Chapter 4
A Doomed Future
Back upstairs in America's house, while the three other countries downstairs fussed and argued, Canada rested peace. He lay in the guest room, golden hair strewn about his pillow. A stuffed animal version of his polar bear lay snuggled loosely between his arms. Glasses resting on the nightstand of the guest room he occupied, and his new boyfriend finally out in the open with his family, things seemed as if they might actually work out. Britain may have been angry and mistrusting at the moment, but at least America seemed as if he were trying to be accepting…in his strange overprotective way. And so, the quieter of the two twins was able to close his eyes and rest.
But far away from such a peaceful time, was a future that was torn apart by war, famine, disease and despair. And in an act of complete and total desperation, a certain country may have stolen Britain's book of black magic. And with absolutely nothing left to lose, that country cast a spell that had been both forbidden, and considered so dangerous…it was also cursed.
He hardly cared. And so, through a blanket of darkness and light, he was sucked out of his time period, and sent five years into the past. Thankfully…he had remembered the exact date that would lead him to a location where all the players he needed were in one place together. And the only reason he'd been able to remember such a date, was because it had been right after the elections, and also right after he had recovered from hurricane Sandy.
He knew he would arrive at his own house. And he also knew…that Canada, Britain, Prussia, and a past version of himself would be present. It would cause a time paradox to be certain…but again he didn't care. He hardly cared about anything anymore. There was only one thing left that he could do.
In the same swirl of darkness and light, the country appeared in the upstairs bedroom where Canada currently rested. And as the magic around him began to fade…the country collapsed down to one knee from the weight of his own body, and the pain it took to hold himself upright.
It was America…but he hardly resembled the America everyone was so familiar with. He looked drastically, dreadfully different from the one that was, at that moment, downstairs, laughing and teasing Britain, or making fun of Prussia. This America…could have easily been mistaken for someone else.
He wasn't in his usual jacket. His was in his army uniform, complete with combat boots and dog tags. He would have had his helmet too…had it not been blown from his head in the last firefight he took part in. And the uniform itself was worse for wear. It was torn in places, mud smeared and spattered it, and worse of all…were the dark red stains it sported in places.
America himself looked worse than his camouflage. His skin was darkened with the same mud. No longer pale, but rather tanned from being out in the sun all day, every day, gave him an even darker look still. He was covered in sweat. His golden hair had been crudely hacked off, seemingly with a knife. What was left of it was stained with blood.
Lifting his head, the eye patch he wore became painfully obvious. It was clearly a homemade one, roughly applied, probably in the midst of battle. It was just some cloth that had been torn and taped over his wound…and it wasn't doing its job completely…blood was still seeping out from under it running down his left cheek and toward his jaw line.
Blood also dripped from a split and swollen looking lower lip, and a gash over his healthy eye. And as he struggled to catch his breath, something that seemed much more labored than it should be, spatterings of the liquid stained the carpet beneath him.
Knowing he had to stand and do his job, America reached out and grabbed onto his AK47 which he had dropped upon entry just next to the magic book, which he ignored. It had served its purpose. As he took hold of his gun with both hands, it became clear that he was missing several fingers on his left hand. What was left of the appendage had also been hastily wrapped in the same way as his eye. But luckily, he'd always been a righty, and so, felt he could at least still operate his gun and get the job done.
"Get up…" he mumbled to himself through grit teeth. "Get up soldier!" He called upon the willpower he'd always had within himself when things became impossibly tough. Despite the way he once acted in his days of the past, appearing carefree and someone useless, he actually was quite determined, and a lot tougher than the other countries may have even realized. America had a spirit that couldn't be crushed or defeated…even when the country itself was being crushed and defeated.
"I won't fucking die! Not yet!" He had one thing left to do. And by God he was going to do it. Once it was done, it would be done, and he would cease to exist anyway. And so, on spirit and willpower alone, and with the strength of the states in the future that still stood, he pushed himself back upright and to his feet.
Standing erect and tall, his shoulders back and his chin held high, he lifted his gun with him, even though it was growing heavier by the second.
I have to find Prussia, he thought desperately. I have to find him before it's all too late! Not noticing Matthew in the bed for the moment, for he was facing the bedroom door, and the bed itself was to his left…the side he was blind on…he took one unsteady step forward, his army boots clumping loudly on the floor.
Canada had been dozing peacefully when he felt something odd. It was hard to explain. Probably another one of those twin things as Britain so often said. He got that feeling whenever his twin was close by, but… this sensation felt different. It was a heavy feeling in his gut, and it made him uncomfortable.
Unable to ignore it Matthew opened his eyes and saw the fuzzy outline of his brother in the illuminated doorway. Matthew's first instinct was to roll his eyes. He was tired, damn it. He wanted to sleep. He'd been up practically all night.
Matthew couldn't tell very well because his glasses sat on the nightstand, but it seemed like his brother was wearing something strange. Matthew could tell Alfred was not wearing his normal clothes. The colors were to dim, were they army green? Was that a rifle? What the hell? What was Alfred doing?
Matthew took a tight hold on the stuffed bear in his arms. He didn't hesitate to throw the bear across the room and hit Alfred with it,
"Alfred, what the hell are you doing?" Matthew reached out to grab his glasses from the nightstand and pulled them on. He let out a yawn, "I just got to sleep again, Al."
"Al…." His voice trailed off when he opened his eyes and stared at his older brother. His blue eyes grew huge as he took in the horrible sight of his twin brother. "…A-a-alf-red?" his voice caught in his throat as he sat up in bed, "O-oh mon dieu."
America stopped in the doorway once hit with the bear. But even far more shocking for him was hearing his twin brother's voice. Slowly, he turned around. As he did, it would have been even more shocking for poor Canada to see his battered face. But as America's one good eye, fell to his brother's sweet face, his entire war hardened exterior changed.
"M…Matthew?" His voice had quivered, and along with it, so did his chin. Matt watched as Alfred's entire expression transformed, twisting and warping into one of complete and total grief. He appeared completely heartbroken, an emotion Canada never had witnessed before on his brother's face.
America's one blue eye began to shimmer, and tears unashamedly began to roll down his dirtied face. Before Canada could ever understand what was happening, America turned to face him completely, and then ran to him, a slight limp in his right leg.
"Brother!" America flung himself at Matthew, and once he reached him at his bed side, he fell to his knees, dropping his weapon to the floor at his side. Reaching out, he clutched the young blonde to his chest, tightly, with both hands and with a desperation no one had ever seen on what should have been a strong countries face.
"Oh my God! You're here! I mean, I knew you would be, but I…I…I didn't think I could…" And quite suddenly…he was sobbing. He buried his bruised and bloodied face in the northern countries shoulder, his tears and blood soaking into his pajamas.
"I…I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! Please! Please forgive me little brother? I thought I could protect you…keep you safe but I…I couldn't! And I…I didn't know what was happening until you were gone! And once you were gone, I…I couldn't find you! I searched everywhere! I'm so sorry! Please believe me? I tried everything but I…I was too late!"
He clutched Canada to his chest, refusing to let go. That may have been disturbing enough for Matt, and his brothers appearance would have been terrifying too, and maybe even the things he was blubbering about, or perhaps seeing him so upset, but perhaps even most of all, would be the way he trembled in Canada's arms. He was clearly a complete and total wreck, and he looked almost…as if he were dying…
"Please forgive me," he said again, burying his face against him. "I w…I wasn't a good big brother. I failed…I've failed everyone…but mostly you." If at all possible, he held onto Matthew even more tightly, his body, considerably thinner than what Matt was used to, trembled even more violently from his grief.
"I love you Matthew," he said, another sob escaping him. "I was always joking around, or teasing you…and I…I never told you enough…how much I love you. How important you are to me…Please…please forgive me. I've come for a second chance…please give me a second chance…"
"Eh." Canada's eyes were as large as the moon. He was far passed confused. At first his arms hung at his sides as his twin grabbed him and started to blubber and cry. He knew his brother was a prankster. Hell, Alfred pulled pranks all the time. A few seconds ago Matthew assumed his brother's get up was a ruse of some sort, but he felt his brother shaking. He'd never seen his brother cry like this. He couldn't fake this raw type of emotion. Alfred just wasn't that good of an actor. Besides America's tough front was one thing Matthew had always believed his brother would never let slip. He'd seen his brother keep the tough front up in the darkest of times, but here was his twin crying like a baby.
Matthew raised his arms unaware that the terror was causing him to shake as well. He reached out tightly wrapping his arms around his brother. What is he talking about? He hasn't failed me? Did something happen? Did he get attacked? Did I miss something? Where are Britain and Prussia? Surely if something this horrible had happened somebody would have come and woke him up. Everything seemed ok, but here was Alfred bleeding, sobbing, and a total wreck in his arms. So Matthew did the only thing he could think. He pulled his brother closer to him.
"It's ok Alfred. I-I don't know what you're talking about, Al. I'm fine. I'm fine bro. Y-you didn't fail me. C-calm down. Ok?" And of course, Canada knew that they needed some help, right away, so he called out in his quiet way for their father, "Br-Britain!" He was still in shock and his voice was low. But it was then that he looked down at himself and saw the blood. It was everywhere. Alfred was bleeding and the blood was soaking through Matthew's pajamas and the bed as well. He'd known he was hurt…but the sheer amount of it showed him how bad it truly was. Horror quickly began to set in.
"BRITAIN! BRITAIN HELP! PLEASE HELP!" He shrieked. Matthew's blue eyes stayed wide. "Alfred! You're bleeding! You're really bleeding! What happened to you? What's going on? Oh God! You need to lie down! You're wounds! Mon Deiu!" Matthew felt himself wanting to hyperventilate at seeing his brother in such poor condition.
The trio downstairs heard the Northern nation scream. Britain ran up the stairs.
"What the bloody hell is it now? Matthew! What's the matter-" Britain burst into the guest room and froze. His green eyes grew huge as he saw America in Canada's arms. America looked horrid. The younger nation looked like he'd been through WW3, but Britain would recognize his former colony anywhere.
Why is he injured like that? Oh my God! What's going on here? Britain spun around to find his America standing behind him. Having just come up the stairs, the super power had a look of shock on his face.
"What the-" There were two of them! Obviously the America in Matthew's arms didn't belong here. Britain mentally tried to think of any logical reason for there to be two America's.
He spun back around to the America in Matthew's arms. Britain's eyes searched the room desperately and then his wide, green eyes traveled down to the floor. There it was. There was the answer to this mystery. It was a spell book. It was his spell book. The book looked worse for wear, but black magic was obviously behind this fiasco.
Britain had been with America all morning. So the present day America hadn't performed any magic. Plus Britain knew his spell book was in his home. It was not in America. Britain's mind raced through the spells trying to pinpoint the exact one Alfred had used.
"Oh my God! What have you done, Alfred? You git! You stole my spellbook!" The horrified Britain stared at the scene in front of him in disbelief. This couldn't be happening. Suddenly realization came to Britain. Why would Alfred use this spell? This wasn't a duplication spell or some little incantation.
There was only one spell that would have the end result of two existences of the same person in one place and also answer for all the lunacy that was currently taking place. That spell was forbidden because the penalty for casting that spell was the death of the castor. His British mind was reeling. This was a time travel spell, and that spell was highly ineffective anyway, the castor of the spell would die within minutes of going back in time. This future America was doomed and nothing Britain could do would save him. Britain felt his heart beat violently in his chest. But then, a third pair of feet came up the stairs and over to the open doorway.
"Birdie! Are you ok?" Prussia rounded the corner and stood in the doorway behind Britain.
America from the present day, the one that had been downstairs with Britain and Prussia ran up the stairs just behind Britain when he heard Canada scream. He sounded really scared! Worried for his little Bro (maybe he was having a nightmare?) America ran into the room just behind the elder country. And once he stepped in…he froze in place.
A man was in the room with Matt. He was in an American soldier's uniform, and he was kneeling in front of his baby brother…blubbering…crying…and he was horrifically injured. Blood dripped from his face and out from under his hair…or what was left of it. He looked like a wreck.
America quickly looked to Matt's face. He saw the fear there, and he immediately knew what he had to do. This man…whoever he was…must have broken into his house. And now, he was scaring his bro! Immediately, America marched forward, meaning business. Reaching out, he grabbed the strangers shoulder.
"Look here pal! I don't know who you think you are, but no one frightens my little broth-!" But America's righteous rant was immediately cut short when the stranger turned to face him. His face, although thin, and haggard, and even with a missing eye, was quite unmistakable. It was like looking into a mirror. A horrible, terrifying mirror.
America fell speechless. He was too shocked to make a witty comeback, or even move. This soldier before him…the one that looked like he may die from his wounds…was…him?
That's impossible, he thought. No one looks like me…except Matthew. But…his face…
The American soldier appeared as if he were going to say something to the present day America…but that was when Prussia stepped into the room.
"Birdie! Are you ok?"
Everyone in the room watched as the soldier's tears stopped. His grief stricken, defeated expression changed drastically, and as quickly as spreading fire, anger bloomed over his features. His good eye hardened, flames igniting deep within them. His lips curled, a horrible snarl making its way over his face. He trembled again, but this time, due to a very different emotion.
"You!" And just like that, he looked more like the Devil himself than someone crippled by grief and fatal injuries. He summoned all the strength he had left, then reached down to his gun. Grabbing it, he rose to his feet, releasing Canada. Staggering just a bit, he purposefully and quickly marched forward, moving rather well considering how much pain he should have been in. He didn't explain himself, and he said nothing as he went to the door. He grabbed Britain, then suddenly and roughly shoved him aside. And then, once he was out of the way, he didn't even hesitate to lift his AK47.
He aimed at Prussia, planted his feet, then immediately pulled the trigger. The gun went off, deafening in the small space of the upper bedroom of the house. And as the bullet flew, their shells falling to the floor, the soldier screamed in what sounded like a completely crazed rage.
Prussia's red eyes widened when the future America stood up from his place next to Matthew. He immediately knew the look in future America's eyes. It was the look of someone who was about to kill. Gilbert knew he was in trouble when he saw future America reach out and shove Britain aside. Seeing as he was the only one left on the bad end of the gun Prussia was scrambling before America ever pulled the trigger. He dropped low as bullets whizzed over his head. He let out a cry as he crawled and scrambled through the bedroom door and out into the hallway. It wasn't like the wall offered much protection though. Wood splintered and rained down just above his head as he fled down the hallway.
Canada let out a cry of horror as his war torn brother started shooting at his boyfriend. His hands flew up and covered his ears as the sound of the gun filled the room and his ears began to ring. Matthew quickly started to hyperventilate again when he realized his hands were covered in America's blood, and it was soaking into his hair and dripping down the sides of his face. It was horrifying. There was still blood everywhere, and wherever the war torn Alfred went a trail of red followed.
Canada didn't know why there were two Alfred's in the room. He didn't know why the war torn Alfred was shooting at his boyfriend. Matthew didn't have the vaguest idea what was happening. However, Matthew did know he loved his brother, be it the brother he was used too who was standing and staring at the scene in shock or this crazed solider brother. It didn't matter.
Alfred was Alfred, and currently the Alfred with the assault rifle was bleeding profusely, and he needed to be stopped. Matthew jumped from the bed and ran after America.
"Stop! Stop! STOP!" He reached out grabbing at the gun in the crazed America's hands. He grabbed the barrel ignoring his burning hand and grabbed at the stock. He wrenched the barrel up and away from the direction of his boyfriend. The line of bullets flew up the wall and into the roof, plaster and paint raining down on the pair. Matthew was terrified. All the motion was causing future America to bleed more,
"ALFRED! STOP! What are you doing? You're still bleeding!" Canada let go of the rifle and reached out putting his hands on his brother's shoulders. "Alfred! What is going on?"
Perhaps no one else could've broken America from his crazed state. Nothing else could have reached him but those tearing blue orbs that were identical to his own. Those blue eyes that he hadn't seen in 3 years.
Future America would still remember the descent into hell that he'd taken over the last 5 years. It had been July 1st. Canada's birthday was on that day like it had been for ages. America had canceled last minute on their plans that day. It wasn't on purpose, but things had gotten so busy. His boss had needed him, and Matthew although disappointed had understood and they agreed that next year they'd do something awesome to make up for it. Then three days later it had been July 4th, America's birthday. Canada had come to his birthday party, but he hadn't stayed the whole time. Canada was a quiet guy. He was much like Japan in that way. Matthew had come to wish his brother well and watch the fireworks, but he had left before the drinking and all out party had set in around one in the morning.
That had been it. No warning or hints about the things to come.
There were really no major holidays between July 4th and Christmas that they shared. Canadian and American Thanksgiving were held on different days. Canada had long since argued that he was too old to go trick or treating. As such Alfred hadn't started missing his brother until around December when he hadn't received an RSVP for the Christmas party he threw every year. After no returns to his calls he'd called both Britain and France. He had found out that no one had heard from Matthew for quite some time.
They'd later be told by the white haired bastard whose past self was currently hiding, that July 6th was the day Gilbert had tricked Matthew into going to Russia. Future Gilbert had bragged about how easy it had been. He had said they were going to Germany for extended plans, which is what Canada's boss had assumed. Prussia had boasted that he had put a little something in Canada's drink, and Matthew didn't wake up until long after touchdown in the other country.
By the time everyone realized something was terribly wrong they had no leads on where Canada could be. His house was abandoned and long since covered in dust when America had gone to check on his little brother.
Future Prussia would once again brag after the start of the war that Canada was much too easy, and that he'd also acted rather pathetically during the time he'd been a prisoner in Russia. At the start of the war Canada had been A-bombed. Britain and France took the bombings as a sorrowful sign. The bombings had destroyed many of the government buildings and other national treasures. When Canada's government officially crumbled during occupation by N. Korea, China, New Prussia, and Russia the two fathers' knew that wherever Matthew was he was most likely dead.
A few days after that Prussia had personally called America. After insulting Alfred on his idiocy Prussia told America the exact latitude and longitude of Matthew's whereabouts. Britain and France had tried everything to keep Alfred from walking into a trap. When it became apparent Alfred was going they had come with him. It had indeed been a trap, but not like the one Britain and France had been worried about. No one interfered when they got to their destination.
Along the American-Canadian border was Canada's body. It was discarded in the snow like some trash. The battered remains wrapped in a white sheet that didn't hide any of the torture the young nation had gone through. Radiation burns covered more than half of his body. His once beautiful hair was frail and most of it had fallen out due to the radiation poisoning. It was quickly apparent that the body was sickeningly thin and the scars…those were all over.
It had been a psychological attack and had devastated all of them... no one worse than America. Canada was the first nation that America had lost in such a way. They had laid his brother to rest, but that didn't end the torture.
To torment Alfred further Gilbert purposefully mailed America tapes of certain times when Canada had been a prisoner. Prussia's plans were to demoralize his enemy. Prussia sent America segments when Canada had been talking out loud and begging his brother to help him or begging the empty room he'd been in that he would be able to talk to any of his family members again or times when Canada was clearly insane with torture and pain and would curse those family members for not helping him then soon after beg them for help again. This psychological warfare had plagued future America ever since the start of WW3.
And clearly, Prussia's strategy to completely demoralize his enemy with psychological warfare had worked. And it had worked well. One of America's biggest strengths, his fortitude and spirit had crumbled into dust. Completely devastated by the loss, the grief, the crushing guilt of having not protected his brother, it was almost impossible to fight in a war against the Canadian border where Prussia was advancing every single day onto American soil. Having taken over his little brothers country, America found himself face to face with innocent Canadians every time he lifted his gun. After all, what a better way to get more troops, and also ensure your enemy couldn't fight back than to force the men and women of the defeated nation to fight? Alfred found himself in a position of having to choose between protecting America, or shooting his deceased little brother's citizens in the face almost every moment of every day.
It drove him completely mad.
Of course poor Canada had no way of knowing any of these future events. He squeezed future America's shoulders. Canada's tears were running down his face.
"Please. Please Alfred. Please you're hurt. You're bleeding. I need to help you." Britain ran after his future son. His future spell book in hand.
"Matthew! He's from the future. This is my book of black magic. He's used a forbidden spell to go back in time!" Britain enlightened the crowd as to what was happening. Matthew stared into his brother's crazed eye. Matthew's own eyes were still horrified.
"Oh mon dieu. What happened to you? Who hurt you like this? I won't let anyone hurt you like this Alfred. I wouldn't let this happen. I'd protect you." Canada couldn't believe he'd let his brother get into this bad of shape. Sure Alfred could be annoying, but Canada loved his brother. No one messed with his brother. No one. So how had this happened?
The soldier wouldn't be stopped from his mission. Once he spotted Prussia, any distraction that would come his way wouldn't stop him…not even his beloved brother. America knew perfectly well that he only had a few moments left to live. And as much as he would love to spend his last moments with his family, he had made this sacrifice so that they might live in the future. As such…just a bit more heartache was needed, just a bit more suffering. In denying himself the company he so desperately wanted from Matthew, he would fulfill his mission by killing Prussia where he stood…or crawled, like the worm he was.
And so…as good as a blow to his own heart, he cruelly shoved Matthew aside when he came to try and stop him. Far too wild in his desperate rage for words, he offered no explanation as he then ran out of the room after the country that had destroyed all he'd ever loved, all he'd ever cherished.
I'll kill him. I will succeed! I must! I have no choice! He raced out into the hall after his quarry. There was a glimpse of white hair that started to disappear behind a corner. Fueled solely on adrenaline and desperation, and numb to his pain from post traumatic shock, America launched himself after Prussia in a mad dash. Seemingly almost superhuman, and defying his fate, at least for a few more seconds, he rounded the corner and lifted his gun a second time.
Screaming in a rage, he fired again, but Prussia was ahead of him now and dove into a bedroom. The walls splintered and shattered under the force of the automatic weapon. Paint was reduced to dust as Alfred's hallway was ripped apart by the bullets.
But as the bullets flew, they eventually ran out. America had used up most of his ammo in the battle he'd just come from, and even an AK47 could run dry. Knowing he had nothing to replenish it with, he dropped it to the floor with a CLUNK. Reaching down to his thighs, he then pulled out a hand gun. Starting down the hall, weakened and finally seemingly to start to slow, he staggered down the destroyed passageway. He almost lost his balance once, his shoulder falling against the wall, but with incredible determination he forced himself upright again and kept going.
"Come on out you Prussian PIG!" He screamed. Delirious from blood loss and shock, he wasn't sure which room he'd ducked into. As such, he raised his gun as he came across each one, briefly glimpsing inside. "Come out and I'll make it quick and easy! It's far FAR more than you deserve!"
Breathing was becoming more difficult, but he didn't care.
I don't need to breathe in order to pull a trigger, he thought. I don't even need all my fingers. Looking into the next room, he found it empty.
"You like to play games? You like to torture people, hmm? By giving back their little brother after he's DEAD!" Stepping up to the next doorway, he spotted what he was looking for. A dash of white hair was poking out from behind some bedroom curtains.
America didn't hesitate. He launched himself inside. Moving far more quickly than he should have been able to, he reached the curtain and struck out. Grabbing onto his enemy, he tackled him to the floor. Sitting on top of him, he grabbed his neck, pinning him down with his mutilated left hand. With the right, he jammed his handgun into his forehead. Eyes completely crazed he screamed.
"I'm sending you to HELL!" He pulled the trigger.
Click click. A small sound of the metal pin hitting back against nothing plinked into the room instead of the huge explosion of the gunshot the soldier expected.
America's good eye twitched. He immediately pulled the trigger again, several more times.
Click, click, click, click, click.
He was clearly out of bullets, perhaps used up in the last battle he'd fought before he went back in time. His intense face started to change as he realized he had no ammunition left for any of the weapons he carried. Without hesitation, he dropped his gun, then curled both hands around Prussia's neck. He'd strangle him to death if he had to! Bare handed!
But…as he tried to…he quickly realized that he hadn't the strength. He wouldn't have, even before the leap through time. But now that he'd messed with such a dark spell, and his life was being drained away, he hadn't a hope of calling forth such strength.
His hands trembled from the effort, but he hardly was even putting much pressure on the ghost nation. Alfred's eyes filled with a sudden onslaught of fresh tears.
"..n…no. N..o…No! NO! NOO!" But he felt himself fading and he knew it was too late. He'd failed in his mission, and his imminent death was preventing him from carrying it out. And with no reason to push himself forward, with no reason to go on anymore, he almost instantly collapsed.
He exhaled harshly, then simply gave up his remaining strength. Falling forward, he collapsed on top of his enemy. Hardly even able to move anymore without the inner willpower he'd been using all this time, he cursed himself inwardly for not being able to do a single damned thing right the entire war.
All the same…he wasn't ready to completely give up yet. If he couldn't do it…if he couldn't carry out the mission, he would find someone else who could. He had to at least warn his family of future events. He had to at least tell Britain the things that had happened. It could still be prevented he was sure. And if he could just tell himself, the past version of America all these things…then…he never would have left Matthew alone for so long. He could have saved him…had he only known.
And, perhaps more than that…he didn't want to be alone when he died. He wanted, needed his family with him.
"M…Ma…Matthew…" He called weakly. He wanted to at least look into his brother's face one last time, have his father hold onto him as the darkness crept in. And if he could just tell himself from years past…how important family actually was…well…then maybe he wouldn't have taken advantage of them for most of his life.
"Hold still!" Britain was the first to his former colony's side. "Bloody Hell, Alfred. You've gone barmy! " He reached out pulling Alfred up and off of Prussia and back into his arms. "What the hell has happened? Why are you here?"
Britain held America firmly in his arms. Arthur was keeping the dying nation upright and secured against his chest. This was quite possibly the most awful thing Arthur had ever felt. True he bickered with America. True he loved to point out Alfred's flaws and lecture him on them, but he loved the nation he'd raised as a son. He surely never wanted to see this! He held Alfred all the tighter. He had to wonder how this future America had even found out about the time traveling spell. Surely his future British self hadn't told America about it. Obviously this future America was unhinged. How bad could the world be that this was the only answer? But Britain had heard America scream part of the answer while he'd been chasing down Prussia. Arthur held America to his green vest as tightly as he dare and looked to the Prussian standing just across the room.
"Alfred. What did you mean? What do you mean Prussia likes to torture people? What do you mean your little brother died? What happened? Tell me, love."
Prussia crawled away from the two. He was in shock as well. Not to mention being chased by a crazed America was enough to scare the shit out of anyone, but the things America was saying were equally as horrid.
"Ze awezome me would n-never." His red eyes went to Matthew, but he didn't approach his boyfriend.
Then Matthew was there standing a few feet in front of his downed brother. Matthew looked at Prussia in shock and horror then he went to Alfred's side. Matthew looked at Britain with a look of utter terror. He was trying to ask if his brother would be ok, but Britain shook his head no. Matthew immediately understood what was taking place.
"M-mon dieu…" Matthew reached out putting his hands onto either side of Alfred's face. The tears were leaking out of his eyes again, but he tried to wipe them away.
"H-hey bro. Oh mon Dieu s'il vous plaît ne faites pas cela." (Oh God, Please don't do this.) He found himself defaulting back to his first language in times of stress, and surely nothing would ever be more stressful than this. Of course Alfred could find comfort in his brother's French. It was something that was unique to Matthew. France always had a serious translation lisp whenever he spoke English, but Matthew could speak either language just fine.
Matthew gently kept his hands on America's dying face. He stared into his brother's eyes now that future America wasn't rampaging around and destroying the house while simultaneously trying to kill Prussia.
"I- I don't understand Alfred. I-I don't get it." He had heard what his brother had said, but he couldn't grasp it. What had Alfred meant by saying his little brother died? Canada felt fine. He wouldn't just die. He was a nation. How could that be? How was his death Prussia's fault? Alfred had talked about having guilt upstairs. He'd been apologizing for failing. Canada's eyebrows knit together.
"Alfred. I would never blame you for-for something you couldn't control. I- I love you, brother. It's ok. I would never hate you. No matter what."
The dying country smiled, but even his grin didn't make him resemble the country he once was. This smile had far too much melancholy behind it to belong to the America everyone currently knew. He lifted a hand. It shook due to his fading strength, but had managed to gently touch Canada's cheek all the same.
"You've always been…so sweet at heart…such a…kind country…" He wanted more time. More time to spend with his father and brother. But he knew that even this would be stolen from him. He didn't have time. He was dying. He could feel it inside. And with what time he had left, he knew he had to make them understand.
"Matthew…listen…" he said, his voice already losing its edge. "Don't let Prussia into your heart. Don't…please. He…he betrays us. He takes you away. He takes you to Russia and Russia holds you there while Prussia takes over your country…" America's face twisted in on itself. His expression crumpled at the mere memory of it.
"They…they bomb everything…and..and…you…you died…" Tears rolled down, carving clean trails through the muck and grime on his face. "He gave you back to me after you were dead…just to break me." His hand fell away from his twins face as he turned his head away, squeezing his one good eye shut from the horror of his memories.
"Of course…once he had Canada for his own…he came after me. We…started world war three. I…had Britain and France, and Japan on my side but…Russia and China and North Korea were helping Prussia. We seemed evenly matched for a while…but Prussia…Prussia sure is good at fucking with people. He started sending me videos of you… from when you were held prisoner…in Russia. I…I couldn't…I…I just want…wanted.."
But he really didn't need to finish. The message was clear enough. He turned his face into Arthur's chest, burying his face.
"Dad…" And that must have been a strange thing for everyone to hear. America hadn't called Britain 'dad' since he was a little boy. "Dad…don't let him…don't let Prussia near Matt. He…disappears…right after my birthday of this upcoming year. We…we…we never see him again! Please…d..don't…let him…"
Alfred was starting to fade and he was fading fast. His breathing very suddenly became very labored. Wheezing, a strange, unnatural liquid-like sound could be heard coming from inside him. And a second later, blood could be seen between his lips.
Matthew's eyes widened even further. All the blood was quickly draining from his face. His heart was racing so fast he thought it would explode in his chest. This was too much.
"A-Alfred." Matthew reached out and wiped the blood away from his dying brother's mouth. "St-stop talking, Alfred. S-save your strength. Pl-please." His eyes welled up once more and he reached out carefully wrapping his arms around his brother. He held him, pressing his forehead against Alfred's shoulder, "I'll be ok, Al. I promise. I love you so much." He held his dying brother as tightly as he dared.
Britain's green eyes narrowed. He had been weary of the albino country since he'd first found Gilbert with Matthew. Now Arthur was downright furious. The nostalgia of being called dad welling within him as his son lay dying. Alfred hadn't said those words since long before the revolutionary war. Even then it had been rare. Britain looked down at his two sons. How dare the albino bastard cause any action that would lead to this horrible fate! Britain moved his left arm and laid it around America and latched onto Canada holding onto him tightly. He was afraid Canada would vanish then and there.
"It's ok Alfred. I will not let him hurt your brother. I have Matthew. I will not let him disappear. Alfred, you're saying Prussia betrays Matthew, and Prussia kills your brother? Y- you came back to keep that from happening?" Even if all that was true there were so many questions up in the air. Arthur had been afraid Prussia would sleep around on Matthew, but to betray, kidnap, and kill his second son? That had never crossed Britain's mind. Not in his wildest dreams. Gilbert take over Canada? What the hell kind of future was this?
"Wh-when do they bomb Canada, Alfred?" Britain quickly asked his dying son. Prussia wasn't a country so obviously one of the other countries would have had to do the bombings, "Which one was it? Who was behind the attack? Was that Russia? Who bombed Canada?"
Alfred turned his attention back to his father. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to speak. His chest was growing heavy, but he knew Arthur was the most reliable in the group. He had to answer.
"R…Russia…Russia…is behind most…all of it…" he answered. And of course, in looking at his father's worried face, emotion for him welled up inside all over again. He knew, he had to apologize to him too before he died.
"I'm..s…so sorry dad. I…y…you told me not to take your book…th…that you…couldn't…bear to lose me too…af..after…Matthew. But…you…you didn't understand…that.I..I…was already dead…" More blood bubbled up from his lips, garbing his words. But even in death he wasn't going to let it stop him.
"Pr…Prussia…was…at…New York's door just before I left…in…fact…I'm not…even sure if it's the curse that's killing me…or…if…P…Prussia…" His voice trailed off. He saw the understanding in Arthur's eyes. He didn't need to finish. Feeling his life slip away from him, he knew he only had seconds left. His vision fading along with the rest of him, he lifted his eyes to the room's doorway.
Standing there, and having been there the entire time, was the current day's America. He'd followed his family, but hadn't set foot into the tomb. He'd seen everything, heard every word. But he was in far too much shock to move or speak. He could barely keep up with what was happening. It was so overwhelming. It just couldn't be true. None of it could possibly be true. Clearly, he'd seen one too many Hollywood movies. Because things like this simply didn't happen in real life. That man, lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood couldn't actually be America.
America was invincible. Everyone knew that. Nothing and no one could ever take down America. He couldn't die. There was no way. And all this stuff about Canada? He didn't believe that either. He couldn't. Because…as much as he liked to act carefree and like everything was always a party, he knew perfectly well that Matthew and Arthur were all he really had (other than himself of course.) Being a jokester and a partier and even an ass from time to time kept things lively and fun. It kept away things like sadness, or worry or even fear. It kept him sane when things like a fiscal cliff were drawing near. And so…to see America presented in the way he was…defeated…and not just defeated…but apparently, driven to near madness from grief and violence…it was too much.
Alfred didn't know how to function in a stressful environment without jokes or a lighthearted attitude. He'd often felt it was in fact, his job to make sure none of the other countries got too serious about matters either. And if people could just laugh about things and about one another…well…then a future like this…could never…
"You…" Alfred lifted his head from the thoughts he'd been having as he stood in the room's doorway. Looking out, he saw the soldier, the one dying in Arthur's arms staring straight at him. And that one blue eye of his…was heavy…and terrible.
"You…" he croaked again, licking his bloodied lips. "Don't…be like…me." Alfred stared at him, his heart feeling suddenly freezing cold with dread. All the same, it didn't stop the dying nation from speaking. "You…protect Matthew. You…you must…do what I couldn't…y…you…you finish the job."
Alfred felt his limbs grow cold along with his heart. His blue eyes widened with the weight of the request that was suddenly laid upon him. The burden was sudden and heavy and dooming. And it terrified him. He felt himself start to tremble. The stranger before him locked eyes with him and for a moment, he felt the connection. There was no denying it now. There was no way in heaven or hell that this man wasn't him. Alfred knew that it was. He could see the reflection of himself in his eyes. He could see the ghost that he once was. And that, was perhaps, the most terrifying thing of all.
The light in the soldier's eyes started to fade. He lay his head back down in Arthur's arms. Staring up at the ceiling, it became clear that he was now looking at something far beyond the house they were all in, and ever farther still than just America the country, or even the world. With the last of his life, he grabbed onto Matthew with his good hand. He gripped him, almost desperately. But it only lasted a second. For after that, his hand fell slack along with the rest of his body. And as soon as he was gone and had finally given up the fight, he relaxed and fell limply in his families arms.