

Michael Branson's 18th birthday party was in full swing. Aislín, his older sister, was there with her husband Kevin, resting her hand proudly on her swollen belly and laughing as she watched her two younger siblings, 14 year old Padraig and nine year old Fiona, squabble over the last slice of birthday cake.

Sybil and Tom Branson looked at their happy, rowdy children around their kitchen table. Tom reached to take his wife's hand and give it a squeeze, and their eyes met. They smiled proudly at each other - Haven't we done well with this lot!

The strains of a chorus of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" were still hanging in the air as Michael cleared his throat -

"Mam and Da - I've got something to tell you."

His parents looked at him, unaware that their happy world was about to be shattered -

"Well, you see, it's all arranged. I'm joining up with George - we're going into his local regiment, the York and Lancaster, so we can fight together. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow for basic training..."

Tom interrupted him, talking about what the British had done to their homeland, to his own cousin during the Easter Rising, how Ireland was neutral and should stay that way. His voice became louder and more heated as each argument he made seemed to fall on deaf ears. Michael shrugged his shoulders, his blue eyes meeting those of his father calmly -

"Da, the way I see it, Ireland should be fighting with the Allies. I know all the history thanks to you and Mam but, for God's sake, if we don't stop Herr Hitler taking over Europe, he'll be in Ireland too. Our neutrality won't save us! George and I have talked about it for ages, it's all arranged."

"Michael, how can you join the very army which oppressed our family, our country, for centuries! I forbid this, I forbid you to go!" Tom's face was red and he was standing up now, leaning across the table towards his son.

"You can't stop me. I'm going, whether you forbid me or not." Michael stood up and walked out, slamming the door behind him, to spend the night who knew where.

Sybil's eyes filled with tears as she heard the angry words her husband and son exchanged - Michael's just like Tom, so passionately committed to his ideals - no wonder they clash so often! She could remember very clearly the soldiers she had cared for during World War I, and the horrors of war that they had hinted at. She thought of Lt Courtenay's blindness and suicide, her father's valet Lang suffering from the horrors of shellshock, Matthew himself fearing permanent paralysis from his injuries, and of course the loss of William Mason. We have to go through all this again... how can we bear it!

Later that night in bed, Sybil snuggled into Tom's arms, the way she had done every night (apart from nights spent in hospital for childbirth) since their marriage 20 years before. Her head rested comfortably on his broad shoulder and their hands were linked across his stomach, her thumb running back and forth across his in a loving gesture that came automatically to her now. She spoke softly -

"Darling, I know how upset you are about this, and I do understand. After everything your family went through when you were growing up, that resentment of the British, and the British Army in particular, is an emotion you have had all your life. But..."

"No, no buts, Sybil. Michael's gone too far this time - how can he betray me like this!"

"Tom, my love - think of it this way. We brought all our children up to be strong and fight for what they believe in, no matter what, the way you and I have always tried to do. This is a real test of that upbringing, darling - the first test we have really encountered, because our son believes in something that is very important to him, but it's leading him to take an action that goes against one of your deeply held beliefs."

She heard a grumble from him and kept talking -

"Can't you see how like you he is? Sticking up for his principles and being prepared to fight for them? I love him for it, as I love you for doing the same thing all your life, even though I am terrified at the thought of Michael going to war..."

Some tears broke into her voice as she spoke those last words, and he tightened his arm around her, pressing a kiss into her hair, the beautiful dark hair he loved so much and which showed only a few strands of grey.

Tom thought about what she said, and realised that she was right. His son was doing what they had raised him to do and, much as he disagreed with the action Michael was about to take, in the end he was their beloved child who needed and deserved their full support. I can't let him leave like this - suppose...

He couldn't even finish that thought. Sybil, as always intimately attuned to his feelings and moods, looked up at him, tears still lying on her cheeks -

"Darling, if we lose him, it would be the hardest burden we'd ever have to carry. But imagine how much harder it would be if we let him leave without telling him he has our love and support to carry with him when he goes!"

"Sybil, oh love, what would I do without you. You're right - I was just thinking the same thing..."

He lifted his hand to wipe the tears gently from her cheeks and leaned down to kiss her. She moved up his body to be closer to him and their kiss quickly deepened. For a while, they lost themselves, and their fears, in each other...

The following evening, Michael showed up in the family kitchen. His arms were folded and his face was mutinous. When Sybil had finally tracked her son down at a friend's house, it had taken all of her powers of persuasion to convince him to come home at all.

Tom knew he had to make the first move, so he stepped towards his son and held out his hand -

"Michael, mo buachaill - I shouldn't have reacted the way I did last night. I want you to know, if you truly believe this is the right thing to do, both your mother and I will support you, and love you, when you go. Will you shake hands?"

Michael looked at his father for a moment, with the uncertainty of a boy suddenly creeping across his face as he heard those words of reconciliation. He stepped forward and threw his arms around his father's neck -

"Da, thank you - I would have hated to go and be at odds with you. You know I truly believe it's right, otherwise I wouldn't go..."

Sybil felt tears rising up again, but they were tears of joy this time to see Tom and Michael sharing a hug. She put her arms around the pair of them, kissing the cheeks of father and son.

"Darling, our love goes with you, whatever you do, wherever you go, and we're so proud of you. Stay safe and come home to us - we'll be praying for you."

"Mam, I love you both, so much. You've been the best parents I could ever have asked for..."

The three Bransons stood together in the middle of the dimly lit kitchen, shedding tears and holding each other close as they stored up strength from each other for the ordeal to come.

During the long years of World War II, Michael wrote to his parents as often as he could. He and George travelled to many different theatres of war, mainly in the Mediterranean and the Far East.

One of the most significant battles they fought in was in North Africa, where they were part of a battalion that broke out from Tobruk in a fierce campaign against Field Marshal Rommel, the wily Desert Fox, and his Afrika Korps. Sybil and Tom were so proud of their son when they heard he was mentioned in dispatches for bravery while assaulting an enemy position, a pride that was tempered when they heard he had been seriously wounded in the leg.

Michael recovered and he and George spent the rest of the war in the Burma campaign, fighting against the Empire of Japan and operating deep behind enemy lines in terrible conditions...

Dublin, 1945

A lone soldier with a limp arrived back in Dublin on the noon train. He was lean and brown, with a scar on one cheek and lines on his face that hadn't been there when he had left to go to war five years before. The soldier slung his kit bag over his shoulder as he left the station, walking towards a place he'd been dreaming of for many years.

He arrived at a modest house near the centre of the city and rapped the knocker twice. After a moment, he heard light steps coming towards him, and the door opened -

"Michael, is it you? Oh my boy... Tom! Tom! Come quickly, darling, Michael's home!"

Tom's face appeared from behind the kitchen door, and he strode quickly to the front hall, wrapping his arms around his wife and son... Thank God, oh thank God!

A/N -

"mo buachaill" = my boy in Irish Gaelic, per Google Translate.

I have a headcanon that the lasting friendship between Tom Branson and Matthew Crawley helped Sybil's efforts to reconcile her sister Mary, in time, to the Bransons' marriage. The families remained close over the years, visiting back and forth and exchanging letters (although Sybil and Tom never lived in Downton Abbey after their marriage in this story), and this was how Michael Branson and George Crawley, who were quite close in age, also became good friends. At this point in time, George is the heir to the earldom of Grantham, Robert having passed away in 1939 leaving Matthew to inherit the title.

Michael and George joined a real regiment - their wartime experiences are true to the postings of the men of the 2nd Battalion, including their experiences in North Africa and the Far East (you can read about it on Wikipedia). Their time together as soldiers cemented their friendship, particularly because they were each other's only confidants to talk about their wartime experiences (I imagine they never talked about it with their families). I see Aaron Eckhart as Michael Branson and James McAvoy as George Crawley in this story.