I thought England deserved his own version of "storage room cleaning" like America had. I figure he has just as much junk to sort out. There is a sort of "skeletons in the closet" sort of thing here, though England isn't really sorting through anything materialistic. He's just remembering. There might be a few historical inaccuracies (i.e. when firecrackers were actually invented, the photographs, etc), but Hetalia in general does have a few, as people are happy to point out to me (ugh i really don't care), so I'm thinking it just adds to the story i am trying to put across.
Disclaimer: No, I don't believe the Revolutionary War was a bad thing. It was something that had to happen unless Parliament did some serious receding of laws. I do however believe that there was a lot of mixed ideals going around at that point in time, and not everyone in colonial America was really sure of whether revolting was a good idea or not. That is all.
It was a hot July afternoon, and Arthur Kirkland was enjoying some tea as he relaxed outside reading a book. It had been a quiet day, no business to attend to, no one bothering him. And now he slowly turned the pages, pausing every so often to look out over the horizon, at the beautiful summer colors of the flowers and trees. He sighed, then closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.
"Maybe I'll have Hughes prepare my supper outside this evening. It really is unusual for me, but it -"
Then a huge explosion caused him to jolt upright.
"What the bloody hell -"
Again, another loud boom.
England stood up, and walked off his porch. There was some smoke rising up near America's house. He started walking in that direction, but then set off at a run.
When he got there, he saw America rubbing a towel on his face. He was covered in black stuff and coughing.
"Well that *cough* wasn't right. *cough*" He poured a bucket of water over a patch of grass that was smoldering. "This happens every damn year."
"Alfred? What, are you doing?" He was annoyed to see that what he had thought had been some life endangering explosion was actually just some idiot goofing around.
"Arthur!" He turned to see him. He grinned. "Hey, how's it going? You got here just in time to see me set of some fireworks!"
"Fireworks?" Okay, so maybe it was just an idiot goofing around with life endangering explosives. "What are you setting off fireworks for?"
"It's the Fourth of July, man! I'm making burgers, too." He kept laughing and knelt back down trying to set up another cardboard rocket. "I just need to figure these things out..."
"Oh. Your Independence Day." England sighed. Alfred always has been one to be a tad insensitive. There was a bit of a knot in his chest, then he continued talking. "You're going to hurt yourself if you do it that way."
"Huh?" He turned just as the rocket toppled over and shot off into a nearby bush, setting it off in flames, which already had evidence of fire damage. "Shit!" He rushed over with another two buckets of water and dumped them, extinguishing it. He wiped his forehead. "I can't get them to stay standing." He scratched his head.
England sighed again, then started walking back towards his mansion.
"Independence Day." He repeated, a sad expression crossing his face. "That idiot doesn't even understand."
He remembered when America had been nothing but a child of a nation, clinging to England's legs and begging for him to play with him. There had been one instance where China had visited, on business. They had been in a meeting all day, and when they had finished, Alfred again begged him to do something with him. He had been bored the entire time, so China offered to show them some colorful explosives they had been working on for their celebrations.
"These are firecrackers, aru. When lit, they explode into the sky, and there are colors everywhere. Would you like to see some, aru?"
America, being a shy little kid, had been hiding behind England's legs, but emerged to come look at the tiny rockets. He nodded.
They set them up in the huge yard, and they stood on the porch.
When they were lit, there was a loud 'boom' and and explosion of colors. America panicked and buried his face into England's legs again.
Surprised, England looked down. "Alfred? Did that frighten you?"
"Mm." He was shaking, and he started to cry.
England bent over to pick him up and he again buried his face and covered his ears.
"It's alright. It's just noise. It won't hurt you."
Nervously, America looked back up. "It won't?" He sniffled.
"Maybe we shouldn't set off any more, aru?" China asked quietly.
"Well..." England started.
"No... I mean... Can I see another one? Please?" America asked, timidly.
China smiled. "Of course, little one. But you must promise to watch this time, aru."
America nodded. Another firecracker was lit, and it went off. This time, America jumped a little, but he didn't bury his face. He watched in awe as red sparks flew all over the sky.
"Wow." He said quietly.
They set off a few more, then England said it was time for them to go inside to eat supper.
"Thank you, Yao. I will review the plans, and we can meet again next week." He looked at the little nation in his arms. "And do you have something to say, Alfred?"
"Thank you, Mr. China. I like them a lot."
China smiled. "Your welcome, aru." He patted America on the head. "Such a cute child." Then he bowed and left.
"Those were the happy days. When America was little." England sighed as he made his way home.
Although sometimes America had gotten into trouble, he had really been such a good little kid, happy and playful, doing everything he could to please his older brother. England just wished he had realized sooner what America's future would really hold.
"Big brother, do you wanna hear a secret?" America asked suddenly from his spot at the table.
"Sure." England put down his newspaper and crossed his arms on the table, leaning forward and listening intently to what the cute little country had to say. "What is it, love?"
America grinned. "One day, I'm gonna be a big and strong country, just like you!"
England laughed and reached over the table to ruffle America's hair. "I should hope so. But you still have a long way to go yet, you know."
"I know that." America kept smiling. "And I'm gonna make you proud of me!"
Then one day, everything had changed. America was grown, and wanted freedom. Well, he had gotten it. England hadn't been able to stop him from succeeding, as that would have meant destroying him, which would have been something he wouldn't have been able to forgive himself for doing.
Another explosive went off, and England turned to see sparks of red and blue spread across the sky.
He smirked. "Looks like that idiot finally managed to do something right."
When England returned to his home, he turned back around and watched as more lights flew across the darkened sky. He smiled to think of when the now strong nation had been nothing but a boy. Before... he had lost him.
"Brother, what are you doing?" England stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
"Arthur!" America turned pale and tossed the box behind the table. "I was- I was just looking for something to eat-"
"What have I told you about telling lies, Alfred?"
"I'm not lying, Arthur, honest. I was just looking for a snack and- and I-" His voice stuttered to a stop as his older brother raised an eyebrow. Blushing, he looked over his shoulder at the box on the floor, knowing he'd been caught. "I found the firecrackers. I wasn't looking for them, though, really, I wasn't."
For a few seconds England glared down at the boy, who was starting to squirm uncomfortably. America was a good child, he knew that, albeit sometimes a little ornery. And he couldn't stay angry with the lad for being curious, could he? He sighed and went to pick up the tiny rockets off the ground.
"These aren't toys, Alfred. You could hurt yourself if you tried to set them off on your own."
"I wasn't going to light any. I found the box in the cupboard." America watched as the older country placed the box on the table and stood up. "Did Mr. China send them here?"
"Yes. He said he remembered how much you liked them."
America got excited. "Can we set some off now?"
England laughed and ruffled the boys hair. "I'm afraid not, little one. These are for a very special occasion."
"Aw..." America started to argue.
England held up a finger, and spoke to him sternly. "But, if you try and get into them again they'll be sent right back. Is that understood?"
"Yes, big brother."
BOOM
A flash of green and orange.
BOOM
White and silver rained from the sky.
England could see more people were at America's house, now. He wondered if any other countries had gone. In truth, he would have liked to have gone, to have been with him. But, he could not. America was, after all, celebrating his separation from the elder nation, or rather, the day they had both lost a brother.
He hadn't thought America would go so far as to actually attempt revolution. But if war with him was ahead, he'd need a strong drink before anything. He opened the door and found the window open, America standing by the fireplace, his back to him.
"Alfred!" England was, truthfully, very glad to see him. Nothing had actually happened yet, and there was still time. Hoping for the best, he went to stand next to America, who was looking at photographs of him and England when he was younger.
"Remember when I was little, Arthur? I told you I'd make you proud of me." There was pain in his voice, and it was reflected on his face. "Did I do that?"
England looked compassionately at him, but didn't respond. He could now see that America had been crying.
Taking a deep breath, America continued. "I rushed into things. Sorry. I thought I'd come back here, and we could talk things over peacefully, first."
England nodded. "Good idea. Before we do anything rash."
For the first time, America looked at him.
"Fighting with you isn't something I want to do. All I want is my freedom and the ability to do as I wish. To be my own country."
England sighed. "I am sorry, Alfred. But I can't do that."
America looked at his brother for a few moments, then turned abruptly and made his way to the sofa on the opposite side of the room. He sat down.
He glanced from the desk to the fireplace and to the bookcase. "I always hated this room. I knew if I was in here, I must have really been in trouble." He smirked.
England nodded with a faint smile. "True. Of course, you have yourself to thank for that."
America raised an eyebrow. "Can't argue with you there." The small smile faded.
After a few moments of silence, England spoke again. "If you hated it so much, why is everything still the way it is? I was gone plenty long enough for you to change it."
"Yeah, that's what Hughes said." America swallowed. "He said it was about time I start using an office or study or something, and it'd be fine if I used your's. But I didn't want to change anything."
"Why not?"
"I didn't know when you would come back. Or, you know, if you ever would." He bit his lip and put his hand on the cushion next to him. "After you left, I came in here and slept on this couch if I had nightmares. And I read your books." He smiled and looked at him through the corner of his eyes. "But don't worry. I didn't touch your brandy."
England laughed, and it came out a little louder than he had meant it to. He cleared his throat.
"Alfred, why are you telling me this?"
America stood up. "I just want you to know that I don't hate you. Not for leaving me or for this. I'm always going to be the one who cares about you more than anyone else. I was frightened and devastated when you left, but I've grown so much since then, and I just know that if you let me prove it to you, I can be a strong and powerful nation. I just won't be your's." He held out a hand. "We don't have to be enemies, Arthur. Please."
England looked at him, pondering the option. But, no, he couldn't. It took quite a bit of strength, but he turned away from him. "If you attempt rebellion, we will be enemies."
"I see." America stepped back. "When we see each other again, it will be in blood and war." He headed for the door.
"Alfred, wait." England stopped him. "I- I just want you to know that I am proud of you. Very proud. You grew stronger than I ever thought you would and on top of that you are a brilliant, brilliant young man."
America smiled sadly. "Goodbye, Arthur." Then he left.
England slumped into his chair, rubbing his face. "I chose to lose my brother rather than give him his freedom." He sounded disgusted with himself. "All this to become a stronger country."
They had long since forgiven each other, for those bitter days of war. England still felt some regrets for allowing the one nation he had cared for more than any other to slip through his fingers, for choosing to lose his brother rather than let him go. And he knew that America held some as well, for similar reasons.
"Arthur, I don't want to hurt you. You're my brother." America shouted over the rain and the roars of the troops behind him.
England clenched his teeth, grateful for the rain that masked his tear-strained face. "You are not my brother, Alfred. You lost that the moment you chose to betray me." The words came, though they were difficult for him to say.
"Arthur..." America was taken aback. Surely, he could not mean that? He held firm, sorrowful tears flowing from his eyes, holding his gun towards the country who had raised him and cared for him. "Fine. If that's how you want it."
England too raised his gun. But neither wanted to be the first. He looked behind the younger nation, at the hundred or so troops that were prepared for battle. England had no one left. He would lose the battle, there was no hope otherwise. He was going to lose the only country he had ever cared so much for. His little Alfred.
After a few moments of silence, America spoke up. "All I want is my freedom." He stated firmly.
England held his musket straighter. "You're nothing but a child. You couldn't finish this war, even with the means." His regrets for everything were surfacing. There was so much anger towards himself, and he was directing it towards America. "Go on!" He shouted. "Finish this!"
"I want my freedom. I don't want to destroy you." America yelled back. Then, somewhat hesitantly, "But I will if I have to."
At this time, an angry tremor ran through England's body. He shook his head. I promised myself I'd end this if the time came. I can't waiver now. He looked up.
"Arthur?"
Suddenly England found himself rushing towards the country, gun poised. America was surprised by this, and when the two muskets hit, his went flying from his hands. England held his musket to America's throat.
His whole body shaking, England paused his finger over the trigger. His hand tensed, but he didn't pull the trigger. He couldn't make himself do it. He couldn't, because despite everything, they were still brothers. That would never change.
"You idiot." He said quietly, no longer trying to hold back his tears. "You insolent child! Damn you, you- Why would you make me do this?" His voice choked on salty tears.
America stood straight, staring not down the gun barrel, but into the older countries face. In it he saw the disappointment and worry he had seen before. And, similarly, there was compassion buried deep underneath. He had no idea whether England would actually pull the trigger on him or not. He breathed deeply, his lips quivering as he did so, then he responded.
"Liberty or death."
England exhaled harshly. His eyes darted around him, furiously, from America, to his troops, to the rain that was now dwindling, until, finally, they fell on the musket that had landed a few feet away.
"What...?" He gasped, quietly. The musket was old, like his, but he just now noticed how painfully familiar it was, with a small "AFK" insignia burnt into the wood. England's eyes came back to his brother's. The gun had been the same one he had given to the young America all those years ago, before he had left him to fend for himself.
He stood back, and dropped his own gun beside him. He just couldn't do it. England fell to his knees.
America relaxed, and stared at the sobbing nation in front of him, feeling a mix of bittersweet emotions. They had won the war, and yet, there was regret in his heart, regret that to win his freedom, the brother he had loved had to be beaten down so harshly. He started to cry again.
"What happened to you, Arthur?" He shook his head.
The war was over. America had his independence on that day. The Great British nation had lost a valuable country.
But also a brother.
A sudden silence snapped England to attention. The moon was high among the stars, now, and there was no longer any noise coming for America's house. England shook his head.
"I must have dozed off." He stood and went inside, taking note that his large clock read a little past 3 in the morning. He groaned and ascended the stairs to his bedroom. "I guess Hughes decided it was best not to disturb me." England sat down at his desk, and pulled a bottle of brandy from the drawer, along with a glass. As he poured it, he rubbed his face, to find his cheeks drenched in tears.
Without wiping them off, he set the bottle down and took a drink from the glass. It had been a long while since he had given any thought to the days when he and his brother had waged war against one another. But now that he was, there was no stopping.
Best to do it with a strong drink in hand.
A few notes: AFK would be Alfred's initials, as I would guess before the War he went with the last name Kirkland. Also, the actual Revolutionary War scene is different than the one written for the show. I guess I just think they would each remember it a little differently. People typically do.
Oh... why do I do this kind of thing to myself? Anyway, I wrote this awhile back, but wanted to wait until today to post it. It ended up a lot longer than I had meant, but that's what happens. Please leave a review, if you are feeling generous, I would be glad to hear how others feel about it.
Thank you for reading, and have an emotion-filled (whichever you choose) 4th of July.