Alfred ran through his city. His beautiful, wonderful, Washington. His Washington that may soon be no more.

British soldiers stormed Washington and the screams of fear and pain filled the air. Alfred kept running, towards his beautiful home, the White House. He tripped over a fallen barrel, twisting his ankle, but grit his teeth and kept on running until his destination was in sight. The Madisons, were they safe, captured, killed? These terrible thoughts ran through Alfred's head at whirlwind speeds.

Once he reached the White House, he threw open the doors, evacuating everyone he saw. A few protested that they must stay and fight, but he ordered them to leave. Dolley Madison, the First Lady called to him.

"Alfred! Come quick! Help me get this portrait of President Washington down." She was sawing at the canvas with a butter knife. Alfred let out a quick smile, which swiftly turned into a frown. Dolley was one of his citizens who were patriotic till the end. He pulled out his pocket knife and swiftly cut the rest, rolled it up, and gave it to her, telling her to leave swiftly.

Arthur looked at Matthew. The boy had a strange gleam in his eye, and a thirst for revenge. Alfred had burned down his beautiful city, made him feel pain, and now it was his turn to return the favor.

"Do you see him Arthur?" The boy asked grinning, eyes searching for his twin. Arthur shook his head, scanning the crowds. But there… could it be? A blond headed solder, running from the house and back towards it, assisting servants out. Arthur looked closer, and saw that it was Alfred, actually looking serious, a face that he had only ever seen during his petty revolution.

"There." He said pointing, eyebrows scrunched together, getting one last look, confirming it was indeed Alfred. He looked at Matthew and nodded, together running towards the foolish boy, who was unaware of the nation and colony running up behind him.

They stopped, mere inches behind the clueless nation. Matthew tapped his shoulder,

"Hello brother dearest." The Canadian said in a sickingly sweet tone. Alfred turned around, eyes wide as he looked at Matthew and Arthur. Taking advantage of Alfred's shock, Arthur managed to grab his gun and push him, rather harshly, to the wet ground.

A groan of pain, like the sweetest music to the English gentleman, soldier, and pirate's ear. The American tried to get up, clutching his side in pain, glaring at the two with as much venom he could muster, before being forced down once again, with the blade of a bayonet. Unable to do more, Alfred spat, the great glob of saliva hitting Arthur in the cheek, but the man simply ignored it, a sneer upon his lips.

"You bloody pathetic child. Unable to fight for your own country, to protect your own citizens." Alfred spat again, this time hitting Matthew on his elder country kicked him hard in the ribs. Matthew joined in, beating his brother bloody and bruised.

"Show some bloody respect for your betters for once in your life!" Shouted Arthur shouted at the battered nation, before pulling out a packet of matches, tossing then to Matthew.

"You know what to do." He growled, sneering once more at Alfred. Mattie nodded and struck a match, showing the flame to Alfred for a second, before tossing it towards the White House.

All Alfred could do was watch in horror as his capital began to slowly smolder, than ignite, before finally bursting into flames before his very eyes. That was when the terrible, horrible, pain set in.

" AAAHHHHGGG!" He howled clutching his heart, spasiming on the muddy ground. He felt as if he were on fire, his very soul being torn from his body, his very life being sucked from his veins. Matthew's face looked torn for a minute, as if he wasn't sure this was right, Alfred was his brother, his twin!
No, he thought, Alfred put you through this pain, it's his turn. Still, the Canadian turned away, unwilling to watch. Arthur also looked vaguely uncomfortable, but soon got over it. As a feared pirate sailing the seas, he had seen much worse. Still, he had once thought of America as his brother, his son even, and he also had to turn away.

" Come Matthew," he ordered quietly, "We done what we have come for." The Canadian wanted to protest, felt the need to help his brother, but forced it down. Both men walked away, wishing that they could have done something less painful, but they had to get a messages to the bloody wanker.

Both let out a sigh as the screams subsided, Alfred clearly falling unconscious from the pain. As the Nation and colony walked away, the American had one thought repeating through his unconscious mind.
"Why, how, pain, oh the pain, why?"

PLEASE READ!
This is the first story I've ever published, and I think it is quite good, but I'm not sure. Please feel free to critique or applaud through P.M. or reviews.

I may continue, with a time skip to the Civil War and Great Depression, before arriving at present day. If i do continue, in my world Alfred will have never Really have forgiven Arthur and Matthew for this, being more controlled, less crazy and lots of angst. PLEASE REVIEW!