literature

APH Dog Tags

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Literature Text

"Charlie on the Six! Hold that Beach-Line!"

He couldn't run fast enough – he never could. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't get there before the whistling pierced his ear drums and the bombs exploded. The world always spun, as debris and flames mercilessly assaulted him, burying him alive beneath the cast off and leaving him dying beneath soil and shattered pieces of his men.

He couldn't cry out, he couldn't breathe or scream for help because his throat felt wired shut. The world spun again, his head endlessly echoing the piercing shriek of another missile before the bayonet came down on him.

And suddenly he could scream again.


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"Alfred. Alfred. Alfred – "

Cold sweat poured down his face as he stared wide-eyed and unseeingly at the man before him. He was shaking so badly, and he couldn't relax any muscle in his body. He was tensed, bracing for the bayonet's inevitable impact while still buried and alone.

Alone. Alone…

The hands before him remained in sight, palms out and unarmed. The man was on his knees, resting back on his heels and speaking to him softly with an accent that had nothing to do with Asia. Slowly, Alfred's rapid breathing began to calm and he blinked for the first time since waking from the nightmare…the memory. He looked at Arthur for the first time without the past engulfing him…

And he cried, not caring about how desperately he sobbed into the arms now holding him.

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Alfred sat stoically on the edge of the bed, staring aimlessly at the wall with a far off gaze. The memories still haunted him, but they were farther away now, just lingering around the edge of his consciousness and waiting to attack him again once he fell asleep.

The bedroom was quiet – a sharp contrast to all of his screaming just an hour before, and the darkness remained still. He was Stateside again and all was meant to be safe here…but he could not find comfort in the lie any more than he could close his eyes without fear. He barely noticed movement on the bed behind him, but knew who it was without looking.

Not the enemy…not the enemy…not the enemy…

Arthur didn't reach out to touch him immediately, but waited until Alfred's tension lessened; then, gently spoke to him before pressing his body against the American's back and embracing him. They stayed like that for a long while before the Brit lifted his head from the other's neck and carefully ran his finger's along Alfred's dog tags.

"It does get better, love…Some day you will be able to take these off and rest."

Alfred said nothing, and Arthur rested his chin atop Alfred's shoulder, keeping his arms around the other as he turned the silver discs over and over again in his hand. He had memorized the information on the plates…He knew everything from how Alfred's name had been stamped unevenly, to the serial number along the bottom edge of each side. He felt the familiar wear along the surfaces, felt the all too accustomed weight of them…and the weight of the memories they brought.

He closed his eyes and buried his face against Alfred's neck, breathing deeply before sighing and warming the chilled skin. He slowly brought the tags back down and held them against Alfred's chest, gripping the American's body tightly, as if he could hold him together on his own.

"I swear it, Alfred…you will be whole again."

~Fin~
This is a short fic inspired by a drawing done by :iconfirelordpie:. I have been in a terrible writing slump as of late, and while trying to finish multiple project amidst the chaos of life I finally found the spark to write and FINISH something. However short, I am proud of this one it has great personal significance to me.

The time frame of this fic is after the Vietnam war. "Charlie" was an American code name given to North Vietnamese combatants during the war, and a "beach-line" is the front line in a fight. Yes, this story is a reflection of acute post-war PTSD. Arthur, being much older and more seasoned in war than Alfred, has seen his fair share of war but reacts much differently to it. It really is painful on the deepest levels to see someone you love and respect afflicted with such an all-consuming psychosis, that really is like an unending nightmare. It takes a lot of patience, stability and understanding to help someone suffering from PTSD; I greatly respect those who serve as rocks for them.

Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to its creator.

:star: [[This fic can also be seen on my Tumblr: [link] ]] :star:

:star::start::star:THIS IS THE PROMISED LINK FOR THE PICTURE THAT INSPIRED THIS FIC! At the time it inspired me, only the depiction of Alfred in the top panel had been created...the rest of this came to life after the fic's creation. ;w; I hope you all enjoy it. This is another wonderful piece of :iconfirelordpie: : [link] :star::star::star:
© 2012 - 2024 kelbora
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MirandaTheGerm123's avatar
Thank you for leaving it open ended, I love your writing and UkUs is my otp, so it's wonderful that I can visualize this as a UkUs moment <3 <3 <3