Hetalia would not be mine, but I wish it was, but only if MR. HH would continue to write it for me...just sooo...USUK! Anyway, wrote this one shot from a suggestion from Jet Set Radio Yoyo. Listened to "Jar of Hearts" the whole time, with a little "Point of No Return". Which should dictate how this is gonna go.
America raced up and down the slopes outside his capital. This couldn't be happening…it is night, but the sky…it isn't dark…what is going on?
Alfred came to the top of the knoll, the grass blowing back and forth under his worn brown boots, which were muddy and torn from marching long distances. His uniform was also old, much older in fact; a faded blue, the trimmings of white dulling with age.
A strange creeping feeling had woken him up, lodging in his chest, an unsettling feeling. Something was horribly wrong, not far from him, and it rested right on his heart.
England had come back after more than twenty years of turmoil and pain. America had grown in those years, growing taller in isolation, the trouble between him and France, England and Canada escalating. He'd remembered trying to invade Canada, to bring his brother back to him, to bring his brother once more to the side of freedom, so they could work side by side to ensure the North American continent would be safe from intruders. He missed his brother.
It hadn't been heavy fighting that had propelled him out of Canada; it had been the cold. But the cold had nothing to do with this night.
America watched as soldiers marched from all directions, holding torches. Wagons and people were running away on the far side of the city, across from Alfred. Then, Alfred started to feel a pain in his chest, for two reasons.
These were not his men. These were Mattie's and Arthur's, come to hurt him. Mattie was still mad at him, sure, but Arthur was furious, sparking off of nothing, making this whole war extremely personal. Didn't Arthur know that the Revolution had only been a necessary thing? Alfred felt his heart breaking. Yes, the skirmishes and boat stealing crap, which had been going on much longer than the skirmishes, caused him heartbreak.
Alfred had always imagined Arthur to get over the revolution, to see that Alfred could really do this on his own. He wanted Arthur to be proud of him, to smile at him once more, to finally agree that they should try to pick up the pieces that were now scattered across the sea, to love Alfred for more than a brother. But no, he'd received no help, no change of heart. France and the very same England bullied him all those years, what with the XYZ affair and the boat stealing and trade halting. It had hurt Alfred very deeply.
The second reason his heart was burning was the fact that his beloved capitol was up in flames.
He ran down the hill, the wind and smoke hurting his eyes as he ran into the fray.
"GET OUT! HEAD FOR THE COUNTRYSIDE!" Villagers ran on either side of him. Of course, there had been a battle, but America had collapsed earlier that morning due to exhaustion and marching into his tent, and the rest of the army had let him be. Obviously, by the burning, the blue robed men had lost.
As Alfred watched his beloved city burn, the one he'd worked so hard on, he noticed the executive mansion still standing. But the way the soldiers were surrounding it…it wouldn't be for much longer.
What if Mr. Madison is still in there? Have they gotten out safe? Are they captured? He ran as fast as his aching legs could carry him, the burn in his chest flaring dangerously, but he couldn't feel it in the rush of adrenaline that was surging through his body as he was consumed by anger and panic.
He became very angry at the world at that moment. He began to put all the blame on Arthur for all this, finding it easier to be mad at the moment, sweeping his hurt under the rug with a plague of fury. Thoughts ran through his mind about how he would kill every soldier single handedly, if only to cause England some pain.
Arthur stood in front of the mansion, his pale face filled with anguish and pain. Alfred had cut him deeply, and now Arthur would make him feel the same. But the hurt in his heart wasn't fading as it usually did when he got revenge. Something was different.
Every blonde American soldier he'd come across, especially the ones with blue eyes, made him stop for a nano second and wonder if this was all worth it.
Canada next to him had started off with a grin at the prospect of what they were about to do, making his older brother finally get payback for actually attacking him. His older brother, who always controlled the spotlight, who was finally getting what he deserved.
His older brother who always watched out for him…always had come to visit him all those years ago…who believed that in attacking Canada, was going to end the separation that was growing painful between the two of them, their bond of twin-ship straining until now, when Matthew hadn't been able to sense where Alfred was or if he was even alive after all this chaos, something that had scared both him and Arthur.
Canada had always been a tool for England, watching and controlling America from above all those years they shared as colonies. The bond between the both of them keeping them together even then, as they went from brothers who'd spent their childhood together before the settlers had come, to friends and close twins, and hiding the new changes in their relationship as they reported to England. How America had begged Mattie to come with him, and form a new, huge country.
Mattie now wanted to do this horrible deed even less than Arthur had, and was stalling as long as possible. A soldier finally stepped forward, torch in hand.
"Sir, there isn't anyone in the mansion. Were not your intentions to burn it?"
"OF COURSE THOSE WERE MY INTENTIONS! My intentions…" England felt his anxiety over the current situation fade away. He had to do this. He'd said he'd do this, told his ruler he'd do this, he had to do this, if only to keep his men believing that a gentleman's word was always kept.
He looked up at the sky, which was blackening from the smoke of his beloved Alfred's capitol. If only it had been different between them, if Alfred had stayed with him…
Anger boiled once more to the surface of the blond man's mind. Alfred had done this; he'd broken this family, caused this pain. Now Alfred would feel the might of England once and for all and his punishment for leaving Arthur. To have Alfred in his arms…one more time…
"Light it." Arthur turned away as the torch ignited the mansion.
Alfred ran down the lawn to the mansion, arriving on its backside, feeling the white walls of the exterior under his fingers. He had to stop this…all that he'd worked for, from being burned.
He felt the heat when it reached the sides of the building, and let loose a feral screech, as the building once under his fingertips became a pillar of flames. The feeling of this new pain it was like…trying to speak but ending up making no sound, and the words he wanted were out of reach but they'd never been so loud, screaming in his ear, and all he could do was nothing, when he wanted to reach out, but found nothing to reach for…his land was burning with his heart.
"NOOO! NOOOO! NO! NO! NO!" He started to race around the side, but was attacked by a hoard of soldiers, and to their surprise, threw them off. He was out for blood, about to run into a mass of red coats when a hand grasped his ankle, causing him to fall to his knees into the muddy ground.
"We got ourselves a rebel!" Alfred was pinned to the ground, his face purposely shoved around in the mud, his blond hair turning brown with dirt caked in. "Hoist him up! The Captain will know what to do with 'em!" And Alfred was lifted; his body now limp from pain he was experiencing, as waves upon waves hit him.
One soldier looked down at his chest. "OI! He's bleeding! Put 'em down! The Cap'n wouldn't be happy if he died like this!"
Arthur was watching the building burn, standing next to Matthew, both comforted by each other's company. Then Matthew's eye began twitching. Arthur looked over at the boy as he gasped and doubled over. Arthur was right there next to him, asking him what was wrong.
"GAH! The pain! It is like a burning that is almost too much to take—" Apparently his bond to Alfred wasn't completely gone…which meant Alfred was alive…but…
"Captain! We've got a rebel! He was on the grounds making a ruckus."
Arthur looked down at Matthew sorrowfully, before turning back to the task at hand.
"Bring him here, then."
"We…we can't sir, he's really badly messed up, his blue uniform is red with blood. None of us can even figure out how he's still alive." Arthur huffed, but nodded, and grumpily got up from Matthew, who had a hand on his head and another on his heart.
Another rebel running in to be a hero, ending up being captured. He'd had a lot of those, having to decide whether they should be let go or executed. Usually the blond ones were released, looking too much like Alfred for his tastes. He'd have to take care of the poor, and apparently dying lad before it got any worse. They had to leave the capitol after the executive mansion was no more, to invade elsewhere while the Americans were weakened.
Arthur strolled over to the group of soldiers to see someone dressed in blue; his muddy head slumped forward. The boy didn't look much older than his mid to late teens. Arthur bent down to the boy's level to find the boy was whispering.
"We the People of the United States, …in order to form a-a more perfect union, establish j-justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide…for the common defence…"
Arthur growled, and jerked the boy's head up by his hair, not paying attention to the whisperings behind him of "stupid, courageous lad…" "Not a good idea…" "He's a goner"
"Lad, you are treading on very thin ice…" He watched as the boy stiffened under his grip, and he finally caught sight of the mud-covered face. It looked young, almost like Alfred's…
Alfred recognized the voice, as he would anywhere…the man who'd raised him…the man who he'd seen crying in the field that rainy day…the man who he'd longed for…fallen in love with...
A wave of pain passed through him as the roof of the mansion collapsed into the inferno below. A silent scream lit up his face, his eyes flashing open. The pain… the flames…
Arthur flew back away from the boy now looking at him in silent agony, the eyes so familiar, and the same eyes that had looked up at him. Had looked at him in curiosity, in wonder, in love, in fear, in hate. Now, they were dull from pain, pleading with him…
"Alfred?" His Alfred then slumped, only being held up the two soldiers who had interlocked their arms with him. "ALFRED!" Arthur was on his feet, hoisting Alfred out of their arms, and holding him close. He felt the tremors running through his former colony. Felt the quick puffs that were his breath. Arthur brushed the mud from his boy's face, his hair.
What have I done…? It was never supposed to be like this...Alfred…
"Matthew!" He looked over to where Canada stood, his hand still pressed over his heart, his face pale. Together, they carried America to a tent a ways away, and both collapsed next to the cot where a third of their trio of a family lay, bloody and unresponsive.
Alfred shot up in the bed, feeling the immediate pain right afterwards. He was in a dimly lit tent, on a cot, his chest heavily bandaged, and a candle next to him was lit. Sitting up, carefully this time, he saw no sign of his blue robes, and found that his pants were not the ones he'd thrown on last time he remembered.
He tried to remember how his army had found him…last thing he remembered was the burning mansion and the pain.
His confusion and calmness shattered when he saw a red-coated soldier stroll up to his tent and pull a flap to the side.
"Al! You're awake!" Matthew walked into the canvas tent, a smile on his face. Alfred realized then…he'd been captured.
He struggled to get out of the bed, throwing the covers back, his bare feet hitting the hard soil. His legs couldn't hold him, and he fell, right into his twin, who was racing to catch him.
"Whoa, Alfred, we're not going to…" His brother shoved him away, slumping back on the cot with a ragged sigh.
"You bastards couldn't leave me alone…could you? You couldn't let me be on my own…" Matthew looked at his brother's sad expression.
"Alfred, please, now we can be a family again…now that we're together, the three of us… like we used to be—"
"THAT WOULD MEAN GIVING UP EVERYTHING I'VE WORKED FOR! My freedom, MY COUNTRY, all that I believe in! You burn my house, my city, and my heart. And yet, you still believe we are family. Arthur heard me loud and clear. I am no longer his little brother, his to raid for resources, for land, for pockets of earnings. WHY? Why? Why…surely, you, my 'brother', you know of the pain you cause me…" Alfred started off on his rant, the tears finally coming, the tears he'd been holding back ever since 1776. He knew it wasn't fair to turn his anger onto his brother who had no real say in the war.
He felt the dagger that was Arthur's burning of his capitol. He yelled at Matthew, telling him to get away, to go back to England, to be Arthur's pet, for all Alfred cared.
And Matthew just stood there, taking it all, knowing it wasn't meant for him. When Alfred had finally exhausted himself, Matthew sat next to him, and simply took his hand.
"I never meant for you to come back to the empire. I only meant to repair the damage that has happened between us, to be as brothers should be. All of us, on somewhat friendly conditions with each other."
Alfred relaxed, and leaned on Matthew's shoulder. "But you know that I don't want England as a brother. The revolution was supposed to take care of that."
Arthur, who'd been hiding around the side of the tent ever since he'd heard yelling, now felt a knife start to pierce his heart. Didn't want to be his brother?
"Yes, I know. But…I'm not sure when anything will change between you two…"
"Mattie, I love him…there is no way to deny it…and now…I'll be alone forever." Arthur froze. Loved him? Alfred loved him?
The next morning, Alfred snuck out as the camp was moving out, finding no resistance as he walked out, once more in his blue robes, a caged bird set free, Alfred's walk as the pain in his chest was felt in each step he took. A familiar voice that had been with him through his childhood, that had been kind, told him stories, but yet had also cut him to the bone, and made him feel so vulnerable whispered on the wind.
"No, Alfred, you won't be alone forever…"
REVIEWS BE LOVE (oh, and sorry if not historically correct. I am, of course, gathering all this info from what I learned two years ago in seventh grade "history" class. American version...aka, vague...
YAY! I figured out how to make lines! NOW FOR A LINE PARADE!