Somewhere dark and strangely familiar, America had been sent to somewhere he thought he'd never be again. The rain pounding heavily on his already drenched uniform, as he held his old musket, aiming at someone. His blurry vision cleared revealing a man shorter than he, a lighter shade of blonde than his, and big, mesmorizing emerald, green eyes.
"England..." he whispered, but suddenly heard himself shout.
"ENGLAND! I'm no longer a colony! nor your kid brother!" he paused pondering as to why he shouted those painfully familiar words but began shouting again. "From now on, consider me, independent!" his eyes widened coming to realize he was reliving one of the most painful betrayals hes committed. Why was he dreaming about the revolution? how can he wake up?
"No! I won't allow it!" England yelled, his voice wavering slightly. He charged towards America aiming his weapon to his former charge. A loud clack erupted in the silence, the source being America's musket falling to the ground. America stood, bug-eyed as the very man who raised him, stood dead in front of him, rifle at the tip of his nose. They both stood there in silence. Nothing but the sound of rain pitter pattering around them. America took a good look at England, and saw something in his eyes he thought he'd never see. Hurt. Pain. Fear. Behind the rage he saw a hearbroken England. As he anticipated the englishmen to pull the trigger, England let his arms fall to his sides and looked up sorrowfully.
"I can't shoot you...I just can't..." his voice shook as though he were about to cry. He fell to his knees and brought a hand to his face.
"Dammit, why...why can't you see things to the end? Its not fair..." He began to sob.
His eyes shot open and gasped for air. He found himself in some unfamiliar room. His eyes scanned the walls and ceiling, taking notice of the variety of machines he was hooked to as an annoying beeping noise echoed. He tried to move but felt sharp pains course through his entire body.
"Fucking...shit..." he groaned in pain.
"I see your awake now, are you git?" America quickly turned his attention to the figure speaking to him by the door,the brit held a glare in his eyes. But also took notice of the small smile developing. America sighed in relief inwardly, things were back to normal, except for...
"Why am I all bandaged up?" he asked looking at his body, it looked black like ash with a mixture of orange or some weird shit. England coughed nervously and touched the american's shoulders ever so slightly to push him down so he was laying in bed.
"Lay down, America..." America wanted to protest but listened, his body had began to hurt really bad. England pulled the blankets up to his chin. He took his seat next to the bed and sighed.
"Your here...because..." he couldn't think of how to tell the fragile nation.
"C'mon Iggy, spit it out!" America's patience lessening rapidly. England looked away, the floor suddenly becoming very intresting.
"Your here...because the trasportayion you and your soldiers were in had been shot down by a rocket launcher-" America cut him off by grabbing his shirt collar and pulled him closer in a hard grip.
"Where are my men? They're also in one of these rooms right?" America's voice wavering as he asked nealry pleading. The desperation in his eyes making England feel uneasy. He slowly put his hands over America's and eased them off him.
"America..." he began. "your the only survivor...everyone else-"
"No...-" America cut in. "They can't be...they're apart of the U.S Air Force...they're built to survive..." he started saying his voice going up an octive. "They're just newbies! They just..." He stopped talking when he felt his head pulled onto someones' chest, there arms wrapped around them tenderly. England had put more of his weight on the bed with one leg on the mattress and the other still on the ground. He held the American tightly.
"I'm sorry...but its true, America..." America let his arms fall to his sides and sunk into England's torso. His mind went through the faces of his soldiers before they were hit. All of them with a smile on thier faces. He kept going though each individual, reciting thier name, rank, strengths, weaknesses, and something unique about them, until it got to Jeremy. His heart stopped when he remembered how youthful and energetic he was. Then he thought about his wife and newborn daughter. The way they would react to the news of his death, it made his stomach do flips and twist. It would be his fault that any of them were killed. Almost reading his mind, England put his hand on America's cheek, cupping it and looking into his eyes.
"Its not your fault, there was nothing you could do to prevent it." he said softly, rubbing the American's back. America sighed and pushed England slightly. As much as he appreciated his efforts, he really wanted to be alone. Understanding the action, England coughed nervously and stood up straight.
"very well, i believe you should rest now America..." he said gathering his coat and putting it on. America just gave him a blank look. "We leave for london in the morning." he looked back at the young nation's face in shock at the realization of what he meant. He smirked and shut the door behind him. America looked up at the ceiling and growled.
"Shit...its gunna be 1771 all over again!"