![iraya:
pickardie answered: Alfred dies/is dying from injuries in a car accident while a dirtied Anya (fem!Russia) is hysterically pleading for him to wake up.
I can’t draw cars…>o<
[[Decided to write a drabble based on this]]
Anya quickly unbuckled the restraint on Alfred, and grabbed him under the arms, lifting him into her hold. She didn’t regard the tiny fragments of glass in her lap, or the blood that was coming from some unseen wound on his head. She just gently shook him, to jostle him awake, “Alfred?”
His head flopped almost bonelessly as she shifted him, and he was completely limp in her lap.
A wrong way driver had slammed into the driver’s side of the car, and it spun into a guardrail. Alfred’s side was completely totaled, as well as the front of the car. Anya was lucky she had held her hands up, since all she recieved was some nasty bruises on her legs, and a cut on her hand and left cheek.
The Russian raised her good hand to stroke Alfred’s face, smearing the blood a little. She gave a tiny smile, hysteria in her voice, “Alfred, you should wake up now, and we can fix the car.”
Blood trickled from his mouth in response.
“We can repair the windows…or get a new car. This one was cheap anyway.”
The fleece of his bomber jacket was soaked a darker color now, and his glasses were nothing but broken, pathetic wire frames hanging from an ear.
“Alfred, wake up, darling.”, she continued, shaking him again, “Please.”
Jostling him again, his head flopped onto her chest, leaving a bright red stain on her blouse.
“Darling, wake up please.”, she repeated, shivering in horror and denial. This wasn’t happening. She screwed her eyes shut, thinking it was just a nightmare that would disappear once she opened them again.
Still there.
“Alfred…please wake up…”, she pleaded, voice growing desperate as her throat tightened.
He’s not dead. He’s just sleeping. He’s just in shock. Somebody will call an ambulance, and Alfred will be fine.
She shook him harder, “Fredka! Come on, please don’t do this to me!!”
She let her hands off of him, and he sagged down into her lap, a broken heap. The Russian stared in horror, tears starting to trickle down her dirtied face.
“No. No no no…please…please don’t leave me, love…”, she choked. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They’d gone out that night for ice cream, and they’d taken it to the park. He’d asked her a question, she said yes, and accepted a ring, still on her finger. She gave a small sob as she stared at the token of love he’d given her, and could see some bewildered bystanders hurrying over.
“Oh my god…”, one of them murmured in shock, seeing Anya and Alfred’s body in her arms, “Sweetie, are you ok?!”
The woman barely whispered, “Help.”](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mdmtpjsQ1S1qf1xz7o1_500.png)
pickardie answered: Alfred dies/is dying from injuries in a car accident while a dirtied Anya (fem!Russia) is hysterically pleading for him to wake up.
I can’t draw cars…>o<
[[Decided to write a drabble based on this]]
Anya quickly unbuckled the restraint on Alfred, and grabbed him under the arms, lifting him into her hold. She didn’t regard the tiny fragments of glass in her lap, or the blood that was coming from some unseen wound on his head. She just gently shook him, to jostle him awake, “Alfred?”
His head flopped almost bonelessly as she shifted him, and he was completely limp in her lap.
A wrong way driver had slammed into the driver’s side of the car, and it spun into a guardrail. Alfred’s side was completely totaled, as well as the front of the car. Anya was lucky she had held her hands up, since all she recieved was some nasty bruises on her legs, and a cut on her hand and left cheek.
The Russian raised her good hand to stroke Alfred’s face, smearing the blood a little. She gave a tiny smile, hysteria in her voice, “Alfred, you should wake up now, and we can fix the car.”
Blood trickled from his mouth in response.
“We can repair the windows…or get a new car. This one was cheap anyway.”
The fleece of his bomber jacket was soaked a darker color now, and his glasses were nothing but broken, pathetic wire frames hanging from an ear.
“Alfred, wake up, darling.”, she continued, shaking him again, “Please.”
Jostling him again, his head flopped onto her chest, leaving a bright red stain on her blouse.
“Darling, wake up please.”, she repeated, shivering in horror and denial. This wasn’t happening. She screwed her eyes shut, thinking it was just a nightmare that would disappear once she opened them again.
Still there.
“Alfred…please wake up…”, she pleaded, voice growing desperate as her throat tightened.
He’s not dead. He’s just sleeping. He’s just in shock. Somebody will call an ambulance, and Alfred will be fine.
She shook him harder, “Fredka! Come on, please don’t do this to me!!”
She let her hands off of him, and he sagged down into her lap, a broken heap. The Russian stared in horror, tears starting to trickle down her dirtied face.
“No. No no no…please…please don’t leave me, love…”, she choked. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They’d gone out that night for ice cream, and they’d taken it to the park. He’d asked her a question, she said yes, and accepted a ring, still on her finger. She gave a small sob as she stared at the token of love he’d given her, and could see some bewildered bystanders hurrying over.
“Oh my god…”, one of them murmured in shock, seeing Anya and Alfred’s body in her arms, “Sweetie, are you ok?!”
The woman barely whispered, “Help.”
