"Move!"
"Alfred, they're coming!"
"I know! Just move!"
Alfred hurried behind a married couple while easily carrying their six-year-old daughter. Alfred glanced behind him, noticing the quickly approaching armored van, and wished he could make them run faster. They approached the helicopter, the rotating blades blowing dust and their hair in their faces.
Ignoring the racing of his heart as he heard the screech of braking tires, Alfred hoisted the young girl into the helicopter. He swiftly moved away to allow the couple inside, and turned to see the vehicle.
A soldier jumped out of the van and immediately aimed his gun.
The wife ducked inside of the helicopter, but the door still stood open.
Alfred moved rapidly.
A bullet struck his shoulder and he fell to his knees, clutching the bleeding wound in one hand. Through the cloud of pain, he heard the helicopter successfully leave the ground and head out over the ocean. Managing a small grin, he painfully stood to meet the approaching soldiers.
The group of armed men parted in the front to reveal a well-dressed man with a confident swagger. The gleam of the gaudy medal pinned to his shirt shone with the power he held, only outmatched by the superior glint in his eyes. His smug smile seemed to challenge Alfred's almost idiotic grin. He stopped in front of Alfred, who defiantly held his ground despite the blood coursing a river down his left arm.
"Nice to see you again, Alfred." The President of the United States of America greeted.
"Nice to see you too, boss. This is, what, the ninth time this has happened?" He tightened his grip on his shoulder, barely managing not to wince from the extra stab of pain. "But I don't remember being shot at before."
"Tenth time, actually." The President corrected. "And I can only give you so many warnings until there must be a consequence."
"I guess I just wasn't expecting it. After all, it's not like you can kill me." The sneer in his tone was so blatantly obvious that he waited for his boss to react. The soldiers shifted slightly, ready for an unpleasant reaction from their president. To everyone's surprise except for the President himself, his expression didn't waver.
"I have some information that I believe will change your rebellious ways." He stated.
Alfred tensed and his smirk shifted into a suspicious line. There was something in the way the President spoke that set him on edge.
"I have someone very important in my custody at this very moment." The President paused. "A certain traitor by the name of Corey Elvyn."
Alfred froze, eyes widening. Alfred knew exactly who he was talking about; Corey Elvyn, an important man who spoke for the rebels with the other countries. Not only was he respected enough to earn a meeting with other nations, but he was clever and practical. Without him, the rebels would have a difficult time gaining support from other countries.
"I will let him go as long as you stop these ridiculous escapes. If you do, I will release him just outside of the west rebel base, completely unharmed. But if you go back on your word, know that I can and will make you suffer."
Alfred didn't answer. The President's smile broadened; he knew who had won.
Someone knocked loudly on the door. Matthew rose from his seat beside Kumajiro and opened it. A young man wearing a painfully fake grin and exhaustion darkening his eyes stood on the doorstep. Matthew blinked before realizing it was his brother, Alfred.
"Hey, bro. Mind if I stay at your place tonight?" he asked.
"Uh, sure. Come on in." He closed the door behind him.
Alfred stopped in front of the couch where Kumajiro sat and started taking off his jacket. Not his proud bomber jacket—he had abandoned it not long after the current American President was elected—but a plain brown jacket. He winced as he carefully removed the left sleeve, revealing his sleeveless shirt and bandaged shoulder.
"What happened?" Matthew questioned, eyeing the wound with concern.
Alfred gave a small laugh. "Got hit by a stray bullet."
Matthew nodded, noting the obvious lie, but decided not to push further.
"I'm kinda tired. I think I'll just go to bed." Alfred said.
"Okay. I think I'll be up for a little while. Good night." Matthew watched as Alfred walked up the stairs with a defeated slouch that would have been uncharacteristic only a few years ago.
Matthew sat down on the couch, absentmindedly stroking Kumajiro's head. The white bear quickly fell asleep, oblivious to his owner's troubled thoughts.
Matthew remembered the old Alfred with an ache in his heart. He missed the energetic, cheerful, and admittedly self-centered hero he used to be. Sure, due to his and Alfred's similar appearance he often became the object of bullying, but he still admired Alfred for his strength and courage.
But that all changed when Andrew Slone became the President of the United States two years ago. He kicked the government, slowly sucking power from the people, into full-blown tyranny. He seemed like a good candidate, but his true colors shone the moment he was sworn in. He created strict laws that passed through the greedy House of Representatives and Senate, most of whom he had replaced with men who cared only for money. He threatened America's allies and even attempted to attack one of Japan's cities from the air, but Alfred managed to somehow convince him to pull back at the last minute. He openly considered the use of nuclear weapons and called others, even some of America's citizens, weak. Naturally, all of the other countries turned against America and its dictator. Even some former enemies became allies and banded together to face the threat of the transformed country.
The nations quickly called a world meeting when the President's intentions became brutally clear, in which Alfred attended, much to everyone's surprise. Some scowled at him with unhidden malice, despising the nation for which he represented. Those that knew him well cast him sympathetic glances, knowing full well that this was not what he wanted America to be. Throughout the whole meeting, criticism hit Alfred from all sides, to which he would reply that he would speak to his president, but he couldn't control him. Alfred acted like he normally did, except with an unusual underlying tone of sadness that became apparent by his half-hearted proclamations. He left halfway through the meeting, when his phone beeped. He checked it and, apologizing for being so abrupt, quickly left the building.
After he left Matthew heard what the other nation representatives couldn't say to Alfred's face. Quick and harsh words filled the air without any restraint. Matthew tried to speak up for his brother a few times, but as expected, no one heard him. Everyone left the meeting that day having achieved only one objective; America was the enemy.
Alfred has never attended a world meeting since.
So far no one had attacked America or threatened it. The other countries, while intent on destroying the newfound menace, were still hesitant on both how to attack and preparing for America's retaliation that was bound to come.
Not even Matthew had seen Alfred, his own brother, since that meeting. Until today. Now Alfred looked like he was being eaten away from the inside, while forcing a façade of happiness on the outside.
Matthew sighed, and then shivered as he felt a cold breeze come down from the stairs. Wondering if he left a window open, he left Kumajiro sleeping on the couch and headed upstairs.
Meanwhile, Alfred looked out through the window he had opened in the guest bedroom. He felt the chill wind of night brush across his skin, gripping the windowsill, as he watched the quiet city beyond. It reminded him of his own home, before the presidential election. If he looked outside of his own home today, he knew he would see nothing but starving children and desperate adults, cowering from the government that should be helping them.
He breathed deeply, trying to empty his mind, but the persistent thoughts remained. He remembered telling Ray Helmer, the rebel leader, about the President's threat yesterday. Ray, who also became his best friend after he stopped interacting with the other nation representatives, reassured Alfred that the rebels would be fine for the time being. Ray continued to say that when they retrieved Corey, Alfred could offer his help again, but more secretly.
This gave Alfred conflicting emotions of indecision. He hated just standing by while his citizens suffered, but he didn't want to make the situation worse. The all too familiar feeling of helplessness filled him, stealing his confidence that he so desperately wished would replenish.
The President always made sure that he knew who was in charge, despite Alfred's important position. The President indirectly hurt Alfred, making him watch as his country succumbed to his rule, and he knew it. He relished in it. The President loved breaking down those under him, taking extra care to slowly shred the strong-willed piece by piece until nothing but a hollow shell was left. And then he disposed of the shell with a quick command and a soldier's gun.
He was tearing apart Alfred, no matter how much Alfred didn't want to believe it. His courage was slipping away, strength dissolving like ice in the summer sun. Only in rare moments where he could do something, such as when he protected the senator and his family the previous day, could he feel almost like himself again, the hero he so desperately wanted to be.
Alfred's hold on the windowsill tightened until his knuckles turned white. He hated the President with his very being. His cruel ways pushed Alfred to the breaking point, to which Alfred wasn't sure how much longer he could resist. He was the reason why Alfred never looked in the mirror anymore, afraid to see what he had become.
The thought of the President brought on the feeling of Alfred's weakness, trying to drown his spirit until he suffocated from the pressure and fell like all of the others. He could see the President's face clearly, mocking at his dead body, sneering at his failure—
"Alfred!"
Alfred started, realizing Matthew stood next to him. Matthew was looking down at his hands, which held onto the sill so tightly that pain coursed in the bends of his fingers when he let go. He examined his hands, watching blood well up in the top creases of his fingers.
"Oh." he said.
Matthew looked at his brother, noticing the fright and grief in his eyes that still lingered. "What's wrong?"
"I'm fine." He quickly plastered such a fake smile on his face that it hurt to look at.
Matthew wasn't fooled. "Alfred, I haven't seen you in two years, and when I can finally see you again, I find you with a death grip on a window. You're not fine."
Alfred was shocked speechless by the boldness of Matthew's words. His normally quiet and shy bother had just snapped. Did he really feel that strongly about it?
"I'm your brother," Matthew continued, "I want to help you."
"That's just it. I don't want help. I want to be able to do something. But with the President I can't do anything. I can only watch my people die." His voice cracked, he looked down at his bleeding hands, and continued in such a soft voice Matthew had to lean forward to hear. "I'm too weak."
Matthew paused for so long Alfred began wondering if he was going to leave. When he finally spoke, it sounded stern yet full of pity.
"Are you really Alfred?" he asked. Alfred looked up, stunned. "The Alfred I knew was strong and wouldn't let anyone tell him different. Even when everyone else put him down, he would stand up and prove them wrong. Are you still that Alfred?"
"I…" he wasn't sure what to say.
"You are the representative of the United States of America, hero of the world, right?"
"…"
"Well?"
"Yes. I am." He proclaimed, feeling a spark of confidence and hope that he hadn't felt in a long time. It felt like welcoming back an old, beloved friend. "I am the hero. And heroes don't just sit back and let innocents die."
Matthew smiled. "That's the Alfred I know. Now, I'm going to go get some bandages for your fingers." He started to walk out.
"Wait." Matthew stopped, turning his head to look at Alfred.
"Hmm?"
"…thanks, bro."
"No need. Seeing the hero again is thanks enough." He left the room.
Alfred looked out the window one more time, a solid decision finally made in his mind.
The next morning Canada woke and quietly walked downstairs. The guest bedroom door was still closed, meaning Alfred was still asleep. It wasn't unusual for him to sleep late.
Matthew headed to the kitchen to start the coffee. He noticed a note on the counter, written in Alfred's handwriting. Confused, he picked up the paper and started reading the messy scrawl.
Mattie,
Thanks for reminding me who I was. Who I still I am. You made me realize what I need to do. I know you wouldn't approve of what I'm doing, so that's why I left before you woke up. I was afraid to acknowledge it before, because I didn't want it to be true. But I know it is, and it's too late to do anything about it. America is dying, and so am I. But I won't just sit here and wait. I'm a hero. And a hero goes out fighting.
Alfred
Matthew was out the door in moments, cell phone in one hand and a surprised bear in the other.
Ray Helmer stared incredulously at Alfred, who stood wearing his old bomber jacket and held a gun in one hand.
"Come on, let me fight." Alfred pleaded.
"You know we can't afford to let you die." Ray argued.
"You said so yourself you'd be fine without me. Besides, you know I'm great on the battlefield."
"That may be true," he admitted, "But I still don't want to put you in danger."
"Just because I'm a nation representative doesn't mean I should just sit back and watch." He stated.
"I'm not saying this just as a leader, Alfred. I'm telling you this as your friend." He said.
"Then you understand why I have to do this."
Ray sighed, recognizing the stubborn look on his face. He hadn't seen Alfred this determined in a while, which made him feel glad to see him as himself again, but he didn't want to see him die. But there was nothing he could do to stop him. "Alright, but try not to draw attention to yourself."
Alfred nodded, giving a salute like a regular soldier. He joined the ranks of rebels and waited for the enemy to come.
His heart raced as he saw the soldiers approaching. With a trained eye, he calculated an estimate on how many there were and what weapons they had. Both sides held guns, although the soldiers were well armed and had more experience. The rebels were outnumbered 1 to 3, but had better cover.
He waited for orders, ready to fire on command. For some reason, the last verse of The Star-Spangled Banner replayed in his head, exactly as he had heard all those years ago when it was first sung. He welcomed the lyrics, boosting his confidence and steadying his hand.
O thus it be ever when free men shall stand,
"Take aim!" Ray shouted. Alfred looked over their barricade, keeping low, and closed one eye to sharpen his aim. He focused on a soldier in front, tensing his finger just over the trigger.
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation,
Alfred glanced to his sides. Although they had chosen this spot for its distance from civilians, he could still see a house, barely visible far away. He thought of the family that may live in that house, the lives he had to protect. His resolve heightened, giving him an unwavering sense of devotion.
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven rescued land,
"Fire!" Alfred and the rebels moved as one, pulling the trigger and not even flinching as the loud explosions left their barrels. They quickly ducked behind the barricade to reload.
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation!
When he looked back up to fire again, Alfred noticed that they had taken out a good deal of soldiers already. He quickly shot again and stooped to avoid the retaliating bullets. This cycle continued, both sides returning fire until the gunshots were the only thing they could think of. Alfred kept up with the rebels, not missing one shot. At one point, he felt a sharp pain his shoulder, distracting him so he only struck the targets leg. Knowing that his shoulder wound had reopened, he ignored it and continued his assault. Many of the men beside him fell, but so did many of the enemy.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
Finally, the gunshots from the other side stopped. "Hold!" Ray yelled into the sudden silence. Alfred panted slightly, sweat dripping from his forehead.
Ray observed the field, covered by the bodies and blood of soldiers. Nothing stirred, leaving an unnatural silence.
"Back to the base!" he ordered. It was a stern command, but the relieved gleam in his eyes showed that they had won. Alfred sighed, as did most of the rebels. They had no energy for celebrating just yet.
Alfred looked at the dead men around him, feeling a prick of sadness. He washed it away with the thought of having saved numerous lives.
He remembered the note he had left earlier for Matthew, recalling how he had said that the country was dying. Naturally he felt the state of the nation at all times, since he was its representative. He focused on it a moment, noticing that the fragility he had sensed before was gone. He grinned to himself and stood; maybe he wasn't going to die after all.
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust,"
He felt the sensation of shock just before pain enveloped the left side of his chest. He fell to the ground, blood soaking through his jacket. Ray turned in surprise, and another rebel quickly whirled around and spotted the dying soldier on the ground. He shot the foe once, making sure that he went limp and wouldn't move again.
"Alfred!" Ray turned the young man over, immediately spotting the wound. He pressed his hands against it, feeling the slick liquid beneath his fingers.
"Get a medic!" he yelled. A few men quickly rushed off and he returned his attention to Alfred.
"Alfred? Alfred? Come on! Stay with me!" he urged. Alfred didn't respond, his breaths becoming shallower.
Someone's shadow fell over them, which Ray ignored until he heard a quiet voice.
"Alfred?"
He looked up to see a man that looked almost exactly like Alfred staring down at the person under his hands.
"Are you…Matthew?" he faintly remembered Alfred mentioning a brother.
Matthew didn't respond. He fell to his knees beside them, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes.
"A medic should be here any second. He'll be alright." Ray tried to reassure, but he couldn't keep the tremor out of his voice.
"You can't die." Matthew whispered. "The hero doesn't die. And you are a hero."
Alfred's blurry vision could barely make out the moving of Matthew's mouth. He tried to focus, and managed to hear the last four words. His mouth twitched slightly, but he couldn't manage a grin. He only felt an overwhelming tiredness, and he just wanted to go to sleep. He fought against the temptation and tried to pay attention to Ray and Matthew, but his vision remained fuzzy and he turned his gaze to the sky. He noticed something flapping in the wind, a fabric that felt incredibly familiar. And then he recognized it, the symbol the rebels put up whenever a battle was won.
His eyes finally closed on the beautiful flag above, his last memory of the proud colors warming his dying heart.
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave…
"Are you ready?" Ray asked. Matthew nodded, looking out across the crowd of citizens and rebels assembled in the large room. They waited expectantly, some shifting in impatience.
"Yes, but he's not here yet." Matthew responded.
"He's supposed to be here. I guess I'll send someone—"
"Wait, there he is." Matthew pointed at the young man entering the room. He slowly made his way to the stage, grimacing once from a sudden sting in his chest.
"There you are. Where have you been?" Ray asked.
Alfred grinned. "Haven't you heard that the hero is always fashionably late? Plus I think almost dying will slow you down a little."
They laughed. "You have a point. Now, let's not keep them waiting any longer." Ray suggested. He led the way up the few stairs and onto the wooden stage. Alfred and Matthew followed, Matthew fighting the impulse to help Alfred when he nearly stumbled. Alfred righted himself swiftly, showing that he didn't need help, but cast a reassuring glance at Matthew. They walked over and stopped beside Ray, who stood in front of a podium at the center.
Ray cleared his throat. "Last week we won an important battle and have made our first step to freedom. We have also saved one of our own from the clutches of the tyrants." Many in the crowd turned to look at Corey Elvyn, who only nodded at their muttered sympathies. Ray's commanding voice returned their attention to the front and they quieted down.
"We have also gained a new ally, the Canadian nation representative Matthew Williams." A few cheers rose as Ray stepped back and Matthew took the stand. He waited a moment for the noise to die down before speaking.
"Before I came here a week ago, I was hesitant to offer advice to my Prime Minister about the United States of America. I knew my brother, the nation representative, well, but I was hesitant due to the threat from President Andrew Slone. But now I see what America truly is; a strong people who believe in true justice with all of their heart. And although the President may be tainting that image, you, the people, are still strong. I have consulted the Prime Minister, and am happy to say that Canada will give the rebel forces all of their support." Alfred stepped up next to him and held out his hand. Matthew firmly shook his hand, earning cheers of approval from the audience. Matthew let go, smiling at his brother, and allowed Alfred to speak.
"My fellow citizens," he began, "as the nation representative of the United States of America, I know that our beloved country is in a torn state. But I have confidence that we will win against the man who believes in nothing but violence and cruelty. I have been alive a long time, and have seen how much we have grown as a nation. We have had our faults, but we always strive to be better and learn from our mistakes. We proved ourselves to be a people who want peace, equality, and freedom for all. Andrew Slone believes that he can rule us with cruelty and fear, but we will stand up and show him how strong we, the citizens, truly are! Because we are America!" The crowd reached the highest volume yet. People stood and clapped, shouting their belief of victory, or both. Alfred looked back and gestured both Ray and Matthew forward, one on each side. He threw his arms around their shoulders, grinning while watching the crowd. Behind them rebel soldiers held up the American flag, displaying its confident stripes and brilliant stars. Alfred thought of the last line of the national anthem, lingering in his mind like a promise that would never be broken.
Over the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
A/N: This is my longest oneshot yet, so I hope there aren't too many mistakes. I hope you enjoyed and please review!