Hello, everyone! It's been a while since I've gotten back into the writing spirit, so I decided to exercise myself a bit. This is a story that has (and still is) taken a long time and a lot of dedication to be written out and planned. I hope I still got some mojo in me (if I even had any in the first place). :P
Without further ado, read, enjoy and review!
Summary: Based off a request from the APH Kink Meme of Livejournal and a sequel to the infamous "Financial Crisis Gangrape" comic, also from there. In the aftermath of the assault, America is convinced he's nothing but a failure and the whole world would literally be better off without him around, so he decides to kill himself. Now his attackers are left with nothing but their regret, his brother with grief, and a successor struggling to find her own place and identity.
Written with the Five Stages of Grief, and several interludes.
Prologue Part 1: Bury the Hatchets
"Alfred, are you absolutely positive you want to go through with this?" Matt asked apprehensively. It had been six months since The Incident, and he really didn't think facing them again so soon would be good for Alfred's still fragile psyche.
Alfred was insistent however, pressing, "Matt, I can't avoid them forever. I've skipped six months' worth of meetings; everyone's already suspicious. I have to do this."
Matt groaned, really not wanting to cave in. But Alfred was right to an extent. He would have to make sure things went as smoothly as possible.
"Well, here we are," Alfred announced as their car pulled up into the parking lot of the building the meeting would be held at. The North American brothers nodded and left their car.
When they entered the meeting room, the other Nations became abuzz with whispers, wondering what was going on, why the brothers skipped out on so many meetings. Alfred and Matt simply ignored the gossip and the inevitable questions, taking their seats, both just wanting to get this whole thing over with.
Matt let his gaze drift to nine specific Nations, and felt the rage boil inside, unable to believe they could go on so casually, as if they did no wrong. Like they hadn't just stabbed his brother in the back.
Humiliated and raped him.
Alfred sensed this, and he grabbed Matt's wrist tightly, silently telling him to keep calm and carry on as if nothing was wrong.
The meeting had passed by without much incident, and Matt was pretty glad for that. He hadn't spoken to Katyusha for a while, and in her typical fashion asked him what was going on with Alfred. The excuse was that he had to take care of Alfred, who had been feeling ill due to the economy. She didn't question it much; everyone was feeling under the weather really. But Matt could tell that she could sense there was more to it than that. But he couldn't say anything, no matter how much he wanted to.
Out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw Feliciano approaching Alfred. The nerve of that spineless Italian wimp…
"Um, Alfred," Feliciano stammered, "can we talk?"
Alfred simply flinched back, a mixture of fear, anger and disgust on his face and Matt immediately rushed over to Alfred's rescue. He whispered that he would handle this, and Alfred nodded. Matt turned his attentions to the now very frightened Italian, his own rage clear.
"What were you saying to him, Italy?!" Matt asked through clenched teeth. His fists shook at his sides, and it took every last bit of self-restraint he possessed not to wrap his hands around Feliciano's worthless neck and strangle the life out of him.
Feliciano whimpered, "I was just going to say that I was sorry for what happened six months ago..."
Matt bitterly laughed.
"Oh really, you're sorry? Well then, answer this – why did you go along with it then? Because really, now is a little too late for apologies, bub," Matt venomously spat.
Before Feliciano could say anything else, Matt quickly added, "Or you know what, just forget I said anything. I'll be sure to pass on the message over to Alfred, and that is if he ever does get better."
With that, the brothers left, neither wanting anymore trouble. But Matt could hear them, and it only added to his anger.
"Oh, you know how he is, always overreacts to everything," Arthur shrugged.
"Don't take it personally, Feliciano," Ludwig said gently, reassuring him. "They clearly have no idea what's good for them."
"Whatever," Lovino snorted, "if you ask me, he's just playing up the whole "pity me" act anyway!"
Had it not been for Alfred dragging him along, Matt would've gone back there and torn them to pieces himself.
It wouldn't leave him alone.
No matter how much alcohol he drowned himself with, no matter how much he tried to put it behind him and be the bigger man, it would not leave him alone.
Damn them. Damn them all to the deepest pits of Hell. Nothing he ever did was ever good enough in their eyes. Sure, times were (and still are) tough, and his policies weren't perfect, but that gave no excuse for what they did.
Sometimes, Alfred wondered why he even put up with the other Nations, anyway. They never liked anything he did of his own volition, and when things go bad they always expect him to just rush in and make everything magically better. And if he decided not to go in and clean up a mess he had no hand in, they would be furious with him, forgetting that in any other circumstance they would have been outraged if he had intervened.
Even taking into account their previous behavior, he never once thought them capable of this kind of brutality. He always liked to believe in the best of everyone, but clearly he was just a stupid and naïve fool.
It wouldn't leave him alone, the events of that day playing and replaying in his mind with frightening clarity, every second of it.
It never ended. Just going and going and going.
And then, when he finally mustered the courage to go back to the meetings and face them again, they just continued to go on as if they did nothing wrong. Like he and Matt were the ones with a problem and they were just overreacting. Like he had no reason to feel just a little hurt.
And so it came to this.
If they really hated him so much, if all he ever did was fuck up everything in their eyes, then they would all be happier and better off without him around. It was a hero's duty to sacrifice themselves for the greater good after all.
He wouldn't go without leaving something explaining why though. Alfred set a camera up on a tripod in the kitchen, explaining himself. And just for good measure call them out on what they did to him as well.
But it was emotionally exhausting, and Alfred couldn't help but sob pitifully as he detailed everything. He wore a white tank top to show them the cuts on his arms. Cutting himself actually helped to dull and distract from the pain, for a while.
After a few minutes letting himself go, Alfred collected himself and scrawled a message onto a notepad for Matt to read once he got home. He pushed it out of the way so it wouldn't get messed up by what Alfred dubbed the grand finale.
"So yeah," Alfred sniffled, "this is it. No turning back now. I didn't come to this decision immediately or lightly. It's been a long time coming actually, and I figure I've lost enough of what I once stood for to do this."
His voice broke even more as he choked back sobs. "I'm just so sick of it. I'm sick of the pain, the nightmares, facing you, and knowing how much of a failure I really am. Just please promise me at the very least that if there's another personification of the United States of America when I'm gone, don't be too hard on them. Okay?"
Alfred reached for the simple black handgun. Nothing more dramatic than going out with a literal bang and a splatter of blood, plus guns were much more reliable and deadlier. He placed the barrel against his temple, smiled, flicked the safety off, pulled the trigger and let the sweet abyss swallow him.
Just a few minutes later, Matt came back home, only to be greeted by the sight of Alfred dead, and blood, brains and bone fragments splattered everywhere. And between his horrified screams, grief-filled sobs and his seething rage, Matt found the camera and it was still recording everything, as well as Alfred's message to him written on a notepad.
Show this to everyone.
And Matt knew what he had to do now.