A/N: So this is actually the first Hetalia fanfic I ever wrote. xD I was going through my computer and I found this and was all like: "This isn't half bad. Why did I take this off ?" I don't remember. Maybe it didn't get reviews or something. *shrug* Anyway, I'm reposting it and if anyone wants the next chapter please, REVIEW~
There is no way this is happening.
America and his troops had long ago left the battlefield that night, but England stayed, hands and knees stuck to the spot, staring at the ground with wide eyes, going over what had happened in his mind.
This can't possibly be happening.
He stood up. Quickly, he swept his green eyes over the battle-torn land. Men from both sides lay lifeless on the ground. The sight of them made his stomach churn. It was too real.
He couldn't have. After everything…
England dusted himself off. It couldn't be real. It was simply I nightmare. He pinched his arm, but the scene in front of him didn't waver. Slowly, he turned and picked up his musket and slung it over his shoulder. He was going home. He followed the steps of his soldiers toward the ocean. They had retreated after the battle, leaving England himself to stand against America and his rag-tag group of "patriots." America's voice still rang in his ears.
"I'm not a kid anymore. I'm not your little brother, either. As of now, I'm declaring my independence."
England tried to shake the words out of his head.
"You don't have the strength to stand on your own," he repeated to the sky. He looked out into the distance and saw his men loading into boats and heading towards their ship. He ran to catch up, barely making the last boat. As they rowed out into the ocean, England looked back.
He can't survive without me. He can't.
England turned his back to the shore and stared ahead. He was going home. And he would wait. Wait until America came crawling back as soon as he realized he was not fit to live alone. As soon as he realized that England was right, and he couldn't govern a country. America was a spoiled child; he would fall apart as soon as things got tough.
He needs me. He'll be back.
England stepped foot on his ship, and as it began to drift away, he looked over his shoulder at the land he had loved so much. Deep down, he knew he was wrong. He had raised America. He was resilient, creative, and passionate to say the least. But England needed to push those thoughts away. He needed to think that America needed him, more that he needed America. England watched the shore fade until it was completely gone from sight. Only then did he move from his place on the deck to his quarters, where he tossed and turned all night in a restless sleep, until the sun rose from the east, illuminating the bleak ocean waters and shedding the light of truth on England's denial.
He's not coming back. He doesn't need me.
I need him.
Well, there. Hope you like it. :3 Once again, please review. Oh, and for all of you who are looking forward to the sequel of A Million and One Confessions I swear, I'm working on it! It'll be posted once I get some inspiration.