Capitol Punishment

Chapter 21

Landon tried to awkwardly scramble backwards away from the curb, and Danny was certainly no help, the limp noodle that he was. Landon had to drag him away, swallowing the fear of the dangerous black van and of the sudden unresponsiveness of his friend. He had been perfectly fine seconds ago, what had happened? And the sidewalk was suddenly very empty, but Landon could vaguely hear yells from around him. Guns. Of course they had guns. They brandished them as the black cladded men emptied the vehicle and civilians scattered.

Oh dear, Landon thought again.

"What's going on out here?" Shouted a woman. Rachel, from the Starbucks doorway.

Oh the hardy sweet woman that you are, please run! Landon wanted to scream at her to get down as he leaned Dan's body against the wall. Those men were approaching them quickly.

"Hey!" Rachel shouted again, "Get away from those boys!"

She didn't quite get the response she was hoping for as the men open fired on her little Starbucks shop, shattering the door and multiple windows, glass flying like a sharp rain shower. Landon couldn't get a good look, but he thought he saw Rachel hit the ground for cover unharmed. At least he hoped so. Now he was more worried about the six armed men surrounding him and an unconscious Danny boy. He was cold too, the rain was slowly seeping into his clothes and chilling his skin. Landon looked pleadingly around for any available option, wracking his mind for a plan or for the right words, but too soon the men raised their guns again. He stared them down with venomous green eyes, preparing to fight as the barrel of a gun leveled with his head.

"Come quickly, quietly, and we won't have ta shoot ya." Said a gruff sounding man, mouth muffled by black cloth.

"What are you here for?" Landon growled out, cornered against the side of a building. He kept his eyes on the man who talked, but he kept tabs on Danny's present body leaning pathetically against the bricks.

"Come now or we shoot the kid." Four of them aimed their guns on Daniel. Daniel didn't respond, since he was dead to the world. "We want him, but ya in the way and way too close. Can't have ya jeopardizin' our cause now, can we?"

Now Landon was curious. "And what is your cause?" he asked.

"Shut up, ya dirty brit!" The men convened viciously on the two boys, one thrashed violently, the other leaned slightly more to the side before falling over to the wet ground.

Landon got a few good hits in before the men in black remembered they had guns and a bullet grazed his brow, startling him into one of them. The masked man gripped Landon's arms before throwing him to the ground and pinning him there. Landon bucked up, and nearly threw the guy off when a gun cold conked him on the skull and he saw stars and stripes. Horribly dazed and thoroughly distracted, he watched Daniel be carried over one man's shoulder towards the open black van and he felt something tighten around his arms.

Landon was hauled to his feet, a man on each side.

Of course, he thought wispily, they need two men to keep me in check.

Really, they needed two men because Landon now had the coordination of a limp drunk, but they still held the back of his neck as they shoved him into the black cushioned seats of the black van. He heard the door slide shut, but it sounded far away and he knew he couldn't reach it. One of the men buckled him in.

Safety first, Landon lolled through distant thoughts before his glazed eyes caught Danny's blond hair next to him. Good, he's buckled in too. Oh, wait, that's not good. Or is it? Landon couldn't tell anymore, as he leaned towards Danny.

"Please be alright…" he whispered into Danny's golden wisps of hair, before sudden exhaustion made his eye lids droop and he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

In the van, with the radio on, the news echoed throughout the filled seats.

"And now, due to a filibuster in the senate, the government has officially shut down from disputes over the legislation for DACA…"

Click!

The van pulled away from the curb, and a bright eyed brunette gazed out of shattered window of her store listening absently to the wailing sirens closing in. When blue and red lights filled her vision, she looked away from the street and glanced at her phone. She had a clear video, and a picture of the license plate. Fools forgot to cover that up. Now, who else would be appropriate to contact…

Once again, the countries were without their capitols. America and England, mentally exhausted, languidly opened the Thunderbird's doors, flopped onto leather seats and slumped over, legs and lower body useless. England sat up first when he felt raindrops tickle the top of his head.

"America, you may want to put the top on your convertible." He stated. He received a loud, anguished whine in response. He lolled his head to the side to look at the crumpled country.

"America. It's raining." Another whine and a huff.

"America." A Loud groan and a head thrown back over the leather rest as arms thumped the seat.

"Alfred, please. Put the top back up. You will ruin the interior."

America's loud reply startled him. "The interior is already ruined! Don't you get it?" He yelled, springing up to look at England. His eyes were angry and resigned, a strange yet familiar combination that only made England sigh sadly. A country who knows war sees it often.

America watched him sigh before flinching at his own weakness, and he slumped back in his seat to gaze up at the gray drizzled sky.

"Just let it rain on me. I deserve this."

"Oh, codswallop. America, sit up straight and put the top up, and then we can get somewhere," England faced America and gave a scolding glare, "We have more important things to wallow about, yet there isn't time." He finished with a flourish of hands towards the cloudy, weeping sky.

America turned his head and pouted, only half following instructions as he started the mechanism that would pull the cover over their heads and stop watering the leather seats. The cover was painstakingly slow, making a slight whining noise around them as it cranked and rattled, and America was still pouting and not moving. Halfway over their heads, the whining got louder and closer, England sat forward and face palmed.

When the cover clicked into place, America sat up and murmured, "I should really oil this thing."

The groan came from England this time.

"Now what?" America asked.

England let out a deep breath, and faced America again, viridian eyes still bright in the gray light that streamed through the windows. "We keep calm and carry on."

America's eyes lit up in understanding. He took a deep breath and a moment to collect his thoughts. Those old words never lost their meaning, and he chose to listen, lest he lose himself in despair. Sometimes in all the hate and fervor and dogma, he forgets that he isn't just Alfred F. Jones. He's a citizen, a politician, a soldier, a hero, a friend. He's the United States of America. A little too big for himself, and too young and too strong. He often gets lost in all of the noise, the ideas, the peace, and the conflict. He's suddenly glad that England is here to bring him back down to earth, like all other times. And England is right, he realized, this is just another war.

He pulled his weight back to settle properly on the seat, "Okay, but for real, now what?"

England crossed his arms over his chest with a hum. "How about we, once again, locate our very slippery, little capitols." He prompted.

"Right. To Starbucks." America started the car.

"Wait a tick, to Starbucks? You think they're there?" England uncrossed his arms, confusion written all over his face.

America looked exasperated. "Well, think of it this way. Little Danny boy works at Starbucks, little Donny boy met little Danny boy at Starbucks, little Donny boy was supposed to meet little Danny boy at Starbucks, when they left my house little Donny boy and little Danny boy went to Starbucks. We spoke to the Hungarian mother hen at Starbucks. I think it's safe to say that all roads lead to Starbucks, so buckle up and let's head to Starbucks. Starbucks." America finished. "Starbucks." He added as an afterthought.

England's hands had once again met his face in disbelief and hopes of a coup de grâce. "I don't know whether to be insulted by your tone or impressed that you put that altogether yourself," he spoke through his hands, "Should we trust your hunches once again? You were right about them being in the Capitol Building," he reasoned as he brought his hands away from his disappointment and looked at America's unimpressed face.

"Starbucks." America said as he moved the car in reverse.

And as the sky opened up to let it pour, he slammed the breaks, jerking them both. He crumpled forward, hand gripping his chest and feeling his heart beating wildly in ribcage as if it wasn't pumping enough blood. The world was swimming and America couldn't hear anything except his heart beating in his ears. He felt hands grasping at his shoulders, and distorted versions of his name until he got control of his breathing.

"—Merica, Alfred are you alright? Deep breaths, please. Tell me, are you hurt?" England pleaded.

America looked up to find England distressed face and watery green eyes, hands trying to pry open his chest so he could breathe easier. America closed his eyes as the pain receded to a dull throb, yet his heart proceeded to thump dangerously, almost warningly.

"America?" England prodded again.

America opened his frightened blue eyes to look at England.

"Something's wrong." He whispered.