A/N: -COUGH- CAN SOMEBODY SAY ANGST? -COUGH-
OH LOOKIE HERE! I'VE UPDATED! AND GUESS WHAT ELSE? IT'S NOT AU. AND GUESS WHAT ELSE? IT'S NOT IN THIRD PERSON. AND GUESS WHAT ELSE? IT'S A SONGFIC.
I am just full of surprises aren't I?
The prompt was War!
Well, this is from Alfred's POV. Is our little Alfie having some doubts whilst in that last fateful battle? You better believe it. This can be seen as either a reference to a more brotherly relationship between them, or the usual ever-so-loved RELATIONSHIP RELATIONSHIP. - I prefer the latter.
Well, enjoy your good dose of angst for the day.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia:Axis Powers, nor do I own the song Cat's in the Cradle by Harry Chapin. (IS THAT WITH ONE P OR TWO Ps? Oh well.)
We've hidden from taxes for so long. Avoided them, boycotted them, and protested so fiercely against them that we achieved repeal. But some taxes we can't run away from. Sometimes, we don't have the option to protest. Sometimes you just can't fight back.
{My child arrived just the other day
He came to the world in the usual way
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay
He learned to walk while I was away
And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew
He said I'm gonna be like you Dad
You know I'm gonna be like you}
I think I've forgotten the reason I began this chaos in the first place.
What is the point? Freedom? Independence? Those words seem to have suddenly been leeched of their meaning.
My heart has lost its patriotic drive. At this moment, I've forgotten how hard I've strived to be free; absent of the dedication and pride I once held. My heart no longer belongs to this country.
At this moment, it belongs to you.
{And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you coming home Dad I don't know when
But we'll get together then
You know we'll have a good time then}
What does it mean to be free? To be able to conduct things as you please? To be able to become your own person? What if I don't want that anymore? What if I no longer want that independence, that stressful responsibility? What if I just want…you?
You. Suddenly, I want things to be as they were so many years ago. I want to be able to laugh again, to be a small, innocent child once more; running into your lovingly outstretched arms.
I want to sit by the hearth and listen to you tell great tales of your success and your greatness.
"One day you'll grow up and we can be great together," you would say, your blindingly white teeth spread into a warm smile. "You won't leave me, will you, Alfred?"
I want to nod my head, a jubilant smile adorning my face. I want to intertwine my fingers with yours, feeling your comforting hand around mine. I want to feel how I felt then- contented, blissful, and safe. I want to go back to that day, to exclaim, "I'd never leave you, Arthur!" again.
I want to take you up on that offer again. I want to be by your side again.
But I've made a mistake.
{My son turned ten just the other day
He said 'Thanks for the ball Dad, come on, let's play!
Can you teach me to throw?' I said, 'Not today,
I've got a lot to do'
He said, 'That's okay'
And he,
Walked away but he smiled as he did and said, 'I'm gonna be like him, yeah
You know I'm gonna be like him'}
I remember when I used to think you could do anything. I remember how desperately I wished to be like you when I grew older, how much I admired you. You were the one I held with the highest reverence. You were the only companion I had, my brother, my father.
My love.
Why did I want to become discorded? Why did I want to break away from that? I can't remember any longer. Ignorance. Stupidity. Maybe that's my fatal flaw. The reason I had oh so eagerly jumped into battle.
I don't want it anymore.
{And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you coming home Dad I don't know when
But we'll get together then
You know we'll have a good time then}
I still want it back.
I want to hear you sing- soft and calming- into my ear, your beautiful voice quickly lulling me into a deep, dreamless slumber. I want to see you again- not as you are now; weak, vulnerable, feeble. No, I want to see you strong as you used to be, standing proudly against a bold flag of brilliant red, white, and blue.
Funny. Those are my flag's colors too.
I want to see those soft, flaxen locks of gold hanging haphazardly in your face, slightly obscuring my vision from those eyes. Your eyes. Green, a deep, breathtaking emerald green. Like an Irish meadow, they were. So beautiful in their gentility yet striking in pallor. I don't want to see tears in those eyes, the sorrow of such a sight. I want to see that look you used to get. Daunting, playful, yet undoubtedly strong and so very proud. And there was always a hint of compassion when you'd look at me. Only at me.
It's remarkable how that glimmer of adoration still remains.
{Well, he came home from college just the other day
So much like a man I just had to say
'Son, I'm proud of you, can you sit for a while?'
He shook his head and he said with a smile
'What I'd really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys
See you later, can I have them please?'}
Now here we are on this fateful October night.
A flash of red within the storm. A diamond in the rough. One last British soldier remains.
You.
You've lost your bravery, lost your integrity. Lost everything. Yet you refuse to give in, hiding your desperation and tears behind a loaded barrel.
But I know you won't shoot. You can't.
That one little unknown soldier, that's all who's left. You're clinging desperately to your weapon as if it's your anchor, the one solitary thing that keeps you from falling so far away from this world.
What will happen if you let go? I have no inclination to know.
If you fall I can't catch you.
If you break I can't fix you.
I've sunken too far deep into my selfishness, my need for freedom. There is no point of return. No matter how badly I want to drop my stance, run and comfort you, forget about everything and become your little brother again, I simply can't.
I used to think anything was worth it to sustain freedom, to become independent. No matter the cost, I used to believe.
But I now realize how heavy the price is.
That beautiful, pale exterior of yours, it's so tantalizingly breakable. So fragile you are now. In your haste, your trembling hands falter, and your bayonet grazes across your insipid form. You wince as vermilion rubies spill from the wound; dancing across your porcelain skin, mocking you.
Weak. They chime. You are weak.
Yet you stand your ground.
{And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you coming home, son, I don't know when
But we'll get together then, Dad
You know we'll have a good time then}
The scent of rain is fresh in the air.
I always hated how you taxed me, how you acted so harshly against me; how you controlled me, pretended I was not there. You thought you could just use me as your tool, as your plaything. I've always hated that. But I haven't seen reason very clearly lately.
You just wanted what was best for me. You were a bit misguided, but your intentions were pure. You just wanted me to become a strong nation. You didn't want to lose me. You wanted to get involved in my life.
I wish I would've seen that earlier. But now it's too late.
{I've long since retired, my son's moved away
I called him up just the other day
I said, 'I'd like to see you if you don't mind'
He said, 'I'd love to, Dad, if I could find the time
You see my new job's a hassle and kids have the flu
But it's sure nice talking to you, Dad
It's been sure nice talking to you'}
What price is success?
Before my eyes, I see it now.
Your pride. Your dignity. Your honor. Your heart.
If I am to win this freedom, to defeat you in this battle, then it will take a painful toll upon your heart. Forever scarred, because you've lost me. Despondence is the only emotion that will loom over you- like a cloud forever raining its dismal, depressing droplets upon you. You can never be whole again, not after this.
Am I willing to pay this price?
I falter.
No…I'm not.
I don't want to hurt you- I never wanted to. I've been foolish, thinking only of myself, unable to see past the haze of my resentment to the real truth. You loved me, you always have.
But I didn't see that. So I began to break away.
I'm sorry; I don't want this now, not anymore. But only now have I realized this. And now, it's much too late to go back. I have to pay this price.
This tax. This tax upon the heart.
Taxes. They always come back to haunt me.
{And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me
He'd grown up just like me
My boy was just like me}
The guilt I feel, the remorse, it cannot be expressed simply through words.
I'm sorry.
Mesmerizing green is tainted with a thousand unspoken words of fear, grief, and regret. Bitterly, you grit your teeth together, tears clouding your vision, musket trembling within your faltering grip. You're shaking now, I can see it.
No matter how hard you try, you do not look intimidating. But if there were a contest for giving such heartbreaking looks, you would win first prize.
I don't want this anymore, I sincerely don't. I can't take this, seeing you look at me that way. I can see how badly you, too, want just for a moment, for things to be back to the way they once were. For one, simple minute, I shoot you the same look. The world seems to come to a blur around me. All I can see is you, looking so mournful, so hopeless.
I'm sorry.
"This isn't worth it, it's not!" I want to scream. I want to throw my musket to the ground, and weep. I just want to forget about everything.
For the first time in my life, I want to give up.
You can't. That nagging voice in the back of my head says. It's too late.
It's too late.
Your last spark of hope flickers. The flame of strength, your perseverance and your courage, it's dying out. In mere seconds, it will be no more. Soon, this will all be over.
And at that moment, it finally hits you. You have nothing left. You can't win.
Nothing. You have nothing.
One word escapes your lips then; one last desperate plea. I close my eyes, in a despairing attempt to block the sudden flood of tears that threaten to escape.
"Alfred…."
I stifle a sob, grip on my musket faltering.
I don't want this.
Suddenly, your musket- your anchor- clatters to the ground. And you sink. You careen into the bottomless depths of desolation, the pure, frightening darkness suffocating the only spark of hope you've clung to for so long. There's nothing holding you to this world anymore. Nothing.
You sit there in all of your fragility, so small, and so helpless. Your frail form convulses and heaves with the sobs you can no longer bear to contain, head cradled in your hands, your dampened locks of gold clenched tightly in your fists.
"Why…damnit why?"
I know you're hoping I won't see those tears but I do.
You've lost. You've lost me.
No. I've lost you.
The mass of army behind me is emitting hollers of approval and cries of joy. They yell at you; belittle you, defile you, yet you just sit there and you cry. You don't care about them anymore- their crude comments do not hurt you. They do not realize that you're more than just easy to break.
You're already broken.
"You know why."
I keep up my facade of strength and perseverance; don't let my true emotions slip through the cracks of my unwavering mask. You cannot know that I, too, am breaking. You cannot know that I regret my decisions. For now, as I have already realized, it's too late to go back. If I dissolve into nothing but a quivering ball of tears, it won't help you. It won't help us.
But I still don't want this.
All you had ever wanted was to keep me close, but I had pushed you away. You had fought so fiercely, so strongly, because you didn't want to lose me. I don't…I don't want this.
Yet it's too late. I've already won it.
{And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man in the moon
When you coming home, Son, I don't know when
But we'll get together then
We're gonna have a good time then}
A/N: WEIRD FORMATTING IS WEIRD ON PURPOSE.
It just looks so badass.
Anyways, yeah. Hope you enjoyed that~.
I like reviews. -Hint hint-
~I.S.