Sorry it's so short... The end of the American Civil War in the Hetalia universe.
Dark blue eyes met the other set, a pain filled, terrified gaze. He is only a child, a brother, but he has caused so much pain. He wasn't even supposed to exist, and his existence tore the other in half.
It was surprising how in the beginning this child had been beating him, the hero, without any training at all. But America had come back, crushed the child who called himself the Confederacy a few years prior, then not moved quickly enough to prevent the other from escaping.
So then America had started the chase. While in the past he had fought, then retreated, he didn't pause now, didn't pull back. He chased the Confederacy with everything he had.
"A-America." The boy stuttered as he stared at him, blood on the gray uniform he wore, dirt matting his red hair.
He eyed the child darkly. "Surrender, you are losing."
The Confederacy shook his head. "N-no. You haven't won yet."
"Yes, I have."
But even before the words had left America's mouth, the child had taken off at a run, half staggering to get away.
People were dying, more and more each day. All the fighting was difficult on both of the nations but America knew the Confederacy was seeing the worse side of it. He had destroyed the child's food supply for that very reason. If the Confederacy didn't have enough to eat, then he wouldn't be as strong. The child was barely skin and bones as a result.
"It's over kiddo," America muttered under his breath, taking off after the other country. He couldn't run forever.
He chased him, chased him until the child slowed, double over to catch his breath. America grabbed him, shoved the Confederacy to the ground, dark blue eyes staring up at him. "It's over! Surrender you fool!"
"No, I can't!" The child said, a desperate tone escaping his lips. "I must keep fighting!"
The cold tip of a bayonet touched the child's forehead.
"Alright! I surrender!"
"Very good choice. That means no one else has to die," America said, not daring to move. "But I can not allow you to continue to split my soul in half."
"N-no!" The Confederacy cried, holding out one hand. "Please! We can be friends! We're brothers America!"
There was no mercy on America's face. "We are meant to be one."
He was only a kid, but America pressed the bayonet into his forehead, watched the blood sip from the wound between the edges of the blade. The dark blue eyes were still open, but were empty, glazed. Eyes so much like his own.
America turned away sharply, leaving the bayonet sticking out of the Confederacy's forehead. He was whole again, but he knew the recovery process would be a long one.