Title: In the Rubble

Warnings: Angst, Character death

Summary: An American soldier struggles to wait out a bombing in his shelter. WW2 AU.

"Lemme go!" Alfred screamed as he pulled back against the force holding him back.

"Al, would you calm down? Shit, Al stop moving!" A Canadian soldier was holding him back, pinning him to the wall. "Alfred, you're gonna hurt yourself!"

"Then let me go, god damn it!" Alfred continued to squirm as the other soldiers looked on in amusement and others sent him sympathetic looks.

"Someone give me some help here!" the Canadian, Matthew, yelled and another American soldier was quickly up and latching himself on to Alfred.

"Let go of me!" Alfred screamed at the top of his lungs, as the ceiling lamps started to shake. His eyes widened and Matthew and the other soldier took the opportunity to wrestle him to the ground.

"They're back! Everyone get down!"

Matthew clasped a hand over Alfred's mouth to keep him from screaming, but his throat had gone dry. A second round? It couldn't be. He watched in horror as the lights flashed then went out, the sounds of planes flying low, just a few hundred feet above him.

In the darkness the room shook, the sounds of bombings mixed with apprehensive breaths from the Allied soldiers. Alfred couldn't see Matthew but he still felt his fingertips shaking as they struggled to cover his mouth. It went on like that for twenty minutes, everyone was dead silent except for an Australian soldier in the corner that was praying ecstatically. He wanted to live. He wanted to give his daughter away at her wedding.

Alfred was trembling and he struggled to stay still. His stomach was churning and his mind was stirring up horrible thoughts at a mile a minute. A rather large explosion shook the underground bomb shelter and Alfred lost it. His tears started streaming, and he couldn't keep back the choked sobs. This wasn't what he signed up for. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He should be out there killing Nazis, not hiding, scared as child, while they bombed the city above to indiscernible pieces.

Eventually the tremors stopped. In the darkness everything was still, except for the few soldiers releasing sighs of relief. Alfred had wiped away his tears, and Matthew had relinquished his hold. They stood shakily, as someone lit a candle.

"Is it safe to go out?" someone mumbled, but Alfred paid him no mind. In the little candlelight there was, he caught sight of the stairs and ran toward them.

"Damn it, Alfred! Wait!" Matthew yelled, following after him, but another Canadian soldier grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him.

"Let him go."

Alfred took the steps two at a time and pushed the door open with all his strength. Debris had been piled in front of it, and as he slipped out of the shelter, he was astounded by all the wreckage that cluttered the ground. He couldn't see far, 40 or 50 yards at best, because smoke had wrapped itself around the city. Alfred turned to his left, looking for any recognizable structure, but all he could make out was a singed union flag flying from a top a burning building.

He wasted no more time, and even though he couldn't see far ahead, he ran in the direction he'd only walked a thousand times before. Left here, right there, walk straight for a hundred yards. Alfred tried not to concentrate on the rubble around him. He tried to ignore the fires, and the moaning from people lying half dead in the street. The sounds only fueled his resolve and he ran faster, not even realizing his tears had started to fall again.

Arthur's building was left in fragments. The ceiling had caved in and only three of the four walls still stood. Shattered glass and concrete littered the floor, but Alfred didn't notice. He was blinded by smoke and tears, as he started digging through the rubble with his bare hands.

Alfred sped up when he saw a tuft of blonde hair sticking out from the wreckage. His hands were cut and dirtied, but he clawed at the rock and debris until the clump of hair lead to a head, and beyond that a tattered body. Alfred pulled his lover from the wreckage, brushing dirt and blood from his face as tears blurred his vision. Arthur's clothes were in shreds, his arms black and bruised, but his eyes closed and he looked peaceful. Alfred took Arthur's wrist in his hands, an asinine hope for what he knew couldn't be.

There came no breath and there came no pulse. But amongst the rubble, Alfred's tears came in droves.

This was not what he'd signed up for.