(Hetalia is not mine. If you recognize the title, the movie it's from is not mine, either.)
For once the weather actually coincided with the mood. So many times previously, America had faced off against England, and the sun would shine as if mocking the fighting Nations. This time, however; this time was different. The rain fell, soaking clothes and skin throughout, chilling each fighter unlucky enough to be outside to the bone. There was a sense of finality in the air. Each side knew the war would end today, neither happy since victory came at such a high cost, and the weather agreed, having decided to add to the feeling of misery with its unforgiving cold.
Two brothers staring each other down. Two brothers who were once closer than any military alliance were being torn apart. Two brothers who were both crying. Two brothers who blamed the other's tears on the rain. Two brothers who were no longer brothers.
"Hey England," America called out, his face steady, firm, not giving away any of his turbulent motions. "I will choose liberty, after all." England moved, startled, but America continued before the other could argue. "I'm," he paused, the words catching in his throat. After all England had done, after all that had happened, it shouldn't be that hard to say… but it was. "I'm no longer a child. I'm no longer your baby brother. I'm independent."
England scoffed and America closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself. "Acknowledge it!" America shouted, preparing to lift his musket. England was faster. Before the younger Nation realized that the other had moved, England was running at him, and quickly had him disarmed.
America stared at the musket being held eye level, involuntarily taking a step back. The musket followed. Reluctantly, America moved his eyes from the barrel of the musket to the green eyes of his once brother, nearly drowning in the emotion he saw there. Anger. Sadness. Hurt. Regret. Even love.
"You were always so naïve, you fool," England spat out, voice cracking slightly, betraying his emotions.
The musket was still raised, however, and America's army had decided that enough was enough. "Fire!" Someone shouted at the same time that England began lowering his musket, muttering "There's no point in firing, is there?"
As things would have it, America's army had been beaten into shape by Prussia. Once an order was given, the majority of the soldiers would do their best to follow through. The call for fire came before the surrender of England. Shots rang through the air, the majority missing the older Nation.
Except one.
England's eyes widened as he felt the bullet hit his chest.
"No!" America shouted, running forward to catch the stumbling England before he fell. "Stop shooting!" He cried, and the general, shocked at the Nation's reaction, signaled for the attack to end. The soldiers dropped their weapons, watching the scene unfold.
"England, England, are you ok?" America asked softly, holding the smaller Nation close. If there were tears falling, he refused to admit it, and the rain hid the truth.
"You… bloody fool," England rasped, his hand moving to cover the wound. "You don't… you don't stop an attack and… check on the enemy… surely you were taught…better you…you stupid boy." England sighed and attempted to pull away from America to no avail. "You…remember that in the future. As an… independent…" the word hurt England to say, "Nation… you will have many fights… in the future. You can't… let your emotions… take over on the battlefield, America. It… will cost you more than you… ever expected."
America nodded. "I…understand, England," he said quietly, carefully picking up the hurt Nation.
"Oi! What…are you doing America?!" England gasped out, struggling in the other's grasp.
America smiled and simply held him tighter. "Getting you treatment, England. Who am I supposed to annoy if you die out here?" If America sounded relieved because England was feeling well enough to fight back, neither Nation mentioned it.
"Bastard," England grumbled, finally stopping his struggling. The wound, while not fatal, still hurt and was bleeding, and his struggling was only making it worse.
As America began to carry England to the medical tent, the rain saw fit to let up. The sun poked its head out, completely doing away with using the rain as an excuse. Both Nations were crying. England had lost his brother, but the other was still unhardened by war. America, too, had lost his brother, his friend, his confidant… but had gained his independence. Things would be rocky for a couple of centuries, but America had faith that it would work out. They were brothers, after all, and a special relationship like that means everything. They might fight now, they might fight again in the future, but no matter what, they always make up in the end.