[I seem to have caught a second wind, so I may be able to finish this in a far more timely fashion than I'd originally expected. Poor America gets some rather forceful handling in this one, I'm afraid, but the worst will be over for him soon. Thanks again for reading and commenting!]
America's breath was slowing as his head began to clear, and he managed a nod to show that he had heard and understood. Now that he was sitting up, he could see much more of his surroundings. Two rows of steel-framed beds faced each other on either side of a large room with high windows and white-washed walls. Nearly all of the beds were occupied with men, some still in uniform and others in varying states of undress. Some had their heads and faces swathed in layers of blood-spotted bandages; others were lying still and silent beneath worn woollen blankets. Several nurses were moving around the room between the beds, checking on each man, carrying covered trays or bundles of linen or...but he had to look away from them, because all of the movement around him was making him feel woozy again.
It was easier to look at Switzerland, who at least was mostly standing still. One of the nurses had brought over a tray with rolls of bandages and wads of cotton wool, and a row of metal surgical instruments laid out on a clean cloth. As America watched, Switzerland picked up a pair of short-bladed scissors from the tray and started to cut up the sleeve of America's mud-caked uniform blouse, swiftly snipping the fabric along the inside of his left arm. America shivered a little as the edge of the scissors brushed his skin, but he tried not to move as Switzerland cut the sleeve open all the way up to the neckline and carefully freed the injured arm and shoulder from the blouse. Switzerland then applied the scissors to the buttons on the front of the blouse, and with a few quick snips he had it open for easier removal.
America helped as much as he could by wiggling his right arm to free it from the remaining sleeve. Once the blouse was off, he shivered again, acutely aware of both the air against his bare skin and the critical once-over that Switzerland was giving his newly exposed body.
'No sign of lice, at least,' Switzerland said, with the same cool detachment he had shown earlier. 'You've had the speeches on typhus and venereal diseases, I presume -- though in my experience such talks do little to decrease a man's chances of contracting one or the other.'
America felt the tips of his ears burn with embarrassed anger. He might be stuck in a hospital bed with a busted shoulder, but that didn't mean he had to sit there meekly and be lectured as if he were still a colony who had just wet the bed. 'Now look here, Switzer -- '
Before he could say the other nation's full name, however, Switzerland's face twisted into a terrifying snarl, and in a flash he was almost nose to nose with America, furious green eyes boring into America's shocked blue ones.
'Don't call me that!' he hissed, so vehemently that America flinched at the force of his words. 'I cannot acknowledge you as a nation! As long as I am wearing this' -- his fingertips brushed the red cross on the armband pinned to his sleeve -- 'you are merely one of the wounded. Now shut your mouth and hold still.'
'What d'you mean by -- '
America didn't have a chance to finish the question, because at that very moment Switzerland's left hand stuffed a wadded-up bandage squarely into his open mouth. In almost the same motion, Switzerland's right hand took hold of his injured arm, and then both of his hands did something that made America suddenly and intensely grateful for the mouthful of linen that muffled his extremely unheroic shriek.
By the time he had blinked away the tears -- involuntary tears, of course, because Switzerland hadn't even given him time to catch his breath, let alone brace himself for any kind of shock -- the room had finally stopped spinning around him and his arm and shoulder no longer felt like they were going up in flames. He tried to wiggle his jaw and tongue to force the bandage out of his mouth, nearly gagging on the dry, linty material, but before he could manage to make any headway on his attempt Switzerland reached up and plucked it free.
'Jesus fuck that hurt!' America spat the moment his mouth was clear. He glared at Switzerland, who was unrolling the slightly damp bandage without so much as a glance at his infuriated patient. 'What the hell was that for?!'
'Had you kept your mouth shut, as I ordered,' Switzerland said, placing one end of the bandage against the side of America's chest, 'I would not have had to gag you.' Judging by his flat, unemotional tone, he had said the same words so often that by this point the response was automatic. 'Did you expect it not to hurt?'
'No.' The word came out more sulky than he wanted it to sound, so he tried again. 'But you could've given me something first, maybe.' He winced as he felt the bandage touch his torso; his skin, already hypersensitive from the pain, prickled with unpleasant goosebumps at this new sensation. 'To make it easier, I mean.'
'We are low enough on nitrous oxide as it stands here, not to mention the morphia.' Switzerland's hands kept moving without a pause, wrapping the bandage around and around America's upper arm and chest to hold the injured limb in place. 'And I have no intention of wasting it on a dislocated shoulder when that boy in the bed opposite will need it shortly when I take off what's left of his legs.'
America opened his mouth, then shut it again. He looked over Switzerland's shoulder, trying to see the bed across from his, but his view was mostly blocked by the two nurses who were standing on either side of it. One of the nurses was holding up a glass bottle filled with reddish-brown liquid, while the other was bent over the bed's occupant, doing something that America couldn't quite make out. Whatever she was doing must have been painful, because all of a sudden the bedframe shook and the bent-over nurse leapt back just in time to avoid being hit by a flailing arm. In that moment, America caught the briefest glimpse of a white, strained face and heard a cracked voice rising in distress --
' -- tut weh -- Bein -- '
-- before another nurse came running, and then there were three people crowding around the bed and blocking his view entirely.
'Breathe out,' said a quiet voice in his ear.
America obeyed, and the tightness in his chest went away. He had no idea how long he had been holding his breath.
This is excellent! I've been craving good WWi fic and this story is exactly the sort of thing I've been hoping for. I really like your characterizations of America and Switzerland, and am definitely looking forward to more.
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Sans Frontières [3a/4]
(Anonymous) 2012-05-29 04:35 am (UTC)(link)America's breath was slowing as his head began to clear, and he managed a nod to show that he had heard and understood. Now that he was sitting up, he could see much more of his surroundings. Two rows of steel-framed beds faced each other on either side of a large room with high windows and white-washed walls. Nearly all of the beds were occupied with men, some still in uniform and others in varying states of undress. Some had their heads and faces swathed in layers of blood-spotted bandages; others were lying still and silent beneath worn woollen blankets. Several nurses were moving around the room between the beds, checking on each man, carrying covered trays or bundles of linen or...but he had to look away from them, because all of the movement around him was making him feel woozy again.
It was easier to look at Switzerland, who at least was mostly standing still. One of the nurses had brought over a tray with rolls of bandages and wads of cotton wool, and a row of metal surgical instruments laid out on a clean cloth. As America watched, Switzerland picked up a pair of short-bladed scissors from the tray and started to cut up the sleeve of America's mud-caked uniform blouse, swiftly snipping the fabric along the inside of his left arm. America shivered a little as the edge of the scissors brushed his skin, but he tried not to move as Switzerland cut the sleeve open all the way up to the neckline and carefully freed the injured arm and shoulder from the blouse. Switzerland then applied the scissors to the buttons on the front of the blouse, and with a few quick snips he had it open for easier removal.
America helped as much as he could by wiggling his right arm to free it from the remaining sleeve. Once the blouse was off, he shivered again, acutely aware of both the air against his bare skin and the critical once-over that Switzerland was giving his newly exposed body.
'No sign of lice, at least,' Switzerland said, with the same cool detachment he had shown earlier. 'You've had the speeches on typhus and venereal diseases, I presume -- though in my experience such talks do little to decrease a man's chances of contracting one or the other.'
America felt the tips of his ears burn with embarrassed anger. He might be stuck in a hospital bed with a busted shoulder, but that didn't mean he had to sit there meekly and be lectured as if he were still a colony who had just wet the bed. 'Now look here, Switzer -- '
Before he could say the other nation's full name, however, Switzerland's face twisted into a terrifying snarl, and in a flash he was almost nose to nose with America, furious green eyes boring into America's shocked blue ones.
'Don't call me that!' he hissed, so vehemently that America flinched at the force of his words. 'I cannot acknowledge you as a nation! As long as I am wearing this' -- his fingertips brushed the red cross on the armband pinned to his sleeve -- 'you are merely one of the wounded. Now shut your mouth and hold still.'
'What d'you mean by -- '
America didn't have a chance to finish the question, because at that very moment Switzerland's left hand stuffed a wadded-up bandage squarely into his open mouth. In almost the same motion, Switzerland's right hand took hold of his injured arm, and then both of his hands did something that made America suddenly and intensely grateful for the mouthful of linen that muffled his extremely unheroic shriek.
Sans Frontières [3b/4]
(Anonymous) 2012-05-29 04:39 am (UTC)(link)'Jesus fuck that hurt!' America spat the moment his mouth was clear. He glared at Switzerland, who was unrolling the slightly damp bandage without so much as a glance at his infuriated patient. 'What the hell was that for?!'
'Had you kept your mouth shut, as I ordered,' Switzerland said, placing one end of the bandage against the side of America's chest, 'I would not have had to gag you.' Judging by his flat, unemotional tone, he had said the same words so often that by this point the response was automatic. 'Did you expect it not to hurt?'
'No.' The word came out more sulky than he wanted it to sound, so he tried again. 'But you could've given me something first, maybe.' He winced as he felt the bandage touch his torso; his skin, already hypersensitive from the pain, prickled with unpleasant goosebumps at this new sensation. 'To make it easier, I mean.'
'We are low enough on nitrous oxide as it stands here, not to mention the morphia.' Switzerland's hands kept moving without a pause, wrapping the bandage around and around America's upper arm and chest to hold the injured limb in place. 'And I have no intention of wasting it on a dislocated shoulder when that boy in the bed opposite will need it shortly when I take off what's left of his legs.'
America opened his mouth, then shut it again. He looked over Switzerland's shoulder, trying to see the bed across from his, but his view was mostly blocked by the two nurses who were standing on either side of it. One of the nurses was holding up a glass bottle filled with reddish-brown liquid, while the other was bent over the bed's occupant, doing something that America couldn't quite make out. Whatever she was doing must have been painful, because all of a sudden the bedframe shook and the bent-over nurse leapt back just in time to avoid being hit by a flailing arm. In that moment, America caught the briefest glimpse of a white, strained face and heard a cracked voice rising in distress --
' -- tut weh -- Bein -- '
-- before another nurse came running, and then there were three people crowding around the bed and blocking his view entirely.
'Breathe out,' said a quiet voice in his ear.
America obeyed, and the tightness in his chest went away. He had no idea how long he had been holding his breath.
Re: Sans Frontières [3b/4]
(Anonymous) 2012-05-29 08:27 am (UTC)(link)