I'm not entirely sure what made me come up with this, but it's been lurking in the back of my mind for a while now and frankly making me quite depressed. Kinda like that HetaOni one-shot did. So I figured maybe finally getting around to writing it might help. It didn't. Oh wells. Enjoy, if you dare.
There was rain in the Mediterranean countries. Northern Europe and Canada experienced freak blizzards in July. France was overcast for weeks. England was in it's third week straight of torrential downpours. And America? In America, there was sunshine. The remaining Allies were happy to hear this. America loved sunny days.
On an island of the coast of Italy, the sky was gray and the land was empty except for three stones that stuck out of the barren landscape. One had been there for centuries. It stood at the very center of the island, cracked and eroded from age, but around it the grass was short- trimmed weekly- no weeds grew, and new flowers were planted seasonally. Roses, white poppies, and lilies, courtesy of the deceased's grandsons. Beside it was a large white cross. This stone was scrubbed at least twice a week, and although the grass here was kept meticulously neat, there were no flowers. Instead, an old sword with a worn handle leaned against it. The sword was polished each time the stone was cleaned, but there were dents and scrapes from battles in the metal.
The last stone was simple. It stood perhaps two feet high and a foot and a half across, and it had not yet been there long enough for there to have been any maintenance necessary. A red, white, and blue flag which was draped over it was the stone's only adornment, besides the flowers the deceased's many children had brought him- apple blossoms, peonies, purple violets, magnolias, hawthorns, etc.
England couldn't remember why he had wanted to come. It had been hard enough the day of the funeral, when the small island was packed with nations and the fifty states- some looking lost, some couldn't look at the name on the stone, some sobbing inconsolably. He had been all three at one point or another. Why would he put himself through this again? He should've gone to comfort Canada, like France so often did. He should've gone with Spain to see how Mexico was doing. He should've gone out drinking with his brother's to distract himself. But deep down, he knew he couldn't do that, not today.
Not on his birthday.
"I don't know what made me come here," England said, feeling a little silly for talking to the stone as if America could hear him. "We had a meeting the other day. Matthew didn't come, or Maria. Pennsylvania was sent in your place, but she left halfway through. Germany called it off not long after that. Didn't feel right. They miss you Alfred, even Russia. As for myself, it hasn't entirely sunk in yet. I keep expecting to wake up to some drunken voicemail you left at some ungodly hour of the morning.
"Do you remember what day it is, Alfred?" he asked softly, kneeling amid the hundreds of flowers. "The big 238. You couldn't have forgotten. You've been planning the party for months." He paused to wonder to himself what the states did with the decorations. They'd probably been holding onto them in the hopes that their father's health would improve. "Right about now there'd be fireworks going off in Washington, and you'd have herded us all into your backyard to watch and so that you could force those damn burgers down our throats like you did every year. And the people blowing them off would be blasting that patriotic mumbojumbo like always. You never got the song you wanted though, did you?"
~Flashback~
England felt the boy before he saw him. It was the first time America had visited England, and the constant storming was not sitting well with him. As soon as the thunder began, the colony sprung out of bed and sprinted into England's room, crying. England groaned inwardly- he had a meeting the next morning- but sat up and smiled at his little brother.
"Well hello Alfred," he said, chuckling as the child through his arms around him and buried his face in his stomach. "What's the matter? Can't sleep?" America shook his head quickly, keeping his face in the older nation's shirt. "Come now America, tell me what's wrong." America sniffled and looked up at his brother with wide, tear-filled eyes.
"It's- it's-" BOOM. The thunder sounded again, and America hid his face again, whimpering.
"Oh, I see," England said, picking his little brother up and pulling him into a hug. "Are you afraid of the thunder?" America nodded.
"And the lightning," he added. England chuckled slightly and sat America down to face him.
"I used to be afraid of the storms too," he said. "But someone told me that the longer the amount of time in between the thunder and the lightning, the further away it is. There was at least five seconds in between them that time, so it's much too far away to hurt you." America nodded again, and when he heard thunder again, he counted under his breath.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven-" FLASH. "Seven miles." England smiles.
"That's right. Now is it still scary?" he asked. America shook his head, but England saw that he was shaking and he jumped at the next crash of thunder. England sighed. "Why don't you stay in here with me tonight?" he offered.
"Yes please," America whispered. England smiled and tucked his brother under the blankets with him. When he lay down, America curled up next to him, still shaking slightly. England put an arm around him and pulled him in closer, beginning to sing to him like he did when he was a baby. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine," America's shaking slowed and then stopped all together, "You make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know dear how much I love you-" England's singing was cut off by a snore and he grinned, then kissed his brother's head. "Good night America."
~Flashback over~
"You know, I learned that song from Scotland," England said. "He used to sing it to Ireland when he put him to sleep. I don't know what made me think of it. I can't begin to imagine how you remembered it either. You couldn't have been more than five at the time. I'd forgotten about it entirely, until I heard you singing it."
~Flashback~
They'd all gotten the news a few hours before. It was America, the one who didn't even want to take part in this bloody war. It was America who Japan had made his latest attack on just hours before. Now he and France found themselves standing on a beach in Hawaii, watching the smoke rise from the destruction. Trying not to look at the red waves rolling in. Then they saw him, perhaps a hundred feet away, kneeling on the beach with one hand planted in the sand and the other pressed against his face, his brother at his side trying to comfort him. The nations went running.
"Is he all right? Canada?" England asked, the softness and strain in his own voice surprising him. Canada shook his head, never looking away from his brother.
"He fainted at the end of the attack. One of the officers said he'd been fighting hand to hand with a Japanese soldier with a sword. He fought him off, but he lost a lot of blood," he replied, his voice shaking. A Japanese soldier. Japan had never showed up personally to a battle before. This was a deliberate strike against America himself. "When he woke up, he stumbled out to the beach and fell when he saw the wreckage. He's been like this ever since."
"Has he said anything?" England asked. Canada shook his head.
"Mostly he's just been crying. But listen." The nations took a step closer and strained to hear America's voice.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine," he sang in almost a whisper, his voice shaking as he did, his body racked with tears. "You make me h-happy when skies are gray, you'll never know dear how much I love you," his trembling ceased and he let out one more sob, lurching forward. His brother darted to the ground, putting an arm around him to steady him.
"Alfred? Alfred, are you okay?" he whispered urgently. America took the hand away from his face, but continued to stare blankly at the sand.
"Tomorrow," he began, his voice empty. "Tomorrow I declare war on Japan."
~Flashback over~
England's shoulders began to shake as he thought more about the nation that was once his little brother. He had been so young when he won the Revolution. So young when he was expected to handle life as an adult. Hurt or not, England should have helped him. He should not have left him alone. He should not have allowed him to continue the downward spiral that led him to this end.
"I'm sorry," he whispered after a few minutes of silence. "My God, I'm so sorry."
Clouds had come in overhead, hanging above him ominously, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it was going to rain. There was a mild wind, less than even a breeze, but it sent a chill down England's back as it hit him through his thin shirt. It rustled through the flowers and caused the ends of the flag to stir. England reached out to touch the flag, but his fingers stopped just short. Can't reach it. The thought left him feeling hollow. Close, but not close enough. Like his brother, buried six feet beneath where he kneeled. The pain of losing him hit England again, fresh and new, like the day it happened, when England arrived at his house five minutes too late. His breath stopped short and for a moment he hoped it won't come back, but it did and he let out a heart-shattering cry.
"You are my sunshine," he sang in a weak, shaking, whimpering voice in between his sobs. "My only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know dear how much I love you." The pain in his chest had become unbearable, but he had to keep singing for Alfred. He squeezed his chest over his heart and pushed his tears away with the heel of his hand. Finally, the sky opened up and the icy rain hit him, nearly making him gasp. "Please don't take my sunshine away."
This feels very disjointed and raw, which would usually bother me, but it killed me so bad inside when I was writing it that I don't think I can bring myself to go back and fix it. So, I hope you liked it, please review. Now excuse me while I go sob in a corner with a vat of ice cream.