Hey, I'm back at it again!
Thank you so much to the people (singular person so far whom I am very appreciative of!) leaving reviews, it feels amazing to see that you've enjoyed my silly one-shots!
CONTEXT:
This is going to have historical references, so sorry if I get anything wrong.
I always had this idea that England would see a young Australia as just another America. They're both decently bubbly, loud, and confident, but I also believe that Australia would resent not being seen as his own person.
I don't do angst very often, so PLEASE tell me if it's cringy, and how to help it not be.
If you don't want something sorta sad and angsty then feel free to wait for my next update, which I can promise will be light hearted. But if you don't...
Enjoy!
EDIT: Thank you GalaxyWolf2.0 for pointing out the mess-up with the chapter, it's greatly appreciated!
He was a menace and he knew it.
He used to be a lovely child, one that would find comfort in the presence of other people since he'd been alone for so long. He used to have wonder in his eyes at all the new things he would see at his caretakers house. He used to latch onto the empire's hand whenever they walked in a crowd, the busy streets sometimes frightened him. He used to listen to every word that left his superior's mouth, because surely he knew best.
Not anymore.
It didn't take long, really, and Australia would insist he wasn't rebelling; that it was just the way he was. England would insist he was tying to get away from him, just like everyone else.
The changes went unnoticed for a little while, the dirt on Australia's clothes even when England told him to stay inside, the missing cookies from the jar when no one was supposed to eat any, a few moved decorations from the living room when England had been specific about their placement.
Nothing that the empire couldn't ignore. Nothing that he couldn't stay silent about in the hopes history wouldn't repeat itself.
He'd been feeling particularly lawful as of late, and he chalked it up to shipping his convicts away. He failed however, to think of how his convicts would impact the smaller nation he brought under his care. That maybe, just maybe, a small bit of their mischief and chaos would fester in the green eyed boy.
No, definitely not. This boy was just like the last, and none of it was England's fault.
Australia tried hard to be as different from the memory as he could. When he heard that the blond before him hated England's food, he would eat it without question. When he was told they liked the violin, Australia would make a point to press his hands to his ears when he heard it. When he heard that boy had made England cry, Australia would give the empire gifts and cheer him up.
England would take a look at him sometimes and he would smile, laugh, shake a hand through his brown hair and say he was sweet for trying.
But his nature was his nature, and nothing he did would stop it.
He often found himself climbing the cupboards in the kitchen like they were trees, and he would almost forget that it was uncivilised. He would find rats and mice in the darkest wardrobes and hold them in his hands until he let them go outside, before he remembered it was dirty. He would stare for hours out the windows when he was supposed to be studying how to be a nation, after he would have to rush to catch up.
No matter what he did, he always seemed to disappoint.
England would snap at him when he did something wrong, saying he was just like the last one. Just like the one who'd left him without a second glance. Australia didn't want to be like that, but he couldn't help but remind the older nation of the bother who'd left him.
Slowly, Australia stopped trying. If all he was ever going to be was the shadow of America, then what could he do to change it?
It still hurt when England would compare them, use his name like an insult and hurl it at Australia. Ever since the gold rush, he'd been growing faster and England had been getting harsher. It was like his ageing was a bad thing, a scary monster England had already fought once and never wished to face again.
He'd met China once.
A lot of China's citizens were going over to Australia for the gold, and he thought it would be polite to meet him. Australia was cautious, sure a nation as old as China would mistake him for America too. It seemed only older countries would see the resemblance. England's brothers pointed it out all the time, yet Canada couldn't really see it.
So he'd been cold. Polite, but reserved. He didn't warm up to China until England told the man he should watch his back. That the gold in Australia would one day run out, and he wouldn't have him taking it all.
It wasn't a threat per say, but a hint that England would turn on anyone compromising his empire.
Australia didn't mind China from then on, since anyone who was under England's scrutiny, he could relate to. That didn't change how Australia acted however, but he didn't hate the idea of China's citizens traveling to him anymore.
When Australia wasn't being told off and given more restrictions, he was with his brother New Zealand. England would often leave him with his older brother, as if New Zealand were the only person that could ever deal with him. Australia hated being pushed aside, and when he wasn't he was being punished, but at least he was acknowledged then.
Australia and New Zealand would fight 80% of the time over the most petty things. Whether Koala's or sheep were cuter, whether Australia was taller, or about who was most annoying. None of it really mattered to them though.
They would fight, yes, but who didn't?
Maybe they'd be mad for a few minutes, but then they'd be back together again and not caring that it happened in the first place.
They moved on.
So they wondered why England could not.
Canada was rarely around, often off doing favours for England or spending time in his own house. When Canada was there however, at least the two Oceanic nations had someone to talk to other than themselves.
Once, England called New Zealand Canada.
New Zealand had thought of it as a small slip up, maybe even a compliment since he and Canada got on well enough, but Australia was filled with a sense of dread for the time when it became his turn.
When the insult that was America's name became his own.
England was at his harshest, even his people in Australia were cracking down on Aus' and China's citizens. Australia knew his people were starting to get fed up with the treatment and taxes and laws. He knew it was only a mater of time before they staged something big.
He knew it wouldn't be long before England had reason to call him a rebellious, good for nothing, ungrateful nation.
Australia had been reading a book of English poetry, filling out a small questionnaire along the way. He had woken up on the wrong side of the bed as it was, and so it seemed, had England. Australia's pencil on the paper filled the large living room with a constant scratching.
England had walked in, and Australia immediately felt the space fill with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. It was a long time coming, they were just waiting to see who would set it off. They were collecting gun powder in the barrel, and both had a lighter, but neither moved to set it aflame.
Looking back on it, neither would remember what started the argument. They'd exchanged a few words, a clipped tone from England, a detached response that lacked it's usual bounce from Australia.
"You're doing it like a five year old." England had taken a look at the words written on the worksheet and frowned.
Australia had levelled him with a neutral stare, but the annoyance in his eyes kept it from being polite, "and? I'm doing it, aren't I?"
England caught the underlying tone and snapped something back, about behaviour and responsibility.
"Yes, England," Australia grit his teeth, the dismissal a jab at the elder.
The restrained anger in Australia's voice ignited a flame in England, one that urged him to bite back, and bite back hard.
It escalated from there, starting as a few cutting remarks that danced around the real problem then dissolved into unintelligible shouting.
They had both had enough, and neither knew who lit that barrel of gunpowder, but it exploded none-the-less.
The anger was like a tightening fist, a balloon inside it squeezed harder and harder, waiting to be popped. Red appeared on their faces, spit flew, faces contorted to angry stone gargoyles protecting their owners from the truth the other sprouted. Words were exchanged like flying fists, and not a punch was wasted.
"Stop treating me like some stupid child!" Australia cried.
"You are a child, and you'd do well to listen to me!" England shot back.
They were too deep into the sound of their own voices, no other noise penetrated their heads. Australia felt hot boiling anger, worse than his bushfires, rise up under his skin, praying for release.
For England, it was a repeat of many years ago. The same words, the same argument, the same outcome, the same blinding fury.
"Stop treating me like a child England!" America shouted.
"You are a child, and you will do well to listen to me!" He'd shouted back.
"I can make my own decisions!" Australia didn't remember standing, but he was now.
"While you are my colony you will treat me with respect!" England commanded.
"You can't push me around England!" America slammed a hand onto the table.
"You have no idea what I do for you, I am your brother!" England spat.
"I'm not just a colony to batter around, I am a nation in my own right!" Australia slammed a hand onto the desk.
"You have no idea what it's like out there, I'm doing this for you! You are a part of the British empire whether you like it or not!" England seethed, face red with anger.
"So stop pushing me around and forcing all your taxes on me! I am my own person!" America took a step forward.
"I am doing this for the better, you're not the centre of the world! You are a part of my empire, whether you like it or not" England took one too.
Australia was filled with a rage he'd suppressed for so long, and it took the reins of his words, forcing them to pour out faster. There was no filter between his emotions and his mouth, and he wondered what he was even saying anymore. He was so, so mad.
What right did England have to speak to him that way? What made him think Australia was less than him. The British empire wasn't anything special, and he'd rather be anyone else colony if it meant being away from the green-eyed nation.
The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could check their weight, and the release felt like the explosion of a hot, lava filled, volcano.
"Well if this is the British empire, then I want out!" Australia screamed.
"I don't want to be a part of your stupid empire!" America screamed.
So, so similar.
"JUST SHUT UP AMERICA!" He cried.
Australia froze in place.
It seemed his time had come, the name was used and there was no going back. All he was to England was another America. Another shadow to hold the past against. He was never his own person, never anything but a replacement or a reminder. He was doomed to be the second America, such as New Zealand was doomed to be the second Canada.
Why?
Why was it like this?
It hurt to be compared to someone he could never live up to, to be compared to someone who hurt his own family. It was twisted that England branded him as the boy who'd left him, even before Australia had ever rebelled. He wanted to be seen as someone other than America, he wanted to be seen as another person.
He never wanted to be a shadow.
Australia knew his eyes had been stinging for a while, but in the silence that followed England's outburst, he was painfully reminded.
England looked shocked, but Australia wasn't even surprised. England looked like he wanted to take it back, his hand was covering his mouth and his eyes were wide.
He looked ashamed.
He should.
Australia couldn't hold up the expectation to be America anymore, he couldn't keep living with England telling him he was just another disappointment. Even when he said it as a compliment it turned sour because of what he eventually did.
Australia never hated anyone, it was a skill he'd perfected over the years. He never compared others out loud because he knew it lead to pain. He never saw anyone as anything but a person by themselves, because he wished he could be treated the same.
England saw him as America?
Well he was wrong.
"I'm not-" Australia stopped when his tight throat threatened to cut him off first. "I'm not him. I'm a different person. I'm Australia, no matter what you say."
England swallowed thickly, and opened his mouth to speak, but Australia was already walking past him.
"I'm not him." Australia looked to the ground.
He was done fighting, he was done screaming, he was done with the game of cat and mice. He couldn't force England to see him as he was, but he could make sure no one ever made the mistake again.
"I won't fight you."
He had just then, and it ended with them more broken then before. If he wanted his freedom, if he ever wanted out, he wouldn't fight England. He would tell him what he wanted and he wouldn't flinch if he said no. He would stand his ground and he would get his vision realised, but he wouldn't raise his fist.
His resolve crumbled, and with it, England won. He'd slaughtered Australia's spirit, and the teenaged nation hoped he was happy.
