Summary: There were times when America wished he could return to England's side. When he longed to be no more than a possession of the former empire as he had been so long ago. Only a whim to muse on, never truly considered. And yet...
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Whim
It was just a spark of an idea. America never really allowed himself to consider it but it was consistent, popping up every so often since 1800. In the beginning he had laughed it off as craziness brought on by the stress of being a new nation. However, after the War of 1812 America began to realize just how deeply the idea was imbedded.
It was simply a whim. A thought to be mused upon but never spoken aloud or seriously considered. Most days it stayed that way, but there were times when it just couldn't remain so. The times when the weight of the world seemed to crush America and his spirits. The times when the drowning amount of debt made him long for the days of old. For his childhood.
There were times when America wished he could return to England's side. When he longed to be no more than a possession of the former empire as he had been so long ago. Only a whim to muse on, never truly considered. And yet... America found himself wishing for those times more and more.
He looked at his people and how they were consumed by fear, by paranoia, by arrogance, and by their hatred for one another and longed for someone to tell him what to do to help them. He wanted someone to be responsible for his well being once more.
America would never admit it. It was, after all, just a whim. A silly thought. Never to be seriously considered. Laughable even! Never to be uttered aloud. Sometimes America wished that he could have stayed England's forever.
The End.