Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.

BEFORE YOU READ: Both endings start where chapter ten ended. This is the first, alternate ending. It is the BITTERSWEET end. If you want to read the DRAMATIC BUT HAPPY end instead, then you should skip this chapter and read the second, alternate ending.

I had so much run writing this series, and I would like to thank everyone for reading it! Without further ado, please enjoy the first, alternative ending for American Copies.


Chapter 11 – The Rewrite

Arthur switched into a fighting stance, but before he could take action, Alfred yanked his copy down. Arthur watched, slightly confused. They were both conscious at the same time? He looked up at the rift to see it bleed more of its insanity into the present. The lines between hypotheticals were fading.

Quickly, Arthur summoned his wand, and he began re-casting the spell. The column of light shot from the cauldron again, and Arthur's gaze was snatched from it to tensely view the close battle. Punches were thrown, and blood began to streak across each of the participants' faces. The Confederacy managed to force his way on top and reached for his cutlass. Arthur put away his wand before running full speed at the match.

The Confederacy found himself on the ground a few feet away from his intended target. He sent a dark glare at the infuriating distraction above him. Sensing that he was losing his chance, the Confederacy kicked Arthur off, leaped up, and charged at his now standing copy. Almost instantaneously, Arthur was on him again, forcing all of his weight into a tackle which the other America barely managed to dodge.

That was twice. Twice in under thirty seconds this fucking country thwarted him. The Confederacy twisted on the ground to deliver a sharp punch almost though Arthur's abdomen. Letting out a violent hack, Arthur felt himself collide with the ground, just inches away from the cauldron's dark surface. He watched as the Confederacy unsheathed his cutlass and stepped closer to him. The villain wore a smirk on his face. Clearly, he realized he was about to taste victory—or at least rub out an obstacle on the way.

Alfred darted into action, leaped above the Confederacy, and hooked his hands under his opponent's arms. He saw the world from an upside down view as his entire body fell into the column of light. Keeping a death grip on his copy's form, he intended to drag the astronomically large annoyance out of existence along with himself.

In the course of a few seconds, Arthur saw the threat in front of him disappear into the column of light and blink out of existence. The light dissipated. The rift shrunk into nothing. Arthur was surrounded by silence and a starry sky.

Once Arthur had his breath back, he jumped up and looked all around. "America!" He called. When he heard no answer, he yelled louder, straining his voice, "America!" Arthur panted and refused to face the reality of the situation at hand. "ALFRED!" He cried out before gasping in a labored breath.

Nothing answered him but the sounds of nature.

Arthur glared up at the sky as tears clouded his vision and stained his cheeks. "Why?!" He shouted, "Why did you accept him?! He belongs here! He—" Arthur coughed and clutched his stomach. As he did, he realized the result—why the universe accepted the present Alfred. His eyes slipped closed, and he shook his head.

The rift. It needed a proper consummation: a helping of paradox byproduct.

And Alfred was perfect for it.

With all the misused time spell power centralized around Alfred, Arthur had made him into the ideal payment to properly sew up the rift. Arthur had cursed himself—maybe not in the strict, fairy-tale sense, but Arthur felt the painful burden of carrying his error. He yanked his wand into existence and glared at it. Lifting it slightly, he mentally ran through all the spells he knew, but none could have a hope of bringing back the real, original Alfred he knew…and loved.

"Damn it," He attempted a hiss that turned out as more of a sob, "damn it all…" Every pathetic sound Arthur uttered was sucked away in the silence, but not before being amplified by being the only sounds in the immediate vicinity. He threw the wand down in the grass and kicked over the cauldron, allowing the ingredients to spill across the expanse of ground. "Are you happy?!" Arthur shouted at the black sky. "Are you happy?! Arthur, are you glad?!" His breath was erratic, and the suitable solution seemed to be reprimanding himself. "You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?! One Alfred wasn't good enough for you, was he?! You had to go and summon those other copies as if nothing bad would happen! You selfish fool!"

Arthur fell to his knees, but it did not stop him from yelling his throat dry, "You can't cry, England—! You can't…" He took in a deep breath and quickly expended it, "You did this! You were the one that did this! You fucking imbecile! You're not allowed to hurt!"

For a minute or so, the surroundings were filled with Arthur's echoed sobs. Eventually, they died down and left him with a distinct lack of noise. He stared down at the grass, thinking it unfair that he was alive and well while the personification of America was fed to a time-space, metaphorical beast.

Briefly putting aside his self-pity, he wondered. What would happen to all of America's people now that he was actually gone? He's heard of tragic events harming the personifications and changes in culture altering them. The creation of another personification birthed of differing views from the original America in 1860 only proved the theory. So what if people lost their personification? Would the country itself lose its borders or—? Arthur's eyes widened in realization.

A new one would take Alfred's place. A brand new personification—a brand new America.

Immediately, Arthur felt nauseous. They would probably look exactly the same, but they would be without all of Alfred's memories and feelings. The relationship Arthur had with Alfred would be completely gone—glossed over! On top of that… All of Alfred's relationships with the other countries would be dead…and a newborn personification would have to fill Alfred's shoes—they would constantly be measured up to Alfred. Loss. Expectations. Unintentional resentment.

Arthur stood up and pulled out his wand.

No. There will not be a new America. The solution was clear. If Arthur's unnatural tangent created a doomed timeline, then he would just have to go back and change it. It would likely cause a brief paradox that he could conceivably fix. It was also a solution that he wanted to avoid as much as possible, but ending this tangent was much more important than his personal fears.

Arthur eyed the full moon and cursed. The universe likely would not let him backtrack to get a better future since it mainly involved another revamping of space-time. He would need to wait fourteen days for the new moon, but he could do it. He could wait without skipping time.

And he did.

Arthur had spent fourteen, agonizing days in that cabin. To have so many Alfreds running around and then suddenly having none was torture, but he lived with it. When the fourteenth night came, Arthur hiked to the general spot where he had first summoned all the American copies. He heavily sighed before looking around the area.

As quickly and as carefully as he could, Arthur painted out the appropriate circle writing with the appropriate time. If the past month taught him anything, it was to never use a cauldron mixture as a vehicle to carry out lunar magic. Working with the universe's preferred, drawn, circle spells would help much better. Once finished with his drawing, he tossed his can of spray paint aside. He would've used chalk, but spray painting was just so much faster.

Arthur took in a calming breath and stood in the center of the magic circle. With one final look at the lack of moon, he closed his eyes and held up his wand, speaking the spell's lyrics. He assumed a column of light surrounded him as he was nearing the end of the spell. Arthur let his eyes slip open to see that he was correct.

In the next moment, he was standing face to face with Britannia Angel in the vast field of green. Britannia Angel stared at Arthur, wide eyed and startled. Slowly, Arthur put away his own wand and stepped closer to his copy from a month back.

"Good to see you, Britannia Angel." He spoke, looking down at the cauldron between them. Ah, yes. The mixture for bringing the Americas into existence. He eyed the wand in Britannia Angel's hand before gazing into his past self's eyes.

"I didn't summon myself." Britannia Angel stated, irked that he was confused. "I haven't even said the words yet. Why are you here?"

Arthur nodded softly before jerking back a fist and punching Britannia Angel square in his face. Immediately afterwards, he sent his foot into Britannia Angel's stomach, winding him. After kicking over the cauldron, the mixture spilled out all over the grass, and then darting past his past self, Arthur snatched his old wand.

He ran towards the cabin. Even though he was too far away to actually reach it (or see it for that matter), he knew that Alfred would be between there and where he had initially casted the summoning spell. Arthur did not dare look back—especially when he saw Alfred lying down in the grass in the far distance. A wide smile stretched across his face, and he felt his eyes slightly water.

It was Alfred!

He was just lying there! He was fine!

Arthur saw Alfred's head fall to the side and a confused expression appeared on the American's face. Without stopping his pace, Arthur slid to the ground and grabbed onto Alfred, pressing his face into Alfred's neck.

He spoke as he tried catching his breath, "You're alive!" His voice was hoarse from his exerted effort. "I can't believe it—! You're really alive…" He felt Alfred sit up and then wrap an arm around his waist.

"Uh— Yeah, Arthur, I'm fine." Oh, it was wonderful hearing his voice again! "What's going on? Why're you here?" Gently, Alfred pulled Arthur away just enough to see his face—and by extension, his tears. His expression immediately grew concerned. "Arthur, what's wrong?"

Arthur looked back the way he had come to see a white figure in the far distance. "I don't have much time." He viewed Alfred and took in a deep breath. "I did something terrible, and I had to tell you something before I fixed it." Without giving Alfred a chance to speak, he rattled off what he had to say, "It's selfish of me to ask, but please bear with me, and forgive me if I stray into inconsiderate territory." He took in a shaky breath. "Tell me that I needn't worry—that you're still here and that you still care. And tell me—" There was desperation in how Arthur gripped Alfred's shirt, but he needed Alfred to know. Quickly, he pressed his lips against Alfred's. Arthur pulled back, releasing his hold on Alfred's shirt and gripped both ends of his past self's wand. "I love you, Alfred." He snapped the wand in half.

He watched as Arthur's form disappeared the second the wand was destroyed. Alfred was thoroughly shocked by Arthur's sudden appearance, Arthur's confession, and Arthur's kiss. On top of that, he had disappeared before his eyes! Hearing Britannia Angel land a few feet away woke him from his stupor.

"Oi, Alfred!" Judging from Britannia Angel's tone and bloody nose, he seemed pretty pissed. Oh…and it looked as if he had changed into Arthur again. Did he just fall from the sky? "Did you see where that arsehole went? He's got my wand, and I'd like to curse him."

"Uh…," Alfred looked to where that random copy used to be and then back at Arthur. "He was here, but he disappeared. Oh— After breaking your wand, he disappeared."

Arthur glared at nothing in particular. "That fucking idiot," He hissed, "He knows I can't fix it if I break it intentionally." He touched his nose and winced, "Damn it…"

Alfred stood up, wincing at the blood. "Looks like that fall from the sky really got your nose."

He shook his head. "No, it was that thing—that clone or android or what have you. Christ, why can't they just stop making those things? It's confusing enough…" Briefly, Arthur thought back on his original plan to call forth versions from America's history.

With a shrug, Alfred moved away Arthur's hands which partially covered his nose. "Mm. We should get some ice on that. S'no big deal." He paused, watching Arthur's barely irked gaze. He thought about bringing up what that weird version of Arthur was talking about, but if his Arthur was angry at it, then it probably would be a bad thing to mention. "Yeah, let's get some ice on that. My car's right over there." Alfred jabbed a thumb in the direction of his vehicle.

"Right," Arthur huffed softly. He was not as angry anymore. At least the brief, weird occurrence did not cause any damage besides his sore stomach and bloody nose. Truthfully, if he had gone through with his spell, then there would be no telling what could have happened to Alfred—he could have died because of Arthur's momentary selfishness! A distressed expression appeared on his face, matching his thoughts. Sure, Arthur would be able to see all those beloved memories of Alfred, but it truly was not worth it if it would mean losing Alfred entirely.

"Arthur," Alfred spoke up, snapping Arthur out of his thoughts, "I said c'mon. You're pretty slow. Is old age catching up to you?" He flashed Arthur a grin to ensure that other knew he was joking. Before Arthur could retort in the way he usually did, Alfred took his hand and began leading him towards the car. "I guess I have to pull you along."

Arthur stared down at Alfred's hand as it held his own. It was not a harsh grip or a wimpy touch. It felt…secure. It sort of grounded him. It gave Arthur a sense that everything would be fine. When he viewed Alfred's warm smile, he fell into a comfortable pace, accepting the interaction as one he preferred over the idea of forcing the universe to do his bidding.


If you haven't already, I suggest reading the other alternate ending. Thank you so much for investing your time in reading American Copies!