A/N: Hello, Hello! This is my first story I have uploaded in a long time, so please bare with me everyone. I decided to take on the challenge of writing this in England's perspective, seeing that most of the stories seem to be in America's.
Also, as a side note: I have a headcanon that after every war, a nation receives a scar. The severity of the scar depends on how it affects the nation not just politically, but emotionally as well. Location of the scar is also significant. This is not meant as a spoiler, but more or less as a warning. I didn't add any scar-forming as a dramatic effect!
So please, read on and enjoy!
This… This was actually happening.
I had come to reason with America, just the two of us, but he brought some of his god forsaken sons of liberty. It was all too clear that he was ignoring all of my letters—that was confirmed by Canada. Poor lad shouldn't be stuck in the middle of America and I, but it was too late to fuss over that.
Now, I had to focus on the present. America was poised to shoot, and I had my own musket raised. We watched each other carefully, coldly. I was the first to speak up.
"Lower that musket," I demanded, trying to appear in control of the situation.
Our eyes locked, and that's when I felt a horrible lump growing in my throat. Those bright blue eyes that once shone with mirth and energy now glowed with defiance and… indifference? For as much as I knew America, I could not believe that he had built up such a wall against me! The transition occurred recently, but it was still impossible for me to adapt. I felt myself tremble with confusion and frustration with his response.
"I don't take orders from you."
Who did he think he was? His own bloody empire? Resentment took over my body, and I couldn't control it. I stepped forward, causing America and his militia to reach for their triggers. My voice cracked as I screamed,
"After everything I have done for you, how dare you defy me! I am your mentor, your guardian! I present you with safety and leisure, and yet you defy me? Rebellious brat!"
I dug my feet into the mud, the rain beating down on me like a thousand stones. The militia prepared themselves to fire, but I was swift. Using the bayonet attached to my musket, I ripped the weapon out of America's hands. The gun flew to the side, only to crash into the mud.
Fear flooded his eyes, but he quickly recovered.
"I don't have to listen to you anymore, England," America glowered. "I want to be my own nation, take care of myself. I want to exceed the limits. I want freedom, and you cannot stop me."
I couldn't breathe. Those words sliced at every emotion I had in me like a blade. Emotion shook my body, ricocheting in my torso. My knees gave out and I collapsed onto the dirtied battlefield, which bore the scent of blood. These feelings forced their way out, released in the form of a choked sob. I no longer had the strength to hold my musket and allowed it to slip from my hands.
"Why?" I croaked. "You're my little brother, America… don't do this, please!"
I could feel his stare on my back as I hid my face with my hands. It was too embarrassing—me, the British Empire for goodness sake! Breaking down! All self-control had been washed away by this flood of terrifying reality. The reality that I had lost something, someone,precious to me.
I was losing what meant much to me—someone who got excited by the mere idea of my presence; somebody that looked up to me, loved me, and relied on me. Of course there are my brothers back home and my other colonies, but… America had always been different. He had displayed love and acceptance more than any of my other colonies have. I worked hard to make sure he wouldn't suffer the childhood I had, and my labour seemed to go unnoticed, just as with all of the others…
It seemed as though time had stopped, then skipped ahead. America was the only one who remained on the battlegrounds with me. In my hyperventilating state, I mustered the strength to suck in some air, but didn't dare to let him catch sight of my tear-stained face.
"What happened to you, England…?" I heard him murmur. "You used to be so great…"
By now, the gasping ebbed away into shallow breaths, but pain wracked my ribcage. Was this heartbreak?
"No," I begged in a whimper. I don't think he heard me.
The sound of America's receding footsteps was gradually obscured by the rain. All I could hear was the rain and the throbbing of my heart. My temples ached, but I could not have cared less.
He's gone. He's actually gone.
I leaned forward, keeping myself up with fists and weak knees.
"No… No… NO!" I wailed, pounding at the ground beneath me. "Bloody hell!"
I had screamed my throat raw, continuing even when no noise managed to be made. Claw marks made my scalp throb and burn. I tore open my uniform and clawed through the skin underneath, trying to dig out the heartbreak. I dug and clawed past pain and blood, clouded by the hope of stopping it. I realised the inevitable end, and lowered my hands. The scar had already formed.
I tried to prevent it from forming. This had to have been real heartbreak, because the battle scar had formed on my chest, and now a deep emptiness drowned the hurt.
I lay there hopelessly, feeling hollow. Empty.
How could I ever move forward, when Independence felt bitter on my tongue? But as the British Empire, I was left no other choice…
A/N: That scar scene wasn't too dramatic, was it? I didn't want it to be, so my apologies if it is. I wanted to do this at a more emotional level for this part of the war. If I do any more fics relating to America's rebellion, I promise that the emotional and political aspects will be more balanced out. ^^;
I hope you enjoyed, and I would appreciate reviews. As I mentioned before, this is my first story in a very long time so my writing is a bit rusty. Let me know what I could improve on and what I handled well, please! Thank you so much. ^^