Welcome to my first Hetalia fic. I don't really intend for this to be a super long or grand one like Pokemon Rust but I hope whoever's reading this will enjoy this :D

England's P.O.V

My breath was erratic. My heart was pounding fiercely and painfully against my ribcage and the rain was smashing down on me, pouring down my gold hair, down my pale skin, down my red uniform.

They were creating a tormenting hammering noise inside my head. Adding the desperate turmoil that were my thoughts into the mix almost led me to missing America's cries.

"Hey, England." the younger country sounded almost as exhausted and desperate as I felt. His voice was wavering but I wondered whether I was just hoping. The rain was persistent in its falling as it tore America's words up but, no matter how much I wanted to ignore all the tragedy, not even the weather could drown out America's voice.

America stood tall in his blue military clothes. The barrel of his musket was steadily pointed at the country's former brother, America being completely unfazed by the water rolling down his face or the vast fields of mud beginning to swallow his boots or the league of angry soldiers standing expectantly behind him.

"All I want is my freedom! I'm no longer a child, nor your little brother. From now on consider me independent."

I clenched my teeth together. Why was America being such an idiot?! He couldn't be independent. He wouldn't be independent.

There was silence filled his unbearable tension as we met each other's eyes. America's blue eyes were full of determination and resentment. I tried to let my message reach to him though my emerald green irises but he was ignoring me, as he had done so for the past eight years.

I narrowed my eyes as my irritation grew into outrage inside me. I began to step forwards, the soles my black boots slapping down onto the mud as I ran towards him.

I saw the look of surprise on his face as charged. The army behind him had their guns trained on me but America's was pointed away as he stood.

I yelled as I thrust the bayonet on my gun forwards but though I had caught him off guard he'd somehow managed to raise his musket in time to catch my weapon in the process. There was a short moment of struggle but I twisted my gun in a way so America's was thrown away.

I heard it crash onto the earth some way to my right but I didn't take my eyes away from his.

I was so close to him that I could hear his loud breath over the downpour. The bayonet was less than a metre away from his throat but what I saw in his face wasn't fear, it was anger.

This made me feel worse. Why was he being so stubborn?! Why couldn't he have just ended the silliness before it had reached this point?! Why was he so obsessed with his independence?!

"I won't allow it!" I said aloud, "You idiot! Why can't you ever follow anything through to the end?!"

"Ready! Aim...!" one of America's men began. Several other soldiers stepped forwards and raised their guns but they knew they wouldn't be able to stop me from shooting him.

But I didn't. I was hesitating. Now America was looking scared. He was staring at the end of my bayonet, which was hovering inches away from his eyes.

It won't kill him, it's won't kill him, I repeated to myself. If I shot him it wouldn't kill him. I couldn't kill him: he was a country. A country I wouldn't allow to fall under any circumstances, which was why I had to shoot him.

I could sense the fear. In him, in his men, and in me. It was everywhere, rolling over the battlefield like a tangible fog. If I shot him then the war would be over, he would still be my brother.

Deep down I knew it couldn't return to how it used to be. He'd lost once before but he'd still attempted this charade again.

I knew that but even with those thoughts milling about in the forefront of my mind I did it. My index finger tightened around the trigger and the recoil of my weapon shook my hands tremendously, almost knocking the musket out of my hands.

The sound was that of a thousand whips cracking at once, blasting all our eardrums with its undeniable sound. A cloud of dark grey smoke curled out and upwards from the barrel of my gun but it was stained with red. Blood had filled the cold air and continued to fall from America's face as he was pushed back by the impact and collapsed into the mud.

There was a great ripple of shock that spread throughout the army in front of me. Their country had been shot and they were all feeling it. The entirety of the so-called 'United States' had felt it that day on the fourth of July. They had lost.

We were all still for a moment. I was staring in horror at America. His face was stained completely with his own blood and his nose looked broken. His dark blonde hair was coated with the wet earth, as was his uniform.

The Americans didn't know what to do. They couldn't kill me and I was still armed. My eyes steeled in threat and one by one they all dropped their weapons.

I had won and I was going to make sure that nothing like this would ever happen again. The sun would never set on the British Empire. As soon as everyone learnt that we would be able to live in peace again.

America P.O.V

The pain in my face was unbelievable. It felt like there was a knife in my face that no-one had bothered to take out. I couldn't make out any thoughts over the pain. I tried clenching my teeth and tensing my jaw but nothing I did made it bearable. I couldn't open my eyes. I couldn't fall back asleep over the agony. I didn't even know countries could be in this much pain. I couldn't do anything but suffer in the darkness brought on by my own eyelids.

I didn't know how long I'd been there for or how long ago it had been since...

A sharp pain-filled gasp escaped my lips as the memories as torturous as my body began to pervade the only recesses of my mind not consumed with pain.

He shot me... He shot me... He shot me... He shot me... He shot me... He shot me... He shot me...

Why was that all I could think!?

I should have been trying to escape from whatever prison I knew I would open my eyes onto but I couldn't think straight.

I was stuck in the cycle of suffering for goodness-knows how long, my swirling mind plagued by England's face just before he'd shot me, and I almost wished that I could die. The insanity was over a thousand times worse than death.

If I was feeling like this then I was terrified to think of what condition the people would be in but the lack of clarity inside was constantly there to interfere with my brain.

I spend so long in that state. Sometimes I would fall to unconsciousness just because my body was too exhausted to work but I spent most of it in the aware darkness.

As a country I healed faster than humans but that would have resulted in death. Speeding up the time it took for someone to recover from fatality was still fatality.

But I was recovering. The pain was a constant in my dazed days but eventually, eventually, I opened my eyes.

The light was so glaring that I had to clench them shut immediately but that light, however painful, gave me hope.

In all the time I'd taken to reach this state England could have done as he pleased with the US. That convinced me even further.

I wrenched my eyes open again and forced them to stay open. They watered terribly but at least I knew what on earth my situation was.

Confusion stabbed me like a knife. The first thing I saw through my tearing eyes were the white curtains, hanging limp from the posts of my bed like old clothes on a washing line. I was so frustrated. I had to think systematically and robotically, processing each thought separately to properly get it.

I closed my eyes again but then I finally recognised what I was lying on. A bed. The plush white blanket felt all crinkled up underneath me. My body lacked the weight of my blue military jacket and I felt cold around my feet where I assumed there were no socks or boots to cover them up.

The cloth of my clothes felt loose but warm. I twitched where something dry irritated my skin and my stomach felt twisted and shrunken like someone had balled up my insides and was refusing to unravel them but I couldn't do anything so I tried to rest so I could heal some more.

After a time I began to get used to the pain, as much as you could get used to such a thing, so sleep was beginning to come to me easier.

When I woke up again I was determined to wake up again. I absolutely had to find out where the hell I was.

I forced my eyes open but found I wasn't blinded this time. It was night-time, apparently, or at least someone had turned off the light.

The idea of someone having been in this room sent an irrational spasm of fear coursing through my body. I immediately began cursing myself for being so scared and opened my eyes again.

I wasn't quite at the point where I could move my head, since that was the source of the pain, but I was getting better. I had no idea that healing a shot in the face would take this long.

I looked around and found that I wasn't in a prison. The room actually looked pretty decent. I spotted some chests, wardrobes and a desk but the bedroom looked very decorated, with paintings, fancy floral wallpaper and a large light hanging from the ceiling.

I shifted my arms backwards and tried putting my weight on them. They were shaking violently in the effort but I pretty strong beforehand so let me raise my head.

The strength I had to put into sitting up meant I was breathing heavily by that point but my lips had twisted into a weak grin. Yaaay...I did i-

I stopped mid-sarcastic thought as the surprise hit me. I'd spent enough time here to know this place. This room belonged to England. This was his American house.

I hadn't been there since the first time I'd run away from the British Empire. This place held far too many memories.

I was sure that I would have been swarmed in them had I not been attacked by a sudden rush of hunger. I mutely groaned. That must have been the pain in my stomach all this time.

But there was no food. The only thing I smelt made me want to throw up. This whole place smelt of England.

The next time I woke up things were much better. After I managed to sit up I pushed myself out of bed. It hurt a lot but at least I was out of bed. At least I'm out of bed, I repeated to myself mentally.

It didn't look very heroic but I actually had to crawl my way across the room. This time the light was on, revealing the light green wallpaper decorated with darker blooming vines curling around the walls and a dark carpet.

There was a door but I couldn't try to escape when food was the only thing on my mind. Gosh, I was hungry. It was like a little man kept hitting the inside of my stomach with a spade.

Next to the door was a low table where I was unbelievable grateful to find a plate there. I was kneeling now but I didn't care.

I didn't care that the food was slightly burnt. I didn't care that it was bland. I didn't care it was fish and chips.

I sighed in relief afterwards, feeling soooo much better afterwards. I was too tired to make my way back to my bed so I leant against the table and tried to regain all the energy I'd spent getting over here.

My head lolled exhaustedly but then my eyes caught something. There was a man sitting opposite me.

His eyes met mine and though they were bright blue there was a dullness that clouded them. Unkempt dark blonde hair fell over his face but hadn't quite made it to his eyes. He looked like an utter mess though. His clothes were dirty and stained with red but it was nothing compared to his face. His nose was twisted and crooked with a single plaster stretching over the bridge as if he was a vain teenager. His skin looked as white and messed up as his shirt but it held a certain darkness to it that made me think it might have once been tanned.

He was slumped against a wooden leg of a highly polished table and his hands hung limply on the carpet as if he was a scarecrow devoid of straw. It occurred to me just as I was falling back into unconsciousness that that scarecrow was me. I frowned. I'd never been a particularly vain person but I just looked so different, it scared me.

I couldn't believe it when I found myself back on my bed. It confirmed it. Someone was entering my room.

I pushed myself off the bed again and managed to stagger my way back to the other side of the room. I was so happy to find I could actually do it without faceplanting...immediately.

I ate again; it was bread and baked beans this time. I pressed my hand against the table and tried getting to my feet. I almost fell back but thankfully I grabbed one of the pictures in time.

I breathed deeply and clutched the doorknob with my free hand. I twisted it and swung my weight against the door but it seemed to be locked.

I didn't remember any of the bedrooms having locks on the outside but it didn't surprise him if England had added them just for him. I hated this. I was trapped. There were no windows and no ways out and now he was getting stronger it was becoming harder for him to just sleep the hours of inevitable boredom but now my mind was clearing, my hate for that nation was growing tenfold. It was two-nil to him but I didn't care how long I'd have to fight for. I would have my freedom. I would be independent.

And this was the first chapter.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and if you did or didn't I'd appreciate some reviews to tell me how I could improve! :D