Hello, Hetalians! This is my first one-shot in the Hetalia forum, so enjoy!
England sat alone in the large, battle-ravaged field. The corpses of British soldiers were strewn across throughout. A cold wind whipped through the area, rustling the long grass and chilling England's skin. He sat and stared at his hands, unable to believe what had happened.
At New Orleans, in a span of less than two hours, the American Militia had crushed many of the infamous British regiments. Two thousand British soldiers were dead, meanwhile the Americans had lost little more than a dozen. England had been brutally defeated by his own brother.
Soft footsteps sounded behind him. The visitor stood still and quiet, looking down at England. The visitor made no sound, yet England still knew who it was.
"Why?" England's whisper was hollow, the ghost of a word more than anything else. The visitor stayed quiet, his face one of apathy.
"Why?" England repeated, this time louder. "Why would you do this to me, America?" England stood, turned, and glared at his visitor, barely able to hold back the tears in his eyes.
The American's voice was cold. "It had to be done." The normally cheery American returned his brother's icy glare. What most didn't know is that, back then, America was a different person. He was smarter, more able. He still had his childish excitement, but during battle he was serious and fought with a fierce passion. He possessed patriotism rather than arrogance, but, over time, the world had changed him.
"It had to be done?" England roared. "It had to be done? This battle was for nothing! This war, everything has been for nothing!"
"And why is that? Why, after burning my capitol, have you decided that this has all been for nothing?" America moved closer to his brother, kicking away the body of a deceased British soldier in his path. "And why are you so worked up about this? You coward, you didn't even fight!"
The British man crossed his arms and clenched his jaw. "Do you know why I didn't fight? I was miles away from here, signing a damn peace treaty! I came here with word that the war was over, and when I arrived, this is what I saw!" He spread his arms wide to indicate the carnage surrounding the two brothers, then pulled the said peace treaty out of his coat and unfolded it for the American to see.
"All I did was defend my country," the American stated.
"Killing two thousand soldiers isn't defending a country, it's genocide! Why did you have to start this damned war in the first place?"
"You were capturing my ships and kidnapping my people. It's my duty to wage war on any potential enemy." America stood tall, his eyes narrowed.
"That French idiot was killing mypeople and I was running out soldiers! I had to get an army from somewhere! My naval commander captured a few sailors, so what! You didn't need to declare war and do this!"
"If you didn't want war, then you should have tried to negotiate sooner. It's too late now. Besides, your troops were the ones attacking."
England yelled, "I didn't give the command! This isn't my fault!"
"What was I supposed to do, surrender? We both know that, if you'd have won this war, you would have taken control of me again."
Then something in England snapped. Anger raged inside of him as he stormed up to his brother and yanked him down to eye level by the collar of his shirt. He growled, "Why did you have to rebel in the first place?"
America shoved England away, making him let go of his shirt collar. "I didn't want to be under your control anymore," he snarled.
England finally let the tears fall from his eyes as he screamed, "I took care of you! I raised you! I took you under my wing and saved you from that bloody France, yet all you did was throw me away!"
Instead of feeling sympathetic for the Englishman, America grew furious. He rushed his brother, raising him into the air with one fist as he readied the other to punch him. "Do you want to know why I rebelled? I rebelled because it was time for me to be my own country! I rebelled because I was tired of you using me as a source of revenue! I rebelled because I was sick of being the thing you only cared about because you loved to rub it in the other countries' faces!"
America then punched England in the nose. The Englishman let out something between a grunt and a scream as the American punched him again and again. When America was done, he simply released his grip on his brother, letting him fall to the ground limply. "I rebelled because I was sick of you." America then turned and walked away, his face an emotionless piece of stone.
"America…" the bloodied Englishman spoke, his voice weak. He attempted to stand and walk after his brother, but he only got a few feet before he collapsed. He tried to chase after his brother several times, but each time he traversed a shorter and shorter distance.
"Alfred," he called as loud as he could, which wasn't saying much because he was growing weaker.
The American spun around and snapped, "Don't call me that."
"But-"
"I don't want to hear a single word from you." The American continued to walk away, starting to climb a small hill at the edge of the field. The Englishman didn't call out to him again because he was too weak.
But, as the American crested the rise of the hill, he turned and spat, "You're a disgrace to who you used to be." Then he disappeared over the rise.
As England sat alone in the field, tears streaming down his face, he whispered, "I'm sorry, Alfred. I'm so sorry…"
And that was The Forgotten War! I hope you liked it!
~Haymitch-The-Hobo