Hopefully you didn't wait too long! I'm very pleased to see that there are people reading this! Before you begin reading, I want to clarify things because it seems to me that this chapter differs greatly (to an extent) of the first chapter.
Part 1 is more of a friend to friend to start off with, so it was more country naming basis (America, England/Britain). Now that part 2 is up, it gets more serious between the two even though they are apart. So human names will be used and more descriptions than names to figure out who's speaking or doing which part from the story to not have so much repetition, but not many changes in names will occur.
An addition to the differences, it seems my way of writing changed in some way (Or is it just all in my head?). This chapter was very hard to write (And there is a high chance that the future chapters will be difficult as well) because it's more of an interlude until the next big thing happens, that way you guys can break a bit from action, just a little though. Please review on how I did. I hope you like it and I'll see you in the next chapter!
[Note: Independence War is another term for Revolutionary War in several other different curriculums for schooling. Independence War had fit better in the story than the other name, that's all.
The Rain Always Falls Here Part 2: A Child in a Hero
"England!" America practically throws his voice towards the departing Englishman whose hand gripped the front door knob. England was already outside, the color of his old uniform darkening from the rain, when America yelled from the dining table. "Don't you frickin' dare take one more step! You can't fight Prussia all by yourself! How stupid can you be?" America's voice cracks as he runs toward England and grabs his arm.
Strangely, England doesn't say a word, staying perfectly still. America lets go and stares at the back of his head, slowly calming down.
Unfazed by America's sudden hold, England turns around facing him, but his eyes were fixated past him towards the table. England, what are you looking at? I'm right here you blind old man! America screamed in his mind.
"America… Could you watch the house while I'm gone?"
Shocked by the response, America's anger rose. "No, I won't fucking watch your damn house! You shouldn't be leaving!" America grabs England by the shoulders and tries to shake him back into his senses, but he was stiff. America releases England's shoulders and steps back to take a good look at him worriedly. How come I can't make him move? He won't budge!
England smiles, "Good-bye America." He closes the door behind him.
What the fuck was that? America grabbed the door knob, practically breaking the door apart from the hinges to get it to open. He sees England walking through the rain, stepping in little puddles one after another. America sprints and jumps in front of him, putting both his hands on the older nation's chest to stop him; eyes closed and head down pushing against the moving England, but it was impossible! England kept walking looking straight ahead and determined, not noticing the desperate American trying to stop him. "You ass!" America grunted, still pushing as hard as he can against England's chest. His feet were skidding across the slippery ground.
Suddenly, England stops in his tracks. He stayed silent. The sound of rain and America's heavy breathing are the only noises heard.
America pants heavily, but he wasn't as tired as he thought. He brings his head up and looks at the hushed nation. His eyes widen with disbelief and denial. "No… How..?" America uttered in what was almost a whisper.
Prussia smiled a devious smile. "Well! Just the person I wanted to see! I came to tell you that, that scone eating Brit England finally belongs to me! Now he's out of my way!" An evil laugh shoots from his mouth.
America's anger flares. He growls, immediately taking his hands off Prussia's chest to make two fists. He punches Prussia repeatedly, one blow after another until the laughing nation fell backwards onto his back. "Prussia I will fucking kill you! You damn sonofabitch!" He quickly goes over to Prussia and eyes widen once again. "No! What the hell is going on?"
America is suddenly shown a wounded England right before his eyes. I hit Prussia! Not England!America's mind was in a haze. Right..? Several stab and bullet wounds were on him, bruises colored England's soft, delicate skin. Crimson fluid just about poured out of him, covering the wet ground below him. He was bleeding uncontrollably.
The appearance of his friend stunned America. How are you wounded? You weren't like that a few minutes ago! I couldn't have caused that! I didn't! I didn't! Dammit! I swear I didn't!
He falls down to his knees and looks over England anxiously, his face only inches away from his own. "Wait..! Hold on! I'll get some help..! J-just just hang on!" America begins to get up to find help, but England grabs a hold of America's sleeve of his new bomber jacket to stop him. America looks back at him with pleading eyes trying to get Britain to understand that he has to find help. Fast!
England looks at America with his sad emerald eyes, barely breathing. "America… I know you hate me… I'm sorry for everything..." England coughs out blood. He breathes heavily and painfully. "I caused you so much grief, even after that war..." He tries to motion to his old Independence War uniform. "It's entirely my fault…" Blood trickles down England's forehead and down the side of his mouth. America tries to say something, but nothing came out no matter how hard he strained himself to speak.
Britain smiles, "But I wanted you to know that…" He coughs harder and more blood comes out. "That... I love you… Even though you don't return those feelings…" He raises a hand and gently puts it on the side of America's face. "You wouldn't love someone like me…"
America's eyes abruptly open from the loud cry of thunder with the realization that he was collapsed on the ground, lying on his back.
He had passed out.
Nonstop running took its toll on the American. It was obvious that him that exhaustion took over his body. Rain continues to fall down; it keeps falling and falling and falling. It had been raining for a week straight. It always rain here… It always, always rains!
Thunder and lightning played with each other seeming to enjoy what had happened to America.
America thinks back to what England had said in his frighteningly vivid dream. Quietly, he whispers to himself, "But I do love you…"
America attempts to get up, but the most he can accomplish was getting on his hands and knees staring down blankly at the puddle on the ground looking to see whose reflection was in it. He was relieved to see it was his own, no weird images, but the comfort didn't last. "Arthur…" He mumbles and scrambles to his feet. His legs, surprised by the movement, gave out causing him to fall again. America's body was stiff and sore, but it doesn't stop him. He gets up to his feet one more time and bends his knees. Steadying himself by putting his hands on them.
A hero doesn't give up…
The struggling country couldn't get the dream out of his head. He wanted it to go away so badly. He couldn't bare seeing England so close to death, seeing him hurt, hearing him say that America didn't and wouldn't love him.
... "Even though you don't return those feelings..." he said 'though' instead of 'if'... He seriously thought that I didn't love him and I never would... That's so not true! ... Am I really such a jackass that I would make him think like that..?
America avoids trying to look up, the droplets felt like knives to his skin. He didn't want the feel of cuts on his face. But he looks up anyway, just to feel the way England must have felt for all these years. To understand why he felt like this.
He hears water splashes on the ground from a short distance behind him, which indicated that someone was running. Because America was still unable to move, he could do nothing, but wait for whoever was coming his way.
The running figure came closer and was beginning to become recognizable who it was through the raining night as soon as the light from the moon shined on the person's body. Blue uniform, red pants tucked in his boots, blonde wavy hair. It was hard to miss even with America not being able to see clearly; no glasses.
"France…" grunted America softly. He watches the Frenchman run up to him, but instead of a 'Boujour! Mon cher!' coated with a smile that America expected, he is greeted with rage filled eyes and a scowl formed on the lips of France. It was unusual for him not be his peppy self. This look he was giving America was unusual.
France roughly grabs a hold of America to have him stand up straight and look at him in the eyes. "Amérique! What do you think you are doing?" barked France.
America, not knowing how to respond to his outburst, glares at France questionably. "What the fuck are you talking about? What the hell are YOU doing?" yelled America. "I don't have time for this shit! I have to go save England dammit!" he growled. America starts squirming to get out of France's grip. "Let go!"
France held on to the moving nation harder. America's tries failed for he was still in so much pain. His body was sore and ached; his insides were eating at him. America groaned at the feeling.
France's hold was strong. The both of them knew no one was going anywhere. "Oui, I know what is happening! You will not help him ze way you are now! Non!" snapped France.
America still kept trying to free himself. "What the hell do you know? Why the hell would you even care? You fucking hate his guts! You're probably trying to stall me until he's dead!"
France lets go of one grip and strikes America in the stomach causing him to bend over and drop to his knees. "Ack!" America gasped, trying hard to breathe. "Asshole..!" He heaved and coughed. "Why is everything and everyone trying to stop me from saving England?" America screamed in frustration. He was mad, really mad, but all it did was cover the misery that clearly exposed through.
France clutches America's shirt and picks him up a few inches off the ground. Fury radiated off of him.
America struggles to get out of his grip. Grumbling swears that seeped out of the side of his mouth.
France was annoyed, "Ne pas être un idiot! Don't be an idiot Amérique! You are not even prepared to save your stupide self or for ze trip to Dead Man's Field! How can you save Angleterre?"
America stops struggling and looks at France, "How do you know where he is?" His voice was urgent and wanting for an immediate answer.
"I came to Ze United Kingdom to discuss ze next World Meeting with Angleterre at his home and ze front door was left wide open! Nobody was there, but there was a wrinkled letter and your glasses on ze floor!" remarked France. He took out the letter and America's glasses, shoving it in the American's face until he took it. "You cannot even see and you say you can rescue him? Sacre bleu!"
America stares at France silently. He was upset, he hated being wrong, he hated being told what to do, and he hated having to put up with France when he should be helping England. That's all I want right now..! To help Arthur... America puts on his glasses with one hand and crumples the letter in the other, throwing it behind him.
France lets go of America and starts calmly talking, "Amérique... You are coming with me back to ze closest town. Rest just for just unenuit and prepare for your trip." He leans close to America's face. "You do not want Angleterre's sacrifice to be in vain, now don't you, mon pet?" his words were terrifyingly cold.France was doing this to convince America to rest one night, he was in no shape to be the hero. A hero knows when to give up... for the sake of those he cares about.
America swallowed hard and gritted his teeth; he was still mad at France for stopping him. "Fine..." he said underneath his breath.
France smiled and took America's arm and wrapped it behind his neck to help him walk. "France, why are you doing this? Knowing you, you would totally try to stop me from rescuing Arthur."
France gives off a pleasantly cheery, but also sad smile, "Oh mon amie, I don't interfere with amour!" Zis amour might not last long. Although Angleterre is my greatest rival, he is also quite a good friend despite his idiotic personality. No one would want to lose a friend. He looks at America and shows off another smile. As do I. I do not want to lose two friends.
They set out through the rain to the nearest town.
France and America arrived to the little city. America was still being half carried by France. This made the almost immobile American feel helpless and he didn't like it one bit, but there was nothing else he could do, for the time being anyway. So he let France drag him to wherever he was planning to take him.
"France, where are we going?" America said nervously. He had thought of the actions France probably would do to him once they got to where they were headed.
France, who knew exactly what he was thinking, chuckled, "Oh hoh hoh! Do not worry Amérique! I have made reservations at a hotel for you!"
The answer America had gotten made him even more nervous, scared even. "Oh... That's cool... Thanks a bunch France..." America bowed his head down and began drifting away in thought, England... Just hang on! I know you're still alive and I'll come get you! Don't die on me now! Not when I'm so close! Not when there's so many things left unsaid! America raised his head with a serious look on his face, "I WILL be the hero!"
France turns to him with a confused look, but he understood completely. "Ah, Amérique. You are such a child. A child who longs of being a hero. Think carefully what to do for tomorrow, prove to me and Angleterre that you are no such thing, zat you are a hero and not a little child. We will then have no choice, but to take back those words. Although, the choices you have made up to zis point say a different story. You are still such a child. A child in a hero."
The two arrived to the hotel France was talking about and went inside to get the room key.
They head for the room and France lugged America in, onto the bed. "Well, Amérique. This is au revoir for now. I have done my part, from finding you to carrying you here so you can straighten out your silly brain."
"You aren't staying?" He was surprised by France's actions because they weren't the ones America expected. Then again everything America expected in the past up to now wasn't what he had expected at all. I shouldn't think at all then! He thought jokingly in his mind.
France cocks one eyebrow up and a sly smile creeps on the side of his lips, "Why, Amérique! I did not know that you felt that way about moi!" He said jokingly, but perverted at the same time.
Chills went down America's spine. He scoffs, "France, don't be a dumbass you know what I mean!" America lies on the bed looking at the ceiling listening to the still never ending falls of water landing on the roof.
France laughs and throws the keys to America, "I am leaving now Amérique. Unlike you, I actually plan ahead. So I do not need to take refuge in a hotel. How do you think I got to you? Surely, not by foot all the way! I was driven here, then running ze rest of ze way to fetch you!"
France pauses and looks at America, who turns his head to look at France. France's face looked stern and serious. "Do you not realize, monsieur, zat you could have gotten to Angleterre by now, but here you are, lying on a bed in a hotel just a few miles away from where your last location was, waiting another night; wondering if Angleterre is even alive."
America looks away and stares back at the ceiling. He's right... He's fucking right! I could have saved England by now, but instead I'm here! I'm useless! I... America closes his eyes and tries collect his thoughts. I really am an idiot; I've been acting like a kid; not thinking and ending up having others around me pay for what I've done. I might as well be a child. America laughs softly, "Heh heh! I am such an asshole..!"
France knew all too well what America was thinking. He starts out the door holding the outside knob to close it. He looks back at America with a serious look. "Amérique. Make sure you bring Angleterre back alive."He smiles brightly at America to lighten the mood he had caused, "Well I bid you adieu!" France closes the door and walks down the hall still smiling, "Ah, Amérique. It would seem that you are finally maturing." He steps outside the hotel and calls up a cab to head back to his plane to go back home.
France's last words to him somehow gave America a little reassurance, a little hope.
"Make sure you bring Angleterre back alive."
America smiled slightly while still looking up. That's right, he's still alive! I know it! He then thinks about Britain altogether. America closed his eyes to try to understand why England is, well, England. The tired American wanted to share his pain, wanted so badly to be there for him whenever that pompous gentleman needed it. But no, that prude always did things himself, not asking for assistance from anybody whatsoever, especially not from America.
Thunder clapped several times, it sounded as if it was getting closer each time. The constant rain was becoming a nuisance. It became an annoying song that was permanently held on repeat. Well, it's a fact now, The rain always falls here.
America's body was loosening and he was able to move around better than before. He got up and started for the door, but stopped midway. No! I have to stay here! This is about England not me! I have to throw away my pride just for tonight. I wouldn't be helping anyone if I end up dying from starvation and exhaustion on the way to Dead Man's Field. America heads back to the bed and lies down. He didn't care that he was still in his wet clothes.
America closes his eyes mumbling, "Arthur... Would you still love me even after everything I did?" America's chest tightened as he talked. "Do you even love me? Or is it just something I wish for? A dream?" Sleep was closing in on him. "Yes... It's just a... dream..."