The sun was slowly rising in the east and its warm light shone through the glass in the dirty window and placed a light kiss on Arthur's chin. The former pirate opened his emerald eyes and used his right hand to shade his face. With a sight he rose from the warm and comfortable bed. He felt the cold stone floor under his naked feet and shivered at the feeling. Even though the warmth of the bed felt really inviting, he took a step away from the pile of pillows, blankets and silky sheets, and then another one. He kept on going, one tiny step at the time, until he reached the window. The bright light blinded him for a second, but he did not bother. The sun was the only thing left that still wanted to share its warmth with him. His dear Alfred left him a long time ago. His dear little America that he would give up everything for just to keep safe. And France, that bloody frog, left him as soon as he got the chance. Not even sweet sweet Italy, that usually talks to everyone he meets on the street, dear to speak a word to him. It seemed like everyone fled him like the plague. As if even breathing the same air as him would bring down hell on them. Maybe they weren't so wrong about that though. He was famous for his knowledge about the occult after all. But still, he had never caused any harm to them, not in that sort of matter anyway. They were his friends after all- or at least he thought so before they all turned their backs on him.
England had never been good at making friends. Every attempt would end up in him sitting alone in the dining room, eating burned scones and drinking tea. He couldn't possibly understand why- he had a great sense of humor, he treated everyone like a gentleman and he wasn't socially awkward like Sweden. So how did it come that no one liked him? Why didn't anyone want him?
He pressed a thin, pale hand against the cold glass, watching the sun rise higher on the sky. Bare feet on stone floor -so cold. Hand pressed against thick glass- so cold. Naked arms and chest- so cold. Why did the world feel so cold? Yes, the sun that kissed his pale skin did warm him up a bit, but still…As soon as the sun has made its way over the sky and set in the West, the world would once again turn cold and dark. And he would once again be left alone in this big house with stone floors and concrete walls.
Just like every other day he would spend the entire morning just staring out through the window without moving or speaking a word. Why would he? There were no one there to listen to him and, since everyone seemed to avoid him, he didn't have anything better to do than waste time in front of the window. He was slowly losing his wits and he knew that, but honestly he couldn't care less. So what if he became crazy, no one would miss him anyway? Even his fairy friends seemed to have left him. They used to talk to him all day long, drink afternoon tea with him and just be there to comfort him in rough times, but that was a long time ago.
He took a weak breath and breathed out on the glass and watched as mist spread on the window glass, and with a shaky finger he started to draw circles and symbols. Symbols that had nothing to do with magic or the occult, but even though the symbols had no special meaning behind them they still gave him a faint feeling of protection. Like these childish drawings could make all the bad memories go away. And he was desperately trying to tell himself that if he just kept on drawing those symbols he would be protected from all the ghost of former friends and foes that haunted him. But he knew that no symbols, magic or not, could make what he did undone, he just wished that they would give him a second chance and hear him out.
"Why would they? After what you put them though I'm surprised that they aren't out on a ´let's kill England-tour´." A voice that was most familiar to him echoed through his head. He was truly going insane.
"I did nothing wrong."
"Really? I beg to differ."
"Stop it."
"Why? Are you really that blind that you can't see what you have done? What you have become?"
"Stop it."
"Why did you do that, England?"
Usually the voice only existed in his mind. Like a cold wind that sent chills down his spine it would come and whisper to him. Taunting him, mocking him. But this time was different. This time a spitting image of himself had appeared as one of his illusions and he was now trading words with himself, quite literally.
"I said stop it!" he shouted and clenched his fist. "Just shut up!"
"Are we losing our temper, are we? "
"Shut up!" He could no longer hold back his anger, and swung his fist in an attempt to hit his other self in the gut, but to no avail. His fist went right through him as if he was made out of air. In surprise he lost his balance and tumbled to the floor.
"You can't fight me, Arthur. I'm just another one of your silly imaginations." He knelt down beside him with a grin on his lips. "And i won't go away as long as you keep on lying to yourself."
"Please, just...leave me alone. Everyone else have so why won't you leave too?"
"You have never asked yourself why that is, hm? Do you really not remember? Or are you just lying to yourself, trying to cover up the tracks and hope that no one would find out?" His mockingly voice was really starting to get on his nerves. Why couldn't he just vanish already!?
"I haven't done anything wrong…" he started but got cut off by his imaginary self.
"Right, right, keep on telling yourself that. But you can't lie to me." The pleased smile grew on his lips as he looked deep into his green eyes. "After all, you and I are the same."
He was right, deep down he knew that even though he tried desperately to shut out his voice. "I did nothing that i didn't have to do…" he whispered with a weak voice. Like a dying animal he cried out the words that he for so long had run away from. "He was going to leave me. I had to do something, i needed to keep him from leaving. I- I just wanted to keep him safe…" He tried to wipe away the tears from his face, but they just kept on falling. Desperate he tried to rise from the floor and get away from the other man that was kneeling beside him, green eyes fixating him with a glans of approval. He managed to take a few steps but soon found himself facing the floor yet again.
"Didn't I already tell you? You can't run away from me, silly. I'm you, you are me. I know everything Arthur. I know what you did and…" With a firm grip on his hair he jerked his head back, facing him with a nasty grin." I knew how much you enjoyed it. How much you loved to see their blood stain your hands. "
A cold feeling of loss and pain shot through his body like electricity and forced a scream out of him. He had given up his attempt to stop the bitter tears from falling and just let them slide down his face. "You are wrong…" he whispered between gritted teeth, trying desperately to not let his pain filled moans slip from his dry lips. His doppelganger gave him a few more tugs on his blond hair before letting his head hang. Arthur hissed at the sharp pain in his scalp and let out a sight as his hair was finally let go off. "You are pathetic! Weak and worthless!" his own voice, twisted into something much darker and sinister, roared over him like a thunderstorm and send chills down his spine. "You know, England, I'd really hoped that we could settle this smoothly, but I guess that i have no other choice than to drag it out of you." The other man's booth kicked him in the side with a power strong enough to break a rib. England curled into a sobbing ball on the cold stone floor as the booth yet again connected with his side, sending a piercing pain through his body. "Ah, come on Britain. You can't give up now. I have only began and i honestly thought that you, the former pirate of great Britain would fight back at least a little," he said with a chuckle as he once again kicked him, this time in the stomach, smiling at the beautiful screams that forced its way out of the Englishman's throat.
Why? Why...why...why...why? The word kept repeating itself in his head like a mantra, driving his sanity closer to the edge. He was telling the truth, wasn't he? He desperately searched through his memory, not entirely sure what to look for, as a sudden flashback played out before his tear filled eyes.
"England, dude, what are you doing?! It's not funny anymore!"
"I'm sorry Alfred, I truly am, but i have no other choice. I hope you understand."
"You are crazy! Let me go!"
With a empty look in his usually warm eyes he gripped the other nation´s wrists with steady hands as he tied them behind the younger man's back, not caring about his struggle to get away. "England, please," he pleaded with a voice filled with fear. "Please say something! Why are you tying me up for! I'm totally not into that kind of stuff and you are freaking me out, dude!" He tried to break the rope binding his hands, but stopped at the sudden warmth of the other man's hands against his cheeks.
"You don't need to be afraid, Alfred. I will protect you." He cupped America's face in his hands and placed a light kiss on his forehead before speaking with a calm voice. "That's why you have to stay here. I love you, Alfred, and I can't stand the thought of you being hurt. So you have to stay here. It's for your own good."
"You can't keep me here forever! I can take care of myself! And I am no longer a little kid, England."
"Al…"
"No, don't even start with your ´I love you, and I want to protect you´-crap. I'm done with this shit. Untie me or I will do it myself and then I'm going to punch you in the face." He spat out the threat with courage. He was one of the strongest nations after all. "You honestly don't believe that a rope is enough to keep me here, do you?" He once again started tugging on his restraints, totally ignoring the Brit in front of him.
"I'm really sorry. I didn't want to use this, but you give me no other choice." Even though his voice clearly had a sad tone to it his eyes still remained lifeless as he reached down into his pocket, gripping a syringe with his shaky hand.
"What the he-… Ah! The American flinched when the needle broke through the skin on his neck. A numbing feeling spread through his body as the clear liquid spread through his veins. He let out a weak sight as he felt all resistance and energy leave his body until all that was left was a heaviness that kept him from struggling. "What… did you… give me? he asked between heavy breaths.
"I'm sorry, but..."
"Stop saying that! Just… please, don't... do this."
"One day you will look back and understand why I have to do this. I just want to keep you safe." He rose to his feet and turned away from the weakened boy on the floor as he started to walk toward the door.
"England! ´cough´ Please! Don't leave me…" The door slammed shut with a loud bang and America could only sit there with his wrist tied behind his back as the door was locked from the outside and the footsteps of the man he once trusted slowly faded away.
England's broken voice echoed through the nearly empty room as he cried out in pain of the long forgotten memory. "I'm sorry…. I'm sorry….I'm sorry…" he whispered as panic slowly washed over him, leaving him trembling on the floor.
"Ah, come on. It was just a few kicks, I'm sure that you have been through worse before."
"Get away from me," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around his shaking body.
"Sorry, I didn't get that." The man who claimed to be England reached out his hand to caress the other man's cheek with a gentle smile on his cold face.
"Don't touch me!" He pushed his hand away, scared by the sudden touch, and once again tried to get away from the man with the well familiar face. Too weak to stand up, he crawled backwards until his aching back hit the rough stone wall behind him. Trapped and with a panic attack threatening to suffocate him, he faced himself, terrified by the smirk on the man's face.
"What did I say about running away from me, hm? I will find you and I will hurt you. But why make it harder then it have to be?" A playful expression danced on his face as his green eyes lit up like the eyes of a young child on Christmas Eve. "Just confess and I…"
"I know what I did!"
The merry and childish smile left his lips and the eyes turned dark as he leaned in closer to his face. "I don't believe you do." As the cold words left his mouth his arms shot out, grabbing him by the wrists and pinned them over his head before tying them with a piece of rope. Arthur's eyes widened in fear at the other man's violent acts and tried with all his might to release his hands from the restraints. "Everything but this… please. I will do anything, just don't that…" he thought to himself as the memories once again flashed before his eyes. He knew what he did. The memories he had desperately tried to hide away in the darkest parts of his mind where slowly escaping their imprisonment.
"Hm, you don't like it?" he purred as the smirk on his lips grew bigger. With a fake sweetness to his voice he whispered in his ear. "You don't need to be afraid Arthur. I will protect you. I love you."
"Please..."
"But weren't those the same words you uttered that day… when you took America´s freedom away?"
"You are wrong…"
"Am I really?" He cleared his throat and spoke up with the voice of the silly American that the Brit held so dearly. "England, please stop this!"
"No…" he cried out, lost in sorrow and pain.
"You are crazy, England! Don't do this! Don't hurt me!"
"No! America!"
The crying Englishman shut his eyes as a harsh headache sent waves of pain through his skull. Hot tears rolled down his dirty face as his vision once again got clouded with unwanted flashbacks.
The heavy door opened with a loud creaking and the sounds of footstep echoed between the naked stonewalls. The young man, obscured by darkness, didn´t move or make a sound as the footsteps drew nearer. "Alfred?" Still no answer from the weak figure. His breathing seemed so weak that the Englishman actually thought that he had died. "Alfred!" He shouted with panic in his voice as he shook the boy´s limp body.
"Eng...land." A barely audible whisper escaped the boy's lips as his now pale blue eyes, that once were full of life, slowly opened, looking at the man before him with a tired look on his face.
"Oh, thank God. I thought that I had lost you." England's voice trembled with relief as he caressed his dirty blond head. "I don't know what I would do if I lost you."
"Please… let me go."
"Hush now. Everything will be alright. I will never leave your side, my sweet Alfred."
A silent tear ran down America's cheek as he closed his eyes. He was so weak and his hope was starting to abandon him. How many days had he been kept in here, bounded by his wrists and left all alone in the shadows? When was the last time he had felt the warmth of the sun on his skin? He had lost count, night and day, it all felt the same and the only thing that kept him from giving up was the thought of his own people. "The nation of freedom" America thought to himself. "What a joke…"
"I love you Alfred." The Englishman's breath tickled his skin as he spoke in his ear. Those words that send chills down his spine and made him want to run away.
"I'm not… your Alfred anymore. I'm America!"
"Silly boy, of course you are Alfred. You are, and will forever be, my sweet little Alfred." He purred back as he slowly started to place light kisses on his slender neck.
"No, you are wrong. Don't you remember? I become independent!"
"You are wrong. You are Alfred, my Alfred. And I will never let you leave me." As he spoke the words with a soft voice he grabbed America's shirt and tore it open.
"I'm Ameri…" Before he got the chance to finish the sentence England had captured his lips in a kiss. America desperately wanted to get as far away from the other man as possible, but with his hands still bound there was nothing he could do, except wait it out. He shut his lips tight, determined not to let the Brit go any further, but he soon felt a sting of pain caused by the other man as he bit down on his lip. A sigh escaped him as England's tongue entered his mouth. Every second felt like hours as the kiss became more passionate.
After what had felt like an eternity, England finally let go of his lips. With tears in his eyes America gasped for air and looked at Britain with fear in his ocean blue eyes. He didn't like this "new side" of England, to be honest he was terrified of him, and he certainly didn't want to know why he looked down on him with such hungry eyes.
You never learn, do you? But that's alright." He bared his teeth in a nasty grin as he let his hands rest on the boy's chest. "I will teach you who you belong to." England gently trailed kisses down his chest and stomach, smiling at the younger nation's reaction.
America's sensitive skin shivered as he felt the other man's lips on his exposed body. He knew what was going to happen next, after all, this was not the first time he had touched him in this way, but he would never get used to it. The warmth of another man, his impatient hands exploring every corner of his body as he sat there helpless and crying. He knew that begging wouldn't help, England didn't care about his trembling words, but he couldn't stop them from spilling out of his mouth. "England... Arthur please. Don't do this. I don't want this!" He let out a moan as England let his teeth scratch the skin on his stomach.
"But you seem to enjoy yourself. Besides if I would listen to your wishes this wouldn't be a punishment. So cry out more with that lovely voice of yours." His hand gently slid over America's hip and made its way down the waistband of his trousers. America whimpered as England's greedy fingers found what they had been searching for and gently stroked his growing erection through the fabric of his underwear. "See, you are already hard and I haven't even started yet."
"No. You are wrong." He tried so hard to sound convincing as he cursed his body for acting so shamefully on its own in a situation like this. 'I hate this… I hate this… I hate this...´ He repeated the phrase in his mind as he held back a moan by biting his already swollen lip. This was wrong in so many ways, he knew that, but he couldn't stop himself from feeling pleasure from the Brits hands.
As if the Englishman could read his mind he suddenly stopped stroking and retrieved his hand from America's trousers. For a second, America let himself think that maybe, just maybe, England would be satisfied by that and leave. But then he remembered that the former pirate never let his prey get away that easily. With a firm grip on the boy's waist he suddenly flipped him over, his stomach facing the cold and dirty ground.
"No!" America's eyes widened in fear as England started to pull his trousers off, exposing his skin to the chilling air. A chill ran over his back and he felt the other man's arm around his waist, raising his lower body up. "Oh, come on. Work with me, would you." Since his arms were tightly tied together behind his back there was nothing he could do to resist as the other nation spread his legs and positioned himself between them.
"No! Please! No!" He cried out as he felt the other man pressing against him. Even though he hated being overpowered and used he couldn't help but to feel his face heating up.
"Shut it!" Without warning he placed a hand over Alfred's mouth, giggling at the expression of utter fear on the younger nations face. Without the ability to talk, he was now completely helpless, and his eyes were once again filled with tears.
"I love you, Alfred. Big brother Arthur love his sweet angel so much." The Englishman placed his manhood against his entrance and a tearing pain shot through America's body as he thrusted into him without mercy. It hurt so badly and the American boy wanted to scream his lungs out as the other man penetrate him without any preparation or warnings.
Even though Arthur's words were filled with love and kindness, his actions showed none of it. He was like a wild beast, hungry for love, and he didn't care about the great amount of pain that he caused the man under him.
With a heavy breath he slowly pulled out and thrusted back in with great force as the American cried out a muffled scream. The steady hand over his mouth was making it hard to breath and the tears were burning in his eyes as England repeated to thrust into his weak body, each thrust forcing him to moan in pain and pleasure.
He couldn't take it anymore, the pain was too great for him to handle. Without thinking he bit down on the hand covering his mouth as another wave of pain washed over him. He could taste the metallic taste of blood on his lips. England gasped in both pain and surprise by the young lads attack and quickly retrieved his bleeding hand before America could cause him anymore damage. "I love you Alfred, I have always done, and will always do. I do care about you. I gave you food and a place to call home. And still…" He gripped his dirty blond hair and yanked his head back. "This is how you repay me? I really thought that I had raised you better than that, but I guess I was wrong."
"Please! I didn't mean too… I'm sorry!" America cried out as England gave his hair a few painful tugs.
"Then prove it!" Before the younger nation got a chance to reply, England had grabbed his slightly bruised hips and had once again started to thrust himself deep into the other man. With the hand removed from his mouth there were no longer anything to stop his agonizing screams from leaking out. A chill crept over America's body and his cries of pain quickly turned into moans of pleasure as England hit a special spot in him. "This is wrong! I can't give in to this feeling! I don't want this!" he desperately tried to tell himself, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't hold in the moans as his body felt like it was set on fire.
"Gah! I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry! Please, England. I can't take it anymore!" America cried out between heavy breaths. It hurts so much. England's member forcefully hitting the exact same spot every time he thrusted himself deep inside of him, and his aching shoulders that scraped against the rough tone floor.
"Call my name."
"England... Ah, please!"
"Wrong," he hissed between clenched teeth as he speeded up his actions. "I'm Arthur, remember? And you are my sweet and innocent little Alfred."
"No, I'm Americ-ah!" His words ended in a painful cry as England roughly pulled himself out of the crying nation. Without England's steady hands to support him he collapsed and hit the cold floor with a thud.
"How many times do I need to tell you this? America is just a silly imagination made up by a rebellious child. You are my Alfred." He placed his hand between the Americans shoulder blades and slid it down alongside his spine, watching with amusement as the boy´s skin tensed up under his light touch. He stopped right above his tailbone. "And I can assure you that I will never leave your side." And with that he reached down into his pocket and retrieved a small iron ring. Scared of the man's next move America watched in horror as England brought the ring to his lips and whispered some ancient words with a sinister smile on his lips. The iron ring started to heat up and soon glowed red with a intense heat. America´s blue eyes widened with fear and he could feel pearls of sweat forming on his forehead as England reached out for him with the ring in a tight grip.
"No! No, please!" he plead as he could feel the heat growing as the ring got closer.
"I'm sorry, but you leave me with no other choice." America screamed out in pain as the heated iron was placed against his skin and he thrashed around as the intense heat burned his pale skin. Unable to form any words he kept screaming even after the ring was removed from his body- leaving behind a burning image of a lion and a unicorn, the royal coat of arms of the United Kingdom. As America's pain filled screams were replaced by silent sobs, England took of his cotton shirt and placed it over the quivering boy. He didn't want to hurt him, at least that was what he was telling himself, but he needed to show him who was on top. Because if he didn't, Alfred would slip through his fingers and run away from him just like he did that awful day when he turned his back on him. That horrible day when he decided to start a revolution and declare independence…
England rose to his feet without a word and turned his back on the crying nation.
"Why?" Even though America was known for his abnormal strength his voice sounded so weak and broken. It was almost hard to believe that he was actually the same person as the "America" that was known as a superpower. "Why… are you doing this?"
Without answering or even looking back he stepped through the door and closed it behind him.
"Ah!" England gasped for air as he returned to reality." America…"
"Oh, did I hit a nerve?"
A soundless cry, like the one of a dying animal, escaped the Brits throat as he tightly pressed his still bound wrist against his chest. It hurt. The simple words was far from enough to describe the feeling he felt at that moment. As a nation England had experienced a lot of violence during his years. He had been stabbed, beaten severely, shot, burned, drowned, been through the Bubonic plague and even died a few times. But this feeling he felt in his chest was far more painful than all of them. He just wanted it to stop, to let him go and stop this torture.
"That can't have been a memory." His voice sounded so distance, so weak and pathetic. "It can´t be. I would never… Tell me it wasn't really a memory!"
"Oh, but that would be a lie and I don't like liars."
"You are wrong! You must be! I would never force him to... to do something like that!" England reached out his tied hands and grabbed the other man's sleeve and looked up at him with desperate emerald eyes.
"Why? Because you are a gentleman who would never hurt anyone or force them to do something they don't want to? Ha, don't make me laugh!" He grabbed England´s chin and dragged him closer. Arthur felt the other man's warm breath against his sunken cheeks. It felt discussing, but he was too afraid to make a movie and enrage his tormentor. "You never were a gentleman and will most likely never become one either. Just open your eyes, you bloody fool! Can't you see? You are just a big fat lie!"
"But I love him... "He didn't know what to say, what to do. His chest felt so empty and the only thing he could think of was America's beautiful smile when he with great passion talked about all his silly theories and ideas. "Yo, Britain! I have an amazing idea of how to solve global warming. Why don't we just take global warming and push it somewhere else? Oh, and if that doesn't work out, we could build a robot and make him solve the problem. Kiku totally digs my plan!" The memory of the energetic and idiotic American brought tears to his eyes and he tightened his grip on the other Englishman's sleeve. Even though he hated this demon created by his own mind he didn't want to let go. He didn't trust him, not after everything he's done to him, forcing him to remember painful fragments of the past. But he didn't know what to do. He desperately needed something to hang on to, something to prevent him from drowning in the panic that held his lungs in an iron grip. The mockingly grin upon the dubbelgangers face grew as he stared into his face twisted in pain and fear. "You are pathetic, "he purred, satisfied by the broken spirit kneeling before him on the cold floor. This was so much more fun than he could have imagined. His original goal had been to torment England until he finally spilled out the truth and realized what he had done, but after realizing how much joy torturing the poor nation could bring him, a new idea sparked in his mind.
Slowly he reached down into his breast pocket while watching with amusement as the Brits confused eyes tried to catch his. "I wonder what I have got in my pocket,"he teased as he even slower retrieved his closed hand. "Funny, I had totally forgotten about this." He opened his hand, revealing a quite big iron ring in the middle of his palm.
"Please," England whispered with an almost inaudible voice. He felt so tired, like he hadn't slept for days, and his limbs felt heavy.
"I see you still remember this magnificent little thing. I believe this was your own design, the ring that is."
"Don't do this." Arthur tried to talk in a calm voice, but he couldn't stop his body from trembling. He knew very well the purpose of that devilish ring. The process of stigmatizing, or human branding, was not something new. In fact, human branding had been quite common during the 15th century in his country. Vagabonds and Gypsies were ordered to be marked with a large V on the breast using a hot branding iron, and slaves who had been caught running away were branded with a S on the cheek or forehead.
Images of his own people writhing in agony as he just stood, there unable to answer their cries for salvation, flashed before him. Even though it was a very long time ago, he could still feel the pain his people felt in his chest when their skin were burned, leaving behind a horrible mark. Even though he was the personification of the country, there were certain things that even he couln´t interfere with, and the human branding had been one of those things. He hated it and he wanted the suffering of his people to stop, but there were nothing he could do to stop it.
"Please. What do you want from me? Haven't I suffered enough?"
"Nothing really, but it's just so fun to watch you beg for mercy like the dog you are." And with that he put the ring to his lips, whispering to it."Ardebit." The ring lit up with an intense heat as he showed his teeth in a sinister grin. "Are you ready, England? This might hurt a bit."
"No, please don't!"
The burning hot iron ring made contact with England's skin and his agonizing screams echoed through the almost empty room. Without thinking he let go of his twin´s sleeve and instead tried to push him away, with showed to be quite hard with his wrists bound.
"Now now, be a good boy and sit still, could ya?" He grabbed the nation be the right shoulder with his free hand and held him still.
Unable to stop his pain filled screams to slip out of his throat he closed his eyes and begged for the memories to take over his mind and release him from the agony of his skin melting away. He was scared of what he might see if he let the flashbacks wash over him, but he couldn't take it, he wanted it to stop so badly. The familiar headache that always followed the nasty memories filled his skull and he let out a sigh of relief.
"Are you alright, England? You look kinda down today," France said with a concerned tone in his voice as he gathered his papers on his desk. The meeting had just ended and everyone were getting ready to leave. Germany had just picked up a pile of report papers when Italy, cheerful as always, gave him a hug from behind. In surprise he had dropped the papers and where now barking at the clumsy Italian. "Italia! What have I told you about sneak-attacks?!" "Ah, I'm sorry Germany, I'm so sorry! But you looked so tensed. I just wanted to help you relax."
"I quess…" England didn't know how to answer the Frenchman's question. He was indeed feeling a bit down, what had they expected after he lost something so dear to him? It had only been a few months since he had to let America go and it seemed like the other nations could feel his sorrow since they all seemed to act a bit more cautious around him. But America himself didn't seem to notice the tension in the meeting room. Maybe that was for the best, England thought to himself, because wouldn't it be much worse if the free nation hated him and avoided him?
"I know that it isn't easy, but he did do the right thing, you have to understand that."
"The right thing? Why couldn't he just have stayed? I could have taken care of him, protected him." People were beginning to leave the conference room, and England and France were soon the only two still in the room.
"He's not a kid anymore, England." France placed a warm hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort the other nation.
"Don't touch me, you bloody frog! You are the reason he left me! You are the one who taught him about independence and you even fought by his side against me!" He slapped his hand away and took a few steps back to distance himself from the ´traitor´.
"England…" He began, but England cut him off by giving him a slap to the face.
"Shut it! I don't want to hear your pathetic excuses. I already know that you helped him and for that you will pay, traitor."
"England, you knew that this would happen, that your Alfred would one day leave his nest and try his wings."
"I said shut it!" Once again he landed a hit to the other man's face. Why couldn't he just shut up? He was the reason Alfred turned his back on him, his precious little angel. And he will never forgive him for that.
"You are mad! What has gotten into you?"
"You, Francis, are the reason i'm like this. And I will make you pay for what you have stolen from me." As the last words left his lips he swung his fist and landed a blow to the Frenchman's stomach causing him to kneel on the carpet in pain. "Arthur?" Taking advantage of the situation, England searched for an item to use and quickly found a candlestick that he grabbed with a steady hand while France was gasping for air.
"Please, England. Je suis désolé."
"I believe that I told you to be quite. I don't want to hear that nasty languages of yours." England slowly walked up to the pleading Frenchman and looked down at him with disgust. "The land of love? Haha, don't make me laugh! You are nothing but a filthy, envious frog. Are you really that desperate for love that you had to tear the only thing I truly care about in this world away from me?" All the hatred he felt toward the other nation boiled in his stomach and clouded his mind. He wanted to punish him, to make him suffer the same pain he did, and he was glad that the room was empty so no one could interfere.
"You are wrong, mon ami. "
"Oh, am I really? I don't believe you." And with that he gripped the candlestick tightly and swung it at France's head, watching with a mad grin on his face as the light faded in the other man's eyes. "No one can keep me and Alfred apart. I can't allow that." He drop the now bloody silver candlestick to the ground with a loud thud and grabbed the unconscious nation by the shoulders and began to drag him toward the door. "I seriously didn't think that you would be so heavy, damn frog," he hissed between gritted teeth. He knew that the Frenchman couldn't hear him, but he didn't care. As he dragged him over the floor he continued spitting curses at the past out man.
Suddenly the sound of a pair of footsteps caught England's attention as he entered the hallway.
"Is everything alright? I thought that I heard a loud sound coming from the conference room… Ah France! What happened?" Germany's rounded the corner of the hallway, but stopped in his track as his eyes found the past out Frenchman.
"Yes, everything is perfectly fine. Francis is so clumsy, you see. He stumbled on the carpet and fell. He did hit his head though, but I thinks he's alright." It wasn't that hard for England to come up with a lie convincing enough to make Germany believe in him. After all, he did hang out with north Italy and that fellow wasn't really known for being the sharpest knife in the kitchen.
"Are you really sure? Is there anything I can do for him?" Why did he even care about him? Germany's attempts to help only irritated England, he had believed that the building would had been cleared out by now, and he was beginning to feel inpatient.
"Yes, I'm sure. And no, I believe that I am fully capable of handle this situation by myself, but thanks anyways." Britain gave him a small innocent smile and was just about to drag away the useless frog's body when Germany stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.
"I don't doubt that, Mr. England. But at least let me carry him for you."
"Where did all this kindness come from?", England silently wondered. The usually very serious and strict German were now offering him help even though they rarely spoke during the world meetings. To not awake any suspicion England gave in and let Germany pick up the still unconscious man.
"Thanks," England mumbled as they walked down the corridor. There is no harm in just letting him carry the traitor, England though as he followed the bigger nation. A string of crimson liquid ran down the Frenchman's face from the cut in his temple, but, to England's relief, Germany didn't seem to notice the blood that had stained a few of France's golden locks.
England snapped back to reality by a sharp slap to his tearstained face.
"Hey, don't space out on me! I don't want you to miss the fun."
He didn't know for how long he had been gone, but the ring had been removed from his skin, leaving behind a grotesque image of a lion and a unicorn on his chest. It still hurt, it hurt so badly, but he didn't care. The horror of the new unfolded memories was far greater than the burning pain. The fact that he had hurt America in the way he did had been a great shock to England, but he had never though that other nations had fallen victims of his rage as well. It was just too much to bare. How many of his friends had he hurt? How many had he locked down and beaten? America, France… It was true that he and France rarely agreed with one another and that his black-sheep-of-Europe-comments really did get him on his nerves, but to think that he would hurt him for something so small as the loss of a former colony were just absurd. He wasn't that small-minded, was he?
"What was that?" He believed that he had only asked the question in his own head, but when the other man answered he realized that he had spoken the words out loud.
"What do you mean?"
"France. Why did I?"
"Haha, well, I believe that you got a bit of a temper. But to be honest with you, lad, I can't stand that garlic smelling frog either. I have lost count of how many times I have thought about smashing his head in, and I still can't really believe that you actually did it." He bursted out in a joyful laughter as if the thought of England knocking the Frenchman unconscious was amusing to him.
"Stop laughing! This is not funny! I could have killed him…" Oh my god, England thought, what if he really did kill him? Had he been breathing when he dragged him across the carpeted floor? The thought caused the panic to tightening its grip on his lungs, making it harder to breath.
"I can't record that you cared about not killing him when you tied him up and beat him in your cellar."
"Stop it!" England wanted to cover his ears, but since his wrist were still bound together he was forced to listen to the man's mocking voice. "Stop it, stop it, stop it! Ahhh!" His head was killing him, and he cried out in pain as his vision become blurry.
"Arthur?"
England barely heard the weak voice calling out for him when he entered the cold room with a lantern in a tight grip. Every time he laid his emerald eyes upon the French traitor he once called friend, he felt his heart tighten up with hate, and an unbearable desire to force him down on his knees, begging for mercy, filled his whole body. He only felt hatred and disgust towards the man and he had no plans of hiding it. And why would he? France was the reason America left his side. Wasn't that the truth? Too pent up with raging feelings to think logical, he walked toward the man in the middle of the room.
"Arthur, please," France pleaded as the Brit placed the lantern on a nearby table.
The nation's wrist were chained with iron shackles hanging from the ceiling, and his earlier struggles to break free had left red marks on his pale skin. "I'm so tired. Please, just let me down."
"Three days", England thought to himself. "I have already left him here to hang for three days and still that frog believe that he can get what he wants through begging."
"Oh, poor France is feeling tired?" England's stepped forward to caress the man's dirty cheek before turning his back on him, picking something up from the table. "Well, since you are asking so politely I shall give you something to help you wake up."
Francis eyes widened in fear as he realized the meaning behind the former pirate's words. "Non, s´il vous plaít!"
In his hand England held a leather whip and a smirk grew on his face as he saw the fear in the other nation's eyes. Oh, how he liked those pretty scared eyes. A wonderful feeling of power rushed through his body as he took his position behind France, leaving a half a meter between them. "Maybe a few of these will wake you up." England raised the whip and brought it down with all his might on the Frenchman's back, smiling at the lovely music escaping his prisoner's lips. "Ten? Twenty? What about thirty?" He once again raised his whip and brought it down as France let out a pain filled cry.
"Please…" he tried to beg, but England interrupted him with a painful lash to his lower back. "Count them." He ordered and raised the whip for a fourth time.
"Quatre," France cried out as the leather hit his bare back, causing his skin to rip. "Cinq!"
"I believe that I forbid you from speaking in that nasty language! Count in English, frog!" Another lash struck his back, leaving behind a nasty red mark.
"Ah! S-six," France gasped as tears started to form in the corners of his eyes. "Seven! Eight!" He continued to count the lashes he received on his back, afraid to provoke the Brit further.
Crimson flowers were starting to bloom on the Frenchman's back as the cuts got deeper. The blood ran down his slim body and dropped onto the stone floor, creating a pool of red. France desperately tried to hold back the tears that burned in his eyes as the leather dug further into his skin, leaving behind bloody marks across his shoulder blades. "Nine! Ten! Elev- ahh!" The tears that he had tried so hard to hide finally escaped his eyes and fell down his face. "England. Please, stop this," Francis cried out. He knew that his pleas wouldn't help him much, but he was desperate and he didn't know for how much longer he would be able to endure the cruel whipping.
"You truly are pathetic," England spat as he let the whip rest in his hand. "You can't even follow a simple order!" He grabbed France's hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to face him.
"Mon ami, please. Stop this." France's voice trembled as he spoke, and he quickly closed his teary eyes to avoid the Brit's cold eyes. "I'm not your friend," he answered coldly as he reached down into his pocket, withdrawing a piece of cloth. "And you are really starting to annoy me with that pitiful voice of yours." Before France got the chance to speak, England had tied the cloth behind his head, preventing the Frenchman from speaking.
Chained up, beaten and now silenced. France had lost all his hopes of reaching out to England, the real England. Arthur was gone, he knew that now and there was nothing he could do to save him from the darkness that had corrupted his once kind heart.
"Well, I think that's enough of whipping for today, don't you agree?" England finally said with a smirk on his lips. Francis watch with teary eyes as the Brit turned to the table to pick up a new toy to play with. England's carefully picked up one of the objects, studying it before putting it down to pick up another. When he found the right one, a small silver knife, he turned back to face the chained up Frenchman.
Afraid of the new pain that would soon be inflicted on his weak body, Francis used all his remaining energy to trash around in his shackles binding his wrist as the other nation crept closer, his demonic eyes fixed on him. He wanted to call out to the Englishman, tell him to stop this madness, but he knew that even if he could, it would do little.
Suddenly England grabbed France by his chin, holding him still as he whispered in his ear. "You are pathetic, France." The hot breath of the Englishman sent shivers down his spine. A flash of silver flashed before Francis´s eyes as Arthur raised the knife to slice into the skin of the Frenchman. As the pain shot through his arm like electricity, he couldn't help but to cry out, the sound muffled by the cloth covering his lips. It hurt. It felt as his skin was on fire and he disliked the uncomfortable warm feeling of his own blood running down his raised arm.
"Weak." The blade danced over his shoulder, leaving behind a trail of crimson. "Filthy." England spat out the words like they were poisonous as he let the knife slide down his chest. Unable to scream out in pain, France silently cried as the silver blade sunk deeper into his chest.
England's eyes shone like green lanterns in the dark room, he enjoyed this and every cry or whimper from the bleeding nation in front of him encouraged him to go deeper, to test the limits of the barely conscious Frenchman.
"Moron. Worthless!" He kept spitting out insults as he acted out his anger through the knife, carving into his skin, dying the pale man's skin red. "And a disgrace to your people."
Every word that had let the Brits lips had hurt him badly, but the last ones had hurt the most. He already knew that he was worthless and for that he was sorry. All he wanted was for his own people to be safe and happy, and to be proud to be French. "They call you the country of love, but the truth is..." England dropped the bloody knife to the floor as he leaned closer to once again whisper in his ear. "No one loves you. You are all alone and no one cares about you, France." Francis heart broke as the words left Arthur's mouth and he silently cried, not caring anymore if England could see him or not.
Without a word, England released him from the iron shackles and watch in amusement as France fell to the ground, his legs too weak to keep him standing. France slowly raised his trembling hand to remove the cloth from his face before he weakly looked up at the smirking Englishman. As tears ran down his bruised face he spoke in a low tone. "I'm sorry. Please… forgive me."
"I don't care for your apologues. What you did, what you took from me, can never be forgiven." And with that said, he left the weeping man behind and walked away, not caring about the nation's pleas for forgiveness. America was gone and out of his life, and England was once again left alone. And he would never forgive those who had taken his pure angel away from him.
"Why?" was the first word that came to his mind when he return from his horrific memories. He wanted to scream at the man in front of him. To ask him why he was doing this to him, why he had to uncover the past that he had buried in an attempt to move on. But he was too tired. His body was lying still on the ground, his arms still bound tightly, and his mind was a mess. Memories from the past was slowly starting to uncover themselves, causing his already fragile heart to break. He knew that he had done wrong and it hurt.
"Hey, stay with me." His tormentor grabbed him by the collar and pushed him up against the stone wall. "You didn't think we were done yet, did you?"
"Please, I can't take it anymore." England had lost all strength in his body and could barely keep himself standing.
"Oh, but we can't quit now. Sinners need to be punished, and you, my little Arthur, have certainly been a naughty boy." He grabbed England's tied wrists and raised them over his head before connecting a chain to the piece of rope binding them. "Turn around."
Arthur knew what was to come and was terrified by the pain that would soon be inflicted upon his body. "No." He whispered in response to the other man's command.
"I said…" He forcefully grabbed England's left arm and forced his chest up against the wall. "Turn around."
"No, no please!" Arthur cried out as he heard the cracking sound of a whip behind him. Francis face, twisted in pain, flashed before his eyes as the first lash of the whip hit his back. The whip danced over his back, shredding his shirt, leaving behind a crimson spider web pattern on his pale skin. England desperately counted the lashes, hoping that the next one would be the last, but he quickly lost count when the pain become too great. His legs could no longer support him and he gave in, leaving himself hanging by the wrists. He was so tired, but the lashes kept on hitting his sore body.
"Please, I beg you…" He tried to speak up, but the words got stuck in his dry throat.
"Fine." He finally stopped, the blood stained leather whip still in a firm grip." I guess that's enough of wiping for now."
England let out a sigh of relief as his tormentor dropped the whip on the stone floor. "But that doesn't mean that I am done with punishing you."The nasty grin spread on his face as he withdraw a pocketknife from his pocket, pressing it against England's exposed throat.
England held his breath, afraid that the slightest movement would cause the blade to cut into his delicate skin. He was so afraid of the man in front of him. Sure, the flashbacks, the torture and the dark and twisted version of himself had indeed frightened him, but the thing that scared him the most was the fact that he was totally helpless. There was nothing he could do to stop the cruelty that was inflicted upon him. And the thought of his sanity slowly leaving him made him terrified. He had no idea of what had happened after the dark memories of him hurting the ones he held close, but the worse thing was that he didn't know what had happened to America. Was he even alive?
The other nation suddenly leaned in closer and whispered in England's ear. "Shall I tell you how worthless you are, just like you told that bloody frog? When Arthur didn't responded, he lightly pressed on the blade, leaving a red line behind on the white skin. Arthur hissed by the sudden pain, but tried his hardest to keep a natural face, not wanting to give the other man satisfaction by showing any kind of emotions. "I see," he continued as he walked behind him. He ran his hands over England's scared back, letting the tips of his finger dance over the ripped skin. Arthur still refused to let out a cry of pain as the other man dug his nail into his bloody skin causing England to arch his back. "Weak." He breathed into England's neck, sending shivers down his spine. "Truly pathetic! You can't even control your own imagination." He forcefully grabbed England's dirty hair and forced his head back. "And seriously, who talks to elves and fairies anyway? Maybe you really are insane." He let go of the blond's hair and before England even got the chance to react, he had sliced the knife into his shoulder, digging deep into his flesh. Arthur could no longer hold back his screams as the pain spread through his body like a wildfire. "Stop, plea-ahhhh!"
"Do you really believe that I would stop only because you begged me to? You really are stupid." He ran the blade of the knife over the Brits collarbone as he whispered with a cold voice into his ear. "How does it feel to be overpowered and hurt by a man created from your own twisted mind? Do you enjoy it, you masochistic bastard!?" The blade sunk deep into England's chest as the words left the other man's lips. He carved into the skin, creating a cross.
"Stop it." England knew that his words sounded pathetic and weak, but he didn't have the energy to care anymore. He just wished that he could wake up from this horrific nightmare and find America by his side.
"You are a real bore," he spat as he finally put down the bloody pocketknife. As England watch him in silence he grabbed the hem of his shirt, using the knife he then cut of a piece of fabric. "A doll that can do nothing except repeat itself is no fun to play with."
"No! No, no, no , no!" England's mind was screaming as he realized what the man in front of him had in mind. "No, please! Don't!" The words just slipped out from his mouth as the panic was rising in his chest. He knew that he was helpless, but somehow the thought of not being able to talk back scared him more than being tied up or beaten.
His twin tied the piece of fabric behind his head, preventing him from speaking.
"I knew you were cuter when you shut up," he purred as he gripped England's chin with a steady hand, forcing him to look up into his eyes. "My poor little Arthur who just want to be that perfect gentleman, but the truth is…" he let go of his chin and smacked him across the face, grinning at the mixed expression of pain and surprise on the Brits dirty face. "You will never be anything except a filthy pirate who makes his way in live through stealing, lying and killing."
England tried to object against the man's words but his words did only sound like muffled mumbling. Frustrated and angry at the situation he was caught in England could do nothing except staring into his tormentor´s dark eyes.
The other man carefully crabbed his chin and leaned closer. "Well, England," he kissed the cloth covering Arthur's lips before continuing speaking. "I believe my job here is done." England flinched at the sudden act of gentleness. He didn't like it, and he certainly didn't trust the man's words. The lights flickered in the man's face as his sinister grin grew bigger. He truly looked like a demon with his wild eyes burning in the dim light of the room.
"Sleep well, my sweet England," he purred as he swung his fist, hitting the brit in the guts. The heavy impact of the hit punched the air out of England's lungs, and he let his head hung as he passed out.
"Engwand."
"Yes, America?"
"What does freedom mean?"
Those ocean coloured eyes of the little American boy looked up at England with such innocence and curiosity. "Well," England started, carefully choosing his words." Freedom is the power or right to act, speak or think as one wants, " he explained as he watched the boy in front of him. He was clearly thinking deep thought- his brows were knitted in confusion.
"Can I have freedom?"
"Oh, silly boy. Of Course you can, you already have it. "
America´s face shone up with a great smile at the Brits words. "But you have to promise me one thing." England placed his hand on the boy's head and ruffled his golden locks.
"Anything you want, Engwand."
"Promise me that you will never let anyone take your freedom away from you."
"I promise!" He smiled up at England. "After all, who would protect Engwand if I wasn't around?"
"England! Oh God, please. England!"
England felt so cold and every part of him hurt. His head felt foggy. "What had happened," he thought to himself.
"England! Wake up!" America? Was he still dreaming?
"Arthur!" America shook his unconscious body as he called out his name in panic. "Oh please don't let it be too late," he thought to himself. "Please, don't leave me alone."
England slowly opened his green eyes. "America?" a tear fell down his bruised cheek as he whispered the nation's name.
"Yes, I'm here. I´m here England." He let out a little laugh of relief as he picked up Arthur's fragile body, pressing him against his chest. "I thought you were…" he started, but the words got stuck in his throat.
"You can't be. You can't be America." England tried to get away from America's arms, but he was too weak to move. "Get away from me!" he cried out, desperation and sorrow in his emerald eyes. He looked like a frightened animal, shaking and crying in fear. "Please no more. I can't take it."
"It's me, Arthur. Everything is alright, I am here now."
"No, you are lying!" England tried his hardest to shake off America's hands on his shoulders, shaking violently as he began to panic.
"Arthur, please, calm down" He grabbed his wrist and looked into his eyes. "It's me, truly. And I would never hurt you." America looked down at the other man's thin wrists, his chest tightening by the sight. England's wrist were covered in bruises, and scars covered his arms and chest. "What happened to you? I looked everywhere for you"
"America…" he gripped his shirt and wept as he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. What I did to you, it can never be forgiven."
"Hush now." America carefully stroked England's cheek as he captured his lips in a kiss. England flinched by the American boy's sudden action, but soon let himself relax. It had been so long since he had felt the kindness and warmth of another human being, but the guilt still felt heavy in his heart.
America broke the kiss, cupping England's face and wiped away his tears with his thumbs. "Oh, England, I was so worried about you," he whispered as he looked deep into the green eyes of his beloved brother.
"But why? Why did you bother?" He was still a bit shocked about the other nation´s presence and he couldn't possibly understand why he had tried so hard to find him. Does the loud American really forgive that easily?
"Because I love you, England. I have always loved you and that's why I left you," he spoke with a brittle voice.
"What are you talking about?" England looked up at him with big eyes, he didn't understand the other man's words.
"I left because I wanted to become stronger. I wanted to be equal to you, England. And…" America's voice cracked as a tear slowly made its way down his chin. "I wanted to be able to protect you."
England didn't know how to respond to America's confession. He had always looked at him as a noisy, not so sharp, little brother, and he had never thought that he felt this about him. Sure, they had shared a great part of their lives together, and England had always looked after him, but still… was the feelings he had felt toward the other really love? The kind of love shared between family members or was the love America was feeling something much stronger?
"Please, say something." America said, looking like a desperate puppy with his big round eyes and tousled golden hair.
"America, I… I am your brother…" His mind was clouded with words he wanted to say, but somehow they all got stuck in his throat
"Don't you think I know that?!" America looked at him with teary eyes. "At first I thought something was wrong with me. A man is not supposed to want his own brother in a way like that, but I couldn't help it. I love you, Arthur."
England flinch by being called his human name. "But I …" he started, his hands shaking by the horrific memories of him causing the other man pain.
"I know, but its okay. It was my fault. I was the one that left you behind."
England couldn´t hold back anymore. He let the tears run down his cheeks as he spoke in a trembling voice filled with sorrow and regret. "But I tied you down, I hurt you. How can you just forgive what I did so easily?"
"Because I'm the hero. And the hero is supposed to forgive and show kindness. You were the one who taught me that, Arthur." He smiled down at England, his brilliant ocean coloured eyes making him look even more like a little child.
England closed his eyes as he hugged America, crying into his shoulder. "Engla...?" America started, but England cut him off by placing his lips on his. England felt a bit surprised by his own actions. It was like his body moved on its own, following the lead of his heart instead of his brain. "Oh God, how could I let myself succumb to his charm?" he asked himself as he felt America deepened the kiss. It felt so wrong, but somehow he didn't felt like moving away. He wanted to stay like this, safe in America's arms, for forever. He wanted to hear Americas calming voice as he tells him that everything is going to be okay, that he is watching over him, protecting him from the darkness of his own twisted mind.
"I am glad that you at least remember that much from what I taught you," He spoke with a smile on his lips as he broke the kiss. "I'm glad that you grew up to become such a loving and forgiving nation." England tousled his blond hair and kissed his forehead. "And I am so sorry for breaking your promise, Alfred."
"Well, I guess there is only one thing you can do to repay me for that," he smiled as he spoke, giggling at the desperate expression on England's face.
"I will do anything." England looked up at him with big eyes.
"Promise me to always stay by my side, Arthur. Please, promise me that you will never shut me out again."
"I promise."