London Bridge: a.p.h. USUK
Revolutionary Battlefield, 1776
The rain moaned and soaked his tattered uniform. Each and every drop was like a knife on his wet shoulders, etching in deep every word...
London Bridge is falling down, falling down...
Tears streamed down his face, or maybe it was only the rain. Those declarations had been like a gunshot to his heart. Cold slivers of the weeping clouds above cut into his flesh.
"I choose freedom, I choose freedom!"
The gunshot heard round the world.
It was torture. With a cry, he collapsed to his knees onto the muddied ground.
...falling down, falling down...
He reached a hand to his chest, clutching the fabric for just something to cling onto, something real in this bloody nightmare...a hot liquid met his touch.
He opened rain-stained tear-damp eyes, peering through blond lashes.
For a split second, bright crimson blood was soaking through the front of his shirt. The harsh color contrasted sharply against the white of his knuckles and the cold blue of his fingers.
Red, white, and blue.
Britain.
...Or was it America?
The vision was gone as fast as it had come. He blinked away the wetness forming in the corner of his eyes.
"...England?"
America's voice was soft and small. It sounded so far away, so distressed, like when he was a child and had had bad dreams. Dreams of being left to fend in a huge house, all alone.
But this was no nightmare. There was no waking up. England didn't bother covering his face in his hands as he sobbed.
"You-you used to be so big...England."
...falling down, down, down...red, white, and blue, gold and stones...
Someone took him gently by the shoulder, lifting him up and enveloping his sodden body with strong arms. Someone hugged his drenched being to their own, their uniform smelling like rain and mud and blood and tears...
England hiccuped and cried into the fabric, clinging as the sobs racked him. His usually carefully mantained dignity had left long ago. It had been so long since he last cried in front of someone...
For the next full five minutes, England gently cried himself out, fingers digging into tall America's shirt as they stood there in the middle of the battlefield in the rain.
America's face was silent, sad, looking surprisingly old for the young country. He gazed off into the distance, as if wondering what would await him in the future.
"England..."
England glanced up in reply, green eyes forced to look up at blue ones instead of the other way around.
Build it up with bricks again, bricks again, bricks again...
"...Let's go home."
...My fair lady.