America grabbed England's wrist and held on tightly, threateningly squeezing it to warn him that he wasn't here to discuss shit.
"Come on, show me. Or do you not remember?" America twisted England's arm some, France too paralyzed in both fear and surprise to intervene.
"I-I don't remember anything."
America tightened his death grip. "Then show me your torso anyways." His voice shook and his eyes were cold.
"Why the bloody hell would I do that?"
"Do you remember a night where you and France over there raided a village just off the coast? Do you remember a woman, beautiful woman, who shot you right…there?"
"America?"
America started to cry hot and angry tears. "I was there you know, living my life happily with the people I loved. Then you came and fucked it all up. You took my life away and forced me into a new one. Did you know that? Now, show me the wound."
Slowly England reached to the corner of his shirt and slowly pulled it up, revealing a faint scar that revealed where an arrow had pierced him. "America, let me go."
"Do you want to know the real reasons why I do what I do?" America lowered his head. "I was reborn into war and destruction. I've died before, my entire life just poofed away. I was born into a hateful world where my caretakers were my truest enemies. You" he tightened his grip more. "You brought me into this world. I had to cope with a change that would force me to have to fight for my own life. You ripped me of my isolation and of my identity. You took my mom and my family. Tell me, did you ever stop to think who that "boy" that you pointed your sword at was? Do you know who that was?"
America looked up at England whose face emanated horror that derived from both the fear of having his arm broken and from the history America was digging up.
"That's absurd. You don't look anything like him." He tried to justify himself, but to no real success.
"That's the worst part. You all completely changed me. You never had to just CHANGE. The reason I took your things, the reason I did what I did, is because I wanted to take your precious things away like you had me. I wanted to find a reason to feel human and free. I wanted to watch you all squirm and cry for mercy like you wished to see from my people."
America released England's hand, deep finger marks on his skin. France went to him to check the bruises.
"You were there too France, weren't you? Yeah, you were there." America shot him a glare.
"I'm…I'm so sorry." America wasn't sure which one had said it as they were told to leave the room as soon as America released him.
Soldiers went in and sedated him, but America was no longer fighting them. He just lay there, twiddling his thumbs and staring off into the distance. He was forced back to sleep so that they could chain him and check his perimeters for the piece of metal and anything else.
On the other side of that wall the group collected, but no words were spoken. They instead just watched as the soldiers tried to secure America, all of them knowing that he'd get out no problem and eventually would.
"How does he remember?" England buried his face in his hands.
France put an arm around him. "The past is the past, but I suppose to him it feels as real as the present."
America fell asleep, but he had no more strange dreams. He simply remained there, his mind finally returning to him.
The memories stuck to England and France for quite some time. In fact, they never left. Why? Because that was the first night they encountered her, a valiant and fierce warrior. They called her North America, but in the truths of truth she was the Mother of the Land.
(I don't own Hetalia and thank you for all your support and love. Hugs for everyone!)