Summary: "Where is your precious Arthur now, Mattie? He has retreated to watch as York burns to the ground." Matthew and Alfred learn how war can break any bond.
Pairings: slight mentions of onesided Alfred/Matthew
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I don't think I'm cut out to be a world dictator.
He breaths deeply, drawing in the heated air. The pungent smoke lies heavily in his lungs. His eyes lazily trace the patterns of smoke as they disappear up in to the sky. America watches his handiwork unfurl into a night sky alight with color and noise. The blaze lends the sky a brilliant, sickening red glow. The crackle of the fire almost enough to drown out the cries of citizens who scramble from hungry flames and pillaging soldiers.
The roar does nothing to block the anguished sobs from the lithe blond in the red uniform who lies before him. Alfred smiles tightly -noting with both parts satisfaction and hurt, the bubbling, cracked skin. His gaze remains focussed on Matthew as he writhes against the cobblestone ground.
He kneels down to brush sweat dampened blond hair from glazed violet eyes. With that sick sense of satisfaction, Alfred relishes in the agony that has brightened those familiar eyes. A thrill shoots through him at the faint spark of terror that mingles with the pain.
"It needn't have come to this," Alfred whispers. His lips brush the heated skin of Matthew's ear, "if you had just left Arthur."
Matthew gives no response to either Alfred's words or the hidden plea in them. And Alfred finds his ire rising in response to Canada's silent refusal. Matthew's denial -though not unexpected- is still fresh for America.
He leans down to Matthew's ear again and speaks in a calm, level voice, "Where is your precious Arthur now, Mattie? He has retreated to watch as York burns to the ground."
Matthew flinches from an entirely different kind of pain. Alfred needs no words this time.
He presses a cool kiss to Canada's lips, tasting smoke and anguish and the bitter tang of blood. America picks up his abandoned musket, leaving Matthew on the ground as his capital burns around him.
The next time he sees Canada their positions are reversed. Matthew's hair and uniform are covered with ash -this time from Alfred's burning capital- and his eyes glitter coldly.
He feels no remorse for his actions, because even if England's men have led the attack, Arthur had allowed Matthew to start the blaze within the White House.
Canada watches as the slaves clamour around the burning building, trying to salvage riches from the fire. He turns his attention to the once proud man at his feet, bright blue eyes leaking tears. The proof of Matthew's revenge is glowing before his very eyes and anger gives way to satisfaction. Satisfaction for proving his strength and satisfaction for reducing the proud nation to the sobbing mess at his feet.
"It hurts," Matthew turns away from flickering flames to face Alfred. His voice is soft and neutral but seems to cut across the roar of the inferno and startles America. He uses a booted foot to force Alfred to face him, "And I'll never join you."
He does not say how he has seen America's lust for new land, does not say how it scares him, does not say how at least with Arthur freedom is still a possibility.
Distantly, Matthew notices that he is crying and quickly turns his back to Alfred. Suddenly he finds himself feeling empty and he leaves Alfred with the ravenous flames and his crumbling Capitol.
Because there is nothing more to say between them.
So...the burning of York and Washington all in one. I haven't seen many fanfictions about the War of 1812 on here, so I decided to gather my courage and give it a go.