Title: The Way we Were
Summary: And there are times he hates himself for how it all went down…
Warnings: uhm… almost blatant lack of research? Seriously, the last time I had a history class was a year ago… and it only went to 1800, I believe.
Pairings: Onesided Arthur/Alfred, if you squint REALLY hard, it may be reciprocated.
Disclaimer: The series APH is owned by that genius Hidekaz. Not me. You wouldn't want me to own it. Trust me.
There are times Arthur could kick himself for how it all happened…
Alfred had been such a cute kid, so precious. Clinging and wanting protection, playful, those blue eyes sparkling like stars in the midnight sky, hair like flax… he had adored him so deeply, never thinking that they could ever be separated. But then the conflicts had begun and he had neglected that child, had failed to see the sparks of independence firing in his eyes, never even heard the 'I can do it myself' until it was too late, until the papers had been served. Until that cute child he recalled had grown into the headstrong teenager who desired autonomy from the authority figure that had failed him.
He supposed it was at least partially his fault; he had pressed too hard for money and goods, had only wanted the child to be dependent on him, only wanted this child to care about him. He would have given the world for this headstrong child, this beautiful babe with a smile of sunshine. He could have tried to stop the King in retrospect, perhaps kept the war from happening, perhaps kept the tension out of their now-strained relationship. But he had been foolish. He had been angry. He had been upset. How could this child, this veritable babe in the woods, this ungrateful brat dare think he could survive without him? How could he even presume that he could survive without him, much less thrive? Without England he would be nothing! And so he had stormed over to America's house, demanded an explanation. The child had grown, had stunned him with an unwavering stare as he was confronted with the harsh words, the angered blows, the fury of a nation. And still he had stood there, taking the abuse with a stony gaze before stepping back and saying:
"My name is Alfred. And I will not back down from my convictions."
"…Then I shall see you on the battlefield." Arthur had stormed out, and true enough, the next time they had met was indeed on the battlefield. He had demanded acknowledgment as an independent nation, more civilly than one would expect of this wild country, the one who had started this. Arthur remembered with shame attacking him, a musket brought up to guard a face none too soon, America…no, Alfred… he'd been expecting the musket to fire, to silence this nation so young, but… Arthur had been crying. He recalled that, recalled falling to the ground in tears before leaving. It had not been a very graceful way to exit, but then there were the brief spots of possessiveness once again- he recalled vividly the War of 1812 and how horrid that had been. It was not something he enjoyed recalling after a few drinks, though it was invariably a topic it went to when he was alone and drunk. Then America had come crying to him during the depression, and that had been one of the only high spots of the time… that and when they had fallen in love with the Beatles… And now…
"Yosh! Everyone's enjoying the games you sent over, Japan! Though I admit, it's got me a bit worried about some of the girls back home…" he sounded so happy, so energetic, alive… it was wonderful to hear. It was almost like the child had never grown apart from him… as he thought that, a fond smile spread across his face. Of course, America had to just go and ruin the moment when he looked over and smirked knowingly. Arthur scowled and turned away, breezing past the two. He almost got out of the meeting room too, except for a strong hand stopping him by the shoulder, one he knew would be covered with a glove if he cared to look.
"I'm coming over to your place tonight, right, Arty?"
"The name is ARTHUR, you moronic git, and yes, I believe you are. Now kindly release me- it's time for tea."
"Right, right. See you tonight, Arty!" America laughed breezily, placing a soft kiss on his cheek before hurrying off to talk to France- they'd had a rough patch recently and they were doing their best to mend it. As he strolled to the door, England smiled.
Okay, so perhaps things hadn't gone so wonderfully in their past… but the results were pretty nice sometimes.
A/N: Wow, my first Hetalia fanfic! I originally planned to cross-post this with my DeviantArt, as a 'welcome back' party for myself/my computer (It's finally fixed!), but I decided to go ahead and post it here now. I have more in the works, I adore this fandom, but things are gonna be hectic- my schedule this semester is mostly literature courses (gasp!) and I just joined a Hetalia RP. But I will most likely be posting the next works on DA and here- so if you want illustrations to go with your fluff, you'd wanna check there. Anyhow, reviews are an author's best friend, and I'd like to hear what you think! Characterization? Plot? Or lack of plot, if you want to get technical? Just don't give me crap about the history stuff, I found my old history book from my class, and it went up to 1876. Why, I don't know, but it did. So I know I likely messed up on a lot. Anyway, Thank You For Reading!