England stood numbly, whether it was from shock and disbelief or the freezing rain he would never know. This could not be happening. This could not be bloody happening! How could he loose? It wouldn't, couldn't be allowed. There was no way he would let America go. Alfred… his darling little Alfred…
"Sorry England, but I'm gonna choose freedom." Tears flowed freely from emerald eyes, mixing with the rain. Thank Gods for the rain. Never would he allow himself to show weakness. He must be strong, invincible. "I'm not a kid anymore. I'm not your little brother, either." Those words cut straight through his heart. "As of now, I'm declaring my independence." Arthur felt something, his restraint and heart, snap inside of him. In the flash of an eye, before anyone could even blink, he charged America.
"I won't allow it!" His bayonet was caught on Alfred's musket. There was no way he could really stab him anyway. "You don't have the strength to stand on your own!" Dimly, in the back of his mind, Arthur registered Alfred's commanders giving the order to fire. Where were his own troops anyway? They most certainly weren't backing him up now, if they hadn't fled already. America stood there completely defenseless, his gun laying on the ground in the mud. Rain pelted their faces, soaking their uniforms, adding to the terrible weight England already felt on his shoulders. Tentatively he lowered his gun. The weight overcame him, Arthur sunk to his knees in defeat.
"I… I can't do it." There was just no way he could ever intentionally harm Alfred... his dear baby brother. "You bloody fool…" His musket fell to the ground, cast away as he tried to keep his emotions in, fruitlessly wiping away tears as more sprang forth to take their place. "Dammit… why… dammit…" He croaked out, words getting stuck in his throat as the tears spilled down his face, mixing with the rain. How could he do this to him? He was supposed to be the strong one, the one that he relied on, Alfred's…hero.
"England…" The younger nation gazed down in shock and disbelief at the country reduced to pieces before him. "You used to be… so big…" Now it was America that was victorious, the troops had already begun celebrating and the war was hardly over. The nations shared their moment, unbroken by anything that surrounded them until that fateful moment.
Two gunshots rang out, cutting off the cheers as the air grew heavy. England looked at the body in front of him, blood seeping out through the hole in his chest; America had been shot by one of his own men. The rain increased as if the land itself was morning the passing of it's personification. Rather stupidly England reached out, unaware of the chaos around him, to stroke the American's face.
"A-Alfred?" Suddenly he was shoved away as American soldiers picked up the still nation and grabbed around the stomach by his own men. "No!" Vainly he struggled to get loose, to break free from the arms around him. "Alfred! Alfred! Let me go, dammit let me bloody go!" His struggles increased. Roughly he was slapped in the face and hoisted onto a horse, tied to the saddle. His numb fingers picked at the knot, unsuccessfully trying to untie it until they were slapped away by a gloved hand. Defeated, he slumped in the saddle, held in place only by the ropes that bound him, and let his mind escape from his body, flying away.
England lay, still in his cloths from that dreadful day, underneath the covers of his bed. Though they were muddy and stained the sheets, Arthur didn't care, for he could not see them. He was blind to the world, seeing only Alfred's brilliant blue eyes reduced to dull spheres as he lay dead in front of him. It was his fault, dammit. Everything was his fault. The tent flap opened to admit a runner.
"Mr. Kirkland, sir you are wanted in the General's quarters." Arthur gave a noncommittal grunt in reply, making the soldier sigh in exasperation. "Sir, this is an order." Wearily England waved off the runner, lurching unsteadily to his feet. Neglecting to put on his coat and hat he made his way to the tent. The sky was covered by a blanket of clouds, snowflakes falling lightly, dusting the muddy ground with their purity. Like a doll England entered the tent and sat down in the padded chair, unconsciously comparing the blue to Alfred's eyes. It was strikingly similar in color, but lacked all of the flavor that Alfred would provide.
'I felt like I could just live off of them alone.' Some days, that were happening more and more often before the war, he lived for those eyes… and that smile. That brilliant grin that would light up the world. Arthur withdrew from his thoughts at the sound of his name.
"We know that you are still getting over the death of…Alfred but there is a war going on. Mourning can wait until we have won. Meanwhile we would like your opinions on these plans…" The longer he droned on the further out of it England became. It's not like he didn't want to be useful to his country but he just couldn't concentrate. Finally the meeting ended and he slipped dejectedly underneath the covers of his cot.
It had been a week since that doleful day. Battles were still being waged. The Americans, though one of their leaders was dead and the other in critical condition, were winning all of the major skirmishes. Francis, though he was for the opposite side, decided to bring the Englishman some news. He snuck into the camp, locating England's tent from what he would later refer to as the 'scent of despair', and burst into the tent.
"Hey Angleterre I-" France stopped in shock. England was slumped in bed, candle flickering on his desk, casting shadows around the room. The flickering light also revealed the lifeless eyes that continued staring at a rectangular item clutched in his hands, not even paying attention or recognizing the man that stood in the open doorway. A France-like stubble covered his chin. If he had seen himself like this England would have had a heart attack. However, Francis could tell that he was beyond caring. Heck, it didn't even look like there was a person left in this empty husk of a body. Tentatively France crossed the large tent to stand in front of the Briton. He was slightly amused to see that he was starring at a painting of him and America given to him by Feliciano and Ludwig a long time ago.
"Angleterre I have great news!" All he got for a reply was a non-committal grunt. What with the state that England was in, France was surprised that he had responded at all. "It's Alfred-" At the name Arthur head snapped up (Francis was surprised that he hadn't given himself whiplash).
"What the bleeding hell are you doing here, we're on opposite sides of the war, you bloody wanker. And don't you dare say his name, blooming frog. Don't you know it's bad to disrespect the dead?"
"Yeah, about that…" Obviously his 'death' had affected the man greatly. France shifted, for all of his eloquence with words he had no idea how to break the news to England. "You see he isn't really…dead."
"You've got to be joking. He got shot, dammit I saw him! It happened right in front of me! I was bloody there." Some of the fire had returned to his eyes as he glared at the Frenchman, knuckles turning pale as he clutched the picture. "Do you just get that much sick pleasure from tormenting me? This is ridiculous, how can you honestly expect me to believe you?"
"Angleterre I-"
"If this is a joke I swear, I'll castrate you and-"
"IT'S NOT A JOKE." France practically screamed at him. England was taken aback at the sudden change in his temperament. Even when they had argued France had never yelled. The blond nation sighed and pushed back his hair. "I'm not kidding, Angleterre. The soldiers managed to stop the bleeding and cart him to a medic." He shook his head ruefully "all the blood… it was terrible, but the bullet had passed through him, narrowly missing his heart and lungs*. It was quite lucky, really."
"So… he's… alive?" England's eyes sparkled with hope.
"Oui. With two weeks in bed he should be fine, though he is sleeping practically twenty four-seven. I thought that you might want to know what with you…" France trailed off. Though everyone knew that England loved the little colony, only France knew how much.
He had broken into England's house by picking the lock to prank him, but found England sleeping on the couch, a book lying open on the ground. He had thought that England had left, but apparently the country had managed to return without France noticing. Francis had toyed with the idea of drawing on the Briton's face, but decided to leave instead. However his curiosity was roused by a rather sexual moan followed by a muttered name. Tiptoeing over to the couch France watched as England flipped over on his side and was having what appeared to be a wet dream. France grinned, perhaps this could be used to his advantage, and fixed the scene in his memory. He would never forget it. This would be excellent for blackmail and the like.
"A-ah…" Arthur moaned and panted "A-Alfred!"
Francis smirked, settling down on the armchair across from the couch. The chair was quite comfortable. It was a clean white, devoid of any stains. The arms rose like butterfly wings out of the back, wood an uneven golden bronze. It would be his pleasure to 'wait out the storm' so to speak and stay until England woke up. Gazing across the room at the sleeping nation Francis smirked deviously and leaned back in the chair crossing his legs leaning back comfortably in the classic villain pose, hands resting lightly on the arms of the chair. Minutes later England expeditiously sat up with a groan.
"Dammit!"
"Having fun there?" England spun around with a gasp of surprise.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here frog?"
"Oh you know, the usual. I just snuck in to play a little prank is all. Then I just saw you sleeping and oh so defenseless, so I decided to stick around." France smirked. "So… you and Alfred?" England flushed, and started stuttering nervously.
"I-I don't k-know what you are t-talking about." France groaned. Honestly, how imbecilic did he think he was?
"Give up the act, England. It's not like I don't have eyes, or ears." A slight sneer spread across his face at how gullible Arthur thought he was. "Angleterre, I may act lascivious and even foolish at times, but when it comes to l'amour nothing can be hidden from me. Maintenant, dites-moi tout.**" Though the Brit didn't speak French, the way Francis leaned forward, propping his face up with his hand, and gazed at him intently made the meaning of his words all too clear. Though they weren't on the…best of terms, Arthur needed to tell someone. And though France did love his gossip, he knew that he could keep a secret.
"Well… it all started when…" England began to pour his heart out at the other nation, who didn't say a word. At first Arthur thought that he would laugh and joke around, but one glance at France changed his mind. He was surprisingly serious and seemed to take everything to heart. After Arthur finished telling him about his feelings, France gave him advice that actually made sense. England would have never thought that France could be useful for anything besides making ridiculous food and cloths and flirting, but here was France at his best. Time passed and soon the grandfather clock was striking four in the afternoon. They both had different matters to attend to, so England made sure that France left his house without destroying or changing anything (France had once come and redecorated his whole house when he was gone. Needless to say, Arthur wasn't enthused about it). Despite not completing his original objective, France left England with a wide grin and a considerably better mood.
France returned to the present, remembering the reason he had came. Arthur was looking at him quizzically, waiting for him to finish his statement.
"What with you being his guardian, and in love with him." France chuckled and winked "though I usually don't approve of incest, for you I'll make an exception."
"I am no longer his guardian. He won Francis." Arthur turned away, setting the photo down gently on his desk. "Now bugger off." France left England to his musings. At least he no longer looked and acted like a living corpse.
*I looked at a diagram (that was hopefully accurate) to double check and yes, this is indeed possible. Highly unlikely, but possible.
**Now, tell me everything.
Also, my knowledge of the American Revolution is… well… let's just say practically nonexistent so please forgive any mistakes. I give credit to APH and Wikipedia for any information (especially names) in this fic. This was going to be a oneshot but… I felt like making it have more than one chapter. Donno why… Sorry Frenchies is I got anything wrong. XD Though I really shouldn't and have no excuse, well, whatever. For now I'm done with this.
Disclaimer: Though it would be super special awesome if I did, I sadly do not own Axis Powers Hetalia. It belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. If Japan, China, Russia, and Canada were mine… well, crazy stuff would happen.
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