America's Independence: 1776
"I fucking hate you Dad! I wish you had never found me!" I screamed into the face of my father.
He stared wordlessly for a minute, then slapped me hard across the cheek. I shook my head.
"No."
He raised one of those monstrosities he called eyebrows.
"Not this time," I said. "This isn't gonna be like all the other times where you hit me and I shut up and took it. I'm done with your shit."
I punched him in the face, feeling my knuckles connect satisfyingly with his jaw, before running upstairs and throwing open the door to the room I shared with my brother. Well, not anymore.
He looked up at me, startled. "Are you alright America?" he whispered.
I grinned at him, determined to not show him how exhausted and scared I was. "I'm fine, Canada. Me and England agreed that it's finally time for me to move out."
He opened his mouth to reply, but that British bastard's voice cut him off. "ALFRED F. JONES I SWEAR IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR BLOODY ARSE DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT I WILL COME UP THERE AND SKIN YOU ALIVE!"
My eyes widened with what could have been delight or fear, depending on how well you knew me. Canada knew damn well I was scared shitless, however, so he quickly gestured for me to grab as much stuff as I could and climb out the window while he distracted the Queen's bitch. I hugged him briefly, just to show my appreciation, before grabbing a bag I had packed a week before and getting my American ass the hell out of that shithole.
It was only once I was on a ship back to my real home that I realized I had left my timid older brother alone with a drunk and angered England.
My head dropped between my knees and my stomach lurched, but it wasn't from seasickness.