Hello again! It's been awhile, just enough to get me completely and utterly hooked on the Anime Hetalia. One of my favorite things to read about in Hetalia fanficion now is the American Revolution, so you can probably expect more from me on the subject. However this is just a slightly unfinished oneshot. I can continue it if anyone wants me to, I know how much everyone loves cliffhangers! As always, enjoy! ... But a review would be lovely, too.

It was snowing. It was always snowing and cold and wet and windy in the Winter of the American col- in the United States of America.

The young nation-to-be who was walking down the street with his back bent against the wind still couldn't quite wrap his head around it. He was a nation now, or was going to be in a matter of days. The boy in glasses still couldn't even fathom it. He was going to be a nation, an actual nation, just like his former mentor. America could make England proud again.

When America had first approached England, it was in the hopes that the older Brit would agree to the American people's demands to rule their own land and tax their own people as they pleased. The blue eyed boy- he was still so small, only just a boy in England's eyes, wasn't he?- had been so excited to try out life as a nation with hopes and dreams. Dreams that were to be crushed as the other nation fought back, wouldn't even discuss America's ideas.

"Surrender now, Alfred! Before..." England's accented voice trailed off. America looked up at the man in time to see the features cast into a cold mask of indifference, the green eyes he loved so much become cold with anger and the the thinnest line of hurt could be seen before that too was cast away.

"Before what?" The American asked, his voice sounding weak and desperate despite his own efforts at feigned indifference.

Before what? Alfred never got the chance to find out when the Brit had just up and left, storming from the room. The question still haunted the blonde man today, before what happened? What was there to be afraid of? What does he need to prepare for? Was it the war that followed for five years almost to that day exactly? What and why never left him alone anymore, not now. Not now that there was no England to protect him, hold him when he cried.

Maybe it was the war that England was referring to. Alfred had considered it many times. After all, wouldn't anyone who cared about another want to save them from all the hurt, all that pain? Yet, it was the same man who'd kept the colony under his wing for so many years who was inflicting all of that pain.

America remembered, how could he forget when he was not fully healed yet? His wounds weren't sealed, his questions hurt almost as much. While a wound could hurt, a question could nag at your mind for many hours, demanding to be answered. And the young country had so many questions...

It started with the before, it ended when England raised the gun level to America's head.

America looked down the barrel of the gun in surprise. He'd pointed his own gun at England's head, but he could have never shot him. Now, fear leapt into America's throat, making it even harder than it already was to breathe. The return of New York had been the only thing keeping him from death. And, if he had to admit it to himself, he wasn't ready to die.

Now America wasn't ready to accept victory, or so everyone that wasn't a patriot seemed to think so. Even his twin brother, Matthew, had sided with England, sending Canadian troops to the British aid instead of American. Even though it angered Alfred, he couldn't blame little Matt. No one really thought the American's could take down the most superior navy and army in the entire world.

Even America had began to doubt himself after the British captured New York.

"We have to get troops out of Boston and move them to Baltimore!" General Washington's voice was as clear and as commanding as ever. Even America, who didn't approve of that idea, wanted to agree and listen to this man.

"Sir, it doesn't make sense! The British are going to attack here!" Another man, a Canadian school teacher named Nathaniel argued. America liked Nate well enough, he was bent on spying on the Brits in support of America, so how could the young colony not like the guy? Nathaniel was pointing at a map now. It showed that Washington wanted to move his troops into Delaware near the river, a strange move that would end up as the turning point of the war.

"I think-" America didn't even register the rest of what Washington was saying- he was too busy gasping for air. Pain, intense pain, blurred his vision. It felt as if someone was reaching inside his body and ripping his lungs to shreds. A scream threatened to pull loose from his throat as the general and his commanders took notice of what was happening to their nation's avatar and rushed to his side, just as America fell to the floor, thrashing out in sheer pain. His nails scratched at the cold, hard ground around him, leaving large gashes in the place where dirt once lay, now filling with blood as the young blond coughed and spasmed, spitting blood left and right. He couldn't breathe, oh god, he couldn't breathe anymore! In a desperate attempt for air as the young nations lungs collapsed in on themselves, he gasped and gasped until finally, the ear splitting scream ripped itself from his throat, swallowing the blue eyed boys world with it.

Pulling his coat up around his ears, America continued to walk down the snow covered path. He was almost there, but a part of him wanted to turn and run. He chided himself for being so foolish, he was a nation now. He shouldn't be so uncourageous.

Still, the idea of seeing his old mentor and friend again hurt like a dagger to the heart. What could he say now to mend the hurt in England's eyes? How could he restore the love between them, after so much damage was inflicted by both parties? How could he convince the older nation that the United States of America was soon to be one of the greatest nations the world had ever seen? Maybe he would even become an empire like England. Now... Now that he was free. Free to make his own choices and not live up to anyone's expectations but his own, no matter how high or how low they may be. Of course, freedom always comes with a price. One that America was going to miss so much.

Answers, he reminded himself as he walked, he needed answers.

He had reached the door now, snow collecting in his hair as he stood still as a statue, unsure of himself once again.

America knocked.