Usually, I write cute bits of fluff, so I wanted to try writing something a bit more serious. This is American Revolution-centric, and it's a bit bitter at points. Please enjoy this, my first fic posted on !
The 'person' America, and the 'nation' America, were supposed to be the same.
But they were so, so different.
America, Alfred F. Jones, the person, wanted to stop hurting England, his caretaker, his friend, but the nation felt it had to push on and fight for its rights.
America, the person, was hurting as well. Hurting, because he didn't want the other to be hurt anymore. He had only wanted freedom, independence.
America, both nation and person, was to learn that these were dangerous words.
The nation demanded repayment for all their troubles, and Alfred was forced to watch as his nation attacked its neighbor, handcuffed by his very nature, his very existence.
It was because of this that he found himself on the battlefield of Yorktown, the tip of his rifle aimed at the head of his nation's greatest enemy, acting as his nation's grandest puppet, unwilling to do the deed they urged him finish. In front of him, on his knees, was the British Empire.
England. His England.
The European's emerald eyes turned to his former charge with a mix of fear, uncertainty, and terrible regret.
"A-America…"
As much as the younger nation wanted to run to the British man, embrace him, apologize, he couldn't. He had to stay for his people; he had to represent the nation. He couldn't let his emotions break through the façade.
He gripped his weapon tighter, adjusting his aim, when the other nation spoke again.
"Alfred…please…"
England was reaching out to him, pleading with him, making him feel guilty, hacking away at the mask.
"Why….why are we doing this….why is this happening?"
He had only wanted independence, just a little freedom. Now, he would give it all away to fix what he had broken in the process.
His troops, standing behind him, grew nervous in the tense silence that hung over them like some sort of somber canopy.
Alfred nearly trembled; after all this, he thought he didn't deserve to hear the other speak. After all he had caused, he felt as if he didn't deserve the prize he had been working towards. He wanted to be respected, viewed as an equal, especially by his former caretaker. Well, in all honesty, he wanted to be with this…this glorious nation sitting on the muddy ground in front of him. The silence grew thick, too thick.
"Please…!"
The once so-powerful British Empire broke down, tears running down his face, somewhat disguised by the rain.
Alfred felt his heart almost shudder to a stop, clenching up in his chest. He couldn't do this, he wouldn't! He just couldn't kill the being in front of him!
He examined the other's face; even in defeat, Arthur was breathtaking to him. Various small scrapes and scratches were etched onto his delicate features. His hair hung a little longer than usual, his preference for shorter hair neglected in the face of war. The powerful eyebrows hung above his emerald eyes, caught in a pleading expression.
"You…you can't do this!"
To his surprise, England charged at him; he reflexively blocked the musket strike.
"You can't do this to me, Alfred!"
Arthur dropped to his knees on the marshy battlefield. Silent sobs wracked the body of the smaller nation. What had he done wrong? He certainly could not fight his colony. He was denying America the thing he craved most only because he was afraid.
Afraid of losing the one thing he loved most: his colony, his America.
He heard a distinct thud, and he looked up in surprise to see that America had thrown his weapon aside.
"I…I can't fight you like this, Arthur. No more than I ever could….but I do need this. I need my freedom."
"No! You….you don't understand!" cried England, "I…I can't lose you!"
America froze.
"What…what did you say?"
"If I were to grant you your freedom…I just know that you'll leave…that you'll….you'll hate me…" England spoke quietly, his voice almost breaking on 'hate', "You…you have no idea how much I fear that…"
"Arthur…just because I want a little freedom, that doesn't mean I'll…hate you. We'll still be neighbors, right?"
Clenching his jaw, the British man looked determinedly away; the young American wouldn't understand. His once innocent, brotherly feelings toward the other had morphed into something he didn't want to think about, let alone explain.
"…right? We can still be…friends?"
"You fool…you…you don't understand."
"What? What don't I understand?"
Arthur cringed as a hint of a chill entered the younger man's tone. That's what he was now, right? A man, no longer Arthur's adorable little brother. As he thought about it, he felt like he was simply being ripped apart from the inside.
"Answer me, damn it!"
He tore his gaze from the ground as Alfred came closer and knelt in front of him, anger flashing in his eyes.
"What the hell don't I understand?"
The representative of England shut his eyes again, and just before Alfred opened his mouth to speak again he screamed, at the top his lungs.
"You don't understand, you couldn't understand, that I fucking LOVE YOU, you BLOODY TWAT!"
Alfred was in total shock.
Especially when Arthur suddenly took off, sprinting away from the enemy.
The American's soldiers quickly went on alert, aiming after the Brit.
"No! No! Don't shoot!"
Alfred gave that order and tore after his former protector, following across the field. He could barely see a few feet in front of him, let alone see where Arthur was. He almost lost his footing on the slippery ground and cursed, speeding up.
"Arthur! Come back!"
Straining his ears, he heard someone panting, and immediately located the source of the sound.
"ARTHUR!"
He caught the Brit around the waist, both of them panting.
"G-get off me, you wanker!"
The British man surprised him, elbowing him in the ribs, hard, and continuing to run.
Clutching his rib cage he yelled after the one he loved, had always loved, almost sure he wouldn't hear him.
"Arthur! I…I love you too!"
About 20 yards away, Arthur froze and turned around, facing Alfred with wide green eyes.
"What…I…you…you WHAT?"
Alfred tried to summon a weak smile, "I love you." He winced and rubbed where Arthur had previously elbowed him, "God damn, that fucking HURT."
"It was supposed to." The British man's voice was hard, "And stops throwing words like they don't mean anything. I know you don't mean…what you said."
Rage built inside the young American, fiery. He clenched his jaw and marched right up to the other.
"You think I don't mean it?"
He grabbed the front of Arthur's stained uniform.
"YOU THINK I DON'T MEAN IT?"
He stared the green-eyed man down, intense. Blue into green, green into blue; it seemed like an eternity until the silence was broken. Naturally, it was Alfred who shattered it.
"Arthur Kirkland. I. Fucking. Love. You."
Arthur had almost no time to react before Alfred's lips were on his, surprisingly soft for somebody so strong. He tried to form some sort of complaint but couldn't find any worth using.
Oh, bloody hell. Just go with it, Arthur.
He reached up and wrapped his fingers into Alfred's now soaking wet hair and kissed the bloody wanker back.
With a nostalgic sigh, Arthur looked down at his old military uniform.
Well, that certainly made me feel like an old man.
A call broke the relatively calm atmosphere.
"Arrrrtiiiiiie~!"
Chuckling to himself, the Brit checked his watch.
Alfred was home.
Aforementioned man entered the room and quickly noticed the clothes Arthur held.
"Hey, isn't that your old uniform?"
Alfred came to sit next to the other, laughing.
"Wow…it seems like such a long time ago, huh?"
Arthur took the American's hand, intertwining their fingers. The matching gold bands on their fingers shone in the slightly dim lighting.
"A long time ago, indeed."
Wow. That was so fun to write. 3 Gosh, I love writing angst-filled! Arthur. :D So, um. REVIEWS. THEY ARE LIKE FOOD FOR MY SOUL. SO PLEASE.
Yeah. Uh. Kay, Thanks for reading, do review, Bye-bye!
~Maxie