America was going to win this war, even if it killed him.
Which it very well might, if he didn't. England would never let something like this pass. A rebellion, a revolution...and one that held whispers of potential success. If Alfred lost, England would never let him out of his sight again. Not to mention his people (his, mind you, not England's, not anymore) would suffer. George, Thomas, John...they would all certainly be executed.
But that wasn't going to happen. Because Alfred was America and America was Alfred and that had always been the case. He'd only needed to realize it. Realize that he didn't need England. Didn't need him at all.
Alfred would've liked to believe he didn't need anyone at all, but that wasn't quite true. Most of his people were commoners after all. Simple peasants, who believed in freedom and a better life. They needed guidance and training to become a true army, which was why...
"Sir, he's here."
The teenager nodded at the messenger and stood to his feet, trying to calm his nerves.
Prussia.
Truth be told, America didn't know all that much about Prussia, other than the fact that he was famous in his own right. A brilliant strategist and war tactician, a man that was going to bring George's army to unprecedented success. Alfred was going to be free, goddamn it. And if Prussia was going to help, then he'd take it.
As he walked to meet the nation who was just getting off his ship, it suddenly crossed America's mind that this was a bad, bad idea. What if Prussia got the sense that America couldn't hold his own against England? What if Prussia decided at the last minute that the colonies (his precious, beloved colonies) weren't worth the fight? What if, what if...
Those concerns were briefly swept aside when Alfred first caught sight of the Prussian. He was momentarily startled by the shock of white hair hidden under the dark hat, the gleaming red eyes. Momentarily the word demon crossed through Alfred's mind. But then he was thrown off by that brilliant smile that came right after and the way the man strode over to him confidently.
"So you're the upstart that's gonna overthrow the British Empire, are you?"
Alfred gritted his teeth at the man's words. They were about the same height, though Gilbert might've been a little taller. He wasn't just a kid anymore. People were still looking down on him, still sticking up their noses. No one had ever beat the British Empire, and no one believed he would. "Yeah, I'm America. And you must be Prussia."
"Please." Prussia gave Alfred a wink, which involuntarily made Alfred redden ever so slightly. "Call me Gilbert."
Somehow, something in the man's tone made Alfred relax ever so slightly. Prussia—no, Gilbert—didn't treat Alfred the way that England did, with that haughty, superior tone. He was even different from France, who was all flowery and romantic and really just wanted to screw England over (not that Alfred was completely opposed to that idea).
"You can call me Alfred then," Alfred said, lifting his chin up a little to look the taller man in the eye.
There was a glint of humor in the other man's eyes. "Well, Alfred. I'm going to whip you and your men into shape. And it's gonna be painful, trust me. You think you're strong enough to handle that?"
Alfred could take a challenge.
"I'm strong enough to handle anything.
He was not strong enough for this.
"Twenty more, Alfred."
Alfred wanted to cry.
Whoever said the first day was the worst was wrong. The second day was the worst. The second day you knew what to expect so you went in dreading it already. The second day you were aching from the first day and every move brought a new wave of pain.
Alfred gritted his teeth as the albino sat on top of him. Twenty more. Twenty more and he'd be done. It was getting dark after all, and Gilbert had said (much to Alfred's relief) that they would not train at night for the time being.
Alfred's shaking arms lowered him and Gilbert to the ground. His nose briefly brushed the dirt. One, Alfred thought. Then up, making his arms tremble and his stomach hurt.
Down again. Two.
And then finally, finally only five more left! Alfred could've cried, but this time from joy.
So close, so close...
"Do the last four with only one arm. Two left, two right."
...He was joking, right?
...like Gilbert had ever made a joke with this training regimen.
Alfred shifted all his weight to his left hand, tucking his right behind his back. Before he could hesitate too much longer, Alfred lowered himself down to the ground.
He thought he was going to collapse. Alfred wanted to curse, the foul words that he'd heard England muttering around the house as a child echoing in his head. Gilbert was heavy.
Up. Alfred thought he was going to die. Die before Alfred even got to show England exactly what he was made of, die before he ever got to be free.
"Other hand, Alfred."
Alfred switched hands with a grunt. He swore the Prussian was enjoying this.
Finally, after the last push up, Alfred collapsed on the ground. Gilbert got off him and dusted his hands off. As if he'd done anything.
"Not bad. We'll continue tomorrow. C'mon. Get up."
Gilbert extended a hand to Alfred, who simply lay on the dirt. "I can't get up," Alfred couldn't help but complain. "I'm too sore."
Gilbert shrugged. "Suit yourself."
Suddenly, Alfred found himself lifted off his feet as the albino easily carried him. "H-Hey!" Alfred squeaked, redness coloring his cheeks. "Let me down! I'm not a kid!"
Gilbert simply laughed and kept walking as Alfred gripped the back of the man's uniform. Who did this man even think he was? Alfred should've just gotten up and walked...
Alfred's blush still refused to die down, and Gilbert's grin did not disappear. Alfred wanted to smack that smug smile off the man's face. This was humiliating! What if his men saw him like this? Being carried by some German? Would they even follow him?
"Let me off!" Alfred said again, wiggling in Gilbert's arms. "I can walk just fine."
Gilbert looked amused. "Says the one who can't make it 100 push ups without taking a break."
Alfred huffed. "You weigh a lot!"
"Excuses."
Alfred looked away pointedly as they neared his quarters. "Okay, we're here, let me down."
Gilbert ignored him, instead opening the door and letting himself in. Alfred scowled.
"These are my quarters, Gilbert. Get the hell out."
The swear word tasted odd and a little scandalous on Alfred's lips. England had never let him swear...but to hell with England, it wasn't like the man had any say over Alfred anymore.
Gilbert blinked at the word before laughing. "You're fine." With that, he dropped Alfred unceremoniously onto his bed. Alfred grunted as he flopped onto the mattress before sitting up and wincing.
"Thanks a lot."
"Didn't England ever teach you some manners, kid?" Alfred bristled at Gilbert's words. He opened his mouth, ready to retaliate.
Instead, Alfred found a warm hand on top of his head, ruffling his hair. Alfred blinked in surprise, the harsh words dying on his lips. England hadn't done that to him in a long time. Not since he was a little kid anyways. The action was comforting, more so than Alfred expected.
"You'll be fine," Gilbert repeated. "You'll get through my training. I'll make a soldier out of you yet."
Alfred blushed a little at the compliment. It was a compliment, wasn't it? He didn't really know how to respond. England hadn't complimented him in a long time, just bitter complaints, rants about taxes...
Gilbert gave Alfred a smile and then he was gone.
Alfred sat there for a while, his body sore and aching, his heart pounding a little.
The blush still hadn't faded.
"You're leaving?"
Alfred couldn't help but sound a little crestfallen as he stared at Gilbert. He'd grown used to the Prussian's company, even if he'd retired to his bed sore more often than not. It was a little startling just how much Alfred would've preferred the man to stay and keep him company for a little longer. He was going to be independent soon, Alfred felt sure of this now. Yet the more real the idea became, the more anxious Alfred felt. Was he ready for all of this?
"Yes, I'm leaving. Your army's as well trained as it can be right now and so are you." Gilbert offered Alfred a smile, though it did little to comfort the blonde.
"But..." Alfred tried to think of a reason. "We're still not amazing. And these are the redcoats, we have to beat them, Gil, I'm not going back to England, not ever."
"You remember what we talked about, don't you? Strategy. That's what's going to win this war."
Alfred bit his lip and nodded.
Gilbert grinned. "C'mon, look a bit happier! This is what you want, isn't it?"
Alfred nodded again, a little more strongly this time. "Of course. It's what I've always wanted."
"Good." Gilbert clapped a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "Because you're going to win this war."
Gilbert's praise, just like it always did, made Alfred feel a little more hopeful, made his heart flutter ever so slightly. Alfred wasn't sure why. Perhaps he just needed validation, perhaps he just...
Gilbert's hand came up under Alfred's chin and tilted the blonde's face up ever so slightly. Alfred blinked, unsure what was happening until the other man's lips were on his.
It was short, hardly a kiss, but Alfred's heart pounded in his chest like a war drum. His cheeks flushed bright red and his mouth was still a little open when Gilbert leaned back.
Gilbert laughed.
"Maybe when you're a little older."
With a wave, the man strutted off towards his ship.
Alfred's heart was still pounding.
Maybe.