"This is the end America. You lose," the voice spat between labored breaths. The bayonet shook at each rasp of breath but remained firmly pointed at the youth's face. The two gazed back at each other, alone in the war torn field with only the rain to keep them company.
The rebel stared up the tip of the weapon as it forced him down into the muddy earth. He was overtaken by a sense of filthiness and grime as the wet earth permeated through the coarse wool material of his uniform. Only hours ago he had cursed the rain for daring to soak the stiff and scratchy fabric but now he focused his hatred toward the thick and soupy mud. The youth felt ugly, small, and impure as the emerald orbs of the red coat glared down at him. He had failed; failed his people and himself. His couldn't shake the despair and traces of fear that racked his body. The rebel had occasionally considered what the consequence of his failure would bring but now that it was real, now that he was facing the end of the war, the end of the struggle, he found himself afraid. Not knowing what else to do, America lowered his head, focusing his attention on the brass buttons of his uniform.
It was simple design, just a roped lace border with the words "USA" in the middle. He remembered watching Washington work on their design into the midnight hours, sketching out details in candle light. That had only been half the battle though. Next, the general had to tirelessly petition Congress in order to secure the funding needed. America had found it all rather silly truthfully. Clothes didn't make the man he argued but Washington just smiled and told him that the uniforms represented something more. America didn't understand what he meant at first but when the uniforms came in and Washington presented the regal jackets to the men, their spirits soared. Only then did America realize that Washington wasn't making an attempt at vanity but rather national pride. These men were farmers, village upstarts but the blue coats made them feel like an army.
"Stupid," America muttered, grabbing the button and pulling it from the jacket. A stray tear fell down his cheek but was lost to the rain. "Just God damn it all!" he screamed, throwing the silver plated brass piece into the distance and startling the Brit above him
England scowled, regaining his composure quickly enough. He had permitted his charge to sulk and mope in his defeat but his patience was thinning, particularly after America's outburst.
"That's enough America," England scolded. He just wanted to be out of this rain, off of this battlefield, and finalize the end of this war. Despite the vicious battles waged against each other, England still loved his colony. The Brit had wanted to give him the time he needed to accept his defeat but as rain poured down he couldn't find the will to wait much longer. America turned his head to glare at him, blue eyes meeting green in a fierce display ending in America yielding his gaze.
"No. It's not enough. It never has been," America retorted, his voice low and somber. His shoulders slumped and sigh escaped his lips. And in that moment, America chose to resign himself to his fate. He had fought it for so long now that he found his acceptance granted him a sense of freedom and of peace. His anger dissipated, his fears simmered, and his soul, presuming countries had souls, felt light.
"What are you going on about now you bloody fool?"
"...I'm sorry, England," America said, giving his mentor a muted smile taking the English man aback. Heaving a soft sigh, America fell back on the ground completely, his golden tendrils becoming caked with brown and eyelids fluttering closed.
England didn't respond. He didn't know how to. Out of all the scenarios he played in his head, not one ended in America apologizing. Typically, nations would swear revenge or utter curses but then again, nothing America did made much sense to England. First, the boy had chosen him over the Frog. A wise decision of course but few other countries agreed. Most other nations found the island nation's attitude repulsive and shunned him. And then, there had been the news of his darling colonies rebellion. England had been speechless upon hearing the news. He hadn't even been aware that America wanted to leave him, abandon him, just like everyone else. America was the one ray of light in his life and somehow, he had finally realized how broken and useless England truly was.
"England," America's soft voice broke the terse silence freeing England from his spiraling thoughts to look at the rebel below him, "do you think there is a heaven or someplace for us nations too?"
Now, England was more than perplexed. The query was posed so innocently and at such a random interval, England was prodded by the complete absurdity of the scenario to answer. "I-I don't know," he stammered truthfully, lowering the bayonet to his side so that it hung limply in his grip. America didn't seem to have any trace of resistance left in him and as England saw his charge as he was now, lying in the soggy earth, an utterly blissful look on his face he couldn't help but lower his guard. The boy before him was not the young man he fought on the battlefield till tooth and nail. No, this boy was his little America again, calm, content, and smiling.
England had never felt so relieved. It was over, truly over. America was back to his old self. After facing the tenacious and determined youth on the battlefield, England had feared that even if he had won, America would be resilient and bitter. A wave of peace overcoming him, England knelt down below his charge.
"I know other nations had disappeared before leaving others in their place but no one knows where they go to," England continued, breaking the pause that had settled over the pair.
"Really, so others have gone away too. …Interesting," America answered, opening his eyes to direct his sky blue gaze at England. "Do you think they're happy?"
"I-I," England stuttered, unsure of how to answer. Truly, these questions were ones he rarely thought of and found it odd that America was so interested in it now. Regardless of his reservations, England answered, "Well, I suppose I mean I hope so-"
"Iggy?"
"Yes America?" the older nation questioned, ignoring the interruption. He didn't know why but he felt the need to hang onto America's every word. Perhaps it was the boys unusual behavior but whatever the reason it didn't matter.
"Can you promise not to hurt Washington, Adams, Jefferson, or any of my men?"
"America," England answered, a rough tone reclaiming his voice, "those men are traitors and brainwashed you to turn you against me. They deserve-"
"Freedom," America chuckled, closing his eyes and letting his head slump deeper into the moist ground.
England glared at his colony, clearly not amused at his answer…or his interruption…again. America wasn't quite sure which.
"Yes, England. You did teach me manners," the defeated blonde teased, guessing his mentor's thoughts forcing the man to sputter.
"I-I-You-I wasn't- Well I did a rotten job of it. When we get back home I'm going to have to reeducate you it seems."
"Haha, that's where you're wrong England. You're going to come home with me."
"America," England growled, "You've lost the war."
"Yes, …I have, which is exactly why I'm going home," America smiled.
"God, just what did those bloody bastards do to your brain? You're making no sense whatsoever."
"You know, they didn't brainwash me," America said, his slowing and shallow breaths overlooked by England.
"What?! What are you saying!? You honestly turned-"
"Yes, I rebelled against you on my own volition."
England let the words soak in and for the first time, he could feel the bitter sting and chill of the rain that fell around them. The Empire could not adequately describe his feelings at that moment to anything he had ever experienced. However, if he was forced to try, he supposed it was similar to the time when a bomb had landed at his feet. The soft earth of that particular battlefield saved him from major damage but the explosion had temporarily left him deaf and isolated from the battle waging around him. The world seemed to slow and yet the actions of those around him in contrast sped up, leaving him behind in a confused limbo. He could hear muffled screams and explosions as if cotton was held over his ears but there was none. He felt as if he had been sent to an alternate time in space, forever shut off from the world around him; a place in which only he could see and only he could hear those near him but was invisible to everyone and everything else. Alone, he was finally alone and he could feel the tears threaten to spill.
England could vaguely hear the call of America's voice. He was saying something England was sure but he couldn't make out the words. They were garbled to his ears.
He had fought this war in the misguided belief that his America did not hate, did not want to be rid of him. He had blamed the colonists. Surely they had altered his little colony and forced the impressionable youth to turn against him. The thought saved him every night he went to sleep, imaging that one day he would hold America like he used to; that when he came to visit his mere presence was enough to send the child into a deliriously happy tizzy. The notion kept him sane and prevented him from breaking like his heart was.
"You betrayed me of your own free will… but why?" England all but nearly sobbed, dropping to his knees and cradling his face in his hands. His illusion had been crushed and he could feel tiny fragments of his being cracking. Was he truly this hated? Must everyone grow tired of him? Cast him aside? Even his darling America wanted to be free of him?
"Sshhh, Iggy. It's ok," America cooed, placing a gentle and feathery touch on the Empire's knee. "Please don't cry," he whispered, his fingers ghosting over the other's warmer leg.
It was then that England knew something was wrong, terribly, utterly wrong. America's hand was cold and weak, even for a defeated nation such weakness was unusual. England tore himself away from his hands to look down at the youth, shock evident in his eyes.
"Oh, don't get knickers in a twist," America grinned, his lips parting forcefully.
Now, England noticed the slight rasp in voice, the slow and labored way in which his chest moved up and down, and the dull light reflected in his charge's eyes. And just like that, all of the heartache, strife, and emotional turmoil ripping through England halted. All he felt now was worry and panic for his darling colony.
"A-America? Are you hurt anywhere?" he fretted, grasping onto America's hand tightly.
"D-Don't worry about me," America answered, his smile faltering once through what England could only imagine was pain.
"America, let me get you to my fort and attend to your wounds. You should have told-"
"It's nothing you can fix Iggy. It's done and over. This is the end for me remember?" America said lightheartedly, turning the elder's former words against him.
"You know I didn't mean it like that. I never wanted to hurt you."
"I know, and I know you love me dearly too so don't ever worry about anything like that. And just so you know I love you too. You were the best big brother anyone could ask for…well, you could have visited a bit more," America laughed weakly. England couldn't help but smile slightly. It gave him hope that America could still be jovial or at least pretend to be jovial. Surely, his condition couldn't be that dire if he kept up such a good-humored attitude.
"Come now, you're hurt and you can't deny it. Let's go so I can get you fixed up," England told the other, readying himself to carry the younger nation back to his fort.
"Don't!" America yelled, the force of his voice surprising England enough to make him freeze to where he was kneeled into the dirt. "S-sorry," America apologized quietly after taking a minute to collect his breath.
"Amer-"
"I just want to stay here a while longer."
"Alfred," England whispered, concerning leaking through his tone.
"Please Arthur?" America pleaded quietly.
England nodded mutely and sat by him stiffly, grabbing hold of his hand and stroking it lightly. He hoped that the panic that was slowly finding a home within him didn't reflect on his face as tried to ignore the frozen feeling the younger's hand gave off. He didn't and couldn't comprehend the full magnitude of the situation.
'America is merely injured,' England told himself, his heart wrenching at each shaky breath the younger drew. 'He's far too young for this to be anything else,' he reasoned. All of the other nations had lived to be at least a couple hundred years old before they disappeared and even then, it was incredibly rare to disappear so young. Most personifications thrived for hundreds upon hundreds of years. He himself was on the verge of a thousand years and he was one of the younger European nations.
"Iggy?" America panted, his eyes barely parting to stare at his brother.
England could feel his heart throb and clench at the frail state America was in. This was not supposed to happen. He had just wanted his colony back.
"Yes?" he answered, fighting off the shaky tone his heart threatened to taint it with.
"Do you remember that field of wildflowers I took you once when I was little and everywhere you looked there were beautiful bright colors and sun seemed to smile down on us as if it were happy that we were happy?"
England nodded; he remembered the day, the field, and his precious colony. It was the perhaps the best day of his life. The field had been littered in flowers as if they were a blanket covering the cool, hard earth beneath. Hundreds of colors danced across the field, swaying in the mild breeze. Clear blue skies reign supreme overhead, leaving a pristine canvas to be filled with the aromatic smells and happy squeals of laughter. It was all so picturesque down to the last detail. America drug him threw field, chasing after butterflies, ladybugs, small creatures like rabbits, playing games like tag, and making crowns upon crowns of flowers. England had come back looking more akin to a poppy monster than a person. But the smile on America's face was well worth it, besides, the blossoms smelled lovely. England couldn't recall a time he had ever been so happy. In fact, he woke up the next day with sore cheeks caused from constant bouts of laughter. His crew had found it hilarious that their captain had missed the ship's launch and then couldn't even bark orders when they set sail the next day.
"We just laughed and played all day. I remember how you originally were supposed to leave that day but I couldn't let you leave just yet. I had missed you so much and wasn't ready to say goodbye. So, I dragged you out to the field in hopes you'd forget about leaving," America smiled. "And guess what? It worked."
"Yes, it did. It's one of the best days of my life," England answered truthfully, a sincere smile gracing his lips.
"Ahhh, that's what I wanted to see," America sighed. England frowned, confused by his colony's words.
"What do you-"
"Ah, don't ruin it. Just then, you were smiling. Smiling like you did on that day, like how you used to. Don't you know I love it when you smile like that? You look so happy." America whispered, his eyes falling closed again.
England shook his head 'no', tears beginning to bristle at the corner of his eyes. His heart was breaking and he didn't know why. Truthfully, he did but England was a master of deception, the main fool of who believed his lies being himself. Yes, no one could lie to England like he could.
"America," England pleaded, "Please, let me take you back so I can have you healed. I don't like how you're talking-"
"England, you know how we are the representatives of countries?"
"Yes," England answered, his voice choking.
"What do you think happens to a nation when someone takes them over for themselves?"
"I-I don't know. …America, now is not the time. We need to get you patched up-"
"They become a colony until some point in which they become so integrated with the host country that their existence is no longer needed, that so little differentiates them from the host that unless they are to break from each other, only one can go on while the other fades away, quite literally I'm afraid," America wheezed and turned his head as a transparent sheen over took him for a moment. England froze, watching in pure mortification as the younger seemed to flicker in and out of existence before his very eyes. England's eyes flitted down to his lap where he had been only moments before stroking the others hand. However, now nothing was there aside from the empty sleeve of a rebel jacket.
"A-America!" England gasped out, searching for something of the younger nation to hold on to. Much to England's relief, the youth's chest was still solid and so he clutched onto it for dear life.
"I'm so s-sorry I hurt you E-England. I-I just- wanted a chance to live," America smiled, but he could not hide the pain that reflected in his eyes.
"No! I'm sorry. I-I didn't realize! I'll grant you your independence just don't leave me! I thought you hated me and wanted to be rid of me, that's why I fought you." England sobbed, clawing at the navy uniform.
"It's-it's ok England. I've come to accept it. 'Sides, I don't think it works like that. J-Just promise me you won't hurt Wash-Wash-Washington a-and the others. Th-they only wanted to l-let me live. And E-England, how cou-could you think I hated you? I've never ha-hated you a-and never will."
"America," England cried, looking pushing himself off of America's chest to stare into the pained blue orbs of his colony. "I promise," he said finally, his voice growing more frantic as America only seemed to disappear faster "I'll promise anything you say so please don't go! I grant you independence. From here on out America is separate from Great Britain. See? So now you don't have to leave me!"
"England-d, I'm s-sor-ry."
"Stop apologizing you git. You'll be fine. You have to be," Arthur wailed, hardly able to see the nation. He didn't know whether it was due to the constant stream of tears his body produced or whether or not America's situation was deteriorating but he hoped it was not latter.
"H-Hey. I-It's ok. Do-n't cry. I don't w-want to se-see you cry."
"I can't help it," England wailed. "You just can't go."
"E-England. I'm fa-ading. I c-can feel it. S-so pl-please smile one- one last t-time for me?" America wheezed.
"No! I can't! If you go, I'll never be able to smile again!" England cried, clutching even tighter to the coarse fabric of the rebel uniform.
"Do-don't say tha-at, don't ma-ke me g-go into the un-unknown upset. I've on-only ever w-wanted you to- to be happy."
"F-Fine, I'll smile for you so stay with me! What good will my smile bring you if you're dead?"
"I'm s-sorry I-Iggy. I-I d-don't have much of a-a choice."
"No! But why you? Anyone but you and I-"
"D-Don't say that. I-In a w-way, I'm hap-happy it's me b-because if y-you think about it, if-if it's me then it can't be someone else a-and in that sense it m-makes me a hero," he smiled, this time some of content happiness that graced his lips made it to his dimming eyes. "S-So please smile f-for me. I wouldn't b-be able to pass on knowing y-you were cr-crying for me like this."
"F-Fine, I'll smile for you but not now. Just-Just stay with me! We're family, you can't leave me alone."
America coughed slightly, his weak smile fading along with his body. "You know, th-there are worse ways t-to die. I-I've seen 'em. Bodies mutilated and f-forced to go on without a-a friend or l-loved one to send them off. I-I'm glad it's h-here on this soil I-I knew as m-my own and with you. Th-Thank you Iggy. D-Don't w-worry about me. I-I'm going ho-me now." America said, his voice trailing off into a whisper towards the end as his body disappeared into the air leaving his mentor to clutch onto the wool fabric he was once wearing.
"AMERICA!" he screamed into the sky, the rain mixing with his tears.
So I've had this idea for a while now and finally got around to writing it. I hope everyone likes it. It actually made me tear as I wrote it and I hope it inspired similar emotions in you. This will be a two-shot and will be followed up with a happier piece. Please comment and tell me what you think!
Woohoo! Now's it revised. I'll have the second chapter up eventually I just don't like how it is yet.