This is based off the CMV - Uninstall by a Swedish(I do belive so, but I could be wrong?) cosplay group VandettA
I highly recommend you watch the video first because it is amazing, AND the fic will make more sense. Or not, I'm not forcing you to watch it. I just think they need more love. *smiley face*
I had to alter the story from the video, so they are different, but still sort of the same. I had troubles making it where he was running around all over the place so..I changed it a bit.. sorreh :S I do hope it's not too confusing, and I hope you all like it! So..uh, yeah. Here:
The flames flickered in front of the somber nation weakly, crackling as they held to the last bit of wood. He pulled his legs closer and frowned, resting his sore face on his knees. A tear trickled down his cheek, leaving a lonely trail down to his chin where it finally collected on his jeans. He sighed brokenly and watched the fire through his lidded eyes. A monster screamed inside of him, clawing at his heart and pulling it's way up, demanding to be voiced. He bit down and tried not to cry out as the guilt relentlessly attacked him in waves, leaving him dizzy and tired. It was killing him, he was sure of it, but he could not give up. They couldn't see him weak. They couldn't know. It hurt enough to remember what he did; the last thing he needed was to be kicked when he was down.
But he was America! America felt no guilt or regret. He had to do what was necessary to make his mark in history, no matter the cost. That was reason enough to let all his deeds slide, right?..
He choked and shook his head miserably, knowing it was wrong. He sobbed quietly, muffling them with the sleeve of his thick bomber jacket. He had hurt so many, and he was painfully aware of it. They all turned away from him, disregarding him with hateful glares. He knew what he had done was unjust, and he knew asking them to forgive him was out of the question, but the hate simply ate him alive. He wanted to hide. He wanted to run.
But there wasn't anywhere for him to go.
And so he stayed. He faced the loneliness every day and carried on as if nothing bothered him. He carried the pain on his back day by day and watched it grow steadily as time passed. Then he snapped. He gave out as the pain and guilt crushed him completely. It smothered him and forced him to break down. And not a single person was there for him. It hurt him so deeply and drove him nearly mad.
His eyes snapped open. He lifted his head and saw, apart from the fire, only darkness surrounding him. He sighed and closed his eyes again.
"The only thing you can do is remember. If you forget, you've lost yourself completely. And then the world will lose you, too.." America recalled what Japan had told him. It was one of the last things he had said to him before America had betrayed him. He had broken the nation that had called him a friend. He had battered him and pointed a gun to his head. Japan had simply looked to him with sad eyes, but America smirked on and pulled the trigger. The shot still rang in his ears to this day, and it haunted him endlessly.
America sighed and sniffed. He felt so unheroic, sitting outside in the cold all alone and dwelling in his guilt. "The only thing you can do is remember.." He blinked and mulled over those words as they bounced around in his head. After a while, he nodded slowly. He would remember everything. He was tired of running from his own mind. He was tired of running from his life and his past.
He pictured the warm sun casting playful shadows on a lone bench that sat on the edge of a cement walkway. America sat on the bench with Lithuania as they talked. The nervous nation nodded quickly and jumped slightly whenever America had gotten excited and yelled, but he enjoyed sitting there nonetheless. America smiled faintly as he recalled their small chats. He did enjoy it when they had spent time together. And then the painful parts flooded his mind.
"You've changed, America. I'm sorry." America watched the scene in his mind play out again. Those were the last words Lithuania had whispered to him before he had turned and walked away. America extended his arm to the other's back, but he didn't turn around. He didn't look at him when he said goodbye, and he hadn't looked at him since. And it made America sick. He had done that. He had hurt the poor nation worse than anyone and he knew it. The worst part was that he had disregarded him with a sneer as the brunette walked away with sad footsteps.
America had to open his eyes again. He felt like running; he felt like bawling his eyes out under a bridge and dying. He watched the flames with wide eyes as he forced the tears to stay put. 'Crying alone is worse than crying to your enemy,' he thought quietly.
It was at that moment that America had truly felt lost. He felt like he was standing in the middle of a crowd, but not a single person looked at him or even noticed him in the slightest. He saw those he hurt walk by, but their eyes glazed over him just like everyone else. It stung and America and he screamed.
"Can't you see me?! I know you can! Listen to me! Please, somebody- listen!" he cried out, tears running down his cheeks. He stayed, rooted to the spot, and continued to watch people carry out their lives.
"Remember.." America shut off his pained mind and breathed heavily. He hated this feeling of being ignored. His memories fought him back and forced him to relive everything, making all his pain and hurt explode into a maximum burning in his chest.
He saw himself on the wall, bleeding and limping heavily. Yet he still pushed on towards some unknown goal. A pair of green eyes followed him slowly, watching in concern as America willed on harder. Thick eyebrows knitted together in a pained scowl, but he did nothing to help his former colony. He could only go unnoticed and watch from a distance as the nation ran. America had fought hard that day, and he had grown to regret that battle.
The flames crackled and dimmed slowly. America sighed and poked at the ashes with a flimsy stick, hoping to coax another little while from the charred wood. It did next to nothing, though, as the flames still sputtered at the same rate. He sighed and pulled up his knees again, tugging on his jacket for warmth.
"Ah, America.. Why do you do this?" France had spoken so softly, as if speaking any louder would break him in half. America pressed his foot into the older nation's back firmly and pointed the gun to his head. He scoffed harshly. "I don't need a reason," he had spat the words to France coolly. America shut the memory out quickly and tried to keep his mind blank, but they kept coming. One after the other, like rapid bullets being thrust upon him at point blank.
It was cold and raining. England knelt before him, crying to the ground. His gun lay in the mud next to him. America had looked down at him with stone eyes, standing tall and unloving. England only sobbed on and pressed his dirty hands to his face. "I wasn't good enough. I was never good enough for you.." America lifted his foot and delivered a harsh kick to the man's ribs.
America lifted his hands to his head. He tried to control the throbbing pain by pressing his palms to his temples, but it didn't help. Soon, they blurred together. He halfway thanked this because they all pressed together, making it so he didn't have to dwell on each memory for so long, but the speed overwhelmed him.
A gun pressed against his temple and he pressed a gun back. Russia smiled and shook his head. "You never had me fooled," Russia said quietly. And then America was pounding his fists into the wall. Canada grabbed his arm and shook him. "Stop, America, please!" he cried. America shoved him roughly to the ground.
Everything was going to fast; it didn't make sense. He clutched his head tighter and tried to make sense of all the images flooding his mind quickly. America fell to his side and cried out. He watched behind his closed eyes all the horrible things he had done as they repeated themselves over and over in his mind.
And then arms were around him. The fire roared healthily and England sat beside him, holding him and rubbing his back. America sniffed like a child and hugged back despite feeling weak. England looked into his eyes and smiled faintly, wiping away the tears that stained his heroic cheeks.
"I forgive you, America. I forgive you.."
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I'm sorry.. This is a mess, I'm really sorry. I tried :( I hate this, it's so bad.. sigh..I hope you guys can understand what happened. Tell me what you thought, please. Ciao.