Title: More Than I Can Take
Author: Max (MadDemonQueen)
Rating: M for character death and dark themes
Characters: Alfref F. Jones (America), Kiku Honda (Japan)
Pairing: Ameripan (America x Japan)
Warnings: character death, rebirth, broken heart, dark/sad themes
Setting: post-WWII, could be WWIII but I just imagine it as a war in which America and Japan have been dragged into against their will
Summary: After a battle between Alfred and Kiku, Alfred has to make a hard decision. Will he be able to bear it all? (ONE SHOT)
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The sword fell to the muddy ground with a splatter. White clothed knees followed soon after.
A gun was pointed at him as Kiku looked up at the American before him, awaiting the final blow.
It didn't come. Instead, the gun trembled in the hands of the user.
"Do it," Kiku muttered.
Alfred pressed his lips together in a fine line, shaking his head. "I… I can't…"
"It's okay. I was prepared for this."
"No, I… I can't, Kiku," Alfred whimpered, gun lowering in his trembling grip. "I just can't…!"
"You have to."
Alfred shook his head, tears beginning to form at the corners of his eyes. The gun fell, just before the American himself dropped to his knees in front of Kiku and threw himself at the Japanese for a bone-crushing hug. "This isn't fair," he whispered. "It just isn't fair…!"
"I know," Kiku breathed.
"I don't want to kill you! I didn't even want to fight you, dammit…!"
"I know. I'm sorry, Alfred. I'm so sorry."
First tears rolled down Alfred's cheeks, dripping down onto Kiku's shoulders. "Why does it always have to be like this? Why do we always have to fight each other?!"
"I don't know."
There was silence between them now, apart from Alfred's soft sobs. Kiku reached out, took his sword and loosened one of Alfred's hands from him. He closed Alfred's hand around the sword, holding the American's hand in his own so they were holding the sword together.
Then he pulled back and pushed.
Alfred's sobs grew louder, became wails and Kiku felt him trembling even with his sensations numbing.
"I'm sorry," he chanted, like it was a spell that could make everything better, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Over and over, he repeated the words, but they were barely audible over Alfred's cries.
Kiku's vision blurred and blacked at the edges, partly from the tears, but partly for another reason.
"Alfred," he whispered, "Alfred, will you do me a last favor?"
"Yes," Alfred replied immediately, sniffling his nose, "yes, of course."
"Will you… will you tell me you love me? I want to hear it one last time…"
"I love you," Alfred half whispered, half sobbed. "I love you, I love you so much. I love you, Kiku."
Kiku smiled, feeling his last sensations numbing and a few tears dribbling down his own cheeks. "I love you too, Alfred," he whispered, "I'm so sorry."
Then his body relaxed, and his mind drifted away, and Alfred cried out his name, holding his now lifeless body in his arms, refusing to let go, even when it started raining again.
He clutched onto the dead body in his arms, Kiku's body, his beloved Kiku's body, and couldn't stop himself from repeating the last words he'd said to Kiku over and over again, like they could make it all un-happen, like they could bring Kiku back, and he wanted them to, he wanted them to help, he wanted to have Kiku back, he wanted this war to never have happened.
But it was too late. Kiku was dead. The war had happened, and Kiku was dead, and no matter how often Alfred said "I love you," the words wouldn't bring him back.
Never.
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Twenty years later, on the same date, Alfred was on his way home from the graveyard. Every year, he would visit the grave of his beloved, bring flowers (chrysanthemums, since that was what his name had meant), light up a candle, and talk about what was happening.
It was his way of remembering.
Now, at six in the evening on an autumn day, it was cold when he headed back home, so he stuffed his hands in his pockets and buried his face in his scarf.
Doing so, he didn't see what was in front of him too well, and bumped into someone in the blink of an eye.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he called out and looked up to see who he had run into. He froze, eyes widening.
The young man in front of him had blackish brown hair, dark brown eyes and pale skin. He looked just like… just like him.
"No, I should apologize. I didn't look where I was going," the young man said, and even his voice was the same as his. "If you'll excuse me…"
The young man wanted to go, but Alfred caught his wrist and spun him back around. "Wait, Kiku…!"
The young man frowned and cocked his head to the side. "I'm sorry… have we met before?"
Alfred hesitated, looked into those brown eyes, the brown eyes he used to adore so much, looked at the troubled look in them, which Kiku would always get when he was worrying over the smallest things. He looked, and remembered, and shook his head. "No," he said, releasing Kiku's wrist. "No, we haven't. Sorry."
Still with that slightly concerned look, Kiku nodded, bowed slightly and continued his way.
Alfred looked after him, then shook his head and turned into the opposite direction. He couldn't get in touch with him. This Kiku was a human, a normal human. Alfred would survive him, and losing him…
Losing Kiku once again was much more pain than his heart would be able to take.
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A/N: This is seriously the darkest thing I've ever written, I think. Well, this is what I get from Ameripan feels at 3am I guess… But it's been the first thing I was able to write with a BAD writers block since about three months so… yay :D
I you liked it, or didn't like it and want to tell me what I can do better, or didn't understand something and want to ask, please leave a review! I always appreciate them!