Metal Birds

Chapter 36: Pleasant Wake up Call

London, England, September 29th-October 3rd, 1940

Nothing they could say would reassure him. Nothing that they had said within the last few weeks convinced him that it wasn't his fault.

The days following the 15th were miserable for him. Terrible. He lived it in a haze of guilt and self association. Each night formed into a hell of him refusing to allow himself to be dragged into the confining subway, and laying in the hallways of the cathedral to scream and cry out and desperately rid himself of his pains; though they never left him. Sometimes, when they couldn't grab a firm enough hold on him, he would tear away from the group and send himself careening into the orange glow of the streets; because he felt terrible for allowing himself to be dragged down there.

When he was in the subway, he would sit silently and he wouldn't speak to anyone unless he cried, which he never did aloud. But he hated it there. It was claustrophobic, and there were too many people who cared.

He was dissociating.

He felt, when he wasn't out in those streets as chaos reigned, as if he was useless.

The end of September was nothing less than hell to him. He lived through the daze, his days nothing more than a silent mourning of his failures and the slight awareness that he needed a wake up call, his nights filled with little more than pain and suffering.

The end of the month was the worst of it. It felt as if the entirety of the Luftwaffe was over London, throwing themselves and everything they had into the ground, no matter how fiercely the British airmen fought. The fires that burned through London seemed to burn through him as well. He felt far too hot, sweaty, clammy handed. The burn like mark that had been growing across his body each night now burned and seared with pain. The smell of smoke was following him wherever he went.

He spent most of his days sleeping, because he never got a wink of sleep at night. If he wasn't sleeping, he was circling aimlessly over the Thames, penning letters, or passed out on the couch in the small downstairs office of the Parliment.

Wherever he was, he felt guilty to be. When he was asleep in the Cathedral, he always dreaded waking up to the sirens and everyone's attempts to drag him into the subway.

The 27th of September was his wake up call.

He had been asleep in the parliament building when his wake up call arrived. He was shaken awake by a firm grip on his shoulders. He jolted awake, about to wrap his hands around the throat of whoever had him, before faltering as he saw the face of Matthew Williams. Matthew had the most concerned, worried expression on his face. Arthur, who had previously been tense, slumped back into the small couch with a heavy sigh of disbelief.

"What are you doing here?" He questioned, and Matthew stood back.

Arthur sat up with a grimace.

"I wanted to come when things first started happening here." Matthew started, folding his wings in a guilty anxiety. "I didn't get to come until just now. No one would let me fly. They were too nervous I might get shot down as I came along the coast. I ended up flying halfway here though."

"You shouldn't have come..."

"No, don't you start." Matthew quickly crossed his arms and put on a worried scowl as Arthur stood with another wince.

"What-"

"You always... you always get depressed when stuff like this happens."

"A lot's happened." Arthur stated bitterly, turning away. He was aware of Matthew's gaze softening worriedly once more.